Final final newsletter (Home in the US)
December 5, 1999
Hello everybody, and happy holidays!
I’m certainly grateful for many things this holiday. I’m grateful for the chance to be with my family after many years of separation. I’m grateful for the experiences I’ve had in Guinea – the many kindnesses and the many hardships. I’m grateful for my life. And I’m grateful for my future, which might be a little cheeky, but I really am excited about what lies ahead for me. Even more important, I’m grateful for all my family and friends in a deeper way than ever before. Thank you, all of you, for being in my life. Thank you for what you have taught me. Thank you.
Most of you received my newsletters while I was in Guinea. I guess I shouldn’t stop now! So, consider this Newsletter #1 from the field: Encountering America. Being back has been good, for the most part. I’ve been so happy to see people again, to drink real coffee, eat bagels and cream cheese, pick up the phone and get a dial tone, sleep on a good mattress, not sweat from my kneecaps, and speak english, that I haven’t really thought too much about the place I left. It takes a while to miss places.
I got a letter from the head of the Health Center where I worked, Mr. Diaby, and he had generally good news about the projects we’d done together. The best news was that there was a baby girl born at the health post that we built together. Before I left, the health post was christened "Poste de Sante de Stephanie Chasteen". The baby that was born there was named Stephanie. So, I now have a "homonyme" in my village. I sent her some baby clothes, and sent some pictures to my friends there, as well.
And that’s what I miss most about Guinea. I miss the connections. I miss being part of a great web of relationships (I talk about this in the end of my last newsletter). I miss spending hours
sitting and drinking tea in the marketplace, talking with people. I miss the fact that spending such time just sitting with people was important, not a waste of time. I miss shaking everybody’s hand. I miss the people’s resilience, and how much slack they cut me (although I didn’t always realize it at the time).
Guinea’s not better than the U.S., nor vice versa. I certainly don’t miss the despicably lazy public officials, their sneering glances, their corruptness. I don’t miss the people that could be so nasty to me, just because I was not one of them. I don’t miss the dust that crept in the doorways, the heat that sucked my life out of me, the little kids that wouldn’t go away. I don’t miss having my worth judged by my age, gender, and lack of a husband, rather than my intelligence and creativity. I don’t miss the phones, the taxis (well, sometimes), the sicknesses, the feelings of loneliness.
And we have such nice customs here, too. I was decorating the tree with mom yesterday. What a nice custom! I knew that, though it would seem strange to them, Guineans would appreciate this custom. I remember when I celebrated my birthday with some friends there. I explained the whole ritual – 26 candles for 26 years, and if I blow them all out, I get a wish. It sounded just as silly as a lot of their rituals sounded to me. How interesting! Yet, they appreciated and respected the ritual, as well as the whole ritual of celebrating a birthday (something they don’t do). The old midwife wished me good health for the next year, and thanked me for coming to live with them. I led them in a ear-splitting rendition of "Bonne Anniversaire (Happy Birthday)". It was good.
Like scissors, Guinea snipped out the America in me and left what was most purely "me". Yet, I’m glad to come back to the trappings of my culture, put them on like an old jeans jacket. You can visit someplace and see your own home more clearly. It’s stimulating, and invaluable, but tiring. I’m glad to be here. I’m glad to decorate our tree. I’m happy to hear folk music. And I will do my best to keep the little bits of Guinea that I cherish alive in my life. Like community.
Merry Christmas to you, my friends and family, and I wish you peace, good luck, and happiness for the next year, and beyond.
On jaraama,
Stephanie