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amalthyaSaturday 7:32 pm
For the first time, I cried tonight at the thought of leaving the chimps. I was sitting outside with Okeysha and Etaito, and he was calming down since Liz, the new toy, had gone into the house and was no longer around to torment.
It was dusk, the sky blue with twilight, and the lights of the radio tower next door were just flickering on, red and bright. Okeysha was already falling asleep, and Kanabiro was sprawled across my shins.
Etaito was sitting in the crook of my left arm, and as I looked down, he twitched his mouth, making his "tired" face, reached up his arms around my neck and pulled himself closer to me, nuzzling himself into my armpit and pressing his face tightly into my breast.
I looked into his little face as he looked into mine -- so trusting, so "loving" if I even dare to assign such a weighted verb...
I could not imagine not seeing his face again. Or feeling him pressed into my chest. Or even having my jeans covered with a slobbery mixture of powdered milk and cerelac (a sort of formula) from Okeysha's messy bottle-eating.
I felt so at ease, and so happy, and I'll admit that, after extended periods of time with only chimpanzees, it does feel strange having to revert to all-verbalized conversation forms. A look, a touch (of cotton?) ... each thing means so much, and having the chimpanzees share that with me is something that, until now, I've somehow foolishly undervalued.
Do I feel silly for crying tonight? Sure. And part of it is certainly guilt. There's this unspoken covenant -- Trust me, love me, I'm like a mother, and I'll take care of you. Let down your boundaries, pose for silly pictures with me, and most importantly, rely on me enough to include me in your family and come to me for comfort and support.
So to be leaving that? Breaking that covenant, that bond? It makes me feel, if I'm honest, like a bit of a fraud. Obviously I'm not arrogant enough to think that the chimps will never be the same. But I know enough to have seen how the chimpanzees have been affected by the exit of other caregivers. Etaito has been mad at me if I've been gone for several days.
And I put it upon myself to somehow "add" to their lives, and I think I've succeeded. The offshoot to that idea is that, by leaving, I remove that "personal enrichment" ...
Debby is thinking of sending me back to work with Liz in Bukavu, once we move these chimps to a proper sanctuary. Sure, it's a little less secure (what color is that? Mauve?) but the idea that Monday will not be the last time I see these chimpanzees is incredibly comforting. Of course there always has to be a line... I can't sacrifice all of my life to stay here and take care of them -- it's thankless work and I've seen its evidence firsthand, and it's not "what I want from life"... whatever that may eventually back.
I guess the point is that I'm feeling the weight of my exit, and despite my improved mood these past few days since my utter breakdown, the Exit From Goma is not as entirely happy as I perceived in my fretting that it might be.
Either way, having this experience has been incredible. And from this point on, I'm going to be thankful every moment that I've had it.
For the first time, I cried tonight at the thought of leaving the chimps. I was sitting outside with Okeysha and Etaito, and he was calming down since Liz, the new toy, had gone into the house and was no longer around to torment.
It was dusk, the sky blue with twilight, and the lights of the radio tower next door were just flickering on, red and bright. Okeysha was already falling asleep, and Kanabiro was sprawled across my shins.
Etaito was sitting in the crook of my left arm, and as I looked down, he twitched his mouth, making his "tired" face, reached up his arms around my neck and pulled himself closer to me, nuzzling himself into my armpit and pressing his face tightly into my breast.
I looked into his little face as he looked into mine -- so trusting, so "loving" if I even dare to assign such a weighted verb...
I could not imagine not seeing his face again. Or feeling him pressed into my chest. Or even having my jeans covered with a slobbery mixture of powdered milk and cerelac (a sort of formula) from Okeysha's messy bottle-eating.
I felt so at ease, and so happy, and I'll admit that, after extended periods of time with only chimpanzees, it does feel strange having to revert to all-verbalized conversation forms. A look, a touch (of cotton?) ... each thing means so much, and having the chimpanzees share that with me is something that, until now, I've somehow foolishly undervalued.
Do I feel silly for crying tonight? Sure. And part of it is certainly guilt. There's this unspoken covenant -- Trust me, love me, I'm like a mother, and I'll take care of you. Let down your boundaries, pose for silly pictures with me, and most importantly, rely on me enough to include me in your family and come to me for comfort and support.
So to be leaving that? Breaking that covenant, that bond? It makes me feel, if I'm honest, like a bit of a fraud. Obviously I'm not arrogant enough to think that the chimps will never be the same. But I know enough to have seen how the chimpanzees have been affected by the exit of other caregivers. Etaito has been mad at me if I've been gone for several days.
And I put it upon myself to somehow "add" to their lives, and I think I've succeeded. The offshoot to that idea is that, by leaving, I remove that "personal enrichment" ...
Debby is thinking of sending me back to work with Liz in Bukavu, once we move these chimps to a proper sanctuary. Sure, it's a little less secure (what color is that? Mauve?) but the idea that Monday will not be the last time I see these chimpanzees is incredibly comforting. Of course there always has to be a line... I can't sacrifice all of my life to stay here and take care of them -- it's thankless work and I've seen its evidence firsthand, and it's not "what I want from life"... whatever that may eventually back.
I guess the point is that I'm feeling the weight of my exit, and despite my improved mood these past few days since my utter breakdown, the Exit From Goma is not as entirely happy as I perceived in my fretting that it might be.
Either way, having this experience has been incredible. And from this point on, I'm going to be thankful every moment that I've had it.
