Durban, Pt. 2

Sorry, y'all. This one was a long time coming, but with the holidays and getting the older kids back off to school and hanging out with my beautiful pig, there's been a lot going on. This post is less about Durban and more about my experiencing Durban. I didn't really want to write this one, but I figure that's likely why I should write it.

Durban North is a very beautiful, very affluent suburb, and that's where I spent the week before Christmas. There were lots of people of a variety of different races and backgrounds: white people, people of Indian descent, black people. They were all there. This is different from Musanze because I am one of maybe 30 white people who live in this town (as well as a decent number of Koreans). That's not bad, but the novelty of seeing a white person has not worn off. I've probably written this before, but when I go for a run, I hear one of three things from everyone I pass, "Muzungu!" "Good Morning!" "Give me money!" The first few times, these greeting seem kind and I felt like a celebrity and, hey, as long as they were just talking and not then following me on my run, I was relatively unruffled. But the novelty still hasn't worn off. I am not anonymous, and I never will be anonymous. I enjoy a bit of attention as much as the next person from time to time, but I would give anything to be able to move around unnoticed, not a beacon of white skin and straight hair. In Durban, I ran for a full 40 minutes out from the house and back and no one said a single word to me, no one hissed at me, no one followed me. I loved it, and I resented the fact that I had to go back somewhere where I wouldn't be able to do that.

I went to a mall in Durban and got a haircut and a pedicure. I was wearing shorts and drinking ice cold water while someone massaged my feet. This is a level of pampering that I have not experienced in the past six months, and I felt like I had failed myself on some level that I was enjoying the familiarity and the comfort of even just being in a mall. I saw women in cute dresses and frowned down at the same one of ten shirts I've been wearing for the past six months. Meanwhile, my inner monologue is going: "You are being vain and spoiled and ridiculous. You are just fine." Again, I like to think I'm really hardcore, but this Western lifestyle is really doing it for me.

If you know me, you know that I have a tendency to be pretty hard on myself. The good news is that I am just fine. I do love living in Ruhengeri, and I don't spend hours pining after the comforts of home (ok, I really do wish I could run and have no one notice me).  So, why did I feel so guilty being comfortable? Maybe the lack and poverty of the people I see around my house is fairly overwhelming. Maybe I somehow got the notion into my head that asceticism and self-denial are the only way to serve God. Maybe I realize that even if I had my full wardrobe of clothes to choose from, I would likely still be wearing the same ten t-shirts. It's probably a combination of all those things.

Thankfully, Jess was there to listen and talk it out with me. The truth is it's ok that I like feeling comfortable. God has blessed me abundantly, and I don't think that He intends me to be guilty in the midst of that blessing (I mean, I don't really know because He is God and I'm not, but I'm just spitballin' here). He of course wants me to be mindful of my blessings and work to share that with others, but not to reject it all. It's ok that I prefer to move around unnoticed. It's ok that it's exhausting to be constantly called after. It's ok that I'm tired of wearing the same clothes. It's ok that being in Ruhengeri stresses me out from time to time. It's ok that I liked being n Durban because it looked and felt that much more like home. That's what we call a comfort zone. The real problem is when I get so attached to those things that I refuse to leave the comfort zone.

So, as long as you will help me make sure that I never get too stuck in my comforts, I think I'll live this life pretty okay.