I have a new blog goal, blogoal if you will. I realized that in all these postings I don’t actually talk about Lesotho that much. I describe stories and my thoughts and feelings (so many feelings), but do not really … Continue reading →

Dilijan State College where I teach English as a Peace Corps volunteer TEFL

Remnants of damage in Dilijan following earthquake centered in Spitake, Armenia in 1988 On May 7 we had a scare in Armenia. It came as an earthquake which was centered in Ajerbaijan with a Richter scale reading of 5.6 and included the spread of tremors into our country. It was strong enough to awaken some volunteers, and there were 2 after-shocks later that evening. I was already at my college at 8:40 am and did not feel any tremors, but our school deputy director did, then saw that everyone who was in the building came outside for a period of time. My friends and colleagues at the college were visibly concerned. In towns where the tremors were stronger, schools were closed for the day. David did not feel anything as he walked to work. Several teachers at my college and our fellow volunteer, Kellianne, said they definitely felt movement in their homes nearby while preparing for work. All of this is a bit disconcerting, yet we all knew that Armenia was at risk of earthquakes when we agreed to come here almost one year ago. Where in the world is there NOT some type of potential for natural disaster, whether it is earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, droughts, etc. Of course, to experience any type of disaster far from home would be difficult, but no more so than for the people who live in Armenia, particularly the ones who lived through the horrible earthquake of 1988. May 7, 2012, must serve as a reminder that one needs to be prepared. The Peace Corps goes to great lengths to assure safety and security for its staff and volunteers, no matter what country. We have practice drills to consolidate in previously designated groups in case of emergencies or threats of various types. We are instructed to have our GO BAGS filled with essentials and ready for quick exit should a disaster arise. We have a code system so that all Peace Corps volunteers and staff know what to do----stand fast, consolidate, evacuate, etc., if sent a text message with a specific code. The safety and security officers in every country are routinely in touch with that country’s Embassy and other safety and law enforcement officials so that news is current and emergencies are dealt with in a timely way. In fact, the Peace Corps staff in Armenia has safety and security drills along with the U. S. Embassy in Armenia and we as volunteers had a mock consolidation last week. Due to David and my experience in Niger, Africa we know what an evacuation entails and hope to NOT have to participate in that type of happening again. We have heard recently that some of the Peace Corps volunteers from Niger who were evacuated with us have now been evacuated from their new countries thus going through more than one such emotionally exhausting , abrupt departure from Peace Corps service. So what was gained from today’s earthquake? Personally, an increased awareness and recognition of where we are and the fact that a disaster could actually occur comes to mind. I will now keep my purse, passport, cash, shoes, and our Go Bag in better availability and state of preparation in case of the need to hastily vacate our location. David will do similarly. We will critically look at our living space to see if changes need to be made in placement of furniture, for safety’s sake. And, the experience of actual tremors being felt in our town makes me appreciate the tedious routine of consolidation drills and other safety and security requirements of Peace Corps because we really might need this training in the future .No one knows, but preparation is prudent. As I walked home from school, I passed several clumps of purple irises just now beginning to bloom. These lovely flowers remind me of Tennessee and they grow without care here, amongst dilapidated, Soviet Union era buildings, and in gardens long abandoned by owners. The iris is a herald of spring both in Armenia and in the U. S. They brighten the day and inspire thankfulness for their beauty and for the day which began with a potential disaster yet progressed to one of calm and introspection. May this type of day continue and may we all be grateful for it. JudyExample of houses in Dilijan. Can you imagine what a strong earthquake might do to these buildings?Purple Iris in Armenia......remind me of Tennessee and provide a bright splash of springtime hope.

If you didn’t have enough of my 2,000+ dribble on packing yesterday, then you are in luck. I’ve got lots more today, and this time some actual suggestions. Hope it’s helpful, if not, I can’t give you back your time. … Continue reading →

This past weekend was the culmination of something incredible. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but for the past few months I’ve been working on putting together Peace Corps South Africa’s first provincial conferences. To put it bluntly, I was shocked by the lack of PCV support I had received since swearing in as an official PCV here in South Africa. In Niger, we had regional houses where most PCVs would stay for one long weekend per month. Because of these, most PCVs in-country said that they were closer with their “regional families” than with their “stages” (the group of PCVs with whom they went through training before being sworn in). When I got to South Africa, I was told it would be all about the clusters rather than regional families. I would be placed near other PCVs, we would coordinate projects together, and they would reach out to me as soon as I got there.

Well, I arrived at my site expecting the hearty welcome I had been told I would be receiving… no answer. I tried to reach out to someone in my shopping town, and received a friendly response that we could definitely set up a plan to meet… no time specified. My cluster originally consisted of three others and me. After six months, it became two others and me. I ended up never seeing one of my clustermates, and I saw the other once every few months. To draw a comparison, in Niger I lived fairly near to another PCV, and likely would have seen him on a weekly basis had I stayed. Instead, I went my first six weeks as an official SA Volunteer without seeing another American. Now, to those of you reading this, that might not seem like a big deal. Before Peace Corps, I had envisioned myself being alone at site pretty much always; and, this is how it might have been… in the 1960s. That’s not to say there aren’t those stray Volunteers who keep to themselves and stick at site 24/7 because they do exist, but that is not my ideal. The truth is, as much as I love my site and feel completely fulfilled with the work I am doing and the relationships that I have made here, I am still very much American at heart. It’s so nice to spend time with other Americans where I can vent about things like the marriage proposal fiasco, won’t get judged for drinking beer (most women who do here are seen as alcoholics or prostitutes), and can just be my complete self without being overly cautious of how I am portraying myself. So, in South Africa, my main support system became friends I had made during my training – my stage, as they say in West African PC countries. And I’m not complaining, I’ve made some definite lifelong friends from that group! Yet still, it seemed silly to me that they were my biggest and only supports when I had 40 Volunteers in my province, most of whom I had never met. And this is where the provincial conference idea came about. I approached the committee I’m on, the Volunteer Support Network (VSN), and got very positive feedback on the proposal. From there, four of us began planning to pilot the program in our two largest provinces, and voilà: the Biannual Provincial Conferences were born. It took a lot of planning and coordinating, but thanks to several of the committee members and several more enthused Volunteers outside of VSN, we had our first trial run this past weekend. Over 30 of us were in attendance at the KwaZulu Natal Conference, and there was representation from each training class as well as some Peace Corps Response Volunteers. It was an absolute pleasure getting to meet some of the people that I have worked beside for the past year without ever having known, and I am told that many people came out of it having gained useful information for their services. Our evaluation sheets were overwhelmingly positive, and I honestly was blown away by how smoothly it all ran. In essence, it couldn’t have turned out better in my mind. Everyone seemed to be in cheerful spirits throughout the weekend, the setting was gorgeous, right on the Indian Ocean, and there were lots of memories made with new and old friends alike. It was very, very cool to see this small idea come to fruition. I feel so grateful and happy that so many appreciated the thought and were willing to put forth effort to make it a reality. Peace Corps Volunteers are some of the craziest and most fun people I have ever come across, and I feel incredibly proud that we were able to put something together as PCVs for PCVs in South Africa. Tomorrow we will debrief the conferences in our committee meeting. If all goes well, I am hopeful that we can plan our next conference for November and that these conferences will live on long after my service ends.

If you want to compliment a Peace Corps Volunteer (not that our egos need any more boosting), compliment her integration. “Oh, I knew so-and-so, she was so well integrated!” What qualifies as praise-worthy integration will depend on who you ask, but it can range from a volunteer’s language or bargaining skills, to her ability to (and frequency with which) withstand long cultural events and/or terrible road conditions.

Being the competitive beings that PCVs are, integration is always a topic of discussion when we gather. The subtle ways volunteers try to one-up each other are exhausting. “Last week, I sat through a FOUR HOUR church service” one volunteer will complain. Another will respond “Four hours?! My service is six hours and I go every week”. While visiting a more ‘urban’ PCV, a particularly obnoxious colleague will remark on each and every amenity. “You’re so lucky you have electricity. I have to walk an hour just to charge my phone!” or, “Wow, the stores here sell mayonnaise; I only have one store in my village and it doesn’t even have toilet paper!” the most obscene, “OH MY GOD—you have a ROAD!” This is to say nothing of the general attitude PCVs have towards expats and other westerner’s living in developing countries. To put it modestly, our egos get carried away.

I believe a competitive spirit is essential to good work. As a PCV, I am party to many of these obnoxious chest beatings. Sometimes it feels necessary to validate your struggles out loud. It’s important to recognize, however, when this need to feel integrated, and the actions that accompany it, go too far.

In January, I received a text message from a person at my site who I considered a very good friend. This person was asking me for the equivalent of $200 because of a “family emergency”. Instead of immediately seeing red flags ($200 is almost my entire month’s living allowance) and politely telling this person that I could not lend such a large amount, a voice popped into my head.

It was the voice of a PCV who I do not think is well integrated, telling me: “I would never lend any Rwandan money. They’d never give it back. You can’t trust anyone here.”

Well, I would show her! I consider myself to be a very well integrated volunteer, with lots of friends in my community that I can trust. Obviously I can lend this friend the $100 I’ve been saving for months for my next vacation; this is a friend, with a good job, who will pay me back next week because this friend told me so, and because I am integrated and I know. IDIOT.

By April, I was mad. Polite comments throughout January and February, and repeated calls and pleas during the entire month of March had been ignored. I felt betrayed and disrespected. The usual “You’re white! You’re rich! Give me money! Give me food!” on the street stung even more than usual. Finally, I confessed to another friend. Immediately, this friend’s head dropped. “Alma, do you know how many times people have told me similar stories? This person is not to be trusted; this person has done such things before.” So much for integration, for knowing my community, for being able to trust. Was the PCV I looked down on right after all?

The friend I had confided in told me not to worry. “I will take care of it.” The next day I received another text message from my lender (we’ll call the person Sin Verguenza, Spanish for a person “without shame”, because that is what this person is). Sin Verguenza tells me “I’m sorry I have not been able to get back to you recently. My son is in the hospital about to undergo surgery and I have neglected some of my duties. Please forgive me. From the bottom of my heart, I am so sorry. I will pay you back as soon as I can”. I didn’t know if the story about the surgery was true, but I didn’t care. I was sick of excuses and called Sin Verguenza to demand the exact date I would be paid back. A date was given, and then ignored, twice more.

I have mentioned before that in Rwandan culture it is inappropriate to show or express any emotions. Conflict between two individuals seldom plays out directly. I have also mentioned before that I am a very direct and vocal person. So, when I saw this person next, I acted the only way yours truly knows how to act when angry: directly and passionately. “You should be ASHAMED of yourself! What you have done is despicable! Absolutely abominable! I helped you because I thought you were my friend: YOU ARE NOT. You make more than THREE times my salary, I am a VOLUNTEER, I came here to HELP your country, and here you are taking advantage of me! YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF!” I would be lying if I said I didn’t take out a lot of pent up anger and frustrations on Sin Verguenza. I don’t care, because this person is a sin verguenza, and I think this person deserved it.

Sin Verguenza tried to give me more excuses, which I quickly told Sin Verguenza to shove somewhere else. I was done hearing them. Pay me back, period. Sin Verguenza agreed, and again did not follow through. At the end of the week, the friend who I had confided in called me in. I should mention, this friend works in the same organization as Sin Verguenza, and has a position of authority over Sin Verguenza. My friend, along with another very, very dear friend, sat me down and apologized. They told me they wished I had asked them for advice sooner, and wrote me out a check (from the other dear friend’s personal bank account). I had worried enough, they told me. They would deal with Sin Verguenza from here. After making sure my friends had thought this through and I was not placing financial burden on anyone else, I thanked them from the bottom of my heart. Honestly, I don’t have words for how much the gesture has meant.

If you’re wondering what happened to Sin Verguenza, I don’t know. I refuse to answer phone calls; I have not seen Sin Verguenza around, nor do I want to. This person is shameless.

At the same time, I should also be (and am) ashamed. What I did was stupid. I did it because of my ego, so I could one up the other PCV. Instead, I caused a scene and gave my real friends extra problems. The truth: I do feel integrated in my community, the other PCV was wrong—while trust in a post-conflict country like Rwanda is difficult to come by, I have friends I can trust. Regardless, my “Peace Corps experience” is no more or less legitimate. A volunteer with electricity can experience just as many or more challenges as one without, and an expat worker who lives in Kigali and drives around in a Land Cruiser is often helping just as much or more than a PCV in the hills (well, maybe…).

So this all ends well, as do most of the stupid things PCVs do ‘in the name of integration’. But I would also suggest reading another blog, by an RPCV in Zambia, where “loneliness, stress, and some of the other hardships of being a PCV (...) end up with a strong desire/need to seek out some kind of companionship, comfort, or support” -- in essence, a desire to integrate-- led to a very different outcome.

Two years ago I received my first big blue envelope with those beautiful words, “You are invited.” I remember worrying over the packing list, scanning Peace Corps blogs and trying to make the most of time with my loved ones. … Continue reading →

NOTE: The following is an April installment of my column for the Capital Journal, the newspaper of my hometown and my former employer. There are a few that ran that month that I haven’t posted but will in the next coming … Continue reading →

Saturday morning. I allowed myself to turn off the alarm the night before and sleep with no programmed awake time. When my eyes did open, I rolled over and pulled out a copy of the “The New Yorker”. The story … Continue reading →

Ok, so I know an update has been long overdue but in my defense I didn’t have much to write during the holidays and then all of a sudden I got so busy I didn’t have time to write. Sad excuse but here I am full of news. Since my last entry ended with the arrival my mother I will start there. My mom came to visit me in November and I was so excited to see her and made sure we had plenty to do for the week she was here. She was a real trooper and took the 4 hr bus rides to Manuel Antonio, where we visited the National Park. The park is filled with many animals and reptiles including white face monkeys, raccoons, frogs, and snakes that live in Costa Rica and also has 3 beaches which we took advantage of. I was also able to show her my site here in Matina, Limon so she got a first hand view of my daily life in Costa Rica. Afterwards we both headed to out to the states and visited the West Coast. It was my first time on the West Coast and I had a ball. But like all things in life my wonderful vacation had come to an end and it was time to head back to CR. When I first got back after vacation I found it very difficult to readjust. Since December & January is “summertime”, school was about to be finished for the year, which meant not a lot of work for me to do. Plus most of teachers that work in the school, who also became my friends, don’t live in my town I began to feel a little lonely. Most of my fellow PCV were starting their vacation and were out of the country so the holiday season became a little depressing but dark clouds do pass and I found the bright side of all that free time; playing dominoes with my neighbors! This was very helpful to my integration and really gave me a chance to learn about my community as well as giving them the opportunity to learn more about me. With the new year beginning I felt motivated and ready to start on projects so I hit the ground running and it paid off. I started working with the president of my local Community Development Association and put together a proposal to fix the recreational area located within the local high school. While working with the kids in my English class I discovered their interest in learning and playing other sports other than soccer but due to the lack of recreational areas, youth within my community were left with minimal options. So I decided to start with the local learning institutions by create a basketball and volleyball team for students. Since the high school already had the basic infrastructure of a court that was previously built, but in very bad condition due to damages from a flood several years ago, I chose to start there . So in February I applied for a grant from a organization called World Connect to pay for the materials needed to reconstruct the court and turn it into a multiuse court for basketball, volleyball & soccer. Last week I found out my project was fully funded! I am very excited about this project and working with my community to get the manual labor to begin reconstructing the court. As part of my project I am working with the Physical Ed teachers to create a basketball and volleyball team. Initially I was seeking more of a partnership with the teachers but quickly found out they expected me to do the lessons on my own and would support me by providing equipment and a group of students to work with. Thank god for Youtube which I have been using a guide to learn and teach volleyball. My goal is to have a semi-official team by August/Sept. of this year. I am also working with a group of girls at the local elementary school since I plan to have a court built there as well. Unlike the high school the elementary school does not have a current court and it would need to be built from scratch. I have already put together a grant proposal from a program called Courts 4 Kids and I am working on finding other financial resources to aid in building an Olympic size multiuse court. If would like to support my project please check out the Courts 4 Kids website. This month also marks my one year anniversary in my site and I cant believe time has passed so quickly. I can truly say that I am enjoying my time here and really enthusiastic about the work I am doing. Having the opportunity to create my own programs and watch them come to life is a very gratifying experience. I will put up a separate blog with some photos. I promise to update again soon and not wait such a long time between blogs. Thanks for following me & all the support .

It had not been a good day. Walking home from school my attitude was sour and defeated. Lack of communication led to disruptive behavior and unnecessary tantrums. I was frustrated, mostly with myself. All I wanted was to go home. … Continue reading →

Mark and Morgan* stood in the staff room speaking softly and staring straight ahead as to look at no one. Both have plump brown lips, high cheekbones and big eyes. They are in trouble, their faces say so, but because … Continue reading →

Well, I took another trip to visit Sthembile and Khethiwe earlier this weekend. I was actually supposed to visit Friday, but ended up cancelling since I could tell the neighborhood boy was with them, and I was still feeling too angry to have to deal with that. Also, the time of meeting kept getting pushed back, and I wasn’t too keen on getting home too late since they now live a good 45-minute walk from my house – and it was WINDY. Anyway, we rescheduled. I made the trip to visit on Saturday instead.

When I got there, Khethiwe was bathing, so Sthembile and I were sitting in their one room alone. I wanted to remain firm with my original stance, and make sure they understood how I was feeling, so I went off on how I was still unhappy with the neighborhood boy situation and how no marriage was EVER going to happen between the two of us. Despite my seriousness, however, Sthembile cracked a smile and began laughing. Eventually, she told me I couldn’t take him too seriously because he is apparently not very quick to understand many things. I never noticed before. No one had told me, but now it became clear why my ongoing explanations never got through to him. They then spent a lot of time coaching me on how to respond to him. They didn’t want me to embarrass him, though I told them I was not going to be so vague about this business so as to lead him on. They also told me I had to accept the ring he’d bought so as not to embarrass him. “So… I’m supposed to take the ring and say, ‘Thanks, I’m not going to marry you, ever?’” “Yes.” Uhh, okay.

I ended up explaining to him several times (while smiling as I had been coached to do to avoid embarrassing him) how I was going back to America, would never return, and how he should stop talking about marriage because we were just friends. I think he was trying to ignore me because every time I asked if he was listening and understanding, he wouldn’t give a direct answer. Still, I think it’s safe to say the worst is behind me. I’m glad to know that everyone else and I, at least, are on the same page. And just to allay anyone’s worries about his mental instability, despite his apparent incapacity to grasp that we are not a couple nor are we ever going to be one, I would be very surprised to see him so much as harm a fly. He doesn’t know where I live (not that it would even matter with the ever-bolted gate, barred doors and windows, and double-locked doors that I and every other South African seem to have).

But moving on… just as I was saying in my last note how Sthembile and Khethiwe live in such a different culture than my own, they go and surprise me by revealing their own views on things. Outside of dealing with all of this un-asked for boy drama, we had a long conversation regarding our values and morals when it came to relationships. Sthembile told me that a neighborhood girl, whom I’ve met a number of times before, is pregnant. She’s 14. They know that I recently turned 24. They told me that a South African of my age would have three kids by now; and if she didn’t, people would talk about her being a waste. I explained that some very young U.S. girls did have babies, but that many young women wanted to wait until their mid- or late- 20s to have kids and get married, so that they could first finish their educations. Khethiwe kept vigorously nodding her head in approval and saying how it was very important for females to wait to have kids so that they wouldn’t be left alone to raise them. (I think she was channeling her own personal story when she said this, as Sthembile’s father ran off and doesn’t help out with any of his and Khethiwe’s three children.) I also explained how it’s more common for people in the U.S. to date monogamously rather than simultaneously. Sthembile and Khethiwe both chimed in saying how it was different in South Africa and that’s why HIV is being spread so quickly. Sthembile said her peers often have one boyfriend for cell phone airtime, one for Chicken Lickin’ (think: KFC), and another for car rides. It’s devastatingly true, but I felt very hopeful and pleased that Sthembile and Khethiwe recognized these differences for what they were and agreed with my views on them. It seems like it wouldn’t be that difficult since there are constant health campaigns going on and an entire subject in school is devoted to teaching life skills for HIV prevention; but, given the culture that they live in (where a 24 year-old already has three children of her own, a 14 year-old is pregnant, and the norm is to choose multiple significant others based off the gifts obtained from them), it was pretty remarkable to have this conversation.

Yes, in some ways we are still very, very different. When I was explaining my past relationships to them, Sthembile asked if my parents knew about them. I replied that they knew of all of them and that there was really no problem with that. She was incredulous. “You can talk to them about it? That’s not a problem?” And I could see Khethiwe’s head bobbing up and down as I encouraged Sthembile that talking with parents was very important and helpful, since they are looking out for their children’s best interests. I was semi-surprised at Sthembile’s incredulity since she was the one who practically forced me to give a talk on menstruation and puberty because, as she said, females do not talk to their mothers about that sort of thing, and it’s a problem. Still, we are all products of our own cultures.

Overall, Sthembile and Khethiwe give me hope for South Africa’s future. They are from a very poor area and are not all that well-educated, yet they recognize the numerous innate and interwoven problems that South Africa has and are motivated to rise above them. Khethiwe is gone for work 12 hours of most days, yet she is providing Sthembile with all the support she can muster and is instilling in her powerful values that will carry her far. Also during this visit, Sthembile confided in me her future plans. She declared, “I am going to graduate, then I am going to study at the University of Pretoria!” It was quite a shock to hear, considering that she just failed grade 11 and is retaking it this year, but I feel very proud of her determination and have faith that she can succeed in all her goals.

So, it was a very interesting visit, and I came away from it feeling overall pleased, hopeful, and with a chintzy gold ring.

One of my downfalls in this Basotho life is scheduling. A list of things that should be done by this time or the whole world may just fall apart. But life in Africa doesn’t work like that. It moves in … Continue reading →

Yesterday was a momentous day for me, not because I did great things or that my students went home saying that they learned more English because of my lesson during their class. It was momentous because more smiling faces emerged from the people on the sidewalk, from the bus, from the local khnoot. Maybe it is because spring seems to be also emerging with more sun and touches of green, warmer temperatures, and increased activity on the streets in our neighborhood, but whatever the reasons,yesterday was memorable. Let me explain..................

As I walked to my college a random little girl walking on the opposite side of the street and headed in the opposite direction from me, burst across the street and came up to me to show a drawing she was taking to school. I had never seen this child before, but many children walk the same route as I during the morning and I do not know each and every one of them. This little girl was rosy cheeked, wore glasses (very unusual in Armenia) and was visibly so excited. She spoke to me in English and answered my question about her drawing which was actually quite good for a small child. She was so very proud of herself and just wanted to share with someone. I was the only one available at the time, I guess. After our brief conversation, the child darted back across the street and to my horror, she ran directly in front of an on-coming car. The car was speeding as many do on this major street and it never slowed down. Fortunately , the little girl with the unfinished art piece made it across the street safely, probably not even realizing that she almost lost her life after speaking with me. I was appalled at the thought of what might have happened right before my eyes.....an innocent child could have been killed for no reason except for showing joy, happiness and the sheer exuberance of youth. Oh, if only that driver could be made aware of what he might have unknowingly done........................ that began the momentous day in which little things meant a lot because of the brevity and uncertainty of life.......for instance..............

As I reached school, a group of male students were having their last cigarette before entering the building for class. They are always there, in their black leather jackets, getting that last unhealthy drag and nicotine fix at the top of the steps into the building. They usually mumble "hello", "barev dzez" or some other cursory greeting. Today, though, several of them smiled, spoke clearly and greeted me, asking how I was and actually acting civil to an older person, a teacher at their school. This was a change in behavior I was glad to witness.

Teachers were friendly today, trying to engage in conversation which is as difficult for them as it is difficult for me. The faculty and staff at my college, Dilijan State College, have been overwhelmingly supportive, helpful and patient with a stranger from another country who speaks their language terribly yet who wants to communicate. I appreciated their efforts yesterday because they were sincere and unasked for.

Later, as I awaited my language tutor in the local high school, students greeted me in the hall. They frequently do say "hello" because they all take English as a foreign language, however, today there was a different feel to their greetings. Was it because I was still reeling from the incident earlier in the day when the little girl almost lost her life after talking with me????

On the bus back to my neighborhood I encountered the bookkeeper from my college. We both were trying to get on the bus and being pushed and shoved by other riders as Armenian bus riders do. It's as if each bus is the last one on earth. We were not able to sit together but as she left the bus, she turned around and handed me a bus ticket. She had paid for my ride as well as hers. What a kind gesture, and I appreciated it.

Then I stopped at the local produce market where David and I like to purchase fruits and vegetables. The lady who owns it works hard, never missed a day even during the coldest weather, and has always been friendly towards us, unlike some of the other vendors in the area. While there, another customer came in and said, "Judy, namank at the Hay Post". I recognized this woman from the local post office and knew that she was telling me to go and pick up mail. It was a good feeling to have someone realize who I was and to give me that message since there is no mail delivery and only through a phone call or word of mouth does one know there is mail waiting for pick up. Mail is precious here and sometimes never arrives from outside Armenia. We do not know WHERE it goes but when a letter makes it to our local post office, it is a good day. Today there were 2 letters waiting for pick up.

Judy and Arpine, neighborhood friend in Dilijan

As I finally walked home after going to the post office, a young woman in the neighborhood who speaks excellent English and who is desperately seeking a job, caught up with me to say that she may have a job once the election is over in early May. She has been coming to our apartment weekly to practice speaking English. She had missed the past 2 Monday's and was most apologetic. We walked a short distance together and she said, "I think I've just got too much to think about right now to study, but I'll do it again soon". I had a lot to think about too, after today's simple yet eclectic encounters. We could certainly resume working on English and Hayeren another day so I reassured her of my understanding how she felt.

then...................

Today, the same little girl mentioned in the beginning of this post saw me as I was walking home from school. She was on my side of the street this time and as I approached her, she eagerly unrolled the piece of art paper she was carrying. This time, the picture was totally colored in and complete. Again , she was obviously quite proud of herself and seeking praise. I said all that I could think of to let her know how much I liked her picture and what a good job she had done. She asked me my name. I told her "Judy" then I asked hers.....'Erica", she said. We said good-bye and continued on our separate journeys.

Just as yesterday was momentous, so is today, because Erica is here. What more could I ask of a day in Armenia.

Finally, spring has arrived in Armenia

Valletta, Malta waterfront Along with other current volunteers, I have been asked to help with pre-service training for the next group of 45 Peace Corps trainees who arrive in Armenia on May 25. They will be greeted by a volunteer with a resolving black eye and a small scar over her left eye. (This reminds me of last year when we arrived in Armenia and were greeted by a volunteer who also had a black eye, facial lacerations and evidence of trauma. Pat, the volunteer, has been my role model ever since then!) Yes, while on a short vacation recently in Malta, I ungracefully or clumsily tripped on the curb and fell, hitting my face on the sidewalk. There was a deep laceration over my left eye and bleeding, which resulted in much unwanted attention from passersby and also required a few sutures. My pride was hurt, but I am lucky to have only minor consequences of the incident.

Emergency Room in St. Paul Baffo Hospital, Floriana, Malta

Having an accident in a foreign country is frightening, but the health care system of Malta was amazingly efficient. I was cared for quickly and professionally in the Paul Baffo Hospital Dermatology Clinic in Floriana, Malta. After the injury, Dave and I walked to the clinic. Upon arrival, contrary to procedures in the U. S., I was assessed as an emergency case with treatment of my injury being the priority. I was not asked about my insurance, my name, allergies, medical history or anything. Although in reality, this lack of information could present serious problems, it worked out well for me. An excellent dermatologist on staff that day sutured my laceration while we had a fine conversation of her travels over the world and the fact that David and I were from the U. S. Peace Corps. There was NO CHARGE for this service although the Peace Corps does cover approved medical costs for volunteers, and we even offered to pay out-of-pocket. The doctor said that basically all medical care in Malta is free due to their high taxes and since we were volunteers there’d be no charge. We were even driven back to our hotel by a hospital vehicle headed in that direction. I did e-mail my appreciation to the hospital and our Peace Corps physician did the same. We were both grateful for the care provided. So, what else about MALTA................................... Malta, like Armenia, is filled with historical sites and stories of struggle. Beginning 7000 years ago, invasions and attempted invasions were made by the Normans, the Ottoman Turks, Napoleon, the Germans and Italians. The small country’s strength and resilience against outside forces was severely tested time and again. As a result, there are hundreds of places to see, from ancient megalithic temples to stone bastions and forts built many years ago, to elaborate churches and art galleries. Downtown view, Valletta, Malta

The architecture of Valletta, the capital of Malta, is exquisite with its balconies and brightly colored doors. The strength of stone is prominent in most buildings and original cobblestone streets are in use throughout Valletta. Immensely thick, high walls surround Valletta and sky –blue water of the Mediterranean Sea brings ships of all types to its waterfront. The walled city of Mdina is another site to visit and again shows how even a small town of 300 people can maintain its historic presence for others to see and study

Dave in front of a megalithic temple in rural Malta

 Judy in garden outside Malta President's Palace Although our limited time allowed for seeing only a small portion of this intriguing country, we think staying in historic Valletta was the correct choice for us. Learning of the Siege of Malta, touring museums and art galleries, strolling the immaculately clean streets, and attending cultural events , all within one week, made for a most memorable and refreshing holiday. Since English is the second language after Maltese, there was also a respite from struggling with a difficult foreign language. Dining in local restaurants and cafes was not only tasty but also stimulating learning experiences as we tried typical Maltese dishes and wines along with other cuisine. Rabbit is the entrée of choice in Malta and it was served in numerous recipes in most restaurants. We met a former Ambassador to Russia, a street musician who plays the bandura and sang with a gorgeous operatic voice, a couple from Great Britain who’ve traveled the world over, and countless other casual acquaintances on buses and in public places. Malta, unlike Armenia, is a country attempting to protect the environment through recycling, reduced smoking and increased attention to garbage and trash disposal. Streets are immaculately clean even in the many construction sites in renovation areas. People smile and are cordial to tourists because, like Armenia, tourism is their country’s livelihood. The difference is that Maltese people realize their country’s assets and want to promote them to outsiders. Tourist information centers are friendly and filled with ideas and materials about what is happening in the country. Many cultural events are free to the public and health care is also free or at very low costs to the Maltese people although taxes are reportedly high. Public transportation is widespread both day and night and primarily small, fuel- efficient cars are seen on the streets. The people of Malta are generally future-oriented with renovations and new buildings occurring alongside preservation and care for historic sites. These observations over a week’s time are not totally comprehensive but certainly enough to recommend this country as a “must see” for travelers seeking beauty, history, warmth of both climate and people, and change from one’s usual routines of living. Situated in the Mediterranean Sea, Malta is a place of overwhelming beauty which many people would not even think of visiting, similar to Armenia. David and I feel fortunate to have visited both and certainly encourage readers of this blog to consider Malta as a memorable vacation destination. Armenia could learn a lot from Malta as it strives to become economically stronger. Let’s hope that at some point in the future the positive influences of other countries will help Armenia to prosper, develop its resources, and become a more prominent member of the world around it.  David with carriage driver who offers tours

of Valletta ,Malta Fountain in front of governmental building in downtown Valletta, Malta

Greetings Earthlings! I just returned from a week of training down south in Porto Novo. The air conditioning, rain, and 80 degree temperatures spoiled me! My heat rash actually disappeared for the entire week - it was magical. Trying to adjust back to Alibori temperatures has been a little difficult the past few days. Yesterday it was 108 on the shaded porch. Gah! Besides never not dripping sweat, mostly this is just annoying because it makes sleeping really, really difficult. In theory, I guess I could sleep outside on my porch, but given that my neighbor sleeps about three feet away on the other side of a really short porch wall, I prefer to stay inside. Lately I fall asleep on my wicker couch thing and when it gets cool enough, circa 2am, I move to my actual bed. Or sometimes I just get up in the middle of the night and read or do some work. I can't wait for the rainy season in June! Before commencing with new cultural tidbits, answers to your questions from last time. Mom, you had asked about the market and how one goes about buying things. In Kandi, as in most larger towns, there is a permanent marche area. Vendors have their own little shacks or spots. In Kandi, the government constructed a beautiful, gated concrete structure with overhangs and latrines, which currently sits locked and completely unused. Matt and Alex's theory is that they're waiting for the presidential election next year to officially open it, that way Yayi Boni (current prez) can lay claim to "bringing" it to Kandi and thus be reelected. In smaller villages, markets are only on certain days, like every Sunday or every fourth day. Nearby villages coordinate their market days. Anyway, you can find pretty much anything in the marche: flip flops, rat poison, wall hangings, tissue (fabric) for outfits, a lot of recycled plastic containers, and, most importantly, both dry goods and produce, depending on the rather fickle availability. Of course, one usually must bargain. This can be a challenge for volunteers, seeing as we are always given the "yovo" (white person) price, which can be upwards of double or triple the actual price. You learn quickly. If you decide to pay with a bill rather than exact change, expect to wait for a petit (kid) to go find change for you. Sometimes this goes well, other times you're waiting for twenty minutes (no lie). A funny thing about West Africa: petite monnaie (small change) is a HUGE problem. No one wants to give it up, and usually the onus is on the buyer to have it. I've seen tanties (waitresses) at buvettes (bars/cafes) throw bills back at my friends on multiple occasions because they don't have change. On a related note, I found change in my bag the other day and was like, "oh, I don't remember keeping currency from Ecuador, but that's cool." Then I saw that it was a dime, and I felt like an idiot. Now for some additional cultural tidbits from this crazy place: A lot of people assume I'm French, until I open my mouth, and they realize an actual French person would be able to speak a heck of a lot better than I can. I understand why this is an assumption, though. A couple of times high school kids have also greeted me with 'buenos dias' and the like, which made me laugh out loud. Most volunteers, myself included, also get called 'chinois' (Chinese) a lot. For some reason, this bothers me a lot more than the others. Hey now, I want to say, my fellow countrymen are not the ones here doing shoddy construction jobs! On the same vein, it's always awkward to see other white people who are not Peace Corps volunteers or one of the other six non-Africans who live in this town. Kandi gets more than its fair share (aid workers, etc) of passers through, given its size and proximity to Parc Pendjari. I never know whether I should go, like, introduce myself, or just leave them alone. I usually let them make the first move. It seems somehow vaguely, I don't know, racist or something to talk to them just because they're white, even though I always REALLY want to know how the heck they ended up here. The other day I was walking to the hospital and these two older men and older woman were riding around on bikes, pedaling around like they were on Navy Pier, and I was frankly a little dumbfounded. Then a group of kids, as they are wont to do, start screaming "batoure! batoure! batoure!," and these three just start waving and smiling, clearly charmed. And that, I thought, is proof that you do not live this every day. I've maintained the vegetarian thing here in Benin quite well (and easily, if bone fragments in sauces can be overlooked), but I've strayed a bit with the veganism. (I do intend to resume upon my triumphant return - fear not, Dad!) A delicious plastic bag ice cream treat called FanMilk is partially to blame. I think this is a Ghanain product, but it's sold in little pushcarts, and the vendors are constantly honking bicycle horns. You can get one for 150cfa - or about 25 cents - and they taste exactly like soft-serve ice cream. I'm going to blame the heat on this rather short blog post. I'm kind of melting from having this laptop in my lap, so stay tuned for more tidbits at a later date. Toodles, everyone.

I’ll start from the very beginning. I met this young man, six to nine months ago, when visiting Sthembile and Khethiwe. He came into their home and introduced himself, and I wrote his name on the writing pad I was holding. It was nothing atypical as people are always coming in and out of their one-room home, and I get introduced to them. A different time, we passed him by on the street and he wanted a picture with me. Also not atypical. Later, he walked me home with Sthembile and proposed to me. No wait. First, he played some Whitney Houston song from his phone, and then he proposed to me. A few months later, I got introduced to him again. This time, they called him by a different name (I’m actually still only 85% sure it’s the same person… the whole calling-people-by-several-completely-different-names thing still has me very confused). He told me about his family background and was also present during the huge argument I had with Sthembile over me helping her with her homework versus me doing it for her. In fact, he was the “neighborhood boy” I mentioned in my post “Being So PC.” And that was in early January.

Fast forward to the end of February. I again was supposed to visit Khethiwe and Sthembile. This is post-move though, and I now live a good 30-minute walk from the original “halfway point” where we usually met (which is still a good 15 minutes away from their home). Well, apparently this random neighborhood boy who I’ve only really hung out with once before was supposed to meet me at the halfway point. I waited for a good half hour, while calling several times and hearing Sthembile say the same thing over and over again, “He’s coming!” before I decided they needed to be taught a lesson in punctuality and I walked back home.

Fast forward again and it’s April. Sthembile and Khethiwe usually send what’s known as a “Please Call Me” text or they call and hang up after one ring when they want to talk to me. It’s because the cell phone system is different in SA, and it’s pretty much pay-per-minute for the caller while the receiver pays nothing. Usually, I’ll see that they’ve called and decide to call back after 8 PM (when prices go down). This time, they called me and hung up; and when I didn’t answer, they called me from an unknown number – the neighborhood boy’s. I was actually pretty upset by this because I nevergive my phone number out to males because of the inevitable million text messages and phone calls I’ll receive from them. (I learned this the hard way when I gave my number to a seemingly harmless 30-something year old guy from our Pre-Service Training site for work purposes… I still sometimes randomly receive calls from him… and I still don’t answer.) Needless to say, the neighborhood boy proceeded to call me at least 3 times within the next 24 hours and sent a couple of text messages as well, but I never answered and figured he’d get the clue soon enough.

That weekend, I went to visit Khethiwe and Sthembile. Sthembile and the boy were waiting for me at the usual meeting spot. I had just eaten 2 very full bowls of oatmeal so that I wouldn’t need to eat after my long walk and during my visit. Bad idea. The boy and Sthembile immediately took me to a tuck shop to buy French fries drenched in grease, despite my telling them that I wasn’t hungry. We ate them en route to see Khethiwe. I walked in and she expressed her wish for me to have some tea. I tried to refuse, but saw that she had just bought a loaf of bread solely because she knew I was coming… eish!! While having my bread and tea, I was told we were going to visit the neighborhood boy’s mom. I was kind of confused, but Sthembile seemed to think it was harmless enough, so I went along with it.

We showed up to a fairly nice house in a different part of town and the mother was so excited and surprised to see me. I could tell she was well-educated and she spoke perfect English. I was somewhat surprised because her son doesn’t speak much English at all. I soon learned that she is actually his stepmom. I’m not sure how recent it was that they became family. Anyway, she served us some cool drink (soda) and Sthembile practically forced me to have two full cups of the Fanta since it was brought for us. The mother joked about her son and me getting married, and I laughed… those marriage jokes are pretty much a daily occurrence, so I didn’t think a lot of it. (My counterpart tells anyone who proposes to send in a CV and we’ll hold auditions, hahaha.) We sat in the living room watching TV and were served heaping plates of rice and meat sauce. If I wasn’t hungry to begin with, I was certainly not hungry then. Still, I choked it all down despite my already full stomach’s protests (not that it was that difficult as it was pretty delicious!).

After the delicious but over-filling meal, we headed out and began to walk home. Unfortunately, for some reason, we stopped again and got another huge portion of fries drenched in grease for Sthembile and me to share. I was really finding all this food buying quite ridiculous as we’d just finished a huge meal, but I soon learned that the neighborhood boy had recently secured a job working at a gas station, and realized that’s why they were calling from his phone and why he kept buying fries – he had money and he wanted to spend it on me. I tried to refuse but, as had happened all day, Sthembile told me I had to eat at least some because it was bought for us to share. While we were waiting for our fries, I noticed that the boy was edging in closer to me and was acting really nervous. He attempted to bring up marriage and asked about me going home, but his very little English did not suffice so well and he was not so great at explaining whatever it was that he was trying to get out. Still, I told him, in his isiZulu language, that we were just friends and that I was not going to marry him and that I was going back to America next March.

Fast forward to last night. Sthembile and Khethiwe sent a “Please Call Me” and then called and hung up 10 minutes later. It was 7:30, so I decided to wait until 8 before calling back – I was the one paying for it after all! At 8:00 my phone rang again. I saw that it was the neighborhood boy. I decided not to answer but called Sthembile back immediately. After some banter, she told me she had something important to talk to me about when I next came to visit. She then went on to tell me that it was about the neighborhood boy.

I suddenly felt very confused and the confusion did not go away. She proceeded to tell me that she had heard we were getting married and that he had been telling everyone this, had bought a ring, and had told his pastor. On top of this, she said I was requested to come to his church so everyone could meet me. And as she was saying all of this, I could feel my head about to explode in anger. He did WHAT?!?!?!

She had been explaining all of this in isiZulu, but I suddenly became overwhelmed in emotion and started shouting my protests in English. “WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT?! I NEVER SAID WE WERE GETTING MARRIED!! I AM GOING BACK TO AMERICA. WE ARE NOTGETTING MARRIED. WHY DID HE SAY THAT!?” As I was shouting and doing my best to dispel this rumor, my airtime ran out and the call ended.

I added some money to my phone account, and called the neighborhood boy. He answered by referring to me as his wife, and I started bombarding him with angry shouting and questioning everything he just did. “YINDABA?!?! ASIZUSHADA!! NGITHE SIBABANGANE NJE. KUPHELA. INDABA WATSHELA KABANTU SIZOSHADA?! ASIZUSHADA! ANGEKE. NGIZOBUYELA EKHAYA EMELIKA. ASIZUSHADA. UYABONA?? UYEZWA YINI?!?” I was livid but felt that my voice wasn’t conveying how angry I was since I was speaking in a foreign language and he didn’t seem very concerned. When I said that we were NOT going to get married (asizushada) and that I was going to return to America (ngizobuyela ekhaya eMelika), he appeared to be asking me if we would be getting married in America instead. That’s when I began interjecting my refusals and denials with “Are you listening??” (Uyezwa yini?!?) and “Are you seeing??” (Uyabona??).

To be honest, I’m still actually not fully sure that he understood. The call ended with him running to Sthembile’s to put her on the line and me re-explaining my stance before angrily hanging up the phone. I’m actually still pretty livid about the whole situation, though I’m not entirely sure why. I told some of my other PCV friends about it and their responses ranged from understanding to laughter to sympathizing with the guy for merely trying to look cool in front of his friends. I laughed with my friends and was glad to see the humor in the situation, but I just couldn’t sympathize. I think the joke ended and the coolness disappeared when he went to his pastor telling him we were getting married.

In actuality, I’m sure it’s not such a big deal. I’ve explained my stance on the situation and definitely did NOT beat around the bush about it. I’m sure I’ll have to explain again the next time I visit, but it shouldn’t be an issue afterwards.

I guess the reason I’m so worked up about it is that it represents a larger picture here. As an American living among all Zulus, it’s easy for people to build up who I am. Regardless of what happens in reality, people here watch TV and they see “Real Housewives” and Hollywood and the rich and famous and they expect that everyone in America is like what they see. I can’t say exactly what the neighborhood boy sees in me, but I expect a large part of his enamor subconsciously stems from what he expects me to be: a rich American.Now from my side, to be completely honest, I’m not actually 100% sure this neighborhood boy is the same one from all the stories I’ve written down here. I don’t think I could even pick him out of a line-up. I’ve literally written down every single interaction I’ve had with him on this page = not that many. Still, despite that fact that we don’t speak the same language and he knows little to nothing about me, I really do mean a lot to him in his mind and he is willing to spend a considerable portion of his paycheck on me to let me know so. It’s one thing to be delicate with peoples’ feelings, but I’m learning it’s also important to set very strict boundaries.

So, you see, it’s a troubling situation. On the one hand, I am representing myself. On the other, I am representing America as a whole. I never try to change who I am at site, but I do find it difficult to know when to set boundaries, where to draw the line, and when to let things slide. Sthembile and Khethiwe are like my family here, but they are still from a completely different culture than my own. I don’t always understand their sense of humor and they probably don’t always understand mine. They see the neighborhood boy as just that, a harmless neighborhood boy. I agree that he’s harmless, but I do wish he wasn’t always in the neighborhood! I love visiting the area that they live in, but I miss the ability for members of the opposite sex to see me as a peer and friend rather than as someone to hit on and propose to or as a ticket to money and America.

I know I usually write about positive anecdotes of my life here, and I do love my life here, but I think it’s important for people to know about the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. If I look at the surface of the situation, I can definitely find the humor in it: I go about my daily life, and next thing I know a rumor is being spread that I’m about to take my wedding vows. But if I look beneath the surface and beyond the silly anecdote, it’s frustrating and challenging for me to deal with. But that is life as a PCV. It’s not always pretty, but it’s definitely an experience.

In the volunteer life there are no lukewarm days. There are only really days – really bad, really good. Yesterday was a really good day. They day started with doubt. I must have had a dream or read something before … Continue reading →

My village is small, around 1,000 people. It’s a 40-minute walk off the main road and, despite being in the Maseru District, it’s takes about two hours on public taxi’s reach the nation’s capital. For all intense and purposes, it’s … Continue reading →

Checheka is the command form of guchecheka, which in Kinyarwanda means to be quiet. Checheka is what mothers say to their children when they cry. Checheka is what the battered woman told her beat up twelve year old daughter when they came into the health center at 3AM after a domestic dispute. Checheka is what my local leaders told an old man during Genocide Memorial Week when he began to name names during a community meeting. Checheka is what a coworker and friend told me after I finally lost it following a staff meeting during which, once again, personal interests and gripes of a few were put before poor, sick patients, most of them children.

As a Peace Corps Volunteer, it is very much not my job to be a whistle blower. In fact, when I have brought up corruption issues to my supervisors at Peace Corps they have specifically told me to stay away and essentially, checheka. This is of course, for my own safety and the safety of others in my community.

Lake KivuThose of you who know me (at all) know that it is not at all in my nature to checheka. My senior year of high school, I walked into the superintendent’s office to demand administrators give fewer, shorter speeches during graduation to allow for more student speakers. The request was denied, but brought up during said administrator’s long speech. After a Trustee dinner at Cornell, I walked up to University President and asked him why his table included only male students. The observation was noted, although I was not invited to the next dinner so I can’t tell you if it made any difference. I regret neither bold, unfruitful move. I am not shy about voicing my opinion. I have a blog after all, don’t I?

Rwandans, on the other hand, are extremely private and reserved. Keeping quiet about everything is very much part of the culture. “Rwandans, if they have something against you, they will take it to their grave!” a Burundi-raised Rwandan told a friend of mine. Besides being potentially dangerous, the probability of my foreign opinions making a difference on most larger issues here is very slim.

Still, I find myself extremely conflicted. Not only because checheka-ing goes completely against my very opinionated and vocal nature, but precisely because the culture of checheka-ing has caused literal devastation in Rwanda already.

Throughout April I am reminded how my countrymen sat by eighteen years ago and checheka-ed as almost one million people were slaughtered here. There is no denying the horrendous role the United States and other European countries played (or didn’t play) during the 1994 Genocide. Yet, I also –quietly-- wonder how productive it is to be so critical about the silence of foreigners millions of miles away eighteen years ago, when right here in Rwanda, today, the culture remains one of silence and complacence.

The leaves have faded into yellows and reds and the sun makes shorter appearances each day. I find the need to wear more clothing during the day and even more at night. The air has taken on a crisp, clean … Continue reading →

1. How to take a bucket bath: First fill the trough with water. Have your bathing supplies ready get a pan and fill it with water starting with your legs pour water on them then your chest arms and back. With a full pan of water pour it over your head moving your hair around to get it all wet. Get just enough shampoo to clean your hair in your hands and lather. With the pan slowly pour water over your head as you rinse the shampoo out. I stress the slowly because if you just pour you'll never get all the soap out. Repeat until hair is clean. If need be use conditioner and repeat process. Dunk your rag into the water and soap it up cleaning your body well you want all of that sweat and dust from the day off of you for at least 5 min. start from you top down and pour water over your body rinsing off. Grab a towel and from top to bottom dry off holding the towel in just the right way so that it never touches the dirty ground. get dressed in same fashion and continue with the day.

2. How to wash clothes without a washing machine: Make sure you have plenty of water or a hose near my. Get the pile of your dirty clothes and some bar soap to wash clothes. You can a. soak your clothes in a bleach mixture before hand or b. just wash them straight away. I do option b Nicaraguans do option a. take out one to two objects of clothes and once them are soaked rub soap on the front ,back, selves, legs etc of the clothes. then take part and begin to viciously rub it on a stone slab with grooves in it. (It can be made by the handyman nearest you. Found in all towns of Nicaragua.) Take other sections of the cloth and repeat process until front an back of clothing are clean. Begin to pour water on it while you squeeze your clothing with on hand moving it around and picking it up until the water coming from it is clean. wring it out and then shake it before putting it over the clothes line to dry.

3. How to put up a mosquito net: Take net out of back and find the four corner of the net. Lay it out to the best of you ability to find out which sides are the long side and which side it the short side. Tie a long piece of string, rope, cloth or what ever you have to each corner loop. Put up four nails, find for rafter, find for hooks what ever you can in the room that is on the far wall of the four corner of the bed. Lay the net over the bed it is not already and pull one of the ties to your nail and wrap it around before doing a loose knot but not puling the last sting all the way through this allows for a quick easy take down when needed. Repeat the process with the other corners. Then adjust the tightness of the stings until it is a comfortable height from the bed. Pull the sides around the bed and tuck in three of the sides leaving one side hanging over the edge to get you enter your bed.

4. How to use a latrine: Enter the latrine and pull the door shut firmly behind you. Put your lets on either side of the front of the hole with a cement seat and squat with your hips pointed towards the back of the seat. wipe and throw tissue into the hole. Close the door behind you so the animal won't get in. Wash hands in the pila.

[Note: I wrote this entry about a week ago, and a few things in it have changed since then. But I would like to post it anyways, mostly unrevised, to show at where I was.]The rebels control the North, the military has seized power, the international community has cut off aid, bordering countries have closed borders and declared a trade embargo, and, before the political catastrophe, poor harvests have threatened famine in villages across Mali. Things fall apart, indeed. How did this this happen, and so quickly? Well, other folks can better explain how and why the events of the last few weeks occurred, and what is yet to come for Mali (this is the one I follow: bamakobruce.wordpress.com). For better or worse this blog is made up of my own experiences and thoughts and impressions, and not a journalistic account of Mali. Accordingly, I want to write about where I’m at, how this experience has affected me, and where I’m headed. I know that focusing on and privileging my own thoughts and ideas seems selfish, compared with what Malian are suffering now, but I’ve made this blog as a record of my own experience, so I will stick to that. Soon the current Peace Corps Mali volunteers will officially close their service with Mali in an undisclosed location. This means a grueling mount of paperwork, medical tests, interviews, and figuring out the future. On top of that, volunteers are reeling from this rupture in their lives: their tearing away from their (often) beloved villages, their friends and fellow Peace Corps volunteers, the Peace Corps experience, and, it has to be said, their JOBS. A stressful time, no? I would be lying if I said that volunteers are not going to solace their pain in a variety of interesting and enjoyable activities in the coming days… Details are not yet known, but word is that Mali volunteers MAY POSSIBLLY be able to finish their Peace Corps service in a new country. So what about me, who has done 6 months in Niger before being evacuated, and 10 months in Mali before being evacuated a second time? Should I do Peace Corps a third time? Am I so desperate to be the heroic and selfless do-gooder that I will scheme and bribe and swindle my way however I can into a 3rd post? Are my intentions less than noble, more concerned with my own righteousness than truly helping those in need? Is this very blog my way of saying to the world “I’m better, nobler, more selfless, just an overall better person” than the rest? Can there be humanitarians who do not have giant egos? I’m reminded of an interview question that the Red Cross is rumored to ask interviewees: “What are you running from?” In other words, why do you want to leave your life of comfort and ease to risk yourself in dangerous work helping others? What do you want? Overall, PC Mali volunteers are tired, hell fatigued, weary, stressed, uncertain, and sad. We are mourning. Most of us have put great time in to villages. We have learned Bambara, adapted to a new culture (never easy or simple), been painfully far from home, tried to do good work despite barriers of culture and language. The human relationships were planted and blossoming; the roots were deep, flowers were coming; but now, now the flowers fall, the leaves drift away, everything fails but for Memory. However, as has been said before, they live on in us, these many lives. They exist in the cinemas of the mind, always playing, never ending, never completed. Some of my films include: -Macky, my 11-year old always smiling host brother, whose favorite activity was throwing rocks at baobab trees to get the high-up fruit to fall to earth. And then asking me, with a sad puppy-dog face, to give him sugar for his baobab smoothie (contents: baobab fruit, water or milk, peanut butter, sugar). -Harouna, my host dad, perpetually sick and sleepy, and FORGETFUL, instantly sleeping after every meal, always hinting at me to give him medicine, and then one day, after dinner, presenting me with an interesting offer: a wife and a plot of land to live in the village. Not sure if he was serious…especially because I was never sure if he liked me all that much. -Ma, my host mom, short and round but pretty, with an enormous smile, always laughing, who helped me greatly in my quest to speak Bambara. -Seydou, my best friend in village. 23 years old, smart, motivated and sincere, but unable to finish high school due to the death of his father and the need to become head of the family. He was always genuine with me, the way he explained so much of the village and villagers to me, demystifying so many mysteries. I miss him already. Okay, enough sentinemental crap, since I personally believe that we never are so overwhelmed by ONE sole emotion to not feel the others, so let’s change the tone a bit, shall we? We volunteers had a crazy/wild dance party a few nights ago and we lit the place ON FIRE. IT WAS BURNING UP! We were dancing so hard for so long, it was just out of control. We sweated and sweated and sweated. IT WAS AWESOME! Part of it was to fight the stress and worry and fatigue. Part of it is what Yeats was talking about when he wrote “Hamlet and Lear and gay,” that it’s better to experience any emotion and to grow from it, that even in moments of pain, times of tragedy, we still can feel joy and beauty and love. Maybe. I do not know where next I am headed, and though that uncertainity is stressful, it is also slightly liberating. I am free to do what I want. I do know that I dread returning to normal American life after the thrill ride that Africa has been. It is one bug bite that will not get better. Living abroad has given me so much. Am I greedy for wanting more of these experiences? Will I wander as the mariner, telling my tale to all who would listen, desperately? I know one day I will will return to my 2nd home.

I believe in climate change. I ride my bike everywhere, I work at a solar company, I buy organic and local when I can. I am young, liberal and idealistic. But I’m not an environmentalist. And I’m not alone. Over the past decade the number of Americans who identify as environmentalists has steadily declined, from [...]

There was a white dress, matched with a kilt. Blends of European heritage decorated the church and reception. There was plenty of beer and dancing. There were lovers, friends and the belief that both things – friendship and love – … Continue reading →

Lauren and I got off the taxi and started the 30-minute walk to our respective houses. We had met a few hours earlier at our restaurant – she was so excited she actually fell getting up from her seat to … Continue reading →

Hello, friends, I have returned from training and vacation and am back in the cold Lesotho. I have spent the last few days catching up and even had a (test) consolidation. All is good here in the Kingdom but, for … Continue reading →

I have nowofficially passed my Mid-Service mark!! On March 24, I reached my halfway pointin service – I became an official PCV of SA March 24, 2011 and will close myservice here March 24, 2013. It’scrazy to think how quickly the time has gone by, but even crazier to think ofall I’ve done and accomplished within the past year.

During oneof our Mid-Service Training (MST) sessions, we were asked to visualize thistime next year when we will be closing our services. Who would we be sayinggoodbye to? What would we be leaving? How would we be feeling? Well, I canhonestly say that it was very tough for me to imagine all of that! Myexperiences thus far have been generally quite positive (though I candefinitely admit to some down times as well!) and I simply can’t imagine whatit will be like when next year rolls around. But while MST was a time for planning ahead, it was also atime for reflection.

Why did Ijoin Peace Corps in the first place? Well, the overarching motivation was thatI wanted to volunteer abroad. Butthere were also several secondary factors. I wanted to gain more health experience before applying tograduate schools. I wanted to meetnew people – Americans and otherwise. I was interested in learning a completely new language. I was ready foran adventure outside of the usual.

And where amI now? Well, there is no arguing that I have been on quite the adventure thepast year and a half. I have been pushed to my limits physically, mentally, andemotionally; yet have come out all the better for it. I have explored different areas of this giant continent, aswell as the ins and outs of this country. I’ve led trainings on topics I oncedidn’t know existed and am working to empower the local youth and teachers withlife skills and English knowledge. I’ve also just attended an amazing training on Permagardening that canhelp increase food security for our support group members andbeneficiaries. I’ve learned thegreetings for more languages than I ever expected to know, and continue myefforts at improving my isiZulu skills. And, perhaps most importantly, I have made friendships and connectionsto last a lifetime.

But, throughall of these achievements and successes, I’ve found how difficult it can be tobalance it all!! You see, as apersonal rule, I never turn down an invitation… from anyone. So long as I amfree and the invitation does not come from a complete stranger, I am in. Whether it’s attending a training tobetter teach literacy training techniques (like the one I went to in Limpopo)or going to visit friends of my old host sister (which usually consists of mesitting while they catch up in isiZulu), I try to see every invitation as anopportunity to enhance my Peace Corps experience. Some go better than others – I am thinking of one particularoccasion when I visited a friend’s very intense church and sat through a 3.5hour service during which I understood very little – but I feel that overallthey have each added small pieces to shape my adventure in Peace Corps.

The trickypart comes in trying to fit them all in. For simplicity’s sake, I’ll divide myoverall experience into three main sections: 1. Work 2. Social activities atsite 3. Work/Social activities within the PC community. For the past month and a half, I feellike I’ve been burning the candle at both ends and in the middle. Work is the busiest it’s everbeen. The teacher trainings areenough work by themselves, but add in typing lessons and teaching crèche andthings get out of control! Oh, andI’m just beginning our third Grassroot Soccer intervention to top it all off! However,I have no issues with this one. Iam here to help my community, and I love doing so. Work makes me feel productive, and it also makes the time goby ten times faster than it would otherwise.

Socialactivities at site. I’ve justgained 2 new good friends and have been hanging out with them fairlyoften. One is my main counterpart,and the other is her best friend. It’s nice because they are both fluent in English and fairlyWesternized, so I can act completely as myself without feeling the need to “hide”certain aspects (ie: I definitely talk around money-related issues with my hostfamily that lives in government-housing, and the conversation with them islimited by our language barriers). They are also both super helpful since they oftentimes speak to me inisiZulu, but are patient when I slowly think up a reply or try to figure outwhat it was that was said.

And lastly,PC stuff. This is a trickyone. Personally, I’ve becomepretty heavily involved in PC business. I love meeting other Volunteers; I love hanging out with my Americanfriends; and I love working to support the PCV community here. But there is a fine line betweenenhancing PC while hanging out with other PCVs and leaving site too much;mainly because “too much” is already so ambiguously defined. Still, all of my leave is approved byPC and my supervisor at site, and I never leave with the motivation of gettingto “escape” site, so I feel at ease with my heavy involvement. However, just aswith the work and social activities at site, my PC involvement has also beenamped up as of late. Right now, Iam helping to spearhead PC SA’s first Provincial Conferences program. I got the idea from my time in Niger(where PCVs met monthly to hang out, bond, and informally discuss work or PCprojects), but the plan here is to have biannual conferences within eachprovince so that Volunteers can meet each other and benefit from each other’sexperiences and knowledge gained during or before PC. I am VERY excited for our first ones (we’re piloting this inour two largest provinces), but planning and coordinating has taken up a goodamount of my free time. On top ofthis, I finally have a cluster!! You see, most PCVs are clustered aroundcertain areas so that they form small groups. I had one last year, but it wasn’t very strong and I onlysaw cluster mates maybe once every few months. Now, although my new neighbors have only just arrived a fewweeks ago, I have seen a few of them twice already! It’s great for gaining nearby support and I am SO lookingforward to having other new PCVs in the area, but this is what I mean byburning the candle at both ends as well as in the middle. There were also all those PC-eventsthat happened during the past two months (Diversity Fishbowl, the LongtomHalf-marathon fundraiser, permagarden training), but thankfully I’ll be stayingat site for a while now that those have all been said and done.

But don’tget me wrong, I feel very thankfulfor all of the above. I choose to do all of these things, andwould SO much rather be busy than bored. Not only does the time fly by, but I feel as though I am molding a verywell-rounded PC experience for myself – complete with support from site and PC,productivity, and plenty of fun and adventure. I’m just trying to convey another challenge to being a PCV.This experience is whatever we make of it; but for me, I intend to make theabsolute MOST of it.

… I am not qualified to be a teacher. That was one of the biggest takeaways I notched from Phase III training. Our sessions covered testing, classroom management, teaching life skills, material production for teaching aides and corporal punishment. I … Continue reading →

I thought I would give you a day in the life of Isis: At 7:00 I wake up sitting up and taking out my earplugs and pull out the mosquito net. I place my feet into flip flops. I kick my cat out of the way and filling his food dish. I get dress and place my PJ’s under the mosquito net before tucking it in again. I leave to the latrine opening the door and squatting over a hole in the ground with a cement seat I go to the bathroom. Going to the pilla (a stone barrel that has a wash area next to it filled with water) I splash water onto my hands and look for some laundry soap. I wash my face and brush my teeth then go to eat breakfast of eggs and rice. Grabbing my bag I swing onto my bike and leave for my school that is 6k way. Putting in the headphones I put on some music to make the ride go faster. I get passed by a man on a moto who slows down to chat with me and asks for my number I politely refuse and we go on our way. I get passed by a guy on a horse carrying jugs that will be filled up with water later and give the basic “Adios” greeting. About half way there I am passed by my teacher on a moto (motorcycle). Swerving to avoid rocks in the road I finally make it to the road that turns up into my school. I jump off my bike and navigate it from a path or huge rocks and bump my way, up a hill to the one room school house. Class has already started as I park my bike at the front of the school and go inside. All of the students stand and say “Buenos dias” (good morning). I respond “Buenos dias, sientense” (good morning sit down). I greet the teacher and get the lesson topic in science for the day as they continue with Spanish. I look through the book and plan my lesson for one of the three grades 3rd, 4th, or 5th grade. I stop to teach Math to one of those three classes and then begin the first half of my lessons which is one hour long before they have recreo (recess) that goes for over the allowed time of half an hour. I get dragged to play games with the kids until I get tired and go over the join la profesora in the shade. Class starts again and we continue with the lesson. Once school ends I get pestered by my teacher to ride on the moto back to site and I have to deny since it is part of the Peace Corps rules. She gets irritated and thinks I don’t like her and I begin the long hot ride to my site. I have to slow down for a herd of cattle that are coming my way and avoid rocks and poop again. I make my lunch of tuna fish and rice with juice and maduros (plantains fried). I eat while talking with the kids in my house. After I finish I have descansa (siesta) which is when I go online or read from my kindle. Or I should say try to I have kids coming into my room trying to talk to me and if I go out of the room it’s worst. It can take a while to get anything done. After the hot of the day passes I would adventure out to plan lessons with my other teachers for the next day or go talk to my counterparte (counterpart). I begin to start dinner which is an American meal of pasta salad and fruit. I eat while talking to my mother. I go to my room and give the cat his dinner while getting myself ready for a bath. I slip on my flip flops and grab my bath things and go out into the night to the bath house. I scrape the old bath water from the clogged drain and step over the wet area to get undressed in the small outhouse hut with a door that doesn’t lock. I hang up my clothes on some of the multiple nails on the wall. I take the pale (bowl like pail) that is in a corner stoned off area that has water filled from the hose. I pure it on my legs arms chest and back shivering from the cold water. I soak my washcloth in the water and begin to wash my body (once a week I would wash my hair by pouring water on my head slowly from the pale I would put the shampoo in my hair to slowly wash it out when I think it is all out I move to conditioner which I leave in until the end of the bath) I rinse off the soap and then the hair. I grab the towel and dry off wrapping it around me and rush to my room before people can see me. I finish drying off and get changed into sleep clothes. I go into the main house and watch some TV with the family as they cell hamburgers from their house. It’s more like a fried piece of meat that they put condiments and lettuces and tomatoes. I return to my room turn on my fan if it is not already on which is usually is. I go pee on the ground outside my room because it is really dark and the latrine is on the other side of the yard. I climb into my wipe off the dirt and crap on my bed and tuck in my net. I read for an hour and put in earplugs and have my spray bottle of water with me to scare Miles off the bed at night. I turn off my headlamp and got to sleep at 9:30-10:00.

Samana Santa also known as Easter was awesome! I went to Isla Ometepe with two other volunteers and had a blast. We kind of did a trip where we played it by ear. We left on Sunday and went to Rives and stayed that night there. We hung out in the hostel that we randomly found and ate some bad pizza and watched a movie with some sparkling grape juice. It was quite the party! The next day we got on the boat that was rockier than a baby’s cradle. They were showing Karate Kid in Spanish with Chinese subtitles and the movie was dubbed over in Spanish with a Chinese accent so no one could understand. It was a long one hour ride luckily I did not get sick. We finally landed in a not so busy port town and looked for another random hostel. We ended up with a good one. It had a private bath and a bunk bed set up where the bottom bunk is a double bed and the top a single. There was a patio that had a bunch of hammocks to read in and an upstairs area with tables, sofas and chairs. There was really good wireless but I didn’t bring my computer and I didn’t really care but my friends had fun with it. The people who ran the hostel were fun to talk to and were always joking with us. That night we went out to look for something to do but the town was dead so we ended up eating in one of the other hostels and had a fun meal chatting with the waitress. The next day we went to the beach and met up with another volunteer that lived on the Isla. We were not out that long but we all got burned really badly. The sun here is really strong. I don’t burn easily so you know it must be strong. We swam around some and brought our own food to save on money and some amazing cheese sandwiches. That night we went to this hamburger place I got an amazing grilled cheese sandwich with lettuce, tomatoes, and grilled vegetables in it and for dessert we had hot brownies with whipped cream on top I was in heaven but that was before I knew what was to come. The next day we traveled to the other side of the Isla and stayed at another hostel that was a 1k walk up the side of the volcano. It was absolutely gorgeous to see with beautiful flower everywhere and trails to walk through the woods and up to the top of the volcano. The accommodations were nothing to write home about but it was for the most part clean and comfortable. The day we went to a natural spring swimming hole name Ojo de Aqua. It is said to be the cleanest swimming water found in Nicaragua. It was cool but nothing that you couldn’t find in other countries. There was nothing very unique about but it was a great place to relax after traveling. We met up with other volunteers at a local restaurant which had the best food I have eaten in Nicaragua. I had a vegetable stir fry what had a wide variety of vegetables over the right amount of rice and rich flavorful sauce that was not too thick or strong. Heaven! It was so good that we went there the next day again. We chit chatted the night way before returning to the hostel for a nice night sleep. We were planning to go Kayaking the next day only to be told that it would cause 50 US dollars. There was no busses running because of the Samana Santa and we ended up walked the 6+k to the beach before being told of the price. We stayed on the beach for a little bit before walking another 3k to the tourist part of town to eat turned around and walked halfway back before my feet died and we hitchhiked but to the hostel. By the time we got back my legs were numb and shaking I collapsed into bed after freezing my butt off in a ‘nice’ ice cold shower. We went horseback riding the last day at the finca (farm) we thought it would be a two hour ride that turned into 6hrs. We rode to a path up the side of the volcano that led to a one hour hike up to a waterfall that the water was so pure you could drink. WE had to risk it since we ran out of water and were very thirsty with a whole ride back a head of us. Apparently he was right because I have yet to get sick and parasites and bacteria tend to show up pretty quickly. The ride up was on trails that were extremely rocky and I was scared that the horse would trip and hurt its leg. She did slip a few times be nothing bad happened. I was an amazing trip and one of my favorite parts of my vacation. We were told that there would be no hostels with room that day so we quickly went to catch one of the last boats out to the main land and stayed in Rives all over again. There we met up with a dad and his daughter that too were trapped they lived in Costa Rica and the boarders were closed. We had a lovely dinner with them and talked some of the night. That Saturday we went to Granada to celebrate one of the other volunteers birthday we ate a ridiculously expensive lunch that was worth the end of the vacation party. Talked and caught up. WE had a blast but I was more than ready to head home and most of us were becoming grumpy and snappy. Unfortunately I could still not go home the busses were running but packed full and no reliable. I ended up staying with my only training host family. There was a really interesting tradition in the town on celebrating the Samana Santa. Every day the week there was parades with a part of the death and resurrection of Jesus. On a huge detailed statue that they carried through the street. On one day those who want to repent their sins in a way would walk on the knees blindfolded from one part of town to the church with two people helping them. It was a big event and the town was packed. I never have seen that town like that even during the Independence Day parade. It was a very unique cultural experience one that only that town does. I am very glad that I stayed the night with them and even had some good conversation with my family which almost never happens. It is late and I must wake up early tomorrow. I will write more tomorrow I have an interesting idea of a blog to do for you all. Love you all and miss you. XOXO

If you won the jackpot today, would you go back to work tomorrow? The question may sound absurd, but there are plenty of lottery winners who have done just that. There’s a waitress in Florida who went back to making $400 per week the day after winning $1 million, a German salesman who was told [...]

Emma and Saran on their way to school on a snowy day in Armenia

Much of the pleasure derived from being in a foreign country comes from the children we meet. Rosy cheeked and smiling, even in frigidly cold weather, Emma and Saran greet me almost every day as we meet on the sidewalk, going in our opposite directions to different schools. At first it was “hello, how are you?” in strongly accented English. Now that greeting has progressed to “good morning, how are you, I am fine, thank you”, all together as if one sentence. Smiling, the two girls stop to chat a few moments. At first, they’d say, “what is your name”. I’d tell them and then ask their’s. We are past that now, so our brief conversation usually includes well wishes for the day ahead and a few other phrases that either of us can think of. The woman following close behind Emma and Saran, with a younger child in tow, seems to be in a hurry every morning, however, the girls always stop to offer their greetings. One particular morning in January, Saran began speaking in English “ 1,2,3,4,5,6, mother, father, sister, brother ……..”, all at once and with a look of pride on her face. David was with me that day. He and I were surprised at this burst of knowledge above and beyond the usual “hello”. We praised Saran greatly and said many “shat lav’s” or very good’s! The next day as we approached the girls on their way to school, Emma stopped and burst into singing “We Shall Overcome”, the entire song including the OOOOO”S at the end. We were shocked that she knew this song and just said the name Dr. Martin Luther King to her to see if she knew about the man. She did not. We highly praised her singing, just as we had praised Saran the day before, then we all continued in our separate directions to school and work.Later that day as I chatted with Kellianne, the other Peace Corps volunteer who lives in our town and who teaches English at Saran and Emma’s school, I found that the girls had been taught “We Shall Overcome” by their local Armenian English teacher. This teacher did not give information about the song, its history or meaning, thinking these 8 or 9 year old children would not understand. A few days later, Kellianne asked if I’d come to one of her classes of older students and tell about living in Memphis at the time of Dr. King’s assassination, what it was like in the 60’s, and anything else I could tell them about that time in history. I was more than pleased to do this because I did live during that critical time, then eventually lived in downtown Memphis across the street from the National Civil Rights Museum which is housed in the old Lorraine Motel where Dr. King was shot. Kellianne taught several lessons about Dr. King, focusing on the holiday in his honor on January 15th. She even had her students read and study the “I Have a Dream” speech and then write their own “I Have a Dream” speech. Portions of these speeches were video-recorded as a class project . My early morning encounter with Emma and her singing of “We Shall Overcome” led me to hearing about and participating in a small way in the other volunteer’s lessons about human rights and Dr. King’s legacy. Children lead us down unexpected paths and we are better for it. Thank you, Emma and Saran. I look forward to seeing both of you every day. Judy in ArmeniaChildren in our neighborhood , enroute to school. To follow their path is to find new adventures and new friendships in Armenia.

In one of my last classes before the Easter break I decided to use the 40-minute period as a culture exchange. I asked the students how Basotho celebrate Easter and the simple answer, well the only answer, was “church.” I … Continue reading →

April is Rwanda’s rainiest month. Eighteen years ago in April, the plane of Rwanda’s then Hutu President Juvenal Habyarimana was shot down as it landed in Kigali. In the one hundred days that followed, almost one million people were killed in Rwanda for being of the Tutsi ethnicity, or for sympathizing with Tutsi.

Every April, Rwanda commemorates the genocide that took place here in 1994. Between April 7 and April 14, business is put on hold each afternoon and communities gather to remember the events that destroyed the country. The following one hundred days are national days of mourning. No weddings or other public celebrations of any sort are held, it’s against the law. On national television, vivid images of the massacres are shown. The radio blasts what I can only describe as the exact opposite of Christmas songs: ballads dedicated to those who were lost, pleas of unity and peace.

Yearound, discussing ethnicity in Rwanda can land you in prison for “inciting genocidal ideology”. No one has ever told me directly whether or not they are Hutu or Tutsi. Genocide survivors live alongside perpetrators. Everyone is Rwandan now. During April only, people mourn genocide victims publicly.

“Those people that killed my parents, they are free!” a friend told me. “Are you sure?” I asked. “Yes! I saw them kill my parents, my brothers, and my sisters when I was so small” he replied. “They are not in jail?” I replied, incredulous. “They served some small time, and now, they are my neighbors again” he said, shaking his head, laughing. “You are not scared? Angry?” I asked, trying to imagine the situation. “In Rwanda, we must move forward. Everyone! It is also the government program. It is not easy, but we must.” I cannot fathom being capable of forgiveness like this.

Meanwhile, the rains continue. The ominous dark clouds cast a permanent grey shadow that perfectly reflects the national mood. Water falls from above and lands like violent tear drops on the tin roofs, as if the skies were also mourning the dead, angrily. And then, when the rains fade, you notice a change: clarity in the air, like a window after it’s been washed with Windex. You realize the bean vines have become suddenly tall. Parents finally have food to feed their malnourished children. There is an abundance of water which brings relief to everyone. Maybe there is hope after all.

Visiting a Memorial Site, connected to a secondary school, in the Western Province

When the Basotho work they sing. They sing traditional songs or hymns, actually I just assume that is what they sing because I can’t really understand. Yet, their songs are beautiful and soothing. I decided to be more Masotho and sing … Continue reading →

In general I like to answer people’s questions about Lesotho and my life and work here. Whether through email or letters, I like to share my world with them and enjoy fulfilling their curiosity with anecdotes of everyday life. Yet, … Continue reading →

I got back from Niger yesterday, after a brutal 3 weeks, where I had to work over 200 hours doing an internal audit and be acting country director for about 8 days. Suffice it to say I did not have time to write like I usually do. But I got this down while I was [...]

My primary assignment is Secondary English Education, meaning I am an English teacher at the middle and high school level. But, in addition to my two English classes, I also teach a strand of Life Skills. Peace Corps worldwide encourages … Continue reading →

April 1, 2012 I’d like to take a few minutes to talk about a disease that kills thousands of people in Burkina Faso, and throughout the world, every year: malaria. As many of you may remember, the devastating effects of malaria hit me personally last year, when my neighbor and close friend in Niger, Malika, died from malaria at age 7. Malika’s life – like so many others, was lost because of lack of treatment for this completely curable and highly preventable disease. This year, in addition to educating myself and my community (and you) more about malaria, I am working with a women’s association to take definitive action to help limit the exposure of community members (especially pregnant woman and children who are most at risk) by fabricating an organic mosquito repellant using ingredients found in our community. By combining the leaves of the neem tree with shea butter (and a few other ingredients), an effective salve for deterring mosquitos is created. The project empowers women, creates a source of income, and positively impacts the community. April 25th is World Malaria Day. Please do what you can to help raise awareness of this devastating illness. In addition to work in my local community, I am part of Stomp Out Malaria, a continent-wide campaign to increase malaria prevention across Peace Corps countries in sub-Saharan Africa. Please check out http://stompoutmalaria.tumblr.com/ to see highlights of Peace Corps projects from across Africa. Thank you. Alynn Educate Yourself About Malaria in Burkina Faso CAUSE: Malaria is caused by a parasite that can be transmitted by female anopheles mosquitos who feed after dusk. The parasite resides primarily in the liver, blood and placenta. HIGH RISK GROUPS: Pregnant women (resulting in low birth weight, miscarriage or maternal death), children under the age of 5. PREVENTION TECHNIQUES: · Proper use of insecticide-treated mosquito nets · Use of Neem Cream (see above) · Use of mosquito repellent · Skin coverage · Use of window screens · Prenatal counceling MALARIA IN BURKINA FASO STATS (2009): · 4.5 million cases · 8,000 deaths · 45% of health center consultations · 54% of hospitalizations · 60% of overall deaths · Use of preventative measures o Only 23% of families owned at least one treated mosquito net o Only 10% of children under the age of 5 were sleeping under treated mosquito nets

It is March 26th in Dilijan, Armenia. Large flakes of a late winter’s snow brush my cheeks and cling to my eyelashes as I walk slowly back up the hill to our apartment. I am wearing my fluorescent orange Yak- traks again, having placed them on my boots today after removing them last week, thinking the snow was gone for the year. As unstylish as these accoutrements might be, they do provide a measure of traction when there is new snow and I’ve become dependent upon them as attempts to prevent slips and falls when walking in this wintry land. Oh yes, the bright orange attracts immediate attention in this land of white and black. Some volunteers in other villages have fluorescent lime green ones so they, too, stand out. Actually, as more local people see me and David in the neighborhood, at school, and downtown, there seem to be fewer quizzical stares than earlier in the winter…..or maybe I don’t notice them as much now. It is just another way that I as an American and a foreigner tend to stand out as being different. It makes me think about what it would be like to be a minority all one’s life, always receiving stares, shuns or gestures of non-acceptance. At college today more of the staff and faculty were openly and verbally curious about my Yak- traks and one man even said what a good business it would be to sell them in Armenia. Wouldn’t that be an interesting entreperneural Peace Corps project??? This opened a discussion of safety in this snowy, icy country and the dangers associated with falls and related injuries. My Armenian associates at school do not realize that I am from a warm Southern state in the U. S. and this is more snow than I’ve EVER seen, even when we took skiing trips in our younger days. I’ve shown them on the map where NC, TN, NV and other states are but they mostly respond to CA where many of the Armenian diaspora now live.

No Smoking! but people in Armenia smoke everywhere.............without regard for 2nd hand smoke's effect Today, I had ridden the marschutni, our local mode of transportation, from the center of town back to our neighborhood. Boarding the bus at one of the stops was an elderly man who was smoking a cigarette as he approached the bus. He entered the bus and continued to puff on his cigarette even though there is an ordinance against smoking on public transportation in Armenia. Quite immediately a woman rose from her seat and approached him as he sat down in front of her. She said loudly, “CHE” (No! in the Armenian language) and waved her finger at his cigarette. She began coughing violently, at times barely able to catch her breath. The man looked surprised but immediately tossed the cigarette onto the street from a cracked bus window and sat back in his seat. The woman continued to cough a raspy, dry, non-productive, coarse, irritating cough for the remainder of the trip. She appeared to be struggling with her respirations and would cease coughing briefly only to resume the spasmodic episodes again. Other riders showed little sympathy, staring and pointing at the woman in question. She had definitely been affected by the second-hand smoke of this unthinking man and others were treating her as if SHE was the problem, not the cigarette smoke which negatively impacted an innocent person. The above incident describes only one situation where individuals are inconsiderate of their fellow Armenians, not to mention how foreigners are treated. Some Armenians we know actually express embarrassment at their fellow Armenian’s negative behavior. We have found, though, that some people are becoming friendlier towards us. A young woman who comes to see me weekly to speak English and work on her self-study of our language, typically always brings a gift with her. One day it is a jar of muraba (jam) made by her Mother, another day she brought a small apple. The following week she brought a batch of rose hips strung on string to be used later for rose-hip tea, which she told me is very healthy. Rose hips for tea, muraba (jam) , small apple: all gifts from Armenian friends Last week as I was returning home, our neighbor called to me from her 2nd story porch and was waving one of my Yak-traks, its bright orange fluorescence bidding me to retrieve it. Zepur had found my boot attachment in the snow and saved it for me!! Co-incidentally, her husband had picked up David who was walking home through the snow that cold day. As a thank you for these good deeds, I took her freshly baked brownies one evening. She insisted that I come in and share them with her and the family. Hospitality amongst those we know is evident. Consideration for strangers continues to fluctuate between dismissal and hostility. As Peace Corps volunteers say to each other when a cultural practice baffles us, “ it’s just Armenia” . Judy

Conufsion. Uncertainity. Doubt. Worry. These are all the feelings that we Peace Corps volunteers and many Malians have been experiencing in the last week, since the millitary seized power and the president fled. Also equally disconcerting is the rebellion by the Touaregs in the North of Mali, who want to establish their own state. It is truly a whirlwind of events, and many of us, myself included, long to be back in village, in the gentle pace of things. But that is not to be, not yet at least!

We have been grouped together at regional hostels to outwait the current storm. Today is the 8th day here and the whole situation is really starting to get to us. Living in a constant state of uncertainty is wearing on the spirit. So much free time leads to doleful reflections, which is why we are trying to keep occupied. We painted a map of Mali which does not look half bad. Also, I re-read King Lear, naturally, concerned as I am with themes of universal CHAOS and knowledge through suffering. I read it in the hope of purging unhealthy emotions, of course. Don't know if it worked.

This whole situation has some added resonance for me personally, as last January I was serving in Niger when that program was closed due to security concerns. That whole process of leaving was painful, and I cannot fathom experiencing it again. I dearly hope that this current political situation resolves itself, that people make the right decisions and that life can return to normal. But this is not often the case, is it? And hope not only sustains but destroys as well...

Well, enough ranting and emoting. I'll say a few words about village life. Due to lack of rains and a resulting poor harvest most of the men of my village and even some women have gone elsewhere to find paying work. Many have gone to the gold mines in Senegal. The result is the village is a little lonely, especially as most of my fellow young men have gone away. But the situations is really quite desperate this year, forcing them to leave. Hopefully they may find some good paying work, as they really do need the money.

I had an interesting cultural experience, so I guess I should share with you, my Reader! I had the privilege to attend a wedding, which lasted for 3 days. Afterwards I wrote a handwritten journal about it in village and now I will copy that entry for you here:

"March 16, 2012- 11:21 PM. [Name of my village], Mali.

Hello! I have so much to tell! Where even do I begin? Well, I just spent 3 days at a wedding. It was like this:

-I spent the 3 days mostly with the groom and many young men around my age sitting in a room at the groom's father's house.-The groom and young men were well-dressed in clean new collared shirts and slacks. As was I.-We feasted heartily (no small thing in a poor village). We dined on goat and a spicy rice dish and cous cous with peanut butter sauce and bread and coffee and candies and more.-We danced! First, some traditional drummers came, and later we listened to current pop music. -Much tea was brewed. Some cigarettes were smoked.-Prayers and blessings and speeches were spoken from time to time.-My good friend Seydou went to the window and blew a horn made of animal bone at every meal time, as a signal to the other young men that 'It's eatin' time!'-Many kola nuts were distributed, usually in conjunction with speeches and blessings. Kola nuts are very important here, as signs of respect.-The tone of the wedding was mostly jovial, with a few tense moments. (Seydou explained to me later that a few traditional customs had not been respected, which led to some heated debates).-A group of young women, corresponding in age to our group, would come to the room we were staying in and greet us, sit with us, chat, and dance. They wore fancy colorful dresses, had their hair covered, and wore makeup and henna. Some were wearing jewelry, earring and bracelets.

And I was a part of it all, even though I didn't catch everything that was said. Woo!

Bakari Danyogo and Oumou Dembele, may your marriage truly endure and prosper.

LIVE AND LOVE BABY!"

Okay, entry done! Well, at least the parts that I want to share... Good bye for now. Here's the latest (and positive!) news on Mali:

http://www.aljazeera.com/news/africa/2012/04/20124181943166936.html

It is burning up here. Everyday seems to be hotter than the last. I sweat all day in the afternoon I jump into a baby pool fully clothed to cool off. Then use my wet clothes as a cooling rag an hour later. The night showers and a fan are the only ways I can get to sleep at night. It is almost too hot!

I am moving tomorrow! I will be going to none of the previous options. I will be moving to a home with an older woman 60's and her two grandchildren. A girl in high school and a little one i would say 4. The woman seems very talkative and open I am very happy and think that this will be a good change. They have so many animals which i love but little to no roosters or chickens! NO being waken up at 1:30 at night or 4 in the morning! My room has it's own entrance into the house and a window. There is another room with AC that i can go into if i need a desperate cool off. A huge kitchen which I will be cooking all of my meals.

I am using this time to start over in my service and to do things the way i would have wanted it to go before. I am taking the time to get out of the house more and meet new people. Start a few groups and be a real volunteer. I am going to put more of an effort into socializing with the family. I always think it is my fault that things didn't work out with my first family. If I only did this or that, things would have been better. But there is no point in playing the 'If I' or 'I should have' game. The past is the past and can't be changed. One can only learn from your mistakes and successes and make the present and future the best that it can be. I'll have more info after the move.

“You lose some of yourself but you fill it with community in that immersion process.” Kat Burdine. This quote was from my friend Brian Bieber’s podcast, Ghost & Horses. Last year he invited me to be a part of a … Continue reading →

Khotso my friends, Popping into say a quick hello and let you know about the exciting next few days. Most of my posts have a really serious tone, including this month’s YOP post, so I wanted to do something more … Continue reading →

March 19, 2012

Well, hot season has arrived – and oh boy is it hot – and humid! But from what I hear, the real heat hasn’t even begun yet! I’ve been pretty busy over the last couple of months, and I will unashamedly blame my lack of writing on that (well, that and not being able to charge my computer regularly). In this post, I’ll do my best to sum up some of my bigger activities.

Girls Soccer Tournament

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve been working to plan a soccer tournament for elementary-aged girls. The intention of the tournament was to build confidence in the girls and to encourage continued attendance at school. Additionally, there was an emphasis on educating parents and community members on the importance of sending their daughters to school. The tournament took place on the morning of March 10th, and I must say it was a fantastic success! Four elementary schools in the commune created teams of 11 students each. All of the players came from the equivalent of 5th-7th grades. I was very impressed with all of the teams. They provided some great competition, and all in all, probably about 150 people turned out to watch the games. My favorite part was how everyone would rush the field whenever a goal was made – so much energy, it was great!

Unfortunately, it was not all smooth running, there were some disagreement over the prizes (some people wanted every participant to get a prize, while the co-organizers and I decided it would be more appropriate to give a larger prize (a dictionary) to the winning school). Also, there was some heated discussion about providing food. It seems that no matter how hard I try to dispel the myth, local villagers believe that as a white person I have an endless supply of money (I wrote a grant to fund this project). It increases my frustration when I learn that past volunteers have funded projects out of their own pockets – or at least that’s how the community perceives it. If I had advice to give to a future volunteer, it would be – DO NOT SELF FUND PROJECTS!! It hurts the integrity of the program and makes life difficult for future volunteers.

International Women’s Day

Every year on March 8th, my village (along with most other villages) celebrated International Women’s Day. In theory, this should be a day to celebrate the contributions and the lives of women – and in many ways it is, but I was still surprised at the inequalities I observed throughout the day. The first event of the day was a bike race. It’s a short race, but unfortunately there were not a lot of participants due to the heat. After the race, groups of women started dancing and singing in the streets. Once they reached the center of the village, all the women created a more formal parade. They made me walk in front as we made a short jaunt through the village singing. The parade came to close as we reached the market area. Once there, we listened to speeches by the mayor and other community members. What I found interesting about this, was that they had arranged people sitting in a “U” shape, with the village leaders on one side (including only one woman) and the women on the other side. With this set-up, the speakers spoke the entire time with their backs to all the women. A very curious way to honor them if you ask me.

The next event was lunch. There was a special lunch prepared for people in the community who donated to the event. Again, all the women sat on one side of the seating area, while all of the men sat on the other side, and the important people sat at a separate table. What happened next surprised me (although I don’t know why). The women served all the food, while the men did nothing. Plus, they served all the men first – and even ran out of food to feed all of the women. I questioned this, but they always say that men don’t know how to cook or serve food. Hello – teach them!!!! I’d been hearing for weeks about how men clean and cook for their wives on March 8th – I want to see some proof of that!

During the afternoon there was an archery and soccer game for the women. All in all it was a good day, but still frustrating that it was completely directed by men but, with women doing all the work. Aside from questioning the men and women about these activities, I’m not sure how to instigate change, when the roles of men and women are so strongly ingrained in the people and culture here.

Well, I think that’s all for now, I need to go plan out some tutoring lessons. I’ve posted some pictures of the Soccer tournament and International Women’s Day on Facebook, so if you’re interested, check those out.

I hope you’re having a fantastic spring!

March 26, 2012

Just a couple quick notes before my computer dies. First of all, I wanted to brag about the fact that I bought 4 perfectly ripe mangoes, straight from the tree for 50 CFA – that would be about .10 cents for FOUR MANGOES!!! And that’s when I don’t get them for free!!!! I love mango season (but I could do without the heat and humidity).

Secondly I wanted to take a minute to comment on an edition of “Witness” I heard on the BBC the other day. It was the story of one of the very first Peace Corps Volunteers in Ghana in the early 1960s. What I found so interesting was that he was talking about his living conditions – electricity, running water, decent phone service, etc. He was quite surprised to arrive in his village and find all of these conveniences in what he expected to be very rural and “backward” country. Yet here I am, just a few miles from the Ghanaian border, in 2012, living in a village with none of these amenities. What hit me most was that he said that listening to the BBC was essential to him – just as it as to me, 50 years later.

The sun is now well enough behind my house that reading on my makeshift porch is no longer conducive. I break away from envisioning Henry David Thoreau and Walden Pond to attend to hunger pains. It’s dark in my house … Continue reading →

I have been having these strange recurring dreams. It is not in the same place but it's the same theme. A war between Light and Dark or Good and Evil. There are almost areas of the world that are good and areas that are bad. It is usually an area that has a door that can be locked to hold in the good or out the evil. There is always children it is almost like the war is being fought by children with a few adults to help. The main character is always a teenager or young adult trying to either figure out what is wrong with the world or trying defeat evil. It starts of with the girl feeling that there is something off and begins to investigate such as there are some areas that feel different like bad or dark and some that are good or light. She then realizes that this darkness effects certain people as well. There are areas that can be closed off to just good. This started the awakening of the other good people to what is going on and the bad trying to get in to infect the good. The war is always fought by children and dark is usually a set of a few adults. The dreams always ends just before the final battle with the main character saying or crying to someone that they don't think the kids can handle a battle they have never had to go through all of this.

I guess you could say that i am writing about this because is started when I was in PC and come so in my site. It makes me wonder what is going on in site that is causing me to have a war in my subconscious. What is making feel so separated? I find it strange that it is so geared to children. Is there an issue with my teaching and the kids? I don't feel like I am resenting the children or that I am struggling with the classes. Sure there are times that I have a bad day but we all have those days. Is site really bothering me this much that I am have a war with myself because of it? I know that i don't find it as a home yet but i don't think that i thought it was really horrible just not like home. There are so many questions and no answers. Maybe moving out and starting over with a new family will help. Or maybe it is all just a coincidence and that the dreams are just dreams my imagination. I just find it weird that the same theme is recurring every week.

If you want to “experience culture” in Africa, take public transportation. If it’s your first time, maybe take a Zanex with you. Some of my best and worst experiences over the last eighteen months have involved public transportation.

Moto-taxi drivers in Rwanda wear helmets and carry them for passangersAfter the fantastic safari with family, I headed south and reunited with a friend who had been in PC Niger and is currently a Tanzania PCV. Our original plan was to climb Mt Hanang, Tanzania’s fourth highest mountain, but rain kept us at lower altitudes. The following day, we set off further south en route to her site.

The “seats” on our 6AM bus were the first two behind the driver, although there were plenty of people in between. The narrow space and surface area between the driver’s seat and the first row of passenger seats was occupied by five other Tanzanians. My friend sat next to the window, knees against the driver’s seat, a backpack between her legs and another on her lap. I sat next to her, another backpack on my lap, facing a fellow passenger sitting on a makeshift seat, our knees pressed against each other.

A few seconds after we got seated, someone ran off the bus. When others followed, I figured there must be another bus leaving at the same time. Suddenly my friend urged me “Get off the bus! It’s smoking!” I looked up and realized: less than two feet in front of me the mechanical mess next to the steering wheel was, in fact, full of smoke.

Once out of the bus, we watched the driver and a couple ticket sellers fiddle with engine and then motion to the passengers it was safe to get back on. My friend and I looked at each other and shrugged: trying to switch itineraries at this point was too complicated. A little smoke never hurt anybody.

About two hours into our bumpy journey, a big pothole caused us to fly a few inches out of our seat, for the hundredth time. Then the bus jerked sharply to the right. My backpack went flying into the isle, and my body followed. I felt my friend’s arm trying to yank me back into the seat at the same time I felt other passengers falling on and around me. The sound of people screaming was mixed with the sound of large tree branches hitting the bus. We shook right and left, up and down, and then finally (after what was in reality probably less than ten seconds) the bus hit a tree, and stopped.

I got up, and along with everyone else, got out. A woman lay on the ground in front of the bus with her eyes closed and I feared the worst, but soon realized she was just napping—all the commotion must have worn her out.

We parked ourselves about twenty feet away from the bus. “How long do you think we should wait before we try to walk or take a motorcycle?” my friend asked. The road we had been traveling on was just a sandy dirt path and our surroundings were all farmland. Neither of us knew exactly how far we were from our destination, and none of the other stranded passengers seemed sure either. After a half hour or so, some women who had been waiting near us started to walk, and we followed. One of the women offered (and then insisted) on carrying one of my backpacks.

After walking about an hour, we ran into a small village. There, one of the women asked if we might get tea. A young man escorted us to what looked like someone’s living room and we were promptly offered water to wash our hands, delicious milk tea, and of course, fried dough. My friend and I shared our bananas and mangos as well. We sat, ate, and giggled with the women for what might have been my favorite hour in Tanzania. Just as we finished our tea, someone came running into the house to announce that the bus was fixed and ready to continue. A couple more close calls and a few hours later we arrived at our destination and praised Allah for the safe arrival.

Buses leaving Nyabigogo Bus Station in Kigali

This trip was a more extreme version of many, many journeys I’ve taken since my original flight to Niger. My transportation adventures, more than anything else, have made me realize that with a little patience and a sense of humor, in the end, things usually turn out alright.

So, I’ve told you about my iTouch and cell phone adventures (parts I and II). Now let me tell you about the adventures of my digital camera.

Leaning out of the vehicle to photograph a sleepy lionessOn Safari, I took lots of pictures (more on facebook, previous posts and the pictures page of this blog). Most of these, I took from a Land Cruiser that had pop up roof. While driving around the Serengeti, I stood on my seat with my head and arms outside the vehicle. When the vehicle stopped so we could observe animals or take in a pretty view, I lifted myself out of the car and sat on the roof. At some point during one of our morning drives, I sat on the roof, and my camera fell out of my pocket, onto the ground.

When our vehicle stopped for breakfast, I searched the car to make sure the camera hadn’t fallen into a seat crack. Our drivers also searched the car, to no avail. The reality sunk in deep: my careless ways had finally gotten the best of me. My camera was gone, lost forever on the plains of the Serengeti, a toy for the hyenas.

I was pretty sulky the rest of our morning drive-- thinking about all the beautiful scenes I was unable to capture on my camera: the lovely waterproof, dustproof, and shockproof Pentax that I call my “Africa-proof” camera. It had been so good to me since I first arrived in Niger last October.

With one of our drivers, who helped find my cameraAfter lunch at camp, our guide told me he was going to look for the camera before our afternoon drive. Embarrassed, I thanked him for the effort, although I realized the likelihood of finding the camera was small. Still, I couldn’t help but hope. By the time four o’clock rolled around I figured the search party must have had no luck. As I walked towards the group I saw our guide and shrugged, “No luck?”“Here it is!” he said triumphantly handing over my camera. After three hours of searching the plains, they found it!

I’d like to say I have learned my lesson. But, I also thought I had learned my lesson after the iTouch incident, and the telephone incidents. The problem is, with the sort of luck I’m having, I think I’m becoming more careless.