Chutney

I lost the chutney! Thursday I went shopping with the money my dad gave me after he dropped me off after work at the shop (I will refrain from using Americanism such as the grocery store, why should I assume I am writing for an American audience?) I bought chutney and other foodstuffs, only to find out today that the chutney is nowhere to be found. I searched high and low and I am sure it is not in my house. The chutney is gone and I never even tasted it. I wonder where that bottle filled with chunks of boiled peaches and sugar is? The famous Indian condiment, known as Mrs Balls Chutney is not part of our household. Never have I felt so bitter about losing a food item. Perhaps it is because I bought it, as part of the groceries I was supposed to by and by losing it I have be found to be irresponsible. But this fixation on chutney is not typical of me.

When I left Princeton, I left a world of material possessions behind me. Clothes, yoga mats, sleeping bags and even books were just given away. There was a catharsis of renewal that I experienced during those hours after graduation, whereby I forbade myself to hold on and care about the material. Now why am I so concerned about this chutney?

I should detach myself from the material and dedicate myself to worthy ends. The mobilization of the youth at my parish to volunteer is about to come to fruition when we go to a home for AIDS orphans called "Baby Haven" in a poor part of Windhoek next Saturday. Weeks of negotiations between myself, the students of the Holy confirmation and the teachers have allowed us to finally take action in our community. In addition, in November, the students in the first year Holy Confirmation are planning to go to Catholic AIDS Action, which is the project I have nurtured since early in the summer ( or fall in the US). Today I went for my meeting for the planned visit to Baby Haven so as to ensure the students are organized and inspired to volunteer next week. Logistics were planned and I encouraged them by speaking about how every fifth child in Namibia is an AIDS orphan, a dubious statistic that I learnt at Princeton during the day we wore our Orphan T-shirts. I was wearing mine as I spoke to the kids and told them about our campaign to sensitize the Princeton Campus about HIV. I am supposed to be African and so I am supposed to survive on little and understand that life is a struggle. On the other hand, I spoke to the students, all of whom are teenagers, as if I was an American volunteer, refering to them as "guys" and leaving my number and email in case they had any ideas about fun games for the event. Notwithstanding my American behavior, there were certain Namibian phrases such as "zula" which means "hustle" that I used to convey to them my message. I want them to raise funds to purchase gifts to the "Baby Haven", most of which will be in food.

Food is scrumptious and I had a full lunch before leaving to the Church, though it mean I was a few minutes late. Luckily for me, they were also late in starting. Nevertheless, why am I not dedicated enough to just run up and go to the Church, no matter what, whether I have eaten or not? What is the basis of my work? Is it pure motivation or do I need to be comfortable to effect my projects. I remember that Socrates in the Phaedo by Plato spoke about the meaning of life: He said that humans must strive to rid themselves of the slavery of the body's desires and thereby liberate the soul to contemplate knowledge, life, the universe and everthing (as Douglas Adams says). Somehow, I cannot achieve this state of the ascetic and live for holy, higher ends.

The reason that I am angry at myself is not because I lost the Chutneay. The truth is that I am searching for my role after graduation and I cannot seem to situate myself. I am caught between the need to work for the greater good and the desire to life a regular life of materialistic consumption. It is possible that is this tension between these poles of my existence that keeps me going.