heartless

I spent this morning at one of the district hospitals with a friend, Q, and Q's friend, Z. Q had been concerned about Z's health, and had recently surmised that Z was: 1) HIV+; 2) suffering from another uncontrolled, unrelated, chronic debilitatingly-painful condition.

Q recently learned that Z had begun HAART (highly active anti-retroviral treatment), but Z wasn't admitting to much, and was, frankly, suffering from problem #2 far more than #1.

Q had asked me for some advice yesterday, which I'd readlily given. I showed up this morning at the hospital, where Z had an appointment, partly to see if I could help, partly out of research interest.

But this is the thing: Q has a personal relationship with Z. Q and Z are friends. I'm friends with Q; I only met Z today. I was there to help Z and Q, but I still had my research hat on. And it's hard to feel oneself moving in between personal relationships and research interests. But part of the reason I could be of any help whatsoever today is because of my research. I can help Q help Z navigate the system and decode all of the medical jargon because I've been studying the system for more than a year now.

Nevertheless, it's hard not to feel like something of a heartless wretch about my position in all this. I kept talking to Q, putting the conditions of Z's suffering and treatment (or lack thereof) in context, in a never-ending game of OK, but let's also consider that... I couldn't let it be about (or let myself get angry about) simply uncaring doctors, or simply unavailable medications, or simply anything -- not even simply one person's physical agony. What kind of demon am I?

It's hard to feel myself being something other than irate about Z's suffering -- or, better, something in addition to irate about Z's suffering. I don't want Z to suffer, but I'm also seeing that suffering as part of a larger system that I'm trying to understand. But my distance, this in addition to, troubles me. Like my affect is out of alignment. Like I must be an immoral creature to do what I do.

One of my advisors once said that anthropology is necessarily subversive. She's a smart lady and she's probably right, but that seems like rather cold comfort right now.

my new year's resolutions

There aren't many, but I think they're worth noting:

1. Stop beating myself up about my research.
2. When #1 simply cannot be helped, worry about quality of data, not quantity.
3. Travel more around Botswana.
4. Travel more around the region to places I haven't been yet (e.g., Mozambique, Namibia, East Africa).
5. Use my plasticity for good, not evil.
6. Relax more.
7. Write more.
8. Stop beating myself up about my research.

There are really only seven, but I thought the first one was worth reiterating.

resurrection ship

Hello again, and Happy New Year.

I'm sitting in Gabs after a month's absence. The Equatorial Coffee Co. at Riverwalk (the nearest mall) has undergone some serious re-decoration, and now sports wireless in addition to orange paint and leather couches. There's a new Portuguese restaurant, I'm told. And it has rained. Gabs is ridiculously green (though that's a relative epithet). And it's hot. Quite toasty, actually, and humid. I'm not one to complain of heat, but after a month of North American winter, my body's a bit confused.

As confused as my body might be, it's nothing compared to my poor mind. Being in the U.S. -- in Metropolis X, in particular -- was like waking up from the most realistic of dreams. Going to and from Botswana isn't traveling. Traveling implies some sort of slow, transitional passage through a varied landscape. This is more like a hallucinatory state. Movement is scary, and sudden, and thoroughly disorienting. I have an entire world in Metropolis X that I had largely put out of mind over the past year and a half. By world here I mean not just places and people I know, but trajectories, goals, objectives towards which I am supposedly working that are founded on assumptions I and others make about what I am doing now, and what I am doing next.

Holding the one in my mind while I'm in the other is very, very hard. I had been in the U.S. for only a few days when I met up with an American colleague I know from Botswana. She asked after M, a mutual friend, and it took me minutes of struggle to figure out who she was talking about. I had seen M fairly recently, but my frame of reference had made my life in Botswana so remote in my consciousness that it frightened me.

While it was exhilarating to find my world in Metropolis X, it was also bewildering, because I didn't remember how it worked. It's hard to describe this feeling, but it's something akin to walking into a house after not having lived in it for years, and reaching out only to realize that you no longer possess the embodied memory of the light switch's location.

And as unreal as Metropolis X felt at times, Botswana now feels. I think I will be OK when I get back to work, but the past three days of jet-lag compounded by stomach flu are compounding the question in my mind, Do I really need to be here? After months of panicking that I had no data, I found myself at the conference in DC realizing, I could throw the towel in right now and be fine. But I'm here, and I might as well make good use of it. I just need some time to re-adjust.