Life In Cabinda

I’ve been interred here in Angola for quite some time now. At least, it feels that way, like I’m sitting in my tomb, waiting on the elliptical motion of the earth to align a new window of freedom. A quick escape back into modern society where I can enjoy all the things I take for granted. As I sit secluded in my vault, I’ve had some time to ponder. I mean ponder in the truest sense of the term, deeply and thoroughly, almost meditative, and, in the dark blank recesses of my mind, I have discovered two immutable facts about myself.

The first is I would do very well in prison, or the current brand of dystopian future outlined in science fiction novels. Perhaps, I would also make quite the proficient Genie in a bottle. Although to be fair, I haven’t followed up on what life inside the bottle is like. There might be a whole fantastic interior world inside the bottle, lamp, etc. (whatever vessel we’re stuffing them in). To the point, my existence here is very formulaic. My playbook came off the back of a shampoo bottle: wash, rinse, repeat.

I wake up every morning at 4:30. I stay in a small room that contains a single bed, a television with 5 or so channels, a desk, a set of lockers, and a lonely chair. There is a small bathroom that has a shower, sink, and toilet. I look around and think about how enormous hotel rooms are. I get out of bed, take some meds, drink a protein shake, brush my teeth, and step into the shower. When I get out of the shower, I put on a fresh clean uniform. The same uniform I wear every day (just like all the characters in your favorite cartoon), a never changing monotony of jeans and work-shirt. I make my way down to the mess hall and have breakfast, during the assigned eating hour. The same breakfast I have every day. I then get in my truck and head to my office. I pass through a security gate on my way out of the housing compound. I pull into a parking lot, park, and head into the next security checkpoint. I sign in on a sheet of paper and then swipe my badge to get access through the turnstiles. I then open up my bag for an inspection by a different security officer. He looks inside, searching for bombs, weapons of mass destruction, or what have you. He has no idea what any of these things look like and no plan of action if he were to stumble across one. God forbid, if I have a laptop, though. That will cause a very unorganized shuffling and rifling through incomplete paperwork until in exasperation he pretends to locate it and sends me on my way. This takes a lot longer than you may think. Either way, I’m sent into my place of business.

I won’t go into what I do at work. Sometimes it’s fascinating and hectic. Sometimes it’s boring and mundane. As noon approaches, I leave my office, head back downstairs, and go through the entire security process again. I hop in my truck and arrive at the mess hall within designated eating timeframe. I will then eat a lunch that varies slightly from day to day, but not significantly. I will return to my room for a few minutes of peace and then get back in my truck to repeat the security process again.

At the end of my work day, just imagine I copied and pasted the last paragraph, leaving out the final getting back in my truck part. After dinner, I head over to the gym and work out for an hour and then go back to my room. Sometimes, we have movie night instead of the gym. This variation has a few of us sitting in an identical small room (someone else’s bedroom) and crowding in front of the television to watch a film off someone’s hard drive. Either way, as 9 o’clock rolls around, I go back to my room, go to sleep, and wait for my next day.

Variations in this program are few and far between, and all exist within the same basic framework. But we can drink, so there’ that. The really bizarre thing is that I don’t hate it. In short bursts, it’s not bad at all. I’ve made some amazing friends and our comradery is what makes everything bearable. We laugh and give each other shit, spinning insignificant mutterings into epic tales of adventure. We have in depth conversations and ridiculous banter. I’ve had some times with these people that I wouldn’t trade for the world. I also don’t mind spending time with myself. It’s nice to shut down and remove yourself from the outside world on occasion. A place and a life are what you make of them. I do well here, hence my conviction that I would do well in prison, a dystopian future, genie bottles, and lost tombs of ancient power (the tomb being the most likely scenario).

The second thing I learned is that I have a future in special needs mentoring. I’ve created relationships and built trust with people that I feel the need to remind to breathe. I’m only slightly exaggerating here. Breathing is an unconscious reaction, even plants manage it. If I actually reminded them, they would forget how and achieve pleasant shades of indigo before passing out and letting the unconscious mind take back over. This process might be repeated a few times.

I’m well aware of the discrepancies between available education systems around the world and the disconnect between what we consider common sense and intelligence, but sometimes the depth of stupidity and childishness is unfathomable. I gently guide these individuals into their routines and repeat the same specific instructions again and again. I smile as they drop the square shaped peg into the square shaped hole and I calm them down when they frustratingly can’t get the same peg into the star shaped hole. I wash, rinse, and repeat. I have the cleanest hair in the whole damn town.

Don’t assume I’m speaking of a particular race or class of people. I deal with expats and locals, people from all around the globe. Don’t assume that I’m not well aware of my own cerebral limitations. I’m well aware of the depth of my ignorance. I remind myself of it in all the quiet moments of my life. But even counting my own failings, some of the people that I interact with will surprise you. Still, I keep my calm (and vent to my friends) and try to remain an ever-positive guiding force as they stumble through the darkness. Once again, I find that I don’t really mind it. It gives me a sense of purpose. A place and a life are what you make of them.

Alas, the sun is weary and the moon is eager. I’m off to my cell. Cell, that’s a curious word isn’t it. It pertains to prisons, the building blocks of life, single frames of a film, and the rooms monks sleep in. Perhaps, there’s a monastery in my future… I didn’t really explore that one. I suppose I could find a niche there, too. I wonder why the same word covers so many different aspects of life. That's something new to think about.