today, i scrubbed walls. i filled a bucket with sudsy, hot water and i marched into the lonely, blank depths of the church - determined to make some sort of difference. with a warm washcloth i scoured ever surface, covering windowsills, counter tops, tables, and chairs. i was appalled by all the mystery stains that confronted me: yellow clumps, brownish lumps, moth and cricket carcasses, tacks, coffee splatters, paint droplets, dried blood, and the list goes on. once, not all that long ago, this space was a daycare. i don't think all these smudges and scuffs appeared after the fact. so, all of these unpleasantries were around little vulnerable people, day in and day out.
as i set about my work, i was thankful for my music-playing cellphone like never before. jammed in my pocket, it sang on shuffle some tunes that i'd completely forgotten were on there: the likes of arcade fire, death cab, starlight mints, and the anniversary greeted me anew. I even let myself sing outloud once in awhile, because it's not like anyone else was around.
after awhile, the crouching and prune-y fingers started to become vaguely familiar to me. where have i done this before? the answer surprised me a little: Africa.
i scrubbed identically dirty walls in Guinea-Bissau, and again in Tanzania. I did this kind of work day in and day out. the strange thing is, the whole time i cleaned in Africa, i had a little shred of pride for my own country: a clean, neat, organized country. we didn't allow our walls to get so gross. we clean regularly. we are sanitary. we have antibacterial soap.
well, if you'd taken a look at the walls i cleaned today, you'd think otherwise. you'd know what i know: we are no better. and that's something i should remember regularly. different, yes. better, no.
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