Tropicals

"Lweendo, take off your tropicals and feel the earth." Agreenar called out to me. Reluctantly, I slipped off my flip-flops and stepped barefoot on African soil. In the middle of the day. In the middle of hot season.
Agreenar, beaming, sighed the Zambian sigh (equivalent to the sound on Sprite commericals. after the sip. before the tagline), "ah, feels nice. isnt it?" Playing through my mind like the opening to the Wonder Years was a nightmare slideshow of summer afternoons walking on hot asphalt to the park only to slide down burning metal rides meant to scorch the back of kiddies' knees. Nothing compared to Africa. In the middle of the day. In the middle of hot season.
"Peepe!" no, I scream. Jumping back into my tropicals I blush at her comment that Americans are weak. Yes, an Zambians are crazy.
Two weeks into this village life and what I feel is just beginning to sink in. Yes, my roommates are termites. Yes, I stay awake staring at the spiders crawling on my mosquitoe net. No, I havent killed anything with my machete...yet. And yes, walking to fetch water is a pain in the ass. But not with the three iwes tagging along. Ive just started to learn their names.
Jipego is probably my favorite. We have full conversations. Her speaking about something in Tonga. And me speaking about something else in English. Then there is Medium. Which is absolutely cruel. Who wants to go through life saying "Hi, Im C+. Who are you?" And then there is Vijay, of whom I have the bad habit of calling Vejayjay. I think its funny and she doesnt get it, so maybe its ok?
And then there was the day when (thanks to the last volunteer before me) three older kids came for help with their math homework. I know how to count my money and thats the extent of any calculations Ive done in years. But trying to save face I sat down with them. The two girls shoved their notebooks in my face and I looked down at numbers...mixed with letters...mixed with shapes.
What the hell is this?!
"Um, right. the lines on your triangle are very straight. And I like how you are using the letter "x", seeing as how you dont have that letter in your language."
Blank faces staring back at me.
I turned to the boy and he showed me his notebook. Fractions! Even worse. Fractions are the sole reason I dont cook. And without the scent of ingredients there was no way I could grasp the abstract directions.
Ashamed, and almost regretting all those years of making the shy girls do my homework, I told them I didnt know about math.
They looked down for a minute and then quickly asked me to bang my banjo. Now that is one thing I do know. So I brought out the guitar, they hid their notebook and we relaxed making up lyrics and enjoying the afternoon sans arithmetic.
It seems everyday Im given good alongside the suck. And I suppose, living in one of the poorest countries means you cant ever seperate the two. Because though Zambia is poor in material measurements, it is not in essence, poor in life.
Because life is one thing. It is now. It is the time of me and you and us. It isnt what I did yesterday, what I need to do today and the plan of action for tomorrow. It seems that outside of my American mind, time isnt actions, time isnt accomplishments. Its breathing, its laughing, its crying, its sleeping. Waking, eating and talking with the Walking souls around you. Time is the existence of life not the calculations of its progressions.
So take off your tropicals. And feel the earth. Its nice, isnt it?