Peace In My Garden...For a Moment

The day after my landlord’s family moved out I found myself completely alone in my compound for the first time.  There were a couple weeks earlier this year when the family only had one girl helping around the house, and when she went to school I would be alone, but I was always expecting someone to show up any minute.  This time I was alone.  No one was coming or going.  I locked the gate from the inside and wasn’t expecting any visitors.

What do you do with a whole compound to yourself? I wondered.  I’ve had countless ideas throughout the past year and a half about things I would love to do if I were alone in my compound, but all of a sudden none of them were coming to mind.  I realized that I wasn’t just alone, I was lonely.

I found myself strolling around my compound trying to think of something to fill my Sunday afternoon.  That’s when I grabbed a shovel, headed to the front yard and started digging.  I think I took my inspiration from Barbara Kingsolver, the author of two of my recent reads.  My life fits in somewhere between The Poisonwood Bible and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle although far less extreme than either.  The latter has been one of my favorite reads so far (highly recommended) and had me hoping for just a moment that my mother’s green thumb didn’t reach a genetic dead-end with me like I thought.

Several hours later, I’d tilled an L-shaped bed in the corner of my small yard, putting that permaculture training from last year to use for the first time.  I felt so accomplished with myself, as if I’d truly been able to push loneliness out of my compound with a little gardening.  I walked around the corner of the big house into view of the door of my house and realized that I’ll never truly be alone. No, I’m not being sappy, I mean I literally can never be alone because the landlord left his mama and baby cow to live on my compound (and a guy comes by to tend for them daily).  My first lesson of living alone: never leave the door open and house unattended.

The baby cow stood in my doorway munching on my bag of tomatoes and I swear he was snickering at me.  I entered my house to find a disaster area that must have taken the cow over an hour to meticulously destroy.  In a nutshell, the majority of the mess came from him eating a bag of flour I had on my counter and then traipsing around my house leaving flour-drool all over the place. After quickly sweeping a pile of flour into my trashcan (the drool clean-up would take hours later on). Venturing into the backyard to empty my trash bucket, I was so livid that I swung the bucket to hit the cow and managed to crack my bucket.  Oops.

In one afternoon I revisited every high and low of the Peace Corps emotional roller coaster.  All in a day’s work, I figure.  At the end of the day though, I have a garden growing and while my hatred for the baby cow is also growing, I am learning to live with the cattle.  I also just found out that I will be allowed to move into the big house on my compound (which my landlord just vacated) as soon as we return from a “training” down south next week!  Hooray for triple the living space!