I think I might be getting somewhere.

Time goes and nothing happens. My mind wanders back to easier times, times when it wasn’t so hard. Sometimes I read page after page of my thesaurus searching for words in my native tongue to describe to myself the way that I feel. But these are Fula times, I should be resorting to my dictionary of foreign terms. Sometimes I feel more nourished by the plants that died without ever being harvested, without seeing it through. Am I like this? Are these Kurtzian days and Quixotic nights food grown for the soul? I wanted to taste that papaya because it would’ve been the best one I’ve ever grown.

Time stands still and everything becomes. Sometimes I get so bored. I’ve spent these past weeks trying to feel better about the direction things have gone. Today, I should feel better because now things have gone finally. Relieved or proud or somehow personally rewarded by some small victory. But in this kind of life, is there any step forward that isn’t a step backward? And I run the risk of taking too personally these stumbling lurches.

But nowhere do they say that you have to be successful as you do these things. Just that you ought to try. And I’ve been trying, honest I have. This is not the first garden I’ve planted that I didn’t get to harvest. I’ve planted a garden of seeds that I’ve planted even as I knew when I planted them I’d never see them grow.

Fortunately I’m not alone through this. I’ve been kept company in that garden by people who have listened well, commented smartly, and inspired me to believe in myself. It’s easy; we all keep finding ourselves in these existential processes. Stories and songs hold us up. We agree with one another, this is not easy.

The three Goals of Peace Corps: Provide technical assistance to people who want it. Let Gambians get to know an American. Let Americans know what it’s like to live in a place not America.

Why do I feel like I’m not doing any of these things? Why have I been feeling like I’m failing? Sometimes I don’t give this credit for how hard it really is. Sometimes I feel like I don’t understand a single word that is spoken to me. Sometimes I find myself shouting just to be able to hear myself.

I’m working though, I’m really still at it. And I think I might be getting somewhere. This place is getting hot, dusty. I remember this. I think I might be getting somewhere.