The Rollercoaster

You have good days and bad days, people always say. Well here, it’s more like good hours and bad hours. There are hardly any days that are completely good, but on the other hand there aren’t too many days that are all bad. One of the highlights of my experience here has been working with the scholarship students at the high school in Cazenga. Friday was my last day with them so we had a little party and watched a movie. About halfway through the movie, the sky turned an ominous dark gray. Minutes later, it started to downpour. Immediately, I thought to myself, “oh shit.” The roads in Cazenga are all dirt, and even though it is only a few miles from the Embassy, it takes about 45 minutes to get out of there, and that’s on a good day. Even a light rain transforms the streets into a muddy nightmare. My boss texted me with: You better get out of there now! We had to cut our party short, but not before the students presented me with a beautiful gift and a heartfelt letter. As the student read it aloud, I could feel the emotions coming to the surface. I started to think that maybe I had made some small difference here and I for that I am proud. Maybe these kids will work just a little harder or have some hope in the future because I took an interest in them. I want them to know that I hope with all my heart that someday their lives won’t be quite so hard. 

As I left the school and made a run for the car in the pouring rain, for the first time, I felt sad about leaving Angola. That feeling didn't last very long, however. Bumper to bumper traffic has a way of replacing the warm and fuzzies with anxiety and nausea. It took about an hour and a half to get to my office, which wasn't too bad considering the roads looked like this:

I arrived at my deserted office. I assumed that no one would come to work due to the weather, but I went anyway since I was supposed to submit my final grades to the department. I had also scheduled several appointments with students who had missed their exams for one reason or another. They also didn't show up. Again, not shocking. When I finally admitted to myself that there was no possibility of accomplishing my goals for the day, I called the driver and asked him to pick me up at the university. I told him to come to the back entrance since the parking lot looked like this: 

He said that he would be there in "10 minutes," which in Angolan terms could mean anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour. Sure enough, about 40 minutes later he calls me and says he's outside. I gather my things and head downstairs, but I don't see him at the back, so I go around to the parking lot, but he is not there either. I call him and ask where he is. "I'm here. At the Embassy." I almost lost it. At this point, the entire city is one big traffic jam so I know it will take another hour for him to come pick me up and then God only knows how long it will take to get home. The fact that it is so incredibly difficult to expect a person to show up at a specific time and place never ceases to amaze me. For the second time that day, I felt the warm sensation of tears, but this time it was due to anger and frustration, rather than joy and nostalgia. This can't be  healthy. I have to get out of here. After hanging up the phone, I went back upstairs to my office, ripped open my bag, and took out the letter. I took a few deep breaths, sat down, and just waited. At least now, when I am having a bad moment, I have this: