Life is Tough

And I am told to be tough

Tough! As a woman

Tough! As a wife

Tough! As a mother

Tough! As an oppressed one

Why must I be tough?

In a world made rough?

Why must I be tough?

Where power is never enough

I must be tough…

For you my sons,

To have food and not guns,

I must be tough,

For you my sisters,

To gain power and not systems.

I must be tough,

For you my daughters

To ensure a spring of living waters.

I must be tough,

For you my brothers,

To give new vision to a word that bothers.

Life is so rough.

And I want to be tough.

 

-Angelene (Switzerland)

from first SHADE Sister 2 Sister newsletter I can across going through old files. Resonates with a lot of women I know here.

Tell your stories

Somewhere in life storytelling became very important to me. I can’t pinpoint it, but oral storytelling and stories though art hold a deep meaning to me. I love all the different ways of telling stories, of weaving them together, of sharing them.

During the three month road trip I took after college, I went to visit the mom of a friend I studied with in Cuba. Both women are delightful and help me remember the ways I want to look into the world. I was beginning to feel like I wasn’t doing anything for the world but using up gas by being on this long road trip. But the night at Ann’s house made me appreciate how honored I was to have stayed in so many people’s homes and had time to listen. I was able to hear people’s stories and ideas and focus on them in a way I hadn’t while being in school. So maybe I wasn’t contributing per se, but I was able to reflect on life with people and was open to hearing in a whole new way.

Then I started this journey with SHADE and on the first night heard our boss’s story. Mama Tembo has a very powerful story and I have deep respect for her and SHADE because the relationship starts with the story. But then she asked us our stories.

Now those of you that know me well, know I love to tell little stories about the day or what’s on my mind or what I remember. But my story? A story about what my life is all about in one sitting… That’s a lot harder to tell. Especially when people around me have such powerful and strong stories, how do I possibly compare? How do I show what’s important to me and why?

And I still need to practice telling my story. I am better at letting it out in pieces. I am obviously trying for something as I blog. But I think I have to stop valuing stories in different ways. I have learned from the women I work with how powerful it is to tell stories. In fact I am blogging about this as I am working on developing storytelling workshops that would be useful to our communities. As much as I love my other work, it is probably what I am most passionate about. For some people I work with after events in their lives they didn’t feel like they were worthy to be human and stopped telling who they were. Others have never had a chance to be heard or knew that their story mattered. Many have a new sense of life from the ability to start sharing.

And again these stories I find so incredibly beautiful and am so honored to be present for. And again I have difficulty seeing how to share my own. But to form a relationship I have to share too, for myself and others. And because our stories are all linked. This is especially real now as my friends are going through this hard time, yet I am so glad they felt comfortable enough to finally tell us more of their struggles.

So I encourage each of you to share your stories. We each have them. And while I may not think my story is as powerful as many I hear, they have told me mine is still worthy to be told.

All stories are worthy. I am thankful at SHADE we start with our stories. All of our stories.

In the face of a smiling child : love more

I walked up to my roommates talking to one of our friends who works as a caretaker of a property. The conversation was very serious as I walked up and I realized something was going on with him (not just a normal friendly hello).

He was talking about getting kicked out of his small home where he works. This was after asking for two months in salary he hasn’t been paid. He was disheartened and knew he was being lied to.

I don’t know how his employer could manage without him, truthfully. But we are friends with his wife as well and so this blow was a blow to all of us as well. And it’s not my battle to fight, but it is so hard to watch him and try to help him see his options. With no money and cold nights upon us where was he supposed to go.

And as we were talking about all this his two year old daughter was running and laughing between out legs. To be fair every time we see them we play with her, so she didn’t notice the serious tones in our voices. So she would grab our legs and just look up and laugh.

She has no idea what’s going on, in credit to her parents at some rate. Her mom works cleaning other people houses and that is how they are affording to eat right now. In truth we are friends with her parents because of this little two year old we met. And with almost tears in her father’s eyes, she is playing games around our legs and looking up and laughing.

Then we learned his wife is cleaning the house at the property they stay on for free to pay for their electricity and water, but they have never seen a bill so who knows if it is a fair trade. I hadn’t realized so much of their story before, but I did know the struggles they could face and as refugees with a roof over their heads they are strong people willing to work to keep the sense of security they may have. Even in small ways.

It takes a while to trust and hear peoples stories so this was the first time I had heard this much. And I was angry with our South African neighbors that could do this to a family. How could they be so unreasonable and accuse this man of some many things, while he works no where else and is loyal? And they know he has fewer options and are taking advantage of it.

I walked away from the conversation wanting to yell at everyone. Luckily our friend found more hope after talking it out with us and knowing someone listened. He actually told us he had more hope. We were just trying to give him any ideas we had so he knew is rights and how to record and get help for what was going on. And his daughter just keeps playing. And he walked away with his daughter going to see his life and to make a plan for their future.

And I know I cant be the one to go talk for him in business that doesn’t concern me. But I want to kick up a storm to whoever is doing this to their family. To my two year old friend. And maybe the best thing I can do is listen and talk while we pass each other by and throw the baby up in the air to make her squeal. Maybe I can help tell them their rights and offer to listen and have an open door to the family of my two year old friend, who only came to me because they we too desperate not to talk about it when they saw us. Maybe that hope and new ideas is as worth a big fight.

But thinking of that smile, I am also feeling sorry to whoever does this to others. And with so many arrangements similar to this where I live I have even more questions. But I think more and more about what it means to love my enemies in this anger. And I don’t think shouting will change this person. But how can I use love to make this change. How can I use who I am to make sure people are treated right? Not out of my anger but out of my love?

How do I love more?