Of Stars and Mud

So what is Happiness?

Is it a geographical location, is it the pleasure that good company gives, is it the warm feeling of love? Is it a prayer, a state of mind, an aspiration, the destination or the journey? I don’t know and I don’t really want to know. But I like the idea of seeking it, though, constantly, and finding bits of it, in the small things and the grand ones.

Two months ago, watching Avatar 3D (tears in my eyes, what with Leona Lewis serenading that she can SEE ME ...tear), in everyday banter with colleagues, floating on my back in the warm cocooning ocean, walking back from the office through the bustling market smelling fried chicken and roasting maize, reading a good book, going through pictures, marvelling at the marvellous marvel that my family is, God, I could go on forever about these moments when I get flashes of perfection.

Most of all, I find meaning and purpose when I am able to effect a positive change no matter how small in someone’s life be it through a compliment, taking time to listen to someone, helping solve a problem or celebrating together a victory.I value death and hardship if they are the only way to bring about the betterment of others.  I value people who spend their life trying to make the world a better place, the Obamas, the Mother Theresas, the Mandelas, my parents, my heroes. I want to emulate them.

I have been immensely fortunate to meet people who were willing to foster me, share knowledge and skill freely, patiently and in a very enjoyable manner, people who were never too scared to tell me I was wrong and messing up, people who have propped me up, pushed and pulled me.  Halfway between what I value and what I have received, I find what I am able to give. I naturally find meaning in being there fo another or at least attempting to nudge someone towards the point where they discover that they can do anything, that they have the power.I'm no piece of cake myself, God knows I am not, which is the more reason to try harder. On one such episode when I tried this is what happened.

I had a discussion with a 22 year old student about life journeys, education and following one’s passion. The discussion left me drained and despairing, because my interlocutor was either abysmally shallow (If such a thing is ever possible) or in the middle of a terrifying existential angst which she expressed through scathing cynicism in her outlook on life. Far from me to patronize but I felt I could at least try and show her the other side of the coin, that life is not that bad.

At 22, she is one of those girls who seem and probably have it all. Money, looks, a beautiful disaffected haughty attitude (Scarlet Johanson meets Paris Hilton, only black and Prettier) and maybe, just maybe she has personality (the jury’s still out on that one). She told me the only reason why she was in school was because she wanted Power; "I want power, In want to control people and things and make them do only what I want. Being powerful means people will be scared of me when they see me." They’d worship her, and they’d love her, she said.

The plan, as it stood, was to get a degree, get a job in the National Bank through Daddy and in no time achieve all those things. Wow. I have really low expectations, I thought.

“What if you don’t get the job?” I asked.

“Oh, trust me, I will” she said, looking at me like I was the only idiot left on the planet- post eradication of the said idiot tribe- for not understanding the infallibility of her plan. Now, in my humble experience, poop happens. Elephant sized poop. September 11ths, Tsunamis, cracked skulls in the shower, car crashes and Malaria. All constant reminders that life and, by extension the course of human history, is very much like that of a constantly meandering river.  Flowing, changing course, but full of surprising twists and turns, blind spots, rapids, sharp rocks, crocodiles and dams.

We survive because we can get around obstacles and not obstinately through them. We adapt or we die. Call it arrogance but I felt the responsibility to inform her of life’s little glitches (the pachyderm poop she seemed to have NO IDEA about) befell me. First, I went easy. I tried explaining that our ability to cope with a change of plans defines much of our success.

I asked her if she really meant what she said about power and if she believed that doing a degree would land her the job of Queen of the world.

Affirmative.

That’s when I started doubting her IQ level and, more so, mine for not getting it earlier.

"Do you even like the course you are doing?”

Negative

“How about happiness?"

She was quiet for a moment, taken aback, almost like I had disturbed her, dragged her out of her comfort zone which I obviously had. Then said in an acidic voice, looking as cuddly as a puff-adder, carefully spacing every word:

“Happiness has NOTHING to do with this. If I’m rich and powerful, then I’ll BE Happy.”

I had tickled a nerve evidently. She paused for a few seconds and continued clearly infuriated now, half talking to hersel:

“I am here because my parents said I should be here, because they want me to be here. This has nothing to do with Happiness I mean...(pointing at me)YOU....Old people (GASP and Clenched teeth and fists...I’m only 27 and ½ years old!) you old people think it’s so easy to just do things and be happy, I just want a degree and then money, it’s the only thing that matters to me at the moment, that matters in the world actually. You know it’s so difficult out there. Life is so hard. Coming every morning all the way through the traffic here..You have no idea”.

Parents, traffic, money, power...She was ranting. This was like chasing a hare that keeps changing direction with the obvious aim to lose its chaser. She kept going from angry, to clueless, to powerless, to lost. I decided to change tack and ask one more question;

“What’s your passion” I asked.

“I like deejaying, I want to deejay even when I have a job, in the evenings I want to deejay.” she said with a smile suddenly animated.

I told her the most successful producers in the music industry have degrees under their belt, that what made them successful was linking up knowledge they acquired in school with their passion and obvious skill. That because they loved what they did, they did it well and consequently achieved the fame and clout she was so actively seeking. I wished her luck.

I left then, quite tired by my impromptu lecture and deeply doubtful of whether it had been worth anything. I couldn’t place her problem. She had no dream or aspiration I could relate to, save for the music. She couldn’t stand her life, her parents, her country and obviously herself, if she thought people had to be coerced in order to like her. She was unhappy. Deeply unhappy, an unhappiness that stained her beauty and youth, an unhappiness of the kind that spreads like a bad smell, a fruit gone sour. Our discussion had been a completely disjointed episode which I hoped would never have a follow-up, an exchange where nothing but bad energy had gone across, hers and mine, her, cynical and me, being me in a very unhelpful way. I was tainted when I left, both by her cynicism and my inability to make her day and possibly her life better, my powerlessness in the face of the impenetrable fortress, her tower of bitterness.

How arrogant of me.

But then again, it was her problem. And I quite consciously took it on and made it my own to solve. Saviour complex, maybe.

I’m a hedonist. Unabashedly, eclectically and flamboyantly hedonistic. Make it the best wine, the coldest beer, the best fillet and company and music to match. I realise that I’ve only got one ticket to this great amazing show called life, and it is up to me to get my money’s worth, enjoy the show, learn something, do something, be someone good, be happy. The happy moments are framed in the ugly thorny bushes of the bad ones, but that contrast gives me joy and an understanding that things are actually better than they were and that things always work out, somehow. There is always a silver lining, a rolex in  the pit latrine, a mercedes at the end of the tunnel.

The lotus in Buddhism is a symbol the light and enlightenment because responds to the light of day and blooms a pristine flower but also because it grows in the darkest, murkiest waters.

I remember the tale of the two prisoners who looked through bars and one saw mud and another stars. Now, unless the one who saw stars felt he should point out the stars to his cell-mate, then the story makes very little sense to me. And not showing the stars also has another implication. Lest, I show my sister or brother the stars, their pessimism, like a cancer, might spread to me and I’ll despair as well and forget about the stars, stop seeking them, stop seeing them. I felt bad that she couldn't see the lotus bloom, only the muck.

And mud in the world, there is. The workplace has its little political snags (prevalent personality type: Passive Aggressive Anal Backstabbing two face Psychos) that are mighty unpleasant. There is suffereing in the world on a unfathomable scale. Being in Africa, one is never too far from that reality and it's a terrible thing to ignore it and excuse the french, Bitch about the small stuff, forgetting how fortunate we are. 
Uganda’s equivalent to Stonehenge went up in flames last night. Some pictures of the tragedy and the ensuing unrest and chaos are here. But this is what has been lost to us and the children of our children. Depressing and getting worse.

But on a much smaller scale, on a more personnal note, there are good news too, a friend just had a baby, I received, yesterday, three international phone calls from friends who were asking how I was and wanted to tell me how much they missed me (two of them I know for a fact can barely afford an international call), I found a place to stay (fresh salad, chilled white and grilled seafood with friends every weekend reverie) and I am healthy. I believe the Baganda will rebuild the mausoleum only bigger and better. and that makes me feel good. I’m living the moment, one second at a time.

And I’m happy.

Sister, you are beautiful and life is beautiful. Open your eyes and see the lotus and the stars. Smile a bit more, dance, learn, love, cry but stop grinding resentment and bile because in the words of Jack Nicholson: “Maybe this is as good as it gets.” The world can also be dank, and cruel and unforgiving. But I know I feel better watching the stars than staring down at the mud.