Solitary Solidarity

I’ve spent the last few days alone in Lilongwe, running errands in the morning at government offices and the print shop and trying, in general, to get our research project approved by government higher ups. There are a lot of issues involved, most of which I won’t go into, but basically our research involves HIV testing and collecting a lot of very personal, very private information from a lot of rural Malawian young women. And although the bureaucratic red tape is certainly a hassle to deal with, and has given me some stressful mornings the last few days, I completely agree with the importance of Malawi protecting their citizens in this way by making sure that foreign researchers who come in to do studies like this are abiding by a certain ethical code. The interesting thing is, all of these studies have to pass ethics committee review back in the States; but in the States, generally the ethical question is one of, “How will this study avoid doing any harm to participants?” whereas in Malawi, they are asking, “What good will this study contribute to our country and to the lives of participants?” Interesting dilemma for researchers, no?

In any case, mission is now accomplished as far as paperwork is concerned, and now we are just waiting to hear back. I am heading back to familiar human company this afternoon. But after these days of solitude, I am awaking with a few thoughts….

First of all, there is nothing more solitary than being alone surrounded by people. Truthfully, I am always (or almost always) in the company of people here, on the street, in the market, at the lodge. Yet the distance between me and these people is large, and I’m often tired from work, and it’s a lot of work for minimal gain to always be open, friendly, and outgoing. I have a few friendships here with Malawians, for which I am grateful, but they aren’t easy to navigate or maintain. And if, as I believe, the ultimate goal of all of this is relationship and relationality, how do I contribute to this when I sit alone at breakfast, lunch, and dinner and walk alone to the market and back and navigate public busses alone etc. etc. And when, during these times, what I mostly feel is the presence of my solitude, how does that in any way help me to express solidarity or relationality to the people around me?

The mind, in truth, gets weird after long periods of solitude (and I wouldn’t consider four days “long”, really, but I think this statement is still true). It gets a little paranoid. Oddly, it seems to pull away from people at a certain point, and get rusty at engaging in effective human interactions. It’s our own worst enemy at these moments—longing for connection and yet pulling away from it. I look around me on the busses, in the markets, and on the street and somehow I’m thinking: “I want to love the people around me, I just don’t think I can actually talk to them.” We are odd creatures. Thankfully, all of this is not up to us.

Because there is a third option: communion. I can be alone, and doing everything I can to distract myself from that reality (whether it’s burying my face in a book or making a lot of new friends); or I can enter the solitude, and find that actually, when I’m alone, the path to communion with the Spirit of God (which is present in everything around me) is clearer. I can sit alone on the patio at the lodge missing home, or I can sit alone at the lodge and look up at the stars, and listen to the sounds around me, and open myself up to the here and the now. It’s a subtle change, but it means everything.

From this communion, true solidarity (that isn’t just an avoidance of solitude) flows. That has happened before, even on this very trip to Malawi, and so I am assured it will happen again. And THAT sort of solidarity, relationality, and connection, that has no demands on the other to “solve” our own problem of solitude, is the refuge of true agape love for others and the world around us.