Zambia: part 1

Just eleven days before the voyage to Africa, I sat in my living room watching Californication, a ridiculous show about a sex-addicted writer, and drinking a Bacardi and coke. Having just finished a cigarette, I began to write down my struggles and some of the most intimate details of my life in a pure, raw, and beautiful form. If I am to be honest about who I was before Africa, and for you to truly understand me and get a picture of who I am now, I need to share these things. They may hurt. They may change how you think of me, but that is the point. Remember, it is you who decides what sympathy I deserve.

(Names have been altered to protect the innocent.)

12.28.2008

If it takes a show about sex, Bacardi and coke, and a cigarette to get me through the weekend, have I survived? Do I have to get fucked up in order to face this world and the situation I am in?

So much has been a long time coming, but suddenly all the hurts hit full force, when it’s not so convenient for me. Dad gets laid off. The family is a mess when they’re all together. I have to leave the country in 11 days. No one but "A" is in Joliet and really cares about my situation. Who am I left with to talk to?

Everyone fears loneliness. It’s a dreaded thing, yet I’ve spent many nights alone or at least semi-alone. Stuck with the old man sleeping, that breathing machine hissing in the other room. I struggle to fall asleep at night. Not even my new soft sheets give me comfort. I used to sleep only on my right side, leaving space open on the left of my bed, not used to the full mattress. Now, realizing that I have this space and it’s mine alone, I have managed to wear in the middle of the bed. I dream of having someone next to me. It would be nice. There’s no one. I think of those who I’ve wanted there, most recently "N". It’s never going to happen and I know that, but part of my heart is still with him. Who else have I wanted in my bed? Dare I say it. Two "M's", "J", perhaps even "J.L". I joke about the spiritual leaders who I’ve wanted to be mine in the flesh. Those brown-haired guitar players who sang me their songs of love and worship, although maybe it wasn’t so much of a performance, but I cannot help but remember singing along with or playing with each of them. Some of the most intimate moments of my life. I don’t even talk to these guys anymore. Some lame conversations every few months if that. A once a year lunch. A quick handshake and side hug that I only wish would turn into a long embrace. But how selfish am I? Just upset that I have no one to sleep with. That’s what started this whole thing anyway.

Who do you sleep with at night? That question still haunts me. In that cold, gray bathroom that smelled of sweat and urine I had no response to that question. I hid my emotions. I was silent. The kind of silence Jesus portrayed during his trial, the silence of the lamb being led to the slaughter. I was young and nervous, but I guess even in sixth grade I was curious about the other boys. I tried not to show it. Get in, get dressed, get out, right? Did I linger too long? The questions better left unanswered. But silence only leads to self-hatred, doubt, and resolves nothing. It was "J.J" (or was it me?) who broke the silence and changed everything. Does he even know?

That day will forever be in my memory. I was sitting there eating lunch when "J.J", who must have only been seven at the time, decided to tell my friends how I used to dress up like a girl and said that I wanted to be a girl. I was angry and I later started crying and had to tell someone everything. It was Mrs. D who I told first, that "A.A." and "T" continued to harass me in that bathroom, calling me gay and all sorts of things. It was she who took me up to the meeting where Mr. R, Mr. V, and my mom were there. Many tears were shed that day. Mom had left work at church to come to this meeting. It was a big deal.

Did nothing ever get solved? Did that moment in my life just add to my curiosity and sexual exploration? Have I had no self-esteem, no trustworthy people to talk to? And why bother now? Shoot, I’m going to be in Zambia for three months. That experience can be a turning point if I want it to, a time to stop thinking about sex for a while and really focusing on ministry and how my relationship with Jesus fits into the bigger picture. I’m concerned about coming home and falling back into routine. I keep dreaming of next summer, the ability to go out and drink and party where I want to, going to boys' town and maybe meeting someone. But why think of that now? I am totally unprepared for this trip. It’s what I’ve wanted for so long, but if I left tomorrow I would be in no state to handle it. Does that make any difference in the next 11 days? What can I do between now and then to get prepared?

There wasn’t much I could do, or did do, to get prepared. I had a packing list. I didn’t want to bring much. I don’t need much. And I was told to get used to not having much in Africa. Looking back now I realized I still overpacked. I never once wore those black dress shoes. I didn’t need so much deodorant or shampoo or body wash. Maybe I should have passed on those toilet paper rolls to the ladies. But at least I didn’t try to carry on any boxes of Betty Crocker cake mix. Nevertheless, I gathered some things together and headed back to campus. My bags even lacked textbooks, though I brought along the copy of Heart of Darkness that I was supposed to read in the summer of 2005 but never did. I just wanted to get back to the Indiana Wesleyan campus, see some friends, and leave the country for three months. I needed an escape. Dad lost his job in December and I knew I couldn’t handle living at home with him. Perhaps my absence would give him motivation. Maybe he’d land a job and when I had returned things would be good for us. I tried not to have my hopes too high. My motivation was the here-and-now—to get to Zambia, to love God, and to have community. Little did I know that I would face the real Africa, a place where I would die to myself, find new life, and where in the end it would seem that things had fallen apart.