Beneath the Facade (Inkwell prompt #55 - lens / POB-WOTW - wahala)

I've been contemplating going home for some time now, but the need has felt more urgent in recent days. I feel removed from my place of birth yet the horrors that have befallen it in my absence have hit me hard; and although I am not there, I feel the pain of inflicted wounds as if they were festering in my own body.

Six months is a long time to be away from my family, and they need me now more than ever.

---

The remoteness of our research station, and having a small team, means that we are kept quite busy, but during the few personal hours I have each day, I make contact with my family, exchange a few emails, and sometimes make a call... I know how dire the situation is back home and I feel helpless; alone and impotent. So I come here from my laboratory each day to gaze out the window, to see things from a different perspective. Our workplace has the advantage of elevation and on a clear day, I could lose myself in the beauty of the world in which we live.

For miles upon miles, open space, and nature's tones provide a natural depth of colour, from the bright blues of the ocean that bring an overwhelming sense of tranquility, and the earthy hues of the vast landscape, to the vivid and distinct colour layers evident in the sunrise and sunset, so brief yet so alluring and uplifting. Everything seems so peaceful from where I sit, so calm... As our world spins, so too do we, and I watch as day turns to night turns to day turns to night... so many sunrises, too many sunsets... time passes. It is a wonder - appreciating the world's varied beauty through a lens permitted to so few, but the layers... the real layers are never really visible.

Beneath the facade lies a multitude of problems, the troubled soul of humanity. My friend, Amobi, a fellow researcher back home, calls it the unforgiving wahala of the human mind. That, despite the efforts of the many, life never fails to produce human beings with an exceptional capacity for evil, oppression, greed, corruption, and gratuitous violence, and it is these traits now that motivate the current state of affairs. It is just that kind of wahala that drove him to apply for the vacant research position in Kyiv, and to leave his beloved native Nigeria behind, in the hopes of a better life abroad as an immigrant. The irony does not escape me. On the contrary, it mockingly slaps me across the face and taunts. I pray for him and the safety of his family, along with that of my own.

I spend a lot of my free time now staring out of this window thinking of my loved ones; pondering life's mysteries, the fallibility of the human mind juxtaposed against the infallibility of its spirit. I consider what life would be like if everyone could see things from my perspective, a view through rose-tinted glasses, through a lens that provides a view somewhat removed from the harsh realities that lie beneath. It reminds me that as a world population, human beings are so infinitesimally small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things: simply pawns in a bizarre and unpredictable game of international chess, where the rules are constantly being shifted and manipulated to suit the will of the ruling oligarchy.

A light tap on my right shoulder brings my reverie to an abrupt end.

Andriy?

My eyes momentarily averted, I look up to see my colleague hovering...

Aleksandr.

I nod, acknowledging his presence, before turning my eyes once more to the window.

We have become quite close since we were partnered on this project. He too misses home. He also has a family and friends that he worries about... terribly. But for him, home is Moscow, and in the past week, we have both left a lot unsaid in an effort to keep our established bond of friendship intact. He is not allowed to express any views contrary to State lines; it would not go well for him on his return to Russia... and he has enough heart not to say anything that may break mine.

Ty uyezzhayesh' zavtra? YA tol'ko chto uslyshal. Oni organizovali dlya vas bezopasnyy prokhod?

(You are leaving tomorrow? I just heard. They have arranged safe passage for you?)

His words are softly spoken, deliberate, genuine. I understand Russian; it's a requirement of the job.

Yes, the Americans are sending a bus to collect James and they have offered me a seat. You aren't leaving?

I will be. But not yet... In a few days...

he hesitates before adding,

My country... it prefers things this way.

The silence hangs limply between us as Aleksandr moves across to sit beside me... and then we both stare out of that window, neither one of us finding the difficult words that we know still need to be said. It is another level of discomfort to feel both light and heavy at the same time.

---

I am going home today.

The first part of my journey is about 3 hours long. Then I will have to wait a couple of weeks before I can entertain the final leg, and by then, this may not even be possible. This 'existential global conflict'* is mirrored in my heart. I am desperate to return home, to reunite with my family, but it means I must once again face reality, and I do not know if I am ready to do that yet. All I can hope is that I live up to my name when the time comes and that my courage will win through in the end.

Before I leave though, I want to take one last look at that view, my own sense of reality, to remember... I want this beautiful sight to be engrained forever in my consciousness because in just over three short hours' time everything will be different. I will no longer be here, where life can be seen in the abstract through the lens of this window. Where the milky way lights up the darkness of space and billions of stars captivate us in their ever-revolving embrace. Where our lives spin repeatedly in 90 minute cycles, and our eyes bend the light from the stars, working seamlessly with our brain from cornea to lens, to retina to transform it into images; images so breathtakingly beautiful that most people can only hope to witness a fraction of this in their lifetime.

---

The lens through which we view life, and all the activity that occurs within each passing day, dictates our perspective, and the world below us is currently too embroiled in the misguided pursuit of power, for any of us to comprehend when it all may truly end.

In the meantime, although the angst is palpable, and there is a little tension in the air between us... Aleksandr and I will part as friends... My hope remains fervent that our connection is real; that it will endure... but once we are down there... perhaps the lines will need to be redrawn, perhaps they already have been and we just don't want to admit it yet. Perhaps beneath the facade, there are too many layers still left to unpeel, too many things still left unsaid.

As I make my way to the dock to begin my return journey, I pause momentarily and turn to wave to my erstwhile companion.

Aleksandr waves back... tentatively.

How many others will be forced to experience this same cognitive dissonance? How many more will be forced to choose, or forced to acquiesce? The questions lie rhetorical, thoughts slipping between time and space inside my head. This wahala truly is consuming.

We are well aware that even if we both survive what is to come, it is quite possible that our friendship may not, and this sadness weighs heavy on my heart. But it is a truth and a cross that we must bear, for we fall on very different sides of an invisible political divide and the lines have been drawn, not by ourselves, but by those to whom we answer. And in our case, the stakes are too high, and failure for either party is not an option.

The shutters once slightly ajar, are now wide open.

As the ship departs, silent tears escape me. The International Space Station quickly disappears from my view, as the many vistas of Earth draw closer, rising up to welcome me home.