The first week, on the way to the IDP camp we
talked about our first impressions (it was my first week then so all I had was
first impressions). My colleague described her first couple months in Kinshasa
„like a dream”. I thought, give me a huge break and gin tonic, it's not that
wonderful all the time (ever).
Later I understood though. Dreams aren't
necessarily wonderful. They just happen to seem logical and self-explanatory
when you're in them, no need to find a common language, everybody understands
each other, there is nothing strange about the location suddenly changing
because everything happens for an acceptable reason and has acceptable
consequencies. Within the dream, that is. It's only after the awakening that
the reasons seem odd and the consequencies completely weird, the people cannot
know each other, and why was I wearing a bikini top in the middle of winter.
Living here is a similar experience. If I
don't think about it, days have a meaning and the meaning makes some sense. I
get up, I'm happy that (if) there is electricity, make a coffee, a tea, drink
the row, get dressed, go to work, etc, and there is nothing extraordinary about
that.
Now
when I remind myself where I am (usually by the very sophisticated „Africa,
wtf”expression), I don't really know what to do with the whole idea. It feels a
bit like looking back on a dream where Patrik was chasing Shari's cats while
Ryan Gosling was working in Zsolt's garden and I was making the tomato-cinnamon
salad in the kitchen with Cindy, and it was all perceived as very much normal.
Nincsenek megjegyzések:
Megjegyzés küldése