A lot has happened since we last posted so we will try to bring you up to speed. After a month of all the joys and occasional frustrations of having a precocious six year old on the homestead, Logan and Kanyeiso bayahamba eCanada. There is a hole left here at the homestead, a vacuum of sound that used to be filled with calls of, “Bongiwe! Can I play with the cat?”, “Bongiwe! What are you cooking? Can I have some?” “Ryan, who is your favorite rapper? Is it Lil’ Wayne? Drake? Rick Ross?”. We will miss Logan and Babe’s second oldest daughter.

Without Logan on the homestead and the arrival of Cyclone Dando it was a pretty quiet week. It rained sheets for three days straight. Rivers flooded, bridges collapsed and the Tsabedze homestead took a hit. The eastern wall of a mud hut on the homestead collapsed, our sunflowers were blown askew and our poor carrots drowned. Other than that the garden is going swimmingly (no pun intended) and we are eating from it just about every day. Squash and green beans have dominated so far but we are looking forward to tomatoes, lettuce and maize that we just planted. Yesterday we found a lone cucumber. It was delicious.

School started for Ryan on Tuesday. He is excited for the prospects of starting afresh with a new schedule. 1:00-2:30 of every Wednesday of this semester is dedicated to “sports day” in which all the students are placed in different teams – called houses, just like in Harry Potter – to compete against each other in sporting competition. Ryan is the head of the Lion House.

Along with leading his team to victory he is starting an English Club in March, a Health Club and is introducing two 12 week courses on HIV for Grades 5,6,7 and Life Skills for Grades 1-4.

Addy rode out Cyclone Dando at Emafeni Lodge in Ezulweni attending a week long counterpart training workshop for Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) with her counterpart Zande who teaches pre-school at Mpaka Railway School. The training was an overwhelming success that benefited from the weeks of planning put into it. While there the volunteers and their counterparts were trained in skills such as active listening, effective communication, self-esteem building workshops, health related topics and dance parties in preparation for Camp GLOW later this year.

Last week was our first English Class at the Refugee Camp. We cannot be more excited to be starting this endeavor. Close to 60 people showed up representing countries all over from Somalia, Burundi, Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo. The objective of our first class was to ascertain the English level of our students and place them in groups according to their comprehension. Ryan is teaching the advanced group, Bethany the mid group and Addy the basic English level group. We found that an overwhelming majority of the group barely grasped conversational English and many were illiterate in their own language. This caused us to reevaluate our original plan and decide that everyone could benefit from working from the ground up with the alphabet, phonetic sounds and simple sentence structure. We are grateful we took the time to assess their English level. We realize that we definitely have our work cut out for us, but we will see some big returns in the long run.

Working at the Refugee Camp we have met several people who have helped us out immensely. There are three Somalians who we have worked with to get this project off the ground. They have been key organizing and collecting signatures from the residents of the Camp who are interested in learning English and attending an HIV Class (next week). They are well educated and extremely helpful. It feels great to work with counterparts who are so dedicated.

In other news, Ryan is now a contributing writer for the Swazi Observer newspaper. He is writing music reviews of local Swazi artists. Don’t ask how this all happened it is a long, long story. His first review was published Saturday with an accompanying picture of him leading to lots of people stopping us and saying, "How! Bongomusa! I saw you in the papers!""Are you sure it wasn't another white person who just looked like me?""No, because you had the glasses on."

Famous.

Perspective is everything. When I first considered joining the Peace Corps at a career fair at the beginning of my junior year at Michigan Tech, I still had two more years to go, which felt like an eternity. There was … Continue reading →

I woke up this morning at 5:30 to go running with a group of students. I wish I had brought my video camera! About 100 students ran down the street towards the sunrise, singing and chanting different songs as they ran. And run we did! My legs are sore.

When we returned from our jog, I went to the mess hall where the students shared some porridge with me. Porridge is more of a beverage than a meal. As I sipped it from a mug I imagined that I was drinking a liquid corn tortilla.

After breakfast was Umuganda, the required community service that takes place the last Saturday of every month in Rwanda. But on the way to Umuganda, I noticed a group of students going into a compound. I entered to see what they were doing.

As I stepped through the gate, I saw a field leading up to a large ramshackle house with a fireplace on its exterior. Two small cows grazed the property, which was bounded by a brick wall at its perimeter. In one corner stood a water tank; in another, stables for cows. I joined my students in exploring the area.

It was apparent that the house had been first-rate at one time. Someone important had once lived here. As we wandered through the stables, the courtyard, and the house, one of my students explained to me that the property was once owned by the man who founded our school. But now he is in prison in a neighboring country for crimes which he committed during the genocide.

Exploring the compound brought back memories of the disc golf course in Washington that I visited with my dad and brother-in-law just before coming to Rwanda. The course was built on the grounds of an abandoned insane asylum. The old buildings there had become legendary and a place for teenagers to explore and to scare each other in. This compound in Rwanda has its own legend. According to my students, the former owner buried a large sum of money somewhere on the premises before he was taken away to face trial, but it has never been found.

My community is littered with abandoned buildings like this. In my mind, it is a physical manifestation of a society trying to rebuild itself. I get a sense that, much like these buildings, many people here feel torn down. We are here to help them build themselves back up.

Some people call the subject of the genocide “the ghost in the room.” You might go about your entire day without noticing it. And most days you won’t. People do not talk about it often, but it is on everyone’s mind. Yet, I am so impressed with the ability of the Rwandan people to move on and take such strides forward in development after such a terrible event.

Walking through that old, run-down house reminded me of something my headmaster told me one night over dinner: “People were killed in this school during the genocide.” Great dinner conversation! And now I know not only that people were killed here, but also that they were killed by the very man who ran the school. What an abominable man! I noticed that the closets in that man’s house were the same style as the one in my room. It brings these questions floating back up into my head: Was anyone killed in this room I sleep in? Did anyone try hiding in that closet? But the fact that I still have to wonder is an indication of Rwanda’s ability to pull together the pieces that remain and rebuild them into something that only vaguely resembles the split society it once was. Turi kumwe. We are together.

Graduating from Trainee to Volunteer!

Fast forward to pc graduation September 17th, 2011. I’m graduated from training. I was the only volunteer to not go directly to their site a few days after graduation. Stayed a week in a lovely waterfront bungalow in Calheta. Accidently ate a piece of ceramic tile while I was sleeping, spent the next 24 hours trying to swallow and digest it. Got attacked by black burn beetles…had burn marks for a month afterwards. After a sadly pointless “training” there and one rainy very stressful tearful morning. In my broken creole I managed to get a driver to pick up my forgotten mosquito net at the graduation site an hour away, drive to Calheta, pick me up and drive me two hours in the monsoon rain to the PC office so I could try to get my bank card disaster taken care of. Thanks to the amazing assistance of our safety and security officer, I didn't completely break down during this week. The reason I’m not going into to depth on everything is because I’m soooo far behind on my blog….Email me for the longer version .lol.View from Posh Corps hotel I stayed in during my job training.

I should also mention that graduation was a special moment for me. The batuka(traditional African drumming) group I played with in my village came to our graduation and performed. They had written special songs particularly for me and another volunteer (whose host mom was also in the group). My host-sister and I at my graduation. Had this dress made for me for graduation....lol. No mirrors in my home-stay so I didn't realize the pattern attracted a lot of attention to my errrr, chest.

A follow volunteer and our training director dancing Batuka with the group from my home-stay!

Dang guys, I’m way happy here. I mean cooking is still a pain in the ass and the loneliness occasionally overwhelming, but if that weren’t the case I think I would exceed my happiness capacity. I am laying on a blanket in the sun in my front yard. Small giggling girls surround me drawing with colored pencils. My head teacher’s wife is laying beside me in the grass chewing straw. Simon & Garfunkel, The Shins, Cat Stevens, The Flaming Lips are playing over my speakers. To the south are large grey clouds promising rain on my tin roof tonight. Overhead, and to the north the sky is wide and blue with rowns of fluffy clouds. As almost always, a steady breeze lends relief from the powerful Malawi sun. Today school was a rare delight. Though it has taken months, today in both Forms 1 and 3 my students made thinking-hard faces. Fellow PCVs might argue that there were just trying to figure out what I was saying but that wasn’t it. They were answering questions. They were asking questions. Several leaned forward, eyebrows scrunched together. For the first time I did not have to force them to put away other work. In Form 3 a smart boy with an attitude moved from his seat in the corner to the middle of the room and started listening. It was like a miracle. I went to the weekly kwabwandire. I chatted in Chitumbuka. Three girls, Flora, Dora, and Varena followed me around. People have known my name for a long time but they were strangers who are now familiar faces. I went to the small shop where I buy eggs. The grandmother there always chats with me. The shop was busy because of the market. Though still extremely limited, I could see that my conversational skills are improving. The agogo could see too—she smiled her toothy approval. A man complimented my Tumbuka, thanked me for teaching, and bought me a small orange cream biscuit. I took my favorite way home through the banana grove. The children shouted my name as I went by – Rebecca! Labecca! Labek! Rahbie! The ladies smiled, I smiled, we clasped our hands together and nodded our heads, “Matandala,” we said. I keep meaning to write about the adventures I had over break. And I will. But for now I am just relaxing into this Luviri sun while Friday creeps through the grass, determined to scare a chicken.

Umhlanga is the Siswati word for the traditional reed dance ceremony. This ceremony is held every year to celebrate the young women of Swaziland.

I've had a lot of exciting things happen in the past few months that I would really like to write about, but time is short and internet is far, so i promise to work on a few posts while I am in village. Expect some stories and pictures at the end of the month!

After the excitement of the “fete” in early November, I just bout a month to wind down any work I had going on but at the same times, plan out what I would like to do this upcoming year. I met with a couple of my women’s groups (GICs) a few times to see how their harvest was going, and to plan out any work and formations we would like to do once they are done. I have continued meeting with the village high school's (somewhat functioning) Health and Environmental Club. I sat in on their discussions on personal hygiene, malaria, HIV/AIDS, and would like to use my role in their group to promote more environmental education. I helped a few students with a presentation on tree nurseries, hoping that this new knowledge will better prepare them when planting all the young trees we just received from MINFOF. On my own time, I finished harvesting my soy and corn, storing everything neatly in my house to await my return from the U.S.Waaaaaaaait a second. USA? As in the land of supermarkets, hot water, pavement, customer service, and all those other great things that make a PCV warm and happy inside? As much as I thought all this (and more) would turn my world upside-down, it was actually just a really nice visit home, and a great chance to see friends and family that I've missed so much this past year (and eat pizza, duh). As "normal" as it was to be back in the States, it did give me a pretty interesting opportunity to reflect on my life here in Cameroon. So many things that at first I considered crazy, alarming, exciting, and different are mostly regularly expected these days. I've allowed myself to become pretty jaded, both cynical about my work and perhaps oblivious to problems that I noticed earlier. After almost a year and a half in Cameroon, and over year living as a bone fide PCV, it hasn’t been easy—actually at times it has been pretty damn hard, but it has been enjoyable.I'm going back to post today—pushing through my second year— with a fresh outlook and some refreshed motivation. I learned a lot this past year and I’m hoping to use that to make a better experience for myself in Cameroon, strengthen my work with my community, and of course bring it all back here, to all tell about it.

During training, we received a list of our potential sites, and we all got the chance to “apply” for a site in our program. There are only four secondary math education volunteers, and I was one of them. The four … Continue reading →

I just had to post this. A Form D student named Fule asked me to look over her collection of poetry she has written (what do I look like, the poetry lady?) and maybe help her make a book. Of … Continue reading →

… guy that I just met driving my taxi. … guy ringing me up at the grocery store with no teeth. … crazy drunk 60-year-old that won’t let go of my hand.  Seriously, what do they think we are going … Continue reading →

There is a girl at school named Evelyn (this is her Christian name—more on Basotho naming traditions to come!) and she is a Form B student which is the American equivalent of 9th grade. She asked me to read and edit … Continue reading →

Over Christmas I got in this hitch with a more “well-to-do” Basotho couple and their beautiful newborn baby. As usual with hitches, you try to make conversation any way you can (in Sesotho, and if you’re lucky, in English) and … Continue reading →

Don’t use any electricity, other than to charge your phone, and then pay a dollar to do that. Measure how much water you use. Even better, measure out 20 liters of water in buckets and use that for everything. If doing laundry, add 20 more liters, but do it by hand. Even better, but it in buckets and carry it up and down stairs at least once.If you’re a girl, wear a long skirt. If you’re a guy, wear business pants and shoes but your brightest button-up. Girls, it doesn’t really matter what you wear on top as long as its clean.Say Hello to 80% of everyone you see. Even better, ask how they are and how they slept.For breakfast, drink Nescafe coffee. Use powdered creamer. You can have real sugar, don’t worry. You can have baguette with laughing cow or Nutella. Or oatmeal, but no milk there either.For lunch, eat something with rice involved, preferable with fish and spiciness. If you’re me, you eat scrambled eggs instead. Or a baguette and refried beans.In the evening, break out flashlights and find family or friends to chat with until 8 or so. If none is available, call friends just to say hi and how are you. Don’t make it a long phone call, you don’t have enough minutes for that.Sleep under a mosquito net. As a replacement, give yourself some other sort of obstacle course to get in bed. Once in bed, listen to a radio, read by flashlight, or listen to your ipod. Let me know how it goes!

Hello!I’m back in my village from a very fun and educational time in Dubreka with the new trainees. I actually spent most of my time in Yorokoguea, a tiny village on the outskirts of Dubreka – which was relaxing and peaceful. It was neat to see what Public Health training is like – it’s very different than our educational training was. Here are some pics from Conakry/Yorokoguea:

Christmas dinner in Conakry (with Goat as the main dish) Some of the new trainees and Ravi, CED PCRV Public Health Group

Current agroforestry (Lacey), public health (Annie and Karen), community and economic development (Janice), and education volunteers (me).Public Health Trainees in action!

The latrine in the back of the volunteer trainee house. I never thought a latrine could look so beautiful.

Went for a morning walk with Annie, PH Volunteer from Kankan, and saw some beautiful views of the mountains surrounding Dubreka.

Hi!I arrived back in my village the weekend before class started up again, so I was able to spend all day Saturday in the fields with the women’s group. We’re in the eggplant harvesting season now, so I helped the women pick eggplant. There are only 2 men that help with the field work, but they have become my friends since they’re they only ones who speak French.

Noumouyah:

These are some of the women I work with.

Lunch time! Rice and peanut sauce

This is Nabi, one of the men that helps us. The other day another farmer stopped by and when he saw me he greeted me in French “Hey la blanche, ca va?” and Nabi corrected him and said “Non, elle est une noire.” Apparently I’m no longer a white person, but a black person. Little kids have also gotten in the habit of calling me “foré” which also means black person in Susu. I think this is because when they were yelling “foté” I responded by saying my name isn’t white person, which they took to mean that my name is black person…oops...After a long day of work...This is what eggplant harvest looks like

When I got back to school I my students and I talked about our wishes for the new year. I told them that Madame Liz wants health, peace and for her students to stop cheating. My students told me they wanted health, peace, money, happiness, success on the national exam in June, less problems in Guinea,and more solutions to their problems.

Some of my (best) 12th graders and me in 2012!

Here is a continuation from my first post back in September 2010 of my numeric experiences, reflections, and predictions to date.

164 - Number of days I have remaining until my COS conference in July (as of the date of this blog post)

8 - Number of jerry cans of water I use at site every week

0 - Number of cases of malaria

49% - My odds for a Patriots Super Bowl victory this Sunday night in Indianapolis

92 - Number of games I project the Red Sox to win this upcoming season

UGX560,000 - Number of Ugandan schillings my organization apparently owes Umeme (Uganda's electrical company) before we get our power reconnected

25% - My odds for the power being reconnected before I leave Uganda in September-October 2012

96 - Current number of students in my Senior 4 English class, the 1st term starting this week

3 - Number of computer cables I have replaced over the past year because of the daily power outages and dimming of power

As often as possible - Number of nights I fantasize over the home-cooked meals (tacos, hens, potroast and latkahs) I miss and long for back home

7 - Most number of passengers jammed into a car taxi - intended to seat 3-4 persons - experienced firsthand

$327 - Number of $'s I make per month as a Peace Corps volunteer in Uganda

3 - Number of dental crowns i've needed in Uganda

478,969,230,856 - Number of mosquitoes in Kachumbala, more than anywhere else in Uganda

108 - Approximate number of miles I walked in Egypt

Everyday - Number of times I have pondered my unknown future once I leave Uganda

24,000+ - Number of books expected to arrive in Uganda later this year for library establishment

1 - Number of times it has rained in Kachumbala over the past three weeks (it is currently in the dry season)

Every Sunday - Number of times I have been asked by Sunday mass-goers why I don't pray in the Catholic Church

4 - Number of times this week a Ugandan excused work not getting done/things being delayed by telling me "This is Africa"

6 - Number of hours of my computer's battery life, if not watching videos

4 - Number of hours of my computer's battery life, if watching videos

2 - Number of cats currently making the Mission their home

0 - Number of times, after I asked a Ugandan how his/her day was going, the initial response was something other than "I am fine," "I am fair," "I am okay," or "I am somehow fine"

18 - Number of pounds I have lost in Uganda to date

9 - Average number of hours I sleep per night at site

At least 5 - Number of times I am likely to have edited this blog post

I went to America for Christmas. (cue Team America theme song)

Ryan and I arrived in Dallas to be greeted by Caroline and Luke, my parents, and Everett. It was magical to see Caroline finally! The longest we’ve been apart so far. Never again, Line…never again!!

We had a 24 hr layover in Dallas before heading to South Carolina to visit Ryan’s fam. During this 24 hour layover, I bought new American clothes that fit my new African parasitic body, went out for delicious sushi, and took a shower with hot water! It was magical. Sushi was something I didn’t realize I would crave in Africa, but I totally did. 2 sushi rolls and a saki bomb made for a wonderful first meal. South Carolina was great. I was able to meet Ryan’s family and friends as well as see where he grew up, his favorite places to eat, and his family church. Christmas with the Luckie’s was so relaxing. Quiet, low key, nice sit down dinner, and civilized…very different from my family Christmas. We are not quiet, low key, or extremely civilized. Christmas in Texas was wonderful. I got to see family I haven’t seen in a year and a half, more specifically, my sister Laura…who surprised me when I got home, when we went to one of my favorite restaurants, the Bee Hive, on all you can eat shrimp night. The nieces and nephews have grown so much since I saw them last! It was fun to hang out with them and to get reacquainted with the younger ones. After Christmas, we spent a day at the ranch…my favorite place on earth. Being out there was what really made me feel like I was home. Playing Horseshoes, trivial pursuit, and 42 (domino game) with the fam made me so very happy.

It was sad to leave, but knowing all the wonderful things I have to come back to makes it all worth it. Now since the two Christmas’s I had are so different from each other, I will include a picture comparison so that my 39 dedicated followers can see what I’m talking about.

Ryan and I in SC

Ryan and I in Texas

Luckie Family Picture

Everett Family Picture

See what I mean?

To sum up...Christmas was a blast. America is a wonderful place. I feel so blessed that I was born and raised in a land of opportunity and hot water.

I have three different pairs of glasses to alternate weating when I want to convey a different kind of teacher. I have sleek glasses for the serious, sophisticatedly sarcastic teacher. I got with the lavender glasses for the caring, soft, motherly look. My giant framed beasts are reserved for the fun creative teacher with just the right amount of quirk. Observe:

Another look I have been sporting is chalk all up on my body. What? It’s a fashion statement. And I like making it. Every day. Some teachers ask me if I still like teaching after some of the more rowdy classes and I always answer yes. Even when my all-black attire has multiple ill-placed chalk prints. I’ve got students pointing to different parts of my body all day long. “Miss Kerry, you have chalk on your—” I usually cut them off and say, “Yes, I know.” “I’m used to it.” “It’s OK.” “I’ll live!” Also, they don’t realize this, but I’m trying for the Yeti look, which is fitting because it’s so cold! 5 degrees Fahrenheit today.

My earlier classes were canceled due to “frostiness.” I have to go in for my fifth form class this afternoon. I think I’ll sport the fun creative teacher look today…mainly because I’m hoping my trusty frames will shield me from the wind which has the potential to freeze my face off. I’m not sure if I should go for the intimidating, Freddy Krueger burn face look, but hey, maybe I could make that work, too…

Note for the folks at home: Thorny cacti are the dominant life form of Maralal, in the semi-arid Samburu district of Kenya. Humans seem to be an afterthought, sprinkled in and around the bustling cactus metropolises. Growing thorns, in fact, seems to be the common adaptation among all the local plant life. Even the most innocent-looking baby bushes are riddled with sharp prongs just waiting to get lodged in the body of an unaware passer-by. The phrase "every rose has its thorn" holds little significance to a local, who would be surprised to find any flower without barbs.

Living in a small town in a foreign country has robbed me of a few things: My anonymity, my comfort zone (which was once so kushy!), and my wallet. Yep, got my wallet sliced out of my bag at the bazaar the other day. Ironically, I was shopping for wallets when it happened. (My life is such a storybook!) I felt a slight tug on my bag so I pulled it closer to me. It wasn’t until I went to pay for something at a different store that I realized my wallet was gone and my bag had a huge slash down the side of it. Goodbye passport, bank cards, and money. Hello realization that being so far from home is even harder than I thought.

I am partially glad I had this experience, though. One, I have never been robbed before. Now I know how it feels! Two, I got to see how the Ukrainian police do business. Three, I got to admire the three-legged dog at the police station. Two+ hours “downtown” was very enlightening and if you want to hear more about this experience, it will have to be behind the veil of e-mail or on the phone, not on the blogosphere (do people still call it that?).

My amazing counterpart helped me at the police station and I even got reimbursed for the money that was stolen, which Ithoughts was very interesting. Another positive note: two days later, a man found my wallet—without the money and Ukrainian bank card, of course—but he returned my passport! So, everything is A-OK. Yes, there is one naughty pickpocket out there greedily slicing up purses, but there are also so many good people willing to do the right thing. So, I consider myself the luckiest unlucky person and still very happy to be here in Ukraine where I am surrounded by so many friendly and caring people!

My counterpart called me up on a Sunday, 2 January, and asked if I would be interested in going to a Melitopol church that was founded by American citizens. Of course I agreed, because I never decline an invitation, especially in this new town of mine. We were picked up by a future student of mine’s mother and driven southeast slightly outside of the city to the middle of nowhere and factories and a giant church complex. There was a pyramid fountain and palm trees encased in glass or plastic to shield them from the cold. This is Ukraine, afterall. We have to keep our palm trees warm...

I knew that going to the church would be weird, but I figured it would be a learning experience. Plus, we weren’t supposed to actually go to a church service. However, by the time I was walked into the service hall with its’ giant flat screen TVs and ushered into a seat, it was too late. No big deal. New church, new people, new experience. An hour of life is not a lot to give, right?

One hour turned into three and a half hours. Three and a half very interesting, long, and confusing hours. The service hall was huge, with two floors and two giant flat screen TVs. Cameras circulated above the all the churchgoers and over the stage which held a full band—two guitar players, a drummer behind a glass case, a bassist, a cellist, violinist, rockgroupish singers, and a chorus of young women all dressed in black with pink belts. The music was very pop rocky and melodious. Some people were jumping up and down in the crowd and holding their hands upwards. Some were whispering under their breath. A lot of people were overcome and crying. One woman moaned and sobbed. All while the camera circled above over their prey. I made sure to look down to the floor every time the camera swooped over my head.

I guess I can say that I am glad I had this experience, but I will never do it again. I respect everyone’s right to practice their religion and in the end, this experience made me think of mine—which is not really a religion at all, but a positive mindset.

After living in Mabuleng a month, I am still marveling at the view of my peaceful village and the backdrop of the mountains, every time I walk out the door of my house. Most of the homes in my village are roundhavels: round single-roomed structures made of stone with a thatched roof. Every morning when I go outside to dump my bathwater, I see women bent over outside these houses, sweeping the dirt from the unpaved ground with their straw brooms. Families don’t keep much grass directly outside their house because it attracts rodents, but I still haven’t quite figured out why they sweep the ground. I hear the clanking of many cow bells as herds of sheep, donkeys and cows are led up the steep gravel hill (that I always slide/fall on) in front of my house. Behind them are whistling herdsmen wearing the traditional Basotho blanket, riding on horses. Around 6:30 AM, the family rooster flutters up to his branch in our peach tree and cockadoodledoos. Then he runs around behind the house near my back window and does it again, just to make sure I’m awake. He has a special routine that I find hilarious. I love this rooster. In the morning and after it rains, I sometimes see transparent clouds dusting the pointy tops of the green mountains, with a bright blue sky in between. Below, there is the Khubelu River that runs through my village, with willow trees along the banks. Many afternoons after lunch there is a gigantic thunderstorm that cools down the temperature and lasts 1-2 hours. It makes for a great nap. In the evenings, I hear the African music that plays in the bar across from my house and the voices of children laughing, playing, and dancing outside. Sometimes they come and visit me, sitting silently on my floor, content watching my every move until I finally speak to them. They like it when I take their picture with my digital camera. When sun finally sets, the sky is the blackest I have seen in my life, due to the lack of electricity for miles. If it weren’t for the bright stars, I wouldn’t be able to tell the sky from the earth. I never understood how wonderful the stars could appear until I came to Lesotho. I can even see the Milky Way sometimes. This is summer in Mabuleng. I do miss city life sometimes, especially in Raleigh, my home. Occasionally I get cravings for paved roads with sidewalks, anonymity, the sounds of cars passing, walking around at night under streetlights, dancing downtown, live music, etc. Hell, I’d just like to be able to drive to the Harris Teeter and get a candy bar or a six pack of beer some evenings. Ah well, I’ll be able to do that my whole life. I’m only going to be in Lesotho for two years, which is not much time at all. Besides, I can visit the Harris Teeter this summer when I come home for a week at the end of June – my mom’s getting married!

The first day, and the rest of the week at Mabuleng Secondary School were not at all what I expected. I guess I should have anticipated what happened – there were signs all around. My supervisor (the principal of the school) had only been around for two days out of the entire summer break from December to January. On Monday January 16, the first day of school, we had a total of 3 teachers (I think there are supposed to be 5), my supervisor was still MIA, and approximately 10 students showed up. I’m pretty sure everyone has known for at least three or four months that the other science/maths teacher left and we need to hire a new one, but that hasn’t happened yet either (no, I didn’t make a mistake, they really call it “maths” here, short for mathematics). I know we have a small school, but I was told “small” meant we have around 50 students enrolled each year. I guess I really did expect those 50 students to show up at 8 AM in their bright blue uniforms on the first day of school. Silly Caitlin! The few that came trickled in gradually between 9 and 11 AM. I did see one at 8 AM, when I arrived, but she wandered off somewhere. We ended up letting them out early at 3 PM. Maybe you’re curious as to what I did during those 7 hours on the first day of school? Sure didn’t teach. A better question is: what are the students doing for those 7 hours? Sitting in the classroom. Not only is that pitiful, but it’s a waste of time and money, especially when these kids barely have the money to pay for school. Apparently the teachers at my school never teach on the first day of school here…they just can’t get organized enough. Initially I thought it was related to the principal being out of town, but it’s not. On the first day of school, half the teachers were absent and we still hadn’t created a timetable or confirmed what classes we’d be teaching exactly. Also, many of the students come from poor families in the surrounding rural villages. Many still haven’t gotten together the funds for school fees, books, and uniforms (only primary education is free in Lesotho unfortunately) by the first day of school. So, I did what the other teachers did: I sat in the teacher’s room. I read an entire novel. A great novel it was, but I couldn’t help but feel as if this situation could have been avoided. I walked home for my hour-long lunch break at 1, called my mom on her birthday, and returned to be told I could go home again. On the second day of school, I was still sitting in the teacher’s room, but I at least planned out the tentative first quarter for each of the three classes I’m projected to teach. I went home early again and made chicken soup. This whole thing has reinforced what I already know and am still trying to get used to: in Africa, things go slowly. There are very few things that run efficiently, but no one seems to mind. It’s important to exercise a lot of patience here; otherwise people from Western cultures will go crazy. To an American, it seems like an awful lot of time is wasted. But the Basotho see it differently. It’s just life and that’s how things go. They never rush themselves or anyone else, which is honestly kind of nice – you never have to worry about being late every once in a while, hell, or even showing up (probably not going to try that one). They seem to have a different concept of time. It is absolutely fascinating to me. So far, I’ve adapted in that I now know how to sit for hours on end. In my three months here, I’ve read 12 books so far (who’s the bookworm now, mom?). I’ve never read much for pleasure because I’ve always felt that I was wasting time – I was somehow never caught up with readings for my classes at my university. But now, I’ve graduated, I’m in Africa, and can read as much as I want. It’s lovely. I never knew how much I enjoyed it. There are some amazing authors out there. Some books I’ve read recently that I recommend include: -The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (a good story whether you’re into science or not) -The Corrections (about a dysfunctional Midwestern family – I laughed out loud) -The Vegetarian Myth (debunks a lot of veg. arguments and makes you think) -Fall on Your Knees (an international bestseller in Oprah’s book club!) -The Poisonwood Bible (about a missionary family meddling in the Congo) Anyway, I finally started teaching on Friday. I’ve got two science classes and a math class. I’m not a big fan of math, but the math is basic enough and I try to make it fun with games…and minor bribes. “Whoever gets the problem right first gets a sticker!” Kids here will do anything for a sticker. Never underestimate the power of the sticker in Lesotho schools. I certainly have challenges. Right now I’m wondering how the hell I’m supposed to teach the use and parts of a microscope to my science class when we don’t have a science lab or a microscope…this is going be bo-ring! Poor kids. They don’t get to experience the burning and blowing up stuff that made me love science so much. The 5 students in Form A today looked at me like a crazy person when I spoke, even though I do my best to speak as slow as I can and enunciate every single word (we volunteers call this the “box talk”). Almost all of the subjects are taught in English at the secondary level, but out in these parts the English skills ain’t so great. Science presents a double challenge: not only are the students trying to grasp the main concept, but they’re also trying to remember (and pronounce) terms like “mitochondria” and “chloroplasts.” Things are going to go pretty slow! Anyway, I’m finally having fun doing what I came here to do.

Reblogged from Paltry Meanderings of a Taller Than Average Woman: As a taller-than-average woman who has studied – and envied – the privileges enjoyed by those who are limited in physical stature, it has become overwhelmingly clear to me that … Continue reading →

Drinking fountains are simply nonexistent in my village. In my opinion, they are missed most at the two schools where I work. Daily I carry a 32 ounce nalgene bottle filled with water. Should I forget to bring it with me to school (which hasn’t happened yet), it would be worth the walk to home [...]

This New Year has brought with it noticeable changes. Some New Years come and go without notice, but not this time. You can smell it in the air, you can see it in the new faces at work, you can feel it in the cracks beneath your feet as you walk, and I can sense it in my attitude. We have officially moved from the rainy season (one for the record books) to the hot, dry season in Lusi. And though the mold which took up residence on my cement floor and walls during the rainy season persists, I think I can see it growing weaker by the day. Warm gusts of wind blowing off the sun-baked and cracked dirt paths bring the summery smell of drying grasses and the temperature soars in the middle of the day (though, thankfully, not as high as in Garissa). The dirt paths I walk on my way to work have gone from mud-filled to desiccated in a few weeks. Where puddles once were, there are now holes in the ground that look like they might have any manner of living thing inside them or like they may open up and swallow you if you step in the wrong place. In the evenings the air turns cool and the stars sparkle as bright as I have ever seen in my life. Unfortunately, warm days and cool nights means that the mosquitoes are back as well. Even though it’s only been a few weeks since the rainy season ended, water is already scarce. In a few more days (or maybe a few weeks if we are lucky) we’ll be paying for water to be trucked in for storage in the tanks at work. It’s incredibly hard to imagine that just over a month ago we were all praying for an end to the torrential rains and all 10 10,000Ltr tanks at work were filled to overflowing.

But the lack of rain also has its up-sides. There is constant activity at Rafiki now as construction projects, delayed by the prolonged rainy season, have begun in full force driven by the threat of the next rainy season in March or April. In addition to construction activities, our program staff have hit the ground running this year in an effort to catch up on lost time (mainly due to the exams in schools making activities impossible for the better part of October and November). I am also supervising a new program which started this month so the staff have been getting oriented with the program, planning and strategizing for the past couple weeks. A new staff for the M&E department, 2 new staff for the new program (focusing on child participation through the child-to-child approach and getting children involved in their own IGAs), and a new staff for our health program bring the number of staff I’m supervising up to 11. This means, my days are split between 3 programs and the M&E department and then I try to find some time to fit in my own work. As we settle in to the programs and the routine of our new activities, things will calm down and give me a chance to get back to focusing on how I can best share my skills and ideas before I have to leave.

Thankfully, since the holiday break I am feeling a new sense of calm and am able to take things as they come much better than I have before. Perhaps I’m finally learning the lesson Kenya has been trying to teach me all along. Do what you can with what you have and the time you are given (even if all of those things change constantly). Of course there are still times when I lose my patience, but I feel like I have learned so much about myself in the past 3 months, and it has given me a new sense of strength; strength I am going to need to juggle all of these activities. Things have changed a lot for me since my decision to extend my service in August. It’s been a hard transition not having my closest friends around, but I have learned a lot about myself and I feel stronger for the experience, even if it has probably been the most challenging of my life. I have a great group of new friends and, thanks to a mutual resolution to be fit this year, an active after-work life (I know it’s hard to imagine in the village, but it’s true). So with this New Year, I feel older and wiser, and oddly more “myself” than I have in a really long time. My next task is to adjust to the idea that this is my last year in Kenya and in 7 short months I’ll be saying goodbye to this country that has in so many ways become my home.

Yum! I made some fresh fruit an d veggie juice last night during a downpour. It is delicious.  Recipe: I just threw in whatever I had, and tried to chop it a bit first to help the blender.  8 mangoes, 1 banana, some spoonfuls of applesauce, tomato, spinach lettuce and moringa leaves, pro-biotic yoghurt and [...]

My holidays were amazing. It started with a work holiday party, for which I created some fun holiday cards out of cardstock, tape, colored pencils and nail polish (you learn to be resourceful as a Peace Corps Volunteer). The party really only consisted of lunch and some of our staff had to leave early before eating because they wanted to get on the road and travel home since it was already the 23rd. Catherine, the VSO volunteer who came to our organization in November, and our colleague Rachael did superlatives and the whole staff voted. I’m really wondering how I come across to my colleagues because I was voted “Most Organized”, but also “Most likely to end up in jail.” Very interesting.

Christmas I spent in Kisumu with some of my new friends. It was a girl party at an AMAZING house in Kisumu. It felt like a holiday in a palace. We eat had our own room and the TV was longer than I am tall. We ate delicious food, baked (BAKED!!) Christmas cookies, listened to holiday music and watched at least one holiday movie, though our intention was to have a Christmas-day movie marathon. Good try. On Christmas day we ate mango pancakes and drank orange-passion screwdrivers on the veranda in the back yard. It was so relaxing and luxurious, but not really your traditional holiday. We then just baked and ate cookies all day until our Mexican food delivery came around 5pm (ordered the day before). Oh yeah, and there was a bottle of tequila in there somewhere. It was a really amazing weekend. So relaxing and exactly what I needed to save me from getting burned out at work. My new friend Steph somehow even got us all to agree to participate in hundredpushups.com. Deidra and I will be competing against Elise and Steph to see which team improves the most at the end of 6 weeks. The prize is fondue from the losing team and we are pretty serious. Unfortunately, I have also placed other bets on my actual ability to do 100 pushups (consecutive) by the end of 6 weeks… that might be harder.

Highlights:

• Getting to skype and talk with family and friends

• Watching the Seahawks game when they played at home vs San Francisco on my Christmas Day (at 12am, but hey, it counts and since I couldn’t stay awake past 2 I went asleep while they were still ahead. Bonus!)

• Christmas cookies!!!

Interlude. I spent two very relaxing and fun days with another PCV at her site between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. She taught me how to knit and I am proud to announce I am ¾ of the way through my first scarf. I also learned how to make granola in a pan on a gas stove and that it can be used to make a very tasty no-bake fruit crisp.

On to Naivasha. I spent 4, freezing cold nights at a camp on Lake Naivasha. Not camping, but staying in the dorms. I met up with Catherine and some of her VSO friends. I love seeing other parts of the country and even though I’ve been to Naivasha before, I learned about so many more things that I have to go back and do. There is a volcano to climb, a lake to hike around, and a million other cool places to go. Guess I’ll have to add it to my list of places to go (too bad I don’t have more time left in Kenya, or more time off work). On New Year’s Day, to signify that this year would be different than the rest, and marked a turning point in my life, I decided to do something totally out of the usual. I ate fish for dinner. My first dinner of the New Year was crayfish pasta and some bites of fish and chips. And I loved every delicious bite of it!!

Highlights:

• Finding a bagel crisp-like snack in the supermarket – it tastes exactly the same, but sadly it only comes in really tiny bags

• I stayed behind on the 31st while everyone else went hiking or biking and had enough luck to meet and have a conversation with two amazing women who worked with Jane Goodall in Tanzania tracking the chimpanzees – we shared a shandy and talked about everything from their experiences of Kenya when they lived here as young ladies, probably around my age or younger, to politics in England and the US (and how ridiculous politicians are)

• Going into Joy Adamson’s old house and learning about her amazing life (and eating LOTS of delicious cake!! Seriously, it’s free when you go to the house… as much as you want – which would have been more if I had not been hung-over from New Year’s Eve. Oops.)

• Getting my money back for some rotten cheese (it was brie and I was so excited to eat it, only to find the most rotten, disgusting cheese imaginable – see picture below) and getting the guy who tried to cheat us and everyone else in the matatu to give us a fair price and stop lying to everyone in the vehicle. Now, I may have started a fight, but since he was cheating everyone and we all subsequently learned the truth, I’ll claim my victory. It sure felt good.

I'll try to add some pictures later when I have a better connection (I tried now but after half an hour it was only at 16% uploaded... pass). For those of you on FB, you can see/have already seen them there.

  Oh Sumry how you are the bus for me Really you’re the only one I see For a small fee I don’t have to kaa on my knees This brings me oh so much glee   Seat dancing to tunes, wearing my belt This bus line really makes my heart melt   With water [...]

January 27, 2011

Greetings everyone! Today I want to introduce Shumba. Shumba is a lioness from Kafue National Park. In early December Shumba’s front paw was severely bitten by a crocodile; guides and agents from Zambia Wildlife Authority (ZWA) kept an eye on her and it was very soon obvious that she was not going to make it without medical attention. ZWA then made the decision to try something they had never done before, they decided to attempt to capture her in order to treat her wound which now had a raging infection. Part of the reason they made the decision was because she is so young, only 3 years old and has not only a long life in front of her but should also be able to have a few litters of cubs as well. Munda Wanga was then contacted to see if we could house her while she was undergoing medical care and treatments, not only were we the perfect facility for this, but ZWA’s headquarters is right across the street as well to administer veterinary care.

Shumba has now been here at Munda Wanga for the last almost 2 months. Her paw is looking so much better than it was but she has a long way to go as you can see from the pictures. Twice every week our volunteer vets team up with ZWA’s vets to clean the wounds and apply medications. We try to keep we as happy and well cared for as humanly possible, but she is wild at heart and does not want to be here, she want to go home.

This blog is going to be unique in the fact that I am going to ask something of my readers. I am going to ask that you all think good thoughts, say a prayer, or whatever you believe to make positive things happen for Shumba. She needs as much help and encouragement as we can all give her. She hates being locked up, after all she was a wild lion the first 3 years of her life, and wants to get back to her pride. I do not mean to interfere in others lives but I am asking because right now Shumba could use a miracle to get better.

Love and miss you all! Tammy

Highs:

Life skills in the village, my org is continuing to use the mud stove we constructed, I've got the latest financial data from the school compiled for our monthly meeting this next Tuesday, and I made it to boys weekend!

Lows:

Misplaced my iPod shuffle charger and had to buy a new one in K'la at a very high premium. Continue to struggle with attention recieved in the village, I'll no doubt be jacking up my iPod volume this upcoming week.

What I Did:

As said lifeskills, and some prep stuff for this upcoming week's business meeting. Now I'm playing black jack and drinking passion fruit and Malibu cocktails.

What Is On The Agenda:

Need to get a letter of recommendation from a departing PC employee, get a communication out from the Bridge Group to the incoming Volunteer 'class', lifeskills Wednesday, Basketball tourney at Becca's site next weekend, also helping her with some Wat San project planning while I am there. And of course... the end of month meeting at my organization!!!

Funny Story Of The Week:

I was jogging when a 20 something year old man sitting on the side of the road (Ugandans do this a lot) called out 'Muzungu' to me. I've garnered a bit of a reputation lately for not putting up with people calling me a 'muzungu' for their own entertainment. So I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to this punk who promptly got up and ran into the banana trees. A few miles later, on my return I run by the same spot and another gentleman calls out 'muzungu' behind me. I turn to find a man about my age standing in the middle of the road making boxing gestures at me, about 20 yards away. I walk about 10 yards from him, and take off my sunglasses, causing him to retreat. He then begins his gestures once again from a safe 20 yards. I make a similar gesture, putting my fists up in a defensive position. He starts walking in slowly to me, and I close in on him. At about 10 feet away we pause. A crowd has started to form. I take one step in closer and he once again runs away in retreat. I hold my two fists above my head like Rocky. The crowd is cheering 'Muzungu, Muzungu.' For the first time in a while it doesn't bother me.

Sanity Meter:

Sanity is extremely variable these days. I'd be lying if I said my only confrontations with people while running came with adults. The constant attention drives me nuts, yall know that by now. But I've made a point of really taking advantage of my time away, and getting away on a more frequent basis.

What I'm Reading:

Finished Michael Lewis's Liar's Poker and I hope to finish C.S. Lewis's The Silver Chair on my ride back to site. I'm going to try to knock out Machiavelli's The Prince, which I stalled on a while back, before I go into Stephen King's The Stand.

On a walk today, I couldn’t shake the thought that I held more babies in my two years in Peace Corps, The Gambia, than I had prior in my whole life. I also started thinking about how parenting here differs, or in particular, how people perceive parents differently. I believe parents in the U.S. feel a lot more responsibility for their children’s behavior. The mom on the airplane, the mom in the grocery store- who, when their child acts up, cries, throws a tantrum- feels embarrassed and apologetic to everyone around her. Now, in The Gambia, women are never embarrassed or apologetic about things like that. Ok, maybe if their kid poops or pees on you, they are really sorry and clean it up swiftly, but really it’s no big deal. However, the community is a lot more involved in raising children (insert it takes a village quotation here).

Yes, in The Gambia, children are not raised solely by these two individual struggling parents- who from what I see are trying to do it all- instill morals, go grocery shopping, work, etc. In The Gambia- men and women both have to work- just not what we think of traditionally. Out in the provinces the traditional method is farming. Women go out to the rice fields and men work the millet and peanut fields. The rice fields, especially during the rainy season is hard work that requires constant weeding from sun up to sun down (feel lucky yet?). Now, what some moms do with infants is either (a) use formula, (b) have a wet nurse (not common from what I saw. However an interesting thing I observed is some aunts or grandmas gave the child a nipple- like a pacifier effect) (c) have someone bring out the baby to the fields or (d) not go to the fields for as long a period during the day. Now, the D option is what really disturbed me while I was there because I witnessed and heard some unhappy babies- to which the grandma or the young sibling who was babysitting all day would reply, “S/he’s hungry.”

As mentioned, siblings and grandmothers do a lot of the childcare. Because a lot of the elderly people are somewhat house bound already (i.e., a lot of general body pain) they often just sit outside and watch the children in the middle of the compound, or hold them for a while, especially the babies. Similarly, the older siblings do a lot of the care taking such as bathing, feeding (not preparing meals, this task is for older siblings or parents), dressing, etc. The moms usually work in the rice field, cook, pound rice, or do laundry. Siblings also shared in this task, which was done every other day and is very labor intensive.

To do laundry, you have to first fetch enough water from the pump to fill three big buckets. Then, you basically cycle the clothes through the three buckets. In the first bucket you do an intensive scrubbing with a very harsh soap made of lye and soda (very toxic and harsh- some women douched with this). In the bucket, the clothes are rubbed together to sud and rinsed a little. The third bucket is the final rinse and the white clothes got a final dump in a chemical that maintains whiteness, called “Blue-O” (the water was literally dark blue). Yes Josh and I did this 1-2 times a week and I can say from personal experience it is not fun.

But anyway, that was a side note. Basically, women do a lot of work. But that’s not my point. My point is that mother is not expected to do it alone. Her children, her mother, her sister, her aunt and all the other women in the compound take care of each other. Sometimes they take turns cooking. Sometimes they take turns watching baby. The other women in the community also share in on the responsibility.

I will use a story as an example- I will call it, “Baby Ya Ya and the Bean.” So one night, Baby Yaya’s mother came frantically up to us, telling us baby YaYa had a bean in his nose and wanting to know if we could fix the problem. This was a frequent occurrence (not the bean, but being asked to help- as they assumed we know so much about medicine and what to do). I looked at baby YaYa and I felt so bad- he was crying and scratching/rubbing his nose. I honestly did not know what to do- so I told them to go to the nurse. The nurse, as usual was not there. I could go off on a tangent about that as well. And honestly even if he was there I would be scared to think of what he actually might do. Injections were usually the solution to most problems. Even when I was talking together with the nurse and a young boy who was sharing about his father being mentally ill (actually the correct term was possessed by demons) the nurse said “We can give him an injection for that.” I would hate to know what that injection is. Back to the story- Baby Yaya’s mom finally decided- that’s it, we are taking him to the “sateweo kono” which directly translates into “middle of the city.” So, off went Yaya, Yaya’s mom and a couple other people from the compound. Fifteen minutes later, back they came. And the bean was out. “What happened?” I asked. Apparently, someone got it out with a stick. So, there you have it, when something goes wrong, just take it to the middle of the village and someone will fix the problem. I can also gaurentee you from memory the next day, everyone I passed in the village knew the story about baby YaYa and the bean.Baby YaYa, sleeping peacefully, many weeks after his bean removal.

On a side note- public breastfeeding is no big deal either. I saw boobs on public transport, in the city, village, walking down the street- anywhere! No one is ashamed to breast feed their child. Now part of that is cultural. Boobs are not a sexual object in The Gambia as they are in the U.S. In The Gambia, the sexual object is the upper thigh.

People help women out too- getting on public transport it is not uncommon to see a mother hand a random stranger her baby when getting in and out of the car. And hey, sometimes they even hold it awhile. Myself and a lot of Peace Corps volunteers can tell of many car trips where we had a baby on our lap the whole way. Sometimes mom needs a break.

I feel, in the U.S., mothers are judged too harshly by others on their childcare practices. People don’t like to get involved either. And part of that is we don’t trust each other, we don’t want to infringe on personal space. We just want to sit from a high chair (no pun intended) and tell other people how they should be raising their children instead of giving them a hand. We have too many walls- literally and figuratively. I have heard of some great ways around this in the U.S. – parent groups, baby co-ops, etc. But wow, we are just so different as far as playing the role of the bystander. In The Gambia, I felt there was no bystander. We were all there- sitting, standing, lying down- we were a part of it.

For those who don't know, TEFL stands for 'Teaching English as a Foreign Language'. I am planning to get certified soon, however the more I have studied the more options I seem to have.

First off, the reason WHY I want to get certified. My plan is to travel the world teaching English, or more specifically, travel Central and South America. Fun, right? Well I don't have the backpacker laid back attitude about it that some people seem to have, as a story I am about to share will tell you.

So one of my main concerns about choosing a place to live for at least a year is savings. How much can I possibly save in different countries? Some have higher cost of living, some pay more, and so on. So I went to different forums and asked those who have greater experience than I in all this.

Most the answers were helpful, but one snidely stated that there was no way I could save money in Latin America. "At best," they said, "You MIGHT be able to save a little if you live like a hermit and only eat out a couple times a week."

I stared at the sentence a bit, and bust a gut laughing. Maybe it is a unique feature with how I was raised, but to eat out is something done in conjunction with with being social. To eat out 'a couple times a week' is something I don't even do NOW. Maybe once a week, though it is more often once every two. I am also very good at choosing the cheapest items on the list when ordering at places, and bowing out of things when it doesn't fit my budget.

However, I get it. My brother would consider his social life dead if he didn't go out drinking with buddies a couple times a week, especially when he was in college. It seems that a lot of my generation are not good at budgeting, or finding cheap places to eat. I have a hard time imaging they don't have any good, cheap restaurants down in Latin America when I have heard stories from people who lived in different regions about all the wonderful food for amazingly low prices!

Regardless of this small hiccup, there was a lot of great advice and I have narrowed my gaze for the first year. My two top choices currently would be Mexico or Colombia, although I am still keeping tabs on Peru and Chile. It's a interesting bit of excitement, choosing a country to live in.

Now I just need to figure out what KIND of certification I should get... CELTA? TESOL? TEFL?

Ah, options. They drive you crazy.

This week I was proposed marriage during a drinking circle, by an elderly mad who was intermittently falling asleep on himself and accidently spitting on his shirt front. On my way out of Bambamarca on Sunday afternoon with my family the mayor of my town called me over to a store front near the paradero (the location where the trucks pick up and drop off from my town, each town has their own specific spot in Bambamarca). I decided to join the drinking circle, because it was the first time the mayor had expressed interest in talking with me. He had previously been really good at brushing me off-so I gladly walked over. I want to be this guy’s friend, because he could be a great asset for any projects I start. Also the political system in Peru seems pretty convoluted in general and I am going to need some help figuring out how to get through all the paperwork to get projects off the ground.

I’m pretty sure the mayor and his new regidores where at least one beer case deep when I joined up, so I didn’t get in a lot of serious business talk with the mayor. However, he did offer to help me with funding t-shirts as a surprise for my English class students. Also he said he was really happy to have another volunteer in the community and was looking forward to working with me. It was actually the mayor’s elderly uncle who proposed to me. He woke up and simply told me that he wanted to marry me. Then he proceeded to try to spit on the ground, but miss and hit his shirt. It was ridiculous-such a great moment. I excused myself from the drinking circle and caught the next truck up the mountain.

The rest of the week was English class in the morning and encuestas in the afternoon. Except on Monday, after class I stayed in bed the rest of the day. On Sunday in Bambamarca before the drinking circle my host dad Joel treated everyone to juice in the market. I am convinced that the juice was with crude water and that’s what made me sick. My family thinks it’s because I blew them off at the paradero to stay behind and join the mayor’s drinking circle. I need to mention that ‘juice’ in Peru often means water blended with fruit. My host grandma in Lima used to make me ‘juice’ all the time. It was always hot, because she boiled the water.

This week I started learning how to crochet. My mom has taught me before in the states, but I didn’t retain it from lack of use. My Peruvian mom is teaching me how to crochet a ‘fondo’ for a skirt. The women all wear their skirts with a crocheted layer underneath for warmth. I guess I’m going to start dressing like the locals. When I finish up my fondo all I’ll need to do is go out and buy a campo skirt.

I also had a scabies scare this week. I am waiting to hear back from the Peace Corps doctors. I have been waking up every morning for the last month and a half with bites on my waist and ankles. It wasn’t really that bad, until recently the itching started waking me up in the night. So I called the doctors and based on my symptoms I may have scabies. Pretty gross, huh? Anyways, I’m emailing a picture of my spots and the doctors are going to look at and try to figure out if I’ve got scabies, ewww. ***Please do not let scabies deter anyone potential visitors!!! I promise it is unusual even for Peru!**** Also sidenote-I’d also like to state for the record that I bathe and I’m a clean person. Just in case people were thinking I’m disgusting for having scabies…but hey, I wanted to be Peace Corps volunteer and this is just a part of the experience, right?

Friday I came into Chota for my friend Ellie’s birthday. There wasn’t cake so we had birthday churros, which were very delicious. I also got to go to Serpost. Thanks for the letters; Mrs. Moran, Mom, Aunt Jenny, and Ally. Also thanks for the packages; Kwapis, Racizzle, Snow White, and Nana. I am especially excited about my new copy of Bridesmaids. I don’t think the rural Peruvian women at my site will be able to handle it, but my fellow volunteers will sure appreciate the humor. Thanks again.

Chau,kb

Some of my students working on drawing community maps.

In Cajamarca with the other cajachicas.

These ladies are preparing the food for the post swearing in ceremony lunch.

Cuys to be cooked.

The mayor and his regidores being sworn in last week.

A series of pictures of my host dad Joel goofing off at the internet cafe while he is waiting for me to skype my family. I caught him watching these little boys playing their video games.

More pictures of the market in Bambamarca.

This is how full the trucks are when we drive to and from my site into Bamba.

more cute pictures of my students

On December 3rd I helped out at a Christmas party for an NGO in my village called the Thandi Khumalo foundation. It is an NGO for orphans and vulnerable children affected by the AIDS epidemic. We made lots of food, had a dance party, and handed out clothes. It was really fun meeting all the kids and playing with them. They absolutely loved getting their pictures taken, although for some reason they refuse to smile during the photo, but laugh and giggle when they see themselves just a few minutes later. Batswana think it’s hilarious when I play with the kids. In Botswana adults don’t play, or organize games as we would for a kids party in the states. The adults sit in one area, while the kids have another area. They can’t understand why I want to go play tag or hula-hoop. They don’t shun me for it either, they just laugh since it’s atypical of their culture. Interesting!

Tonight I made my first dinner from my Horse & Buggy produce share. I made wheatberries* with chicken broth, sauteed onions and mushrooms. This was accompanied by roasted butternut squash with a maple syrup and orange juice glaze. I used some of the mixed Asian greens and greenhouse cucumbers to make a salad. Upon this salad I poured homemade balsamic vinaigrette sweetened with some of the leftover glaze. The maple syrup was a gift Nj brought me back from Vermont.

For dessert, I used some of the frozen blackberries to make a kiwi blackberry salad with homemade whipped cream. The whipped cream had just a tiny bit of hazelnut syrup which imbued it with a slight and delicious nuttiness.

* Items in bold are from the CSA.

**NOTE: I wrote this before my trip, just after new years. I didn't have time to put in the pictures, so I left it until now.

2012.

I've always enjoyed even years more than odd years, is that strange? Although some even years have been the absolute worst of my life, I've liked them better. Fun fact: Mongolians believe that how you'll spend the NYE is the same as how you'll spend the upcoming year. So spending last NYE alone with my cat seems pretty accurate, no?

This year, Jess and I traveled down to Dariganga to ring in 2012 with our own Sarah K. This means I'll be surrounded by friends this year, yeah? Since this year marks the final stretch of my Peace Corps service, it makes sense.

So how did I do on my new year's resolutions? Pretty well, I thought. Get shit done, genee (I said). I think I successfully got shit done. I'll mark that as a check. Taking more photos, genee. That is a not check. Jess and I are planning to keep each other creative this year (her passion being poetry). I've already started the year out pretty well:

2012 Resolutions:

-More photographs, even taking shit ones and not being so hard on myself about them

-Get even more shit done and finish my PC service out right

-Get healthier!

-Read more, watch less crap, dammit

-Swear less! no.

I'm getting ready for a mini tour of Mongolia next week: A week in Altai, and a couple days in Bayankhongor, Arvikheer, and Khar Khorin. All for nursing seminars and CPR/first aid classes, but it'll be nice to visit with friends... and work on those new year's resolutions.

Yesterday was weird. That's seriously the only word to describe it. I was so pleased with myself that I got so much work done, but yet downer things kept happening like tearing a huge hole in my nice pants because I got too close to a metal trash can (seriously, what). At least the day ended off well, with a wine-filled evening with my CPs, although I had planned to do laundry (and I did end up doing later), I decided to let it go. I haven't done that in a long time, isn't that sad? I've become a grouchy-pants. I then stumbled to the store half-drunk with a coworker who I thought didn't like me that much, but there we were, arm-in-arm making our way to the center of town and having a nice conversation.

Shin Jil was a lot more low-key this year, and a bit of a downer. I was still sick, so I wasn't drinking (mistake! but at least I didn't have a hangover). Altansuvd wasn't there because she had just had her baby (?!?!?! it's a BOY!! You guys don't know how excited I am about this), and Mukhzul wasn't there because of a family death. I enjoyed the time, anyway:

Happy New Year, folks.

as i please, homegirl got a new camera. back to. i’m trying to do weekly themes. this week? on the porch. i hang with this crew of ladies and gents every evening after school. they’re my social life, and i’m so happy. i wouldn’t have made it to within four months of close of service [...]

I went home in December for about 15 days. I am grateful I was able to go home and spend time with my loved ones. I am truly appreciative for all that I have been blessed with in my life. Returning to SVG was a strange unexpected adjustment. Since I was only gone 15 days it didn't cross my mind that a minor re-adjustment was in order.

The first 2 days were wonderful, honeymoon stage all over again. But then something happened. I still can't fully put it into words but I felt pretty detached from the life I had grown accustomed to here. Things were just gray and "blah". I was going through the motions, a shell playing a role.

With time and putting forth the effort to allow things to simply just be (ironic I know, but I had to intentionally NOT try to "fix" things), and support from fellow PCVS on and off island, the clouds gradually parted.

After a wonderful heart to heart with my parents I entered into 2012 with a spark lit deep inside. Yes I have 16 months whole months remaining, but I am all to aware of how quickly those 16 months will fly by. I spent much of 2011 grounding myself , finding my sense of balance in SVG, traveling inward more than I ever have before . At this point, I am ready to fully extend myself and create the experience to be remembered for a 'lifetime'.

It is becoming crystal clear to me that each and every volunteer has come here to experience this time in their own unique way. Comparison is truly death. The beauty of this position is the flexibility awarded (within the confines of being attached to the U.S. government) to give as much or as little of yourself as you desire, however you choose to do so. You can focus on the negatives, allow the constraints to become your ball and chain or you can just as easily focus on the beauty and abundant potential that exist within many budding spirits who are open to expansion, collaboration and fellowship with others.

"My tears were not for Bailey or Mother or even myself but for the helplessness of mortals who live on the sufferance of life. In order to avoid this bitter end, we would all have to be born again and born with the knowledge of alternatives. Even then?" -Maya Angelou

...each day offers the opportunity to see with fresh eyes.

Saliou, my husband, spilt the last cup of attaya, which his mom had been about to drink.

Sinni: Kowbala! [this is one of my husbands many nick-names]

Saliou gives a look exactly like Macauly Culkin in Home Alone. I wanted to burst out laughing, but I didn't want to encourage attaya-spilling.

There's a pause, and then Saliou announces, “I farted.”

Neighbor: You farted?

Saliou: Yes.

And that was that.

Why

Just ask the donkey in me

To speak to the donkey in you,

When I have so many other beautiful animals

And brilliant colored birds inside

That are all longing to say something wonderful

And exciting to your heart?

Let’s open all the locked doors upon our eyes

That keep us from knowing the Intelligence

That begets love

And a more lively and satisfying conversation

With the Friend.

Let’s turn loose our golden falcons

So that they can meet in the sky

Where our spirits belong –

Necking like two

Hot kids.

Let’s hold hands and get drunk near the sun

And sing sweet songs to GodUntil He joins us with a few notes

From His own sublime lute and drum.

If you have a better idea

Of how to pass a lonely night

After your glands may have performed

All their little magic

Then speak up sweethearts, speak up,

For Hafiz and all the world will listen.

Why just bring your donkey to me

Asking for stale hay

And a boring conference with the idiot

In regards to this precious matter –Such a precious matter as love,

When I have so many other diving animals

And brilliant colored birds inside

That are all longing

To so sweetly

Greet

You!

~Hafiz

Alright, so it's a little bit more than a week, but whatever. So much has happened this week already that it's hard to believe I've been here for so little time. The days are jam-packed, and when I'm not at the training center or running errands with my host family, I'm sleeping. To recap, here are some of the highlights, which I wish you all could have been here to share with me (the triumphs, the tragedies....so dramatic):

Saturday (Jan 21): Met my host family. Vanessa is my same age, and same height, so we often joke that we are gemelas, or twins. I feel pretty normal height-wise here for the first time in my life. Ecuadorian ladies are about my size (I'm about average), and men are a little bit taller (anywhere from my height to 5'10", occasionally taller). Vanessa is also president of Faust's fan club, who is an Ecuadorian singer who is very famous/popular here. She wants to take me to one of his concerts here before I leave for my site.

My host mom is SUPER protective, sassy, and the best possible host mom I could have here (more below). She does try to feed me a lot, but here, that's a way of showing you love and respect someone. She tells a lot of jokes which I can mostly understand, and we enjoy my Spanish mistakes. She served me "something ahumada" and I started choking because I thought she had said "humana," aka I thought she was feeding me human. This was also an issue for me with Hunan food back in the States. Some things never change? But everyone at the table got a good laugh at it. Also: I'm their third volunteer, so they know what they're doing. They know that volunteers like having time to themselves, that we don't eat as much, and that we inexplicably love exercise. Finally, last thing about my host family: they had seen me in the training center before they knew who their volunteer was, and they had apparently pointed me out as the "pretty voluntaria" and keep referring to me as "la bonita." Thanks for the confidence boost, guys!

Sunday (Jan 22): They took me into Quito, which is HUGE, very Americanized, and very dangerous. How do I know this? Because later in the week we had a man from the Embassy come and scare the living bejesus out of us all. Although it is rare that anything would happen, assuming we take the correct precautions, it's still scary to hear those one-in-a-million stories. Anyway...then we went for sorbet. Mine was guanabana and mora. Both fruits, both incredibly delicious. My family knows how much fruit I can put away daily, so coming here is a blessing with all the new and exotic fruits to try.

Monday-Friday (23-27): Training, training, and more training. I learned how to:

take the bus...although Laura insisted on taking the bus with me the first day so I knew where to get on, get off, how much to pay, to wear my backpack in the front and put my money in different places on my body. As soon as we got to the training center, she held my hand and walked me to the center's gate, then we said goodbye and she hopped back on the bus. Told ya I'm in good hands.sidenote: Riding the bus here is a mix between surfing, Twister, and human Tetris. There are no limits for passenger capacity, and the bus driver's stop is more of a pause before hurtling off down the road to the next stop. Overall, a good morning workout, but I think I'll walk soon.sit through charlas, charlas y aun mas charlas: Luckily, they're all (mostly) interesting and full of useful information, but my body isn't used to sitting from 8-12:30 and 1:30-5. I've been trying to stretch to ameliorate the aches from sitting.get sick in a foreign country: This is a Peace Corps rite of passage, especially in Ecuador in the first week. Luckily, I knew to take Pepto Bismol, drink oral rehydration salts, and was able to go home and sleep all day Wednesday and then in the afternoon today (Friday).sidenote: How to talk about bodily functions in Spanish is also something we all have learned. It seems silly until you really need it. And some of us have really needed it this past week. I hope I don't get sick any more for a while, at least.explain why Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus has two identities and why she tries to keep them separate in the award-winning Hannah Montana: The Movie...in Spanish!watch Buena Suerte, Charlie y A Todo Ritmo ("Shake It Up!") on Ecuador's Disney Channel: This is of course to improve my Spanish and not fun at all. Nope.make a hair appointment before a baptism: This is tomorrow. Dress code is...fancy, with a side of dance expected. I'll report back.differentiate between the 3 types of dogs here: street dogs: These guys are tough, and live in the street. They dodge cars at the last millisecond, sleep on sidewalks, and in general make me really sad.The Peace Corps staff gets a kick out of me walking by every. single. dog. and saying "Que lindo, perro! Que bonito, este perrito!" and baby-talking every dog in Spanish. I keep joking that one of my secondary projects will be grooming street dogs to get them adopted and saved from street life. Sometimes people will leave out poisoned food in an effort to control the dog population ): Anyone that knows me knows how big of a soft spot I have for dogs, and street dogs just break my heart and make me want to cry (though I cry at everything...like the Hannah Montana movie. This is a lie.). Even when I have to use my whistle to protect myself.rooftop dogs: I'm not sure if these dogs ever leave their roofs, but it doesn't seem like it. They are essentially alarms and bark at anything and everything. We have one who lives on the roof, but he's really just a big baby in a Rottweiler body (shhh).indoor dogs: We have one of these too...these are the dogs livin' the good life. They get table scraps, get carried around, and wear cute little outfits. They are extremely coddled. I will probably get one once I'm in site. Obviously, I love dogs!I also learned that I'm in the Advanced-Low group for Spanish this week, which is pretty good! There's three levels (Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced) with sub-levels of Low-Medium-High. To "graduate" we have to reach at least Intermediate-Mid, so I've already done that. Muchisimas gracias, Vanderbilt Spanish major! Hoping to reach Advanced-High by the end of training, so I've got my work cut out for me.

P.S. Might go back to blonde...Eep!

I'm going to let the photos do most of the talking here.

The veggie vendors on the road outside of the market in Farafenni. I like all the little piles.

This is the initial entrance to the market. On a busy day you need to seriously push to make it through.

This man is one of the Kola Nut sellers. He makes people happy all day everyday....except for that day when he announced price increases on the kola nuts...

PC Gambia at the West African International Softball Tournament in Dakar. I'm in a blue headscarf here. We are very strong.

Preharvest pigeon peas in my backyard. Agave sisalana in pots on the floor. Home sweet home.

My plant baby, my moringa tree, age 9 or 10 months. Now it is making fruit! And then i am going to eat it!

My post harvest pigeon pea trees. Look! I found basil underneath them. I had missed walking that little section of path for like 3 months.

This is Omar's Lunch Shack. The man makes a mean domada and loves Peace Corps Volunteers. I try to visit him every time I come to the urban area. I currently owe this guy 10 dalasi.

Carlos sitting on the stoop. He's grown out of being a little ball of fluff, but is still pretty cute. He knows how to turn on the charm when he smells cooking fish.

Vacation in Dakar includes legit chicken fajitas. Legit chicken fajitas. Vacation!

Dakar is wonderfully covered in spray paint. I kept driving by this one, lambasting myself for never coming back on foot, until i just had to snap whatever i could get. Banjul doesn't have this...

Homegrown in Wallalan. All the mangoes are flowering right now in the country. It's gorgeous and fragrant here. When seen from far away...they look smokeable.

These last few months have been a little rough. Actually, I think ‘a little’ might qualify for understatement of the year. But despite it all I am trying to struggle through and am currently on my way to America for a much needed break. Although at first this ‘break’ seemed impossibly difficult due to the [...]

It’s been kind of a long time since I last updated so here’s a little of what’s been going on since my last post: It snowed in Zerdab- Thanksgiving- Christmas in Mingechevir- Gift Exchange Football on Christmas day, Azerbaijanis vs. Americans Shaxta Baba and Qar Qizi New Years in Tbilisi-

Hamdullilah (Thanks be to God)! It's January and that means we have been rushing around in a flurry of activity preparing for the camp. In the last two months, El Jallali Abdelaaziz (my counterpart) and I have been having meetings everyday, crossing our 't's and dotting our 'i's for this three day camp.

This is a picture of me, my site-mate and my counterpart (Seated in front of the computer).

Let's go over a checklist of all the things me and my counterpart have been doing.We've been talking to all the women who are: going to be counselors for the camp.I've been coordinating between all the Peace Corps Volunteer girls who want to be joint counselors activity leaders.We've been arranging spaces for all of us (that is a total of 85 people all told. I know the camp is for 50 girls, but that is plus 14 Peace Corps Volunteers, 3 kitchen people, 8 Moroccan Women Counselors, and a few members from the association that I work with.)We've sent out faxes and called local tv stations to get media to cover the camp.Gathered the permission slips of 50 girls and acquired the permission from their fathers (No small feat for girls from very small, conservative villages.Printed 100's of pages for girl empowerment workshopsFinalized and handed out the order slips for the food for the camp (this seemed to take the most time out of everything else).This is the majority of last week's activities. But let's also quickly preview the program for the camp:

This weekend on Saturday the 28th, all the Moroccan and American volunteers will meet before the camp so that they can become acquainted with each other and do a general introduction of activities, rules, and expectations of the camp.

Sunday, the 29th, is the beginning of the camp! The campers come at 10am, and then it's introductions, the outline of the camp, lunch, and then the workshops begin. The workshops on the first day cover a range of topics like women's rights, a personality test, and a guest speaker from an organization against violence. We're also showcasing the Moroccan and Peace Corps Volunteer film called, 'You Can Dream,' which interviews empowered Moroccan women who are working.

Monday the 30th, is more of the same, but with a woman doctor and a midwife from the area who are going to talk about their experiences. There will also be workshops on health and a henna workshop!

Tuesday the 31st is actually a really fun day. We're having workshops on dancing and on how to make natural makeup. We're also having a party and an award ceremony for all the girls. My counterpart has also asked the children he works with to do a dance for the older girls. And then after that, the girls will return home. I think this camp is going to absolutely swimmingly. I am really excited and am keeping my fingers crossed.

T-town is really pulling this camp off and I'm so proud to say that this project is not just a dream but an actual working experience for all the participants involved.

Wish me luck!

African Tick Fever, A.K.A. Rickettsia. That was the initial diagnosis, and why not? Swollen tick bite. Raging fever. Africa. It’s classic case. Even one of those snooty, high brow “Oh, I’m not a doctor, I just play one on TV. Now please stop harassing my children” quacks would have had to do something on this one, and so my adventure starts.

Now, when Peace Corps thinks you’re sick they don’t fool around. Following a quick telephone triage I’m off to Mombasa where after a salvo of diagnostics I’m checked into a top notch (or at least upper middle notch) hotel. Hot showers. Electricity. An all you can eat breakfast buffet. I’m beginning to see that falling ill in the Peace Corps has its perks. But a man, no matter how starved and smelly from months of living with a limited food and water supply, can only shower and eat breakfast so many times a day, and when you’re not in possession of anything electricity operated (and you don’t care to watch the one channel that comes through on the hotel TV) you can find yourself with a an abundance of quiet personal time.

Alone in my room, lab results from South Africa pending*, I sit silently, my ears honing in to soft, haughty laughter (undoubtedly from some TV “doctor”) and the light drum of cutlery against tableware bleeding through the walls. As I take in the ambiance of one of the finest establishments in Mombasa a muted, though familiar, melody resonates from the overhead sound system. A refrain that takes me to a home far away. A sagely voice that sings on the importance of knowing when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. It is none other than the siren call of that roast chicken maharishi himself, Kenny Rogers.

Another memorable tune plays itself out, and then another, and yet another. A seemingly infinite stream of John Denver, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, and Dolly Pardon floods out through the dining room speakers and into my room. I lay gripped with the same emotion that must be wrought in those trapped eternally in purgatory, eternally captive to overhear some kind of non-stop line-dancing afterlife next door, reserved for only those line-dancing aficionados whose life deeds proved particularly worthy of this everlasting reward, and for TV doctors and others whose days were filled with especially poor behavior. If you’ve ever wondered silently to yourself what the prestigious upper class of Kenya listens to while dining, you need only listen to your achy breaky heart for the answer.

*I did not, in fact, have Rickettsia. Please refrain from frantic emotional phone calls and emails to the Peace Corps office in Washington.