Aug 16. 2014. Tanzania Muffler

It was a cold winter. She was wearing a muffler around her neck. It was not a long length, but she slipped into it to reach all the way down to her torso. It looked pretty unique; this natural crumpled fabric embroidered with a pattern of peculiar colors, so I could feel its exotic aroma all at once. She seemed to like it so much because she used to appear in common with this muffler. It looked perfectly nice on her. It would not be the one that praised high quality or showed extravagance; rather, she assimilated well what she wore. So I could say, it was hers, not for other people. However, this muffler was just part of her that shows who she was. I might not have been aware of the meaning of this fabric if she had not named it.

“Do you know where it came from?”

“I don’t know. From where?”

“Tanzania.”

There is a famous Korean poem, “꽃 (Flower)” by 김춘수. Pastor Shim in Utah liked this poem - So do I.- and preached his first sermon with it. “Please call my name, and become my meaningful flower...” It must have been meaningless weeds that nobody could notice not until somebody call it flower. Likewise, it was like an eureka moment that this muffler had approached me with full of various meaning. It looked close to me, within my grasping distance; but whenever I tried to reach it, it took a step backward. The distance between this muffler and me had never been narrowed. Probably, we had been running in a parallel lines from the beginning. Or probably, that beginning might not even exist. Maybe, we were not set by grasping at each other. Or maybe, we never tie in, no matter what effort I made.

Now, that muffler that I only have to rely on my muddy memory to recall, has become all parts of her. I know. It is no use wriggling. How happy I would be if I were able to return the clock to that very moment? I could have been better. I could have really been better… I regurgitate it again and again, but all I realize is that it is futile distress that makes me endlessly small. The wound that would not be another chance to see it again is still smarting, but at least I know that it is already the past and I am in the present. I cherish my hope that that past should not be the typical ending in –ed, but it should be past participle that can be continuous from the past.

Now, I am here in Tanzania. The country name, Tanzania, brings up my dismissed memory of the muffler. Maybe, I did not choose to come to Tanzania from the beginning because I did not want to remind myself of that. I know. It must be weird unreasonableness that is filled with far-fetched daydream. Nonetheless, I do want to believe that this is not a strange coincidence. I have no any expectation about it because I wish it were just an evanescent moment that I may not even quite remember what that was some other day.

Today, I met 4 Koreans for lunch. I had met one of them, at the post office the other day; she invited me lunch and introduced other 3 Koreans to me. They were all volunteers of KOICA or Good Neighbors – teaching Korean language, mathematics, or computer in the University of Dodoma or secondary school, and working for children – and have already been here in Tanzania 4 months to 8 months. I was happy to meet them. Also, I am proud of them that they dedicate their 1 to 2 years to African country and contribute to the development of education and health in the schools and communities in Tanzania.

I form ties with Koreans in Dodoma, Tanzania. The muffler might not have any intention for me to meet them. However, I can say for sure that everything is somewhat interconnected. Whether the muffler in my memory would act as connection to the first image of Tanzania or not, my present and future daily life in Tanzania will surely overlap those vague emotions. I would want to say that meeting Koreans today is the gift from the Tanzania muffler. That should be all. No more reminiscence should overspread my Tanzania life.

Good bye, muffler from Tanzania…