Hard Things

What’s the hardest thing about not driving a car, being a walking facet of the environment, and relying on the community? It’s not the loss of spontaneity, options in an emergency, independence, convenience, comfort, or dignity (although those are all true). It is living life on display. It is the inability to cry in private. Crying in public is a humiliation that is amplified by the fact that it is culturally taboo (not just awkward, like in America). But what can I do? I'm not a happy or sad crier. I cry when I'm frustrated, and I can't get angry at anyone or escape anywhere to be alone. If work is terrible and I’m asked to do things that make no sense at all or that I consider unethical, but that I am not allowed to ask questions about; if I spend the morning wading through bureaucracy, power trips, and corruption; if young men shout observations about my body and small children shout “Lekgoa!” at their friends when I pass; if coworkers remind me that I’ve gotten very fat and my face is ugly and old looking; if people mock me, interrupt me, laugh at me, and it all gets to be too much....I can’t just bawl on my way home.

Here’s what crying does when you’re in public. It’s hot. Crying makes you hotter and more dehydrated. It draws attention (which I have more than enough of already). It attracts flies. So many flies- the hyperactive, dive-bombing, masemo flies. It makes it very hard to look anyone in the eye and greet him or her the way you’re supposed to, which further strips your dignity. As a friend once told me, “I only cry in the rainy season so no one can see the tears.”