I’m so tired. It’s been a full week of such immersion into my two Ugandan families of Girl Up and the family I’m staying with. It’s been enlivening and exhausting. All I want to do is sleep.
I return to the house where Annette is carrying a chicken towards the cooking kitchen… guess what’s for supper? I tell her I would offer to help and yet I’m so tired I need to go rest.
I’m the kind of tired that’s almost painful so I lay down and start to fall asleep when I hear a knock on the door. It’s Annette. Dinner is ready. (It’s awhile later… it takes time to butcher and cook a chicken.) I stand in the doorway telling her I’m so tired I’m just going to go to sleep. She looks at me like my words just don’t register. Those brown eyes penetrating me with the unspoken words of, ‘What are you talking about?’ She has killed one of her chickens for me, to serve me, her guest, a special dinner, so that I don’t have to have beans again and instead can dine on fresh meat. How could I possibly refuse?
My stubborn independent egoic self wants to say, ‘But I didn’t ask you to do that for me. I like beans. And I’m not even really hungry. And I just want to do my own thing.’
But instead, I summon up every little ounce of energy I have, stand up a bit taller and say, “I’ll be over right away.”