Backseat drivers

This week, I have spent a fair amount of time behind the wheel. Tuesday, I blasted through town on errands for the Water Board, Mbalanguzi Renovation Project, Beit Housing Project, overdue accounts, etc. all while trying to keep track of 3 other people and where they needed to go. Wednesday, I bounced all the way to Mbalanguzi clinic (it's 25 km into the bush) and to the airport. Today, I was just a chauffeur. On Tuesday, Ed complimented me by saying I appeared to know my way around town quite well. However, Cristy asked me to take her some places in town today, very few of which I knew. I turned to her and asked, "Would you like to drive?" (this came out a bit brash even though it was supposed to be jest, pepani amai). She joked that she was content to be a backseat driver and we left it at that.

Why do we have backseat drivers? Some, such as myself, are control freaks. We can't risk our fate to the hands of others, even if our skills are inferior. A few people earnestly believe they are better at driving than whoever is actually driving. A generous dose of criticism occasionally follows, the constructive-ness can be debated. I like to think of a third group as lab rat technicians. They will happily provide helpful suggestions (turn right, change lanes, etc.) even if it's a little bit late. Otherwise, they are content to sit back, watch what happens, and come to conclusions. Occasionally, these are then proclaimed for all to hear. Finally, there are the people who are simply accustomed to driving a different way (slower/faster, aggressive/defensive, granny style/videogame tutored, male college dropout with a street racer and a sound system worth more than his house-style) and comment. But does backseat driving still qualify as such if the driver never hears it?

This week has been exceptionally frustrating, for a menagerie of reasons. There were many times when I wanted to turn to someone and say, "Since you think you can do a better job, here you go!" I see technical shortcomings around the hospital, although more often than not the problems find me. Beyond what is officially given to me are more general issues. Typically and thankfully, I'm not directly involved, but rarely do I lack an opinion. I may think "Yes, he's right", "No, that's not wasteful", "Uh oh, she is showing her knees (here, women showing their knees is considered indecent)", or "That pear bread is delicious." But is it helpful to have an opinion? Should I stick my nose where people haven't requested it be stuck? Is an outside viewpoint going to be helpful? Does playing the devil's advocate make one a heathen, a heretic, or a criminal? My goal for the week is to be less condescending (whether verbally or mentally) to people's faces and less of a flibbertigibbet behind them.

Habits

I love Nutella! Plain and simple. Absolutely anything goes with Nutella. Somethings mesh a little better than other. For instance, mangoes, bananas, and bread are better with a dab (read: glob) than tomatoes. Strangely enough, I hadn't eaten Nutella before coming to Africa, a massive mistake (and perhaps a healthier one). It has become part of my diet, a taste from home or, in this case, a reminder of it. It's things like Nutella, GPS, and driving that remind me of what I was once a member.

Another thing I have noticed is how I speak. To prevent confusion, I use some words such as chips and petrol instead of french fries and gas. The words are of much less importance than the way they are said. In order to be sure someone understands, I try to speak as clearly as possible. This often means spending more time enunciating at the expense of speed. A couple days ago, while sitting in her kitchen, Cristy offered me a hot drink. I replied, "Oh thanks, I will get it myself so I can do a little something something to it" (meaning "make it the way I like it"). In America, "little something something" is pronounced "lil' sum'n sum'n" and more mumbled than spoken. However, I had unintentionally enunciated each syllable. Cristy, being American and familiar with such phrases, turned towards me, gave me this look of "I can't believe you just said that", and laughed.

It's odd the things we bring with us, what is left at home, and what is acquired along the way. I brought clothes from home, clothes familiar to me. They were comfortable because they fit my body, my budget, and my image of myself. Those clothes are still with me although they have suffered long and have aged considerably. Likewise, I brought the "I know, therefore I do. Now I'm done, good-bye" mentality. Western society was like a house key: you don't think about it until you need to get into your own quiet place that feels secure. Many things stayed at home: grilled veggie burgers, well-paved roads to wherever I needed to go, reliable internet, and a scolding hot shower. Occasionally, life teases me and reminds me of America. But what I like the most is what's been acquired along the way (excluding some viruses and the such): appreciation of labor that doesn't require paperwork or a desk, a new-found respect for the simple act of communion, an amalgamation of what I liked about my culture with what I like about this one, just to name a few. Although I, in the somewhat distant future, may ingest copious quantities of Nutella from the comfort of the parents' sofa, I don't want to forget the things gained, the things which don't require a suitcase.