Participants Blog

Forever Changed

Last Sunday, I woke up feeling ready to go back to Canada. I will be forever grateful for all that I’ve learned about the injustice, inequality, and the world. But being exposed to the terrifying realities of injustice and neglect has left me feeling heartbroken, useless, and ultimately, burnt out. I woke up and just couldn’t picture myself doing this any longer. The pain that comes from witnessing someone suffer as a result of barriers and inequalities that are so preventable and unnecessary is just debilitating and nearly impossible to cope with. However, although that morning I felt like I had had enough, at the same time, I realized that going home would be incredibly frustrating too. It will be frustrating to process and make sense of what I have lived here, in addition to recognizing that after I leave, it is extremely likely that the injustices that nearly drive me to insanity will still remain.

Needless to say, my experience here has profoundly affected me by leaving me completely frozen and lost. The inequality that consumes the people that have entered my life in this short time is atrocious. The governmental trap that prevents these people from freely expressing their views without punishment strips them of their own voices, thus viciously reducing their potential of being mindful, intellectual, and challenging advocates of equality by dooming them to a communal life of obedience without dissent—a life filled with obligatory servitude to a king who does nothing to fend for his people. Witnessing the cultural norms that trap women into systematically inferior roles, consequently putting them at greater risks of HIV vulnerability, degradation, and abuse make it unimaginable for me, as a woman, to ever live here. Knowing that in 2002, the life expectancy in Swaziland was 61 years old and that now it is 32 just shatters me to pieces. Knowing that pregnant women with HIV refuse to access Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission services to avoid stigma from community members and family is also heartbreaking. Seeing orphans and child-headed families, seeing children take ARVs every night, and knowing that there is nothing I can do to make their lives better is debilitating…because “this is the Swazi way”.

As painful, heartbreaking, tragic, and tear-jerking as this experience has been for me, it has been extremely thought-provoking and profound. Although the challenges that I have faced here have almost always been too much for me to handle, I have been challenged like never before and my life has become that much richer for it all. I have learned so much from this experience, and to be honest, I feel like I have been on two different learning paths. The first one consists of my exposure to the multi-faceted inequalities that exist here. Every conversation and encounter that I have had, although they have left me feeling hopeless and filled me with despair, have turned the flame inside of me into a full-blown fire. I have never been more motivated in my life to dedicate everything I have to help the marginalized people in our world. And no, I’m not going to help everyone. No, I can’t “save” the world. No, I can’t eradicate poverty and injustice. But I can do everything in my power to help as many people as I can. Being a witness to this injustice has further inspired me to make better use of my life and my time so that my presence can positively impact those who are suffering…so that I can share the burdensome pain that so many people must endure alone. I won’t tolerate it anymore. As long as I have the power to inflict change and alleviate pain, I will. Because I can’t sit around and watch people die alone, without any love or attention anymore. I’ve had enough.

The second path of discovery is all about human connection, openness, and as Jean Vanier would put it, vulnerability. In this respect, I have learned more than I could have ever imagined about human connection, the importance of vulnerability and being open, and that it’s okay to show “weakness” and a need for others. It’s okay not to be strong all the time and it’s okay to depend on people. It’s okay to fall apart and to not be so composed and held together. Although I cannot pinpoint one specific experience that has revealed this to me, I can think of one instance where I was, by my old standards, “weak”. I was reading in my room one night when a giant cockroach-like shadow appeared on the wall. Saying that I despise insects is an understatement. Anyway, when I found out that there was a cockroach in my room, I, in fear, called my eighteen-year old host sister right away. She heard the fear in my voice and asked me what had happened. When I told her, she began a quest to try and find the cockroach so that she could kill it. But it had crawled underneath an extremely heavy dresser in my room. I watched her as she attempted to alleviate my fear, and felt extremely uncomfortable just being in the room after she told me that she couldn’t get it. She saw the fear in my eyes as she told me the news and then asked me “do you want me to sleep in your room tonight?” Without question, I said yes. I could not believe how dependent I was at that moment. I could not believe that I, a twenty year old woman, needed an eighteen year old girl to sleep by my side because I was scared of a bug. It still blows my mind. And since this happened only a few days after moving in with my host family, I was even more reluctant to show vulnerability because I just wanted to be strong, like I was in Canada. But there is something so beautiful about human dependency and interaction…about having someone in your life who will help you with anything, no matter how mundane the task. To know that there are people in your life that you can fully depend on for anything, without judgment, is extremely liberating and human. It was from that moment on that I had started becoming human because I finally recognized the importance of human connection and dependence. Many people in Canada see dependency a sign of weakness and incapability, and are so focused on creating an illusion to prove to others that they are composed and strong. Living here, I have realized that living this way is a form of self-inflicted torture. Torture because there is so much to hold back and to be conscious of. It’s like you need to be composed to trick other people into believing that you are okay…to hide from people the eruptive chaos that might be constantly hidden but still so active in your mind. We’ve only got one life, so why waste it pretending? Why not embrace the human emotions with which we’re all blessed? What’s the harm in expressing anger, fear, pain, anguish, and sadness? Why can’t we share these things with others? Don’t these emotions make life rich and worthwhile? And why are they seen as weaknesses? If anything, it takes more strength to express fear and sadness…to let someone into your vulnerable soul and to share a depth of yourself that only you know and feel. So what if it crushes the “strong, powerful” image that people assign to you…why waste a life time trying to affirm the views that other people hold for you? I don’t want to be seen as this strong person anymore…just a person who has strong moments (and weak ones too). I want people to see me as the human being that I am—a person who embraces her emotions and values her life and the lives of others. I’m tired of being seen as the valedictorian, or prom queen, or the U of T student. These qualities do not define me anymore. I’m sick of feeling like I need to be strong and tough.

Intercordia has given me a new light and, in a sense, a new life. What I mean is this: I have learned to sing here. My voice hasn’t gotten any better since I left Canada. I’ve just lost the need to be so careful about my image and reputation. It all started with Gogo. Although she was fully abandoned by everything and everyone, she freed me. Without saying a single word, by listening to my song, she showed me how to live my life. I hope my music brought joy to her. Although it was so painful to be in her presence, I visited her anyway. Although I don’t have a good singing voice, I sang anyway. And now, when I sing, I feel free. I have become ignorant to the judgment that other people may have for me when I sing. People may see this random white girl walking along the dirt road singing like no one’s listening and think I’m crazy. But I’ll just keep singing and know that it’s those people who observe and do not feel comfortable enough with themselves to let loose that are crazy. Crazy for willingly suppressing their own desires, may it be to sing or to do anything else. Crazy for wasting away their lives by looking at me and judging. But I guess that either way, in the end, we’re all crazy. And depending on how we look at it, those who don’t sing may seem even more insane. In the end, it’s up to us to decide what’s worse: looking crazy and letting go, or going crazy by never giving yourself the opportunity to let go. Before Gogo, all I knew was that “most people die with their music still locked up inside of them”. All I know now is that because of Gogo, I will never be one of those people.

-Tania Lukacsovics, Swaziland