Two summers ago, I pondered my return home to California after spending three months in South Africa. I definitely looked forward to the reunion with my family and friends, but I found myself anticipating the return to Bay Area cuisine just as much. This time around I’ve been out of the country for almost a year—the longest stretch ever for me—and once again, I find myself missing taste of home as much as I miss the people.

Next month I will get to spend a week in Oakland before relocating to Colombia for a year. As I count down the days I have left here in Cape Verde, I’ve started to form a plan of attack, that will hopefully allow me to stuff my face with all my favorite foods that I have not had, and will not have access to once I leave again. Fortunately, I can work from the list of my Favorite Bay Area Eat-Spots in the Bay Area that I created during my last days in South Africa.

So, that leaves me free to stay present while I still have time left here. To put it diplomatically, the food here is not what I like most about Cape Verde. That being said, there is quality once you know where to look. In that spirit, I thought now would be a good time to tip my hat to the places that have kept me well-fed during my time in São Vicente. So, here goes...

Drew’s Favorite Eat-Spots... The São Vicente Edition

PONTO DE ENCONTRO - Best Cachupa!This low-profile restaurant has an extensive menu: cachupa with an egg or cachupa with a fried fish. Fortunately, they are damn good at their specialty. There’s been more than one week when I’ve eaten lunch there five days in a row, no sweat.

LE FLOSTEL - Best Pizza & Chawarma!Unfortunately, this place always seems to be closed when you need it most. But, if you get the schedule down you will be pleased with the quality and selection of over twenty different pizzas. Just remember that in kriolu, “salsicha” does not mean “tasty sausage,” it means “hot dog in a can” (for more information, please read “Commitment and Canned Meat,” 12/17/12)

RESTAURANTE CHINA - ???It wouldn’t be fair to have a “Best Chinese Food” category, because there’s only one spot here on São Vicente. I will say that our Chinese restaurant exposes the two in Praia as the sorry excuses for restaurants that they actually are. I’m sorry, that’s just the truth. With superb dumplings at 10 escudos-a-pop,* Restaurante China offers the best value in town (not counting cachupa plates). While there’s no live music at this place, the “interesting” chinese-to-kriolu-to-english translations found in the menu provide hours of entertainment for the whole family.

SANTO ANDRE BAR & BISTRO - Best Place to Eat When Money's Not An IssueThe problem with a lot of Cape Verdean restaurants is that there is often little-to-no correlation between the price and the quality. Fortunately, Santo Andre sets the bar high, then exceeds it. I’ve only eaten there once, but it will be a long time before I forget the taste of the leitão and caipirinhas.

LA BODEGUITA DE MINDELO - Best Quality, Ambiance & MojitosBodeguita is a great place for so many reasons. The mojitos tend be the reason you go, but once you’re there be prepared to sample some top-notch cuisine from around the world. Spanish Tortillas... Yassa au Poulet... Bruschetta... Espetada... Crêpes... this place truly lives up to Mindelo’s reputation as an international city, with an owner from Martinique and a chef from Togo. Sometimes it’s a little dissonant: like when they hang pictures of Che Guevara and Gandhi next to each other on the wall. But for the most part the results are an awesome cultural blend. Bodeguita gets major bonus points for ambiance, with a low ceiling that actually makes the place feel cozier, and sharpie-graffiti covered walls... not to mention the random instruments laying around that may be—and sometimes are—played by the clientele.

Before I go further, I want to clarify the title of the post. “Restaurant Quality” is one of my favorite sayings, and if you've spent some time with me, you’ve probably heard me throw it out there at least once. The term was originally used to refer to a home-cooked meal that was good enough to be served at a restaurant. Not surprisingly, the most memorable dining experiences I have in São Vicente have not been at restaurants. Therefore, it’s worth taking a moment to reflect on some of the truly restaurant quality meals we’ve shared in our own kitchens.

Christening the KitchenAfter nine weeks without cooking for ourselves, we went a little nuts in the kitchen of our new apartment...

Thanksgiving Dinner(s)

Festival of M.E.A.T. - Fried Chicken smothered with Beef Gravy served on a bed of Non-Vegetarian Chili The Festival of M.E.A.T. (Mean Eating Animals Together) is the culminating event at the end of Brovember. At this feast, each dish must contain at least two types of meat, utensils are banned, shirts are optional (discouraged), and flatulence is celebrated. Brovember should not be confused with Ramen-Dan, when Peace Corps volunteers may only eat packaged dehydrated noodles for an entire month. Ramen-Dan can and does occur during any month of the year when you blow your living allowance on good or bad things other than groceries.

Jesse’s Falafel

Gracie’s Thai Chicken Lettuce Wraps

Cinco de Mayo

Sushi & Gyoza NightDespite my addiction to it, I had never taken on the challenge making sushi myself. Fortunately, I get by with a little help from my friends. Adriana came up HUGE with an overseas care-package with nori, wasabi, and a sushi-rolling mat. Jesse, who spent several years living in Japan, assumed the role as my sensei, and we were ready to roll. Despite lacking some of the so-called "essential" ingredients (short-grain rice, mirin, rice vinegar, etc). the results left us feeling pretty good about ourselves. Plus, we were stuffed, which I find hard to do in a sushi restaurant without breaking the bank. In typical family-dinner potluck style, our friends kicked in some homemade gyoza and a carrot-ginger salad.

Adam & Jen’s VisitHands down, the best meal I’ve had in the last year was spearheaded by our most recent house guests, Adam and Jen.** Legend of Adam’s skills in the kitchen had already spread across the islands and beyond, but after finally getting a taste first hand, all I can say is... the boy can burn.*** Adam and Jen were visiting from the island of Santiago, which gave us excuse to convene another family dinner. The menu: fish tacos and roasted bell peppers stuffed with black beans. The results: food porn.

Until the next meal...

Pura Vida,Drew*10 escudos equals about 12 cents. I typically go in for a plate of twenty dumplings for about $2.50 US... at least three times a week.

**After a brief count, I’ve established that during our eight months in São Vicente, Rory and I have had twenty-one overnight house guests, visiting from other islands or countries. Pretty much all of them have been restaurant quality. Thank you to all of you for the visits and for the good times.

***That is a good thing. Rough translation: he gets down in the kitchen.

This week the magic number is five. Unfortunately, there is no way I will be able to visit all ten islands of Cape Verde before I leave, which was part of my original master plan. I’m more than a little jealous because my friend, Rob, just came north from Praia and took a day trip to the uninhabited island of Santa Luzia to complete the cycle. My only consolation is that it took him almost four years to pull it off, while I’ve only been here for nine months and change.The good news is that after a great vacation last week, I can say that I’ve visited half of them. Islands number four and five for me were Fogo and Brava, and like each island in this country, they both brought their own flavor and fun to the party.

After a three-day conference in Praia, I headed to the airport early Thursday morning for the start of a loooooong weekend with a few friends who would eventually be renamed “Drew’s Angels.” They were great company the whole way through, but some of them aren’t exactly morning people.* (see picture below)

In typical Peace Corps fashion, we approached our vacation with the same flexibility that has kept us narrowly sane over the past few months. The last minute planning got off to a great start when my phone rang just before take-off. It was my friend, Ronise, calling to tell me that she was actually going to be on my flight to Fogo. I was little confused because, like I said, I was already buckled in with my tray-table stowed. But she was for real, and I few minutes later, I saw her climb on board, bags in hand, to settle into the last remaining seat. Only in Cape Verde... if I remember correctly, the flight attendants were actually standing up and walking around during take off on the way here from Boston.

Our fluid plans stayed fluid, even after we landed. Taking it one step at a time, we asked the taxi driver to take us to a place with cachupa for a start. I was set on heading straight to Brava that night, after finding out that a family friend has a pensão on the northwest coast of the island.** I did some lightweight lobbying of the other folks to come along with me, and after a few short hours at the travel agency, we had four roundtrip ferry tickets in hand.***

It’s tempting to try to share every step of my vacation, but that would probably be more interesting to write than it would be to read. By now I hope you appreciate that I try not to let this blog devolve into a list of “and then I did this, and then I did that.” So, as a compromise, I will to share one highlight from each day of the trip. Here goes:

Thursday, May 24 - Praia / Fogo / BravaThe best part about our first day of vacation was killing time in São Filipe until our boat left for Brava later that night. This involved a long breakfast, lugging our bags down to the black-sand beach to bake and chill, then settling in at a nearby restaurant for a few more hours of serra, drinks, and zouk lessons (thank you, Ronise).

Friday, May 25 - Faja d’Agua & Nova Sintra, BravaAfter spending our first night at Pensão Sol na Baia, we woke up refreshed and ready to explore Faja d'Agua. No contest, the highlight of Friday was our visit to the piscina, or natural pools that are formed by the tides on the coast of Faja. A picture is worth a thousand words, so here goes a thousand pictures...

Saturday, May 26th - Nova Sintra, Brava, São Filipe & Cha das Caldeiras, FogoOn Saturday morning we braved the waters back to Fogo, then piled in a hiace to head for the center of the island. Cha das Caldeiras is known for two things: the volcano, and the wine that is made from the vineyards at the volcano's base. We decided the tackle the latter challenge on the first day, which brings us to our highlight of Saturday: manecon and music at Casa Ramiro’s. When we left at 10pm, after hours of dancing and “wine-tasting,” it felt more like 1am. Luckily, it wasn’t, because tomorrow would not be easy.

Sunday, May 27th - Chas das Caldeiras & São Filipe, FogoBright and early, we headed for the volcano to find out what we were made of. I had been told that the summit is the quietest place on earth, and I was not disappointed. I took the animal-style approach on the way up, then took advantage of the spare time to take a nap on top of the world. The way up was the kind of fun that hurts... the way down was just plain fun.

Monday, May 28th - São Filipe, FogoOur visit to Fogo coincided with the annual “Festa São Filipe” music festival. The music was cool, but it ranked a distant second place to the good old fashioned company that we shared with friends on our last night in town. Four other volunteers from other parts of the island joined us, along with folks from Fogo and the Philippines. Thank you, Emma, for putting us up, and for putting up with us for one more night! Good times...

Pura Vida,

Drew

* Fortunately, I was prepared for Averie’s morning side-eye. During our nine-week training, we lived in the same village and had language classes everyday at 8am. So you could say that I knew not to trifle with her before her first cup of coffee. For more on the side-eye, click here.

** Sol Na Baia is owned by Jose Andrade, a Cape Verdean painter. The entire place was decked out with his completed works, as well as a few in progress.

*** It took longer to buy the tickets than it did to actually travel from Fogo to Brava.

When I last checked in I had just found out that I will be moving to Baranquilla, Colombia this summer to serve as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer for one year. At the time I was short on details because I didn’t have them all. To that end, I just finished participating in a three-day Transfer Conference in Praia with eight other volunteers who will be moving on to different countries this summer. The point of the conference was to prepare us for our new assignments and to help us transition smoothly out of our lives and work here in Cape Verde. It’s a little more complicated than it sounds, because between the nine of us, we are headed to four different countries (Benin, Colombia, Namibia, and Togo). On top that, there are thirteen other volunteers that are transferring to Moçambique and one that will be staying in Cape Verde to work. Despite some unanswered questions, the conference was helpful, and at least I now have a confirmed date for when I will start work in Colombia: June 19th. I still don’t know exactly when I’ll be leaving Cape Verde, but it is soon enough to have me thinking hard about how I want to spend my last days here.

As I mentioned before, I was slow to locate a piano in-country, but I finally did last month. Since then I’ve been studying with Professor Cachimbra at the Escola Municipal de Musica.* When I first knocked on the door I didn’t have any concrete plans, other than to make sure I sat down at the piano and played for at least an hour once a week. Well, Cachimbra has more than obliged. He asked me to sit down and play something, then he invited me to come in twice a week, on Wednesdays and Fridays, for one hour. After my first Friday session he said, “see you on Monday.” When I pointed out that Mondays would make it three times a week, his response was something along the lines of, “I know.” So I showed up the following Monday for my second lesson in Cape Verdean music. Halfway through the session, Cachimbra suggested that form a group and have a performance... O.K., sounds good to me! At the end of the next session he asked me to come at 4pm next time, instead of 5pm, so that we could have more time to play. Then, at the following session he announced that we would be recording soon... OK, also sounds good to me! So, just to recap, my one-hour lessons have grown into six hours a week with a concert and a recording around the corner. Luckily, I’m on the all-you-can-eat plan, so I’m still paying the original monthly fee of 2,000 CVE ($25.00 US).

Now I can finally say that playing music is a priority in my life (once again). For so many reasons I let that part of me slip away, or get buried in the chaos that comes with integrating into a new country, and into a new group of colleagues and friends. Two years ago I wrote an entry called “Why I’m Not On Tour” in the wake of the Tiger Woods scandal. In it, I tried to explain how and why I came to the point in my life where I no longer wanted to present myself as a musician, despite the fact that music is such a personal, and important aspect of who I am. I still feel the same way for the most part, but I do feel like I’ve taken it too far to the extreme since I’ve been in Cape Verde. After seven months here, I can count on my fingers the number of people here who have heard me play or perform, or have listened to anything I’ve recorded. True, I still want people to know me before they know my music... but at the end of the day, I do want them to listen.

Playing piano every week has given me the swift kick in the ass that I needed, and recently I’ve been more open and excited about sharing that side of me with my friends. I even found myself free-styling at the dinner table earlier this week... that felt good. With that feeling in mind, I want to share a video from my last concert in California. A while back I posted a low-fi bootleg audio recording of the performance, but now I have the concert DVD with visuals and the good quality sound. So, PLEASE click on the following link to...

WATCH THE SHORT VIDEO

If all goes as planned I will have some new music to share with you before I leave Cape Verde. Until then, thank you for reading, and thank you for listening.**

Pura Vida,

Drew

* Municipal Music School

** If you enjoyed this post, or the video, or if you just feel sorry for me, the please click here to "like" my music page of Facebook.

I was tempted to title this post, “Luckiest Man Alive, Part. 3,” or, “Muah Hah Hah,” because that is how I am feeling right now. Yesterday, I was offered the opportunity to transfer Baranquilla to serve as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer. Cool, right? Oh, you haven’t even heard the good part yet. I would be working as a Youth Outreach Specialist with a soccer program called Fútbol Con Corazón. Here is the job description...

---------------------------------------------Title: Youth Outreach Specialist- Soccer (Colombia)

Country: Colombia

Language Qualifications: Spanish

Program Area: Youth Development

Partner: Fútbol Con Corazón

Description

Multiple Peace Corps Response Volunteers are needed to serve as Youth Outreach Volunteers for Fútbol Con Corazón. Fútbol Con Corazón is a grass-roots social change model that uses soccer to provide new opportunities for over 2,000 children living below the poverty line in Colombia. Fútbol Con Corazón fills the gap in before-school and after-school programs for Colombia’s poverty-stricken youth. Due to budget cuts and overpopulation, children in Colombia go to school for only half a day. In their free time, many become involved in gang activity, prostitution, the drug trade, or are recruited by illegal armed groups. With six current sites in operation, Fútbol Con Corazón works alongside various organizations to focus on youth empowerment, conflict resolution, decreasing dropout rates, and increasing gender equality.

Peace Corps Response Volunteers fluent in Spanish and experienced in youth outreach are needed to assist Fútbol Con Corazón in extending their program and providing increased one-on-one attention to participants. The Volunteers will conduct soccer workshops and training and conduct life-skills workshops, serving as a role model for the children. The PCRVs will be responsible for attending monthly planning meetings, assisting with monitoring and evaluation activities, and participating in an orientation program to better understand Fútbol Con Corazón. Additionally, the Volunteers will provide feedback and suggestions for Fútbol Con Corazón’s current youth development curriculum, and assist the organization with their outreach efforts to the participants’ parents. The goal of this project is for the Volunteers to support site leaders in the areas of soccer training, life skills workshops, and health and nutritional activities.

Academic Qualifications

- Bachelor's Degree

Mandatory Qualifications

- Spanish Fluency

- Two years of experience with youth outreach/teaching life skills, particularly with urban youth

- High tolerance for sun/heat

Desired Qualifications

- Degree in the field of social development

- Background in sports, social work, or psychology

---------------------------------------------

Hmmmmmm... let me think. Yes.

Pura Vida,

Drew

After my last post on Sunday evening, I fell asleep with twowishes in mind. Here I am two days later, and both wishes have come true. Imade my first wish public when I wrote, “I would give almost anything to know where I will be in two months, and what I will be doing." Well, las night I got thecall from Peace Corps, so now it is official. I am not going to Mali.* Believe it or not, I have more than one psychic godmother, and here is a haiku message that I received from one of them, just a few hours before I found out.

spirit says not nowother doors will open soonthis is not your fight

- diane

Currently, the powers that be inWashington, DC are working to arrange my transfer to a different country, butit is safe to say that two months from today, I will still be here at home inCape Verde, teaching classes at the Centro da Juventude, coaching soccer withGD Amarante, and studying at the Escola Municipal de Musica. It’s not that I didn’t want to go to Mali—although I have dozens of auntiesscattered around the world who will breathe a collective sigh of relief, knowingthat I am not being sent into a battle zone. I just needed to know one way orthe either, and now I do.

As for where they will try to send me next, I’ll cross thatbridge when I get to it. Honestly, I’m game for almost anything, but apparently at least one of my friendshas a strong preference concerning where I might get reassigned.

Got my fingers crossedThat somewhere in our islandsPeace Corps will bring you

- vicky

How can you resistThe beauty of the warm seaPeace Corps bring Drew here

- vicky

My second wish was exponentially more important. On Monday my dadunderwent hip replacement surgery, so I am one of many who have had him inmind. Apparently all of our psychic love transmissions are working because hecame through strong, and is now recuperating and experimenting with drugs forthe first time in his life.**

Pura Vida,

Drew

* The 165 Volunteers that are currently serving in Mali are being evacuated. The Peace Corps program in Mali has not been officially closed, but they are not sending in a new training class this year.

**When the sixties happened, I’m pretty sure that my dad wasstudying and playing basketball. Enjoy the painkillers Pai, just not too much.

Unfortunately, things are not looking good in Mali, no matter how you try to spin it, or how much you want to find a silver lining. While I still have no idea whether or not I will be moving there in June, I certainly find it hard to "plan on it." So, here I am again... back to the holding pattern. Actually, this feels a lot like the process of applying to the Peace Corps in the first place, so in some ways I am used to it. That being said, it is not where I want to be, and I would give almost anything to know where I will be in two months, and what I will be doing.

Right now, that just isn't in the cards, so in the meantime, I try to put my energy into living today. For example, I (finally) started studying Cape Verdean music as the Escola Municipal de Musica. I can't explain how crucial and therapeutic just a few hours with a real upright piano can be for me. They're not exactly piano lessons since Professor Cachimbra actually plays guitar, but its still a chance to learn something new, and shake the rust of my fingers.

Things are also in full swing on the football front. I've been working with Gremio Desportivo Amarante as the coach of their U-17 team. Our first game of the Campeonato was today, and honestly, heading into battle I was a little nervous. Let's just say that the struggle to instill discipline on and off the field is a marathon, not a sprint. I survived a near-mutiny in the locker room before the game, but eventually convinced the boys that we all had a role to play, and the sooner we got focused on that, the better for everyone. Translation: "I promise not to run on the field and kick the ball in the middle of the game if you promise to leave the coaching decisions to me." Fortunately, it looks like my tough love has not be in vain. They came out strong and organized today, and they dominated the game. If I do transfer to Mali at the beginning of June, I will miss the last game of the Campeonato... a bummer, but all the more reason to squeeze the juice out of every Sunday untill then.

Since my days here are numbered, I am constantly on the lookout for an opportunity to experience a new slice of Cape Verde. Earlier this week, we took a hike out to the lighthouse in Sao Pedro.

At the end of this month I will get a chance to visit the island of Fogo, which will be a homecoming of sorts. The creole in Cape Verde is amazingly diverse, with each island sporting its own accent and slang. In some cases, as in the north/south (badiu/sanpadjudo) divide, they are legitimately distinct dialects. I, on the other hand, speak a weird, unidentifiable-but-understandable version of the language that I have recently taken to calling Drewese. You start with a few semester studying Brazilian Portuguese in college, add on nine weeks of training in Southern Cape Verdean Creole, then relocate to the North for six months. The end result? Everyone thinks I'm Cape Verdean, they just think/know that I am from some other island. So, almost everyday a Cape Verdean finds an opportunity to ask/tell me, "Abo é de Fogo?"* I'm really looking forward to visiting Fogo, if only to find out what island they think I'm from.

Until then, I am living today, here in Mindelo. Until further notice, my apartment is still my home. Oh yeah, about that... my roommate, with a little encouragement, decided to adopt a kitten off the street this week, so now Mia's got a little sister/arch-nemesis. She survived here first bath, and she should live a long and happy life, as long as she stays out of Mia's food bowl.

Living today means something different everyday, and that's how I've always liked it. When it's not teaching English, playing music, or coaching soccer, its just being here... with my friends, with my colleagues, and with my neighbors. My friend, Sandro, just lost his Grandfather, so I spent a lot a time with him this week. On São Vicente, it is customary for friends and family to visit on the seventh day after someone dies, so we joined him again on Friday evening. In his honor, I wanted to share this haiku that popped into my head when I got home later that night.

Grandma and Grandpa,we eat, laugh, and drink tonight.You are gone, but here.

I also wanted to share a piece from a friend back home. The love from you all is what prevents my otherwise-immenent nervous breakdown.

Though it may be hard

You are very much neededWherever you are

- nina

Pura Vida,

Drew

* "You're from Fogo, right?"

God,

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

courage to changes the things I can,

and wisdom to know the difference.

I wanted to share this short prayer this week for three reasons. First, I just finished reading Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Talents. Actually, I didn’t really like the book, but it did get me thinking a little bit about religion, spirituality, and the difference between the two. Second, this passage has been my favorite prayer ever since I first heard Cee-Lo read it on the Soul Food album. Lastly, there are (always) things going on around me, and events unfolding that could affect my life in the present and the near future. It’s too early to know how this will all play out, and there’s not much I can do in the meantime, other than stay focused on keeping my mind right for whatever comes next...

Pura Vida,

Drew

Random feel-good pictures...

A birthday party at the Centro de Juventude

Falafel night at Jesse's apartment

St. Patrick's Day

English Class at the Centro de Juventude



Last week I had a small personal crisis when my external hard drive decided to stop working. I’ve spilled enough tea to have learned my lesson, so now I am in the habit of backing up my computer every month. Unfortunately, I realized that all my pictures from the South Pacific, my first trip to Africa, and the time in between were only on that hard drive. Luckily, the hard drive decided that it was not dead, only in a coma. The near-death experience has given me a good excuse to dig into my entire digital photo library, organize it, and back up the back up.

As I culled through photos from the last hundred years (literally), it was easy to get sentimental about the recent and distant past. Meanwhile, I realized that my next blog post (this one) would be number 50 since I launched Live From Tomorrow in December 2009. Since then I’ve been outside of the USA more than I’ve been home, and this blog has become my journal, my microphone, my hobby, and my therapist. I’m not the most prolific blogger, but I like it that way—after all, this isn’t Twitter. I’ve actually managed to stick to my original game plan of never blogging more than once in a given week. I never want the sharing of my experiences to become more important than experience of actually living them. Also, taking at least a few days to let my thoughts marinate always makes the story and the perspective a little juicier.

Like I said, flipping back through pictures and past entries can easily induce nostalgia. But, even more powerful is the feeling that I am truly blessed and/or lucky, whatever you choose to call it. With that in mind, I decided to reflect back on the past 49 posts to present to you:

50 Lucky & Memorable Experiences from Live From Tomorrow:

(from oldest to most recent)

1. Observing Akiko Fujita interview Vicky about the pending military buildup on Guam

2. Visiting Pagat for a day of cliff diving, cave swimming, and Chamorro history

3. Working with We Are Guahan

4. Spending a week in Fiji

5. Visiting the black iron sand beaches of Waitakere, New Zealand

6. Sitting in with Storehouse for their gig at Wine Cellar in Auckland

7. Spending a weekend in Wellington during the IRSWS

8. Experiencing an epic Palais Du Chat loft party in Auckland

9. Doing absolutely nothing productive at Rotidian Beach

10. Running my first Hash with Toby as my guide

11. Visiting Robben Island with Sparks as my guide

12. Deejaying with Miss H at the Waiting Room in Cape Town

13. Finding inner peace at Kirstenbosch National Gardens

14. Meeting the Japanese referee crew in Cape Town Airport

15. Sitting next to Captain America at the USA’s opening match against England

16. Touring the Westbury Township with Sophia Williams-de Bruyn and family

17. Attending the USA v Slovenia WC match at Ellis Park in Johannesburg

18. Observing a Dutch National Soccer Team training session

19. Hanging out at Sakhumzi in Soweto, watching South Africa beat France

20. Attending the USA v Algeria WC match in Pretoria

21. Running a free soccer clinic for Black Diamonds F.C. in the Alexandra Township

22. Enjoying VVIP status at the USA v Ghana match, courtesy of Kgosi Leruo

23. Running into my old college roommate at a random cafe in Melville

24. Getting a tour of the African Romance Diamonds headquarters

25. Attending the WC Championship Match between Spain and some other team from Europe

26. Forming a human heart while Adrian flew over in an airplane with his girlfriend on Valentine's Day

27. Helping to organize the Mandela Day Project with the UJ OCE

28. Spending a week in Moçambique with Grupo Desportivo de Manica

29. Experiencing my first Christmas in July party, courtesy of Niamh

30. Spending a weekend in Dullstroom, courtesy of Craig and Nana

31. Spending a week as a guest of the Royal Bafokeng Nation and staying with by Sue and Charles

32. Attending the UJ Women’s Day Conference and hearing Graça Machel speak

33. Braving a trip to Santini’s, an Afrikaaner stronghold, for a Sokkie lesson

34. Getting a farewell serenade from the Lebone ladies singing group

35. Being welcomed into the family at Wits University F.C. and the University of Johannesburg

36. Getting my Invitation Letter to Serve in Cape Verde

38. Attending the NSCAA Advanced National Diploma Course

37. Living jazz at JazzCamp 2011 and the Decompression

39. Enjoying Father´s Day, Jaime's birthday, and a 4th of July / Going Away party in the Bay

40. Taking a field trip to the Tarrafal Concetration Camp on Santiago

41. Co-facilitating a community meeting in my host village, Fonte Lima

42. Walking and running through Serra Malagueta Natural Park

43. Attending my (first) Swearing In Ceremony

44. Finding Mia and smuggling her onto the plane to São Vicente in a purse

45. Hosting a beautiful Thanksgiving Dinner, my first ever without any family members

46. Attending and surviving W.A.I.S.T. in Senegal

48. Getting showered with Haikus from around the world

47. Experiencing Carnaval in Mindelo, and hosting great people from all over

49. Hosting my Dad and Lita for a week on Santiago, São Vicente, and Santo Antão

50. Leitão

Last weekend we celebrated our friend’s birthday with cake and drinks on Saturday, followed by brunch and the beach on Sunday. Cathryn is technically a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV)*, except after completing her service and going back to the states, she un-returned back to Cape Verde. Now she lives here with her boyfriend, and the two of them have had my back since I arrived. We called ahead the day before to Santo André Bistro & Bar and told them to have enough pig ready for seven people. The leitão** was juicy, the caipirinhas were legit, and the beach was an ideal spot to enjoy the food coma. Until the next feast...

Pura Vida,

Drew

*We don't use the term "former Peace Corps Volunteer." We're kinda like a gang... you know? Blood in, blood out. Once you complete your service you become a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, and that's what you are for the rest of your life.

**Suckling Pig... that one's for you, Sr. Vallar.

It’s hard to admit, but honestly, I wouldn’thave it any other way. Since I first found out that Peace Corps would beclosing it Cape Verde Program later this year, I have been through too manyemotional and psychological stages to count. At first, I was cynicallyunimpressed with the decision. Then I was indignant and pissed off. After a fewweeks of venting and a cooling off period, I began to refocus myself on thedecision at hand: whether or not to transfer.

Now that I’ve made the decision to move to Mali in June, I find myself in a surprising state of mind: happiness. With all duelove and respect to everyone and everything that I’ll leaving behind in CapeVerde, I wouldn’t change things if I could... which is convenient, because Ican’t. There’s probably a few shrinks out there that would argue that thisattitude is just my psychological defense mechanism for coping with apotentially traumatic experience. So be it—whatever works. I don’t believe inpredestination, but I'm a big fan of the expression, "God don't make mistakes!" More importantly, Idon’t believe in reverse time travel, regrets, or woulda-shoulda-coulda’s. Oncesomething is done, it’s done.

Since making my decision, I have been more atpeace with my service in Cape Verde than I ever have since arriving lastsummer. Surprisingly, I have hardly thought about Mali since writing my lastpost. Instead, I’ve found it so much easier to stay present and focused onmaking the most of last three months here. Luckily, there’s been a few things to make thepresent that much sweeter. Sometimes it takes a visitor or two (or more) tohelp you appreciate all the amazing things that you have around you.Fortunately, the last few weeks have brought some of the best visitors a boycould ever ask for. The head count during Carnaval included out of town guests fromWashington, DC, Senegal, The Gambia, and the Cape Verdean islands of Santo Antão, Boavista, and Santiago. I never blogged about Carnaval because when the dust settled, I had other things on my mind. So, instead of rehashing theexperience, I just want to share a few pics.

If you are interested in what Carnaval actuallylooked and felt like (as opposed to me and folks partying), then you HAVE tovisit my friend's photo-blog. BobToomy is a fellow volunteer here in Mindelo, and among many other things, he isan amazing photographer. Here's a little sample:

After Carnaval I headed to the main island, Santiago, to hang out for a few daysbefore my Dad and Lita landed. I only meant to visit Cidade Velha for a few hours, but two days later I was still tryingto pry myself away from my new favorite spot in the country.



Then I was blessed with a cross-Atlantic visitfrom the family, which could not have come at a better time. Having them intown was a great excuse to visit some great places and great people...

Praia...

Assomada, and my host family in FonteLima...



Orgãos...

Cidade Velha (again)...

One highlight was my first ferry adventure to Santo Antão. All Ican say is, “Damn, that was some good grogue and cheese!” I’m looking forwardto working in a longer visit to the island before I move.



Earlier this week I handed in my formal letter of“resignation” to my supervisor and counterparts at work. As always, they arebehind me, and support my decision completely. Hopefully, I can make my lastthree months here into the best ones yet.

Pura Vida,

Drew

This is the challenge that I signed up for. When I firstapplied to the Peace Corps, I knew that I was willing to meet the all of theCore Expectations of the organization. Since then, those expectations have notchanged, nor have mine. I am still ready for a full term of 27 months. I amstill committed to improving the quality of life of the people with whom I liveand work. Most importantly, I am willing to go where the Peace Corps asks me to go.

When I boarded the plane in July, 2011, and when Iofficially swore in as a Volunteer in September, I hardly expected to beleaving Cape Verde less than one year later. But then again, I tried my bestnot to expect anything. The one thing Iknew for sure was that an Early Termination was not in the cards. Last time Ichecked, “Interrupted Service” can be found under the heading of “EarlyTermination” in the Peace Corps Volunteer Handbook. Call it what you want, butthat is simply not what I signedup for.

What did I sign up for?Why do I want to continue my service? Of course I have always valued andengaged in volunteerism, but there are plenty of people in need back home inOakland, California. Of course I love to travel, and to live abroad, but thereare plenty of other ways to see the world. So, why is it still Peace Corps forme? The honest answer is: the challenge. Before leaving home, I often thoughtabout what I wanted to get out of the Peace Corps experience. There are theobvious concrete answers, like new language skills, and that is one of the mostattractive aspects of transferring to Mali to complete my service. But beyondthe tangibles, it always comes back to that abstract idea of being challenged.In other words, if I were to look back on my service with the feeling that itwas really easy, I would be more than a little disappointed.

As I’ve grappled with the decision to transfer or nottransfer over the last weeks, I’ve weighed so many pros and cons. I’ve madelaundry lists of potential benefits and deal-breakers, looking for a bottomline to show me the right choice. But ultimately, it is not an equation or asimple SWOT analysis… it is my life. There are plenty of “what if’s” that couldstop me from transferring to Mali. But honestly, I have never lived my life, orchosen my path based on “what if?” As one family member recently put it,“whatever you do, do not focus your decision making on: ‘what if in the futurethey stop the program [in Mali]. You have no control over that, and it’s bestto make this decision in a vibe of hope and optimism.’” Understanding thattruth, it becomes clear that there are endless good reasons to transfer to Malito continue and complete my service. The need is there. The opportunity isthere. The challenge is there. So I am there.

Pura Vida,

Drew

One of myearliest memories of having an interest in the world beyond my neighborhood isof playing the “Capitals” game. As in, “What’s the capital of …….?” After years oftraining with the help of the linoleum-esque spill-proof placemats on our kitchentable, I got to be fairly knowledgeable about these kinds of things. Even so,there were always a few places that, as kids, we never really associated with areal geographic location on the planet. In fact, we tended to use these names torefer to places that were as far away as you could imagine, and then some. Thus,in our imaginations, the only place that was more distant than China—which was actuallyonly as day’s worth of digging away—was Timbuktu.

The mysterious Timbuktu, center of several deceased empires, was probably my favorite pseudo-imaginaryplace all the way up until high school. At that more mature age my buddy, JoeyT., introduced me to the idea of Burkina Faso, and its superbly-named capital,Oagadougou—beat that.

Ironically,here I am decades later, closer to Timbuktu than I ever imagined myself being.After almost three weeks on pins and needles, I received an invitation from Peace Corps totransfer to Mali to complete myservice there. Wow. Now, I am realizing that the only thingharder than waiting for this information is figuring what to do with it.

I amcertainly not the only one facing this decision right now. All of the 25first-year Cape Verde volunteers in my cohort have received similar invitationsto transfer—either to Mali, Benin,or Moçambique. The past few weekshave seen a flurry of back-and-forth emails and Facebook conversations, asvolunteers seek to pick each other's brains, support one another, and just plainvent. Ultimately, we all know that it will be a personal decision for each ofus, regardless of what the common knowledge, misinformation, or apprehensionsmay be.

I haveuntil the end of this month to make my decision: to transfer or not totransfer, that is the question. If I chose notto accept the invitation to Mali, I would complete my first year of servicehere in Cape Verde. My official status would then be listed as “InterruptedService,” which the Peace Corps Volunteer Handbook describes as a form of“Early Termination initiated by Peace Corps staff members, Host Country orlocal authorities who decide that a trainee or Volunteer should not remain inPeace Corps service due to reasons beyond his or her control,” (p. 73). In someways it’s kind of like an honorable discharge. If I took this route, I’m pretty sure that I would end up stayingin Cape Verde for another year to continue my volunteer work with the Centro da Juventude, while hopefully landing a job that would allowme to pay my relatively modest living expenses. Also, I would still be eligible for the normal benefits of being a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, including one-year of non-competitive eligibility status if I were to apply for a federal government job.

The timingof this decision is pretty… well… interestingfor me. For one, Carnaval is justaround the corner (or already here, depending on when you are reading thispost). It will be nice to have something to take my mind of the loomingquestion for a few days. Plus, my body has almost recovered from W.A.I.S.T., so I think I’m ready. Then,after the festivities wrap up, I will be blessed with a cross-Atlantic visitfrom Lita and the Notorious D.A.D. Over the years, my dad has served me well inmany capacities, including, teacher, financier, judge, jury, advocate, warden (never executioner), tour guide, and doubles partner.* Nowadays, he is more of a friend,confidant and general life consultant. It will be nice to have him close by inthe days leading up to, and following, the deadline for making one of thebiggest decisions of my life…** In truth,I’m not really looking for advice right now. Like I said before, the decisionhas to be mine. Regardless, it is helpful to bounce ideas off my peoples, be they fellow volunteers or family and friends spread across the globe.

On that front, you guys have continued to be amazing, with supportive emailsand more inspirational art therapy. Here’s the latest in our series of “LiveFrom Tomorrow Haikus,” courtesy my folks, Molly.

keep on keepin' onenjoy all the adventuresthe best ain't easy Before Isign off, I thought it would be interesting to share with you a glimpse into mythought process as I start to tackle this decision. So, I present to you twomore short lists:

3 Reasons Why I Should Stay in Cape Verde

- Personal Commitment – Peace Corps aside, I feel like Imade a personal commitment to the organization(s) tjat I work with in Cape Verde and the communitywhere I live. The biggest reason for me to stay would be to see that commitmentthrough to the end.

- Not Moving - I hate, hate, hate, moving.Seriously, it is one my least favorite things in the world.

- Mindelo - Mindelo é sab.***

3 Reasons Why I Should Transfer to Mali

- The Need – Unlike Cape Verde, Mali is one ofthe poorest countries on the planet. About 35% of the population does nothave access to clean drinking water. If I transfer, I will (be trained to) workon water sanitation projects.

- Professional Commitment – The last thing I need on myresume is another thing that lasted for a year or so. I was really lookingforward to being able to say that I worked for ______________ for more than twoyears. Right now, that would mean transferring to Mali to complete my servicethere.

- The Challenge – If you know me, then you know thatthis is one of the things that make me tick on the most fundamental level.While my time in Cape Verde has brought its fair share of challenges, transferringto Mali would likely be a whole new level of “damn this is hard.” My Frenchskills are negligible—besides, whatever language I would learn (Bambara?) has absolutely no connectionto French, or any other language that I speak. Now that’s what I’m talkin´´bout. On top of that, I’ve never lived in a country that is landlocked,predominantly Muslim, etc., etc., etc.

Notice how Ichose to keep these lists in the affirmative? In other words, I didn’t share mylist of reasons why I should not do "x, y, z." Butbelieve me: that list exists in my head, and as my roommate would say, "it tain´t purty." Without being acomplete Debbie Downer, I do want to share one serious concern that will be abig influence on my decision. My big question is, “What if they decide to shutdown the program in Mali, too?” Whether you call them insignificant skirmishes,isolated incidents, or a full-fledged rebellion, the reality is that there issome degree of instability in the country. Granted, the media has a tendency to exaggerate and sensationalizesome of the stories out of Africa while ignoring others. “Besides,” you mightbe thinking, “Peace Corps wouldn’t transfer you to a country if they were goingto shut down that program.” Unfortunately, in light of my current circumstances, I have trouble buying into the logic of thatargument. Even as we speak, there are areas in Mali that are “off-limits” tothe Peace Corps Volunteers that are already stationed in that country.Ironically, I'm pretty sure that one of those areas is the ever-elusive city of Timbuktu. So, maybeI’m not as close as I thought.

One thingis for sure: I won’t be making any final decisions in the next few days. I’vegot other fish to fry right now. I just bought a couple packs of face paintyesterday and the biggest question on my mind is whether to go with the simpleblack-and-white Dead Presidentslook, or something more extravagant. When the dust settles, I will face themusic and make the call. Who knows, maybe I will choose “none of the above.”Until then, I'll just be following my friend Yang's haiku-advice...

Pretty Mindelo

You won't be there for ever

Party it up NOW!!! Pura Vida,Drew

* We are still undefeated after dominating the non-competitive division of the Father/Son tournament at the San Francisco Tennis Club, circa 1995. * *… thusfar.*** It’s nice here. “Sabi” (pronounced “sahb” inthe North or “sah-bee” in the South) is another one of those words that is much bigger than its definition. Itcould mean nice, good, tasty, fun,all-gravy, or pretty much anything positive.

In the week since my last post I have been showered in love from my folks and family around the world. You guys are amazing. Thank you for caring, thank you for reading, and thank you for reaching out to remind me that it's all going to work out perfectly, whatever that may end up looking like. Unfortunately, I have not come any closer to make a decision about what's next. I am still waiting on information from Peace Corps about the logistics and options for possibly transferring to another country to complete the second year of my service. Meanwhile, your love and support has taken so many forms over the last several days, but one of you went the extra mile. So, in the continuing spirit of art therapy, I wanted to share with you an untitled haiku, composed by my friend and Returned Peace Corps Volunteer*, Adriana Guzman.

Drew, I am so sorryenjoy the time you have leftchange is beautiful

Thanks Adriana, I needed that. In the meantime, all haikus are welcome, even if they are not as sweet as this one. It could be a simple as:

Quit your crying, boy!Luckiest man alive, right?

Let's go out swinging.

Pura Vida,

Drew

* Adriana Guzman served as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Morocco from 2009-2011. After completing her service stopped in Cape Verde to join us for Thanksgiving week before returning home to Queens, New York.

A couple of months back my roommate got robbed at gunpoint just around the corner from our apartment. In Oakland we call that getting jacked. In Cape Verde we call that a casabodi... as in "your cash or your body." Fortunately, he walked away unharmed, albeit without his iPod. In the following days, as he sought to come to terms with his experience, he turned to poetry as a form of therapy. The haiku he created was hilarious, but due to the sensitivity of the event he was "asked" by Peace Corps not to publish it. If you are worried about my roommate, please don't... he's just fine.

Last week, I got jacked too. Not at gunpoint or with a knife—in fact, I didn't get casabodied at all, but I still feel like I've been robbed. After 2 months of training, and 4 months of service, I found out that due to budget cuts Peace Corps would be closing its operations in Cape Verde in September 2013.* I am still processing this information, and I've only started to weigh the options before me now. Here is an extremely simplified summary of the different paths that I could take, in no particular order.

Start over. Get transferred to another country, go through Pre-Service Training again, then complete 2 years of service there.Finish my first year of service in Cape Verde, then transfer to another country and complete my second year of service there.Finish my first year of service in Cape Verde, then move on with my life.Throw up my middle finger, E.T. (early termination) and go home tomorrow.Obviously, each option is more complex than I've made it sound. Each choice would have its own pro's and con's. Honestly, I only included the last option in this list because I need to vent a little bit. Right now, budget cuts or not, I do feel like Peace Corps has not fulfilled its commitment to me.** That being said, I'm not going out like that. This isn't the end of the world, it's just a big ol´ box of lemons... and you know that means.

C'est la vie, right? The most important thing for me to do know is to figure what is best for me next, and to make the most of my remaining months in Cape Verde. In fact, knowing that my days here are numbered has helped me tune into all that there is to appreciate. Like my roommate, I have also decided to experiment with poetry to help me cope in these difficult times. So, in the spirit of art therapy, I present to you the first in a series of Live From Tomorrow Haikus.

"American Lemonade"a haiku

Dad, I joined Peace Corps...now I feel American...I just got laid off.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*The "official line" is that after 24 years of operations, the Peace Corps Cape Verde Program is "graduating." As the agency faces serious budget cuts and uncertainties, the decision has been made to focus Peace Corps efforts and resources on the countries and people that need it the most. After a full review, six countries were selected for closure: Cape Verde, Romania, Bulgaria, St. Kitts, Antigua, and Suriname. For more information about the decision to end operations in Cape Verde, please visit the following links:

http://www.alfa.cv/anacao_online/index.php/destaque/1741-corpo-da-paz-deixa-cabo-verde

http://www.forcv.com/cape-verde/4435-fim-da-missao-do-corpo-da-paz-em-cabo-verde

http://www.portalangop.co.ao/motix/pt_pt/noticias/africa/2012/0/4/Corpo-Paz-dos-Estados-Unidos-termina-missao,4f357240-4430-4cc7-9a45-f4c21247846d.html

**I understand, and actually agree with the agency's decision to select Cape Verde for closure. I do not understand or agree with the decision to close operations in September 2013, when 25 volunteers will still have one year of left on their service contracts. Sell a tank, have a bake sale, I don't care—let's just finish what we started.

I’m back at home in Cape Verde after a shortvacation in Dakar. The trip was excellent, but the fallout was considerable. Mylegs feel like I swam home from Senegal, my bank account is looking real bad, and my liver has gone on strike inthe hopes of renegotiating its labor contract. In short, we did it big lastweekend.

After six months in my new home, I headed to themainland to participate in W.A.I.S.T.—the West African Invitational SoftballTournament. All I have to say is that if baseball was more like W.A.I.S.T.,then I would play and watch it a whole lot more. Every January, hundreds ofPeace Corps Volunteer from across west Africa converge on the Senegalesecapital for a weekend of mostly-unproductive camaraderie. The weekend followsdirectly on the heels of several constructive events, including the WID/GAD* conference and the All-Volunteer Conference, where folks get a chance to shareideas about their actual work. In stark contrast, W.A.I.S.T. is more likehomecoming meets The Wellington Sevens. I’d like to tellyou all about it, but what happens in Dakar stays in Dakar. Instead, I’ll giveyou just a little taste. So, with no further ado, I present...

Ten Things I’ll Never Forget About W.A.I.S.T. Partying so hard that even the kitten was passed out on the couchfor most of the following day;Pondering the idea of replacing the “Classic 1 to 10 Scale” with the“Binary System” for rating the attractiveness of women... kinda like red light/ green light, or taking a class Pass/Fail;Having a blast on an improvised Slip N Slide (plastic tarp + soapywater);Seeing a softball team plug their defensive gap in the short-stophole with an inflatable killer whale;Charging the mound to tackle (and tickle) the pitcher from Team FarEast after he beaned our batter;Committing hara-kiri after that same team pounded us for threeinnings;Replacing the third “s” in “sh*t, shower, shave” with “shawarma”;Kraus;The taste of a medium rare steak smothered in green peppercorn sauce (good); The taste of homemade moonshineimported from Korea (bad)Now, I admit that this post has been a bit lesswholesome than the others on this blog, and I wouldn’t want you to walk awaywith a bad impression of W.A.I.S.T. Truthfully, despite the debauchery, I canlook back on the weekend and appreciate some valuable takeaways. For example, theopportunity to meet over one hundred volunteers from across the region wasgolden for me. Being stationed in Cape Verde, I am constantly reminded howdifferent my life is from the “typical” Peace Corps experience (if there isone). It was nice to actually compare notes with Volunteers serving on themainland, mostly in rural sites throughout Senegal, Guinea, The Gambia, andMali. Not surprisingly, I found that their experiences were very different—thebiggest shock for me was to realize just how damn many of them there are! Wehave less than 50 volunteers in Cape Verde, plus we are spread out across several islands so we are never in the same place at the same time. At times it felt like therewere that many volunteers crashing at the Regional Transit House in Dakar onany given night.

By far, the highlight of the weekend for me wasdancing. Actually, I’m bumping Michael Jackson’s Off The Wall album at 11:00am as I write this, so you know what I’mabout. It was just one of those times when you’re out there for 4-5 hoursstraight and every song that comes on just happens to be your jammy jam... evenwhen you actually can’t stand it. It wasn’t until the next day when I went to get dressed and observed that my shoes were dirtier than Sarah Silverman's mouth, that I realized just how "active” I had been on the dance floorfor the last two nights.

Believe it or not, Team Cape Verde did not makeit to the semi-finals of the tournament, so we had Monday off to chill out. Myoriginal plan had been to use that day to explore the city a little bit, but Iended up exploring the couch at the Transit House. I can’t remember the lasttime I travelled to a new country or city and saw so little of it. I’m notproud of how little I integrated into Senegalese society during my four day stay—butI’m also not ashamed. Everyday for me in Cape Verde is a struggle to integrate,and I just needed a vacation.

Since my plane did not leave until Tuesdayafternoon, I got to spend my last morning walking the streets of downtownDakar. It reminded me how much I enjoyed riding solo during my travels leadingup to entering the Peace Corps. More than anything, those few hours made mewant to come back to Senegal again—maybe for W.A.I.S.T., or maybe for no goodreason at all. At least I know I have a bucket of new friends in west Africa,and at least a few mud huts that would welcome me. I’ll make it happen...inshallah.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*From Women in Development to Gender in Development

I love kids. I love them enough to go on recordand state that I want some of my own—just not yet. In the meantime, I’ve beencontent to practice for the upcoming challenge. Some of you reading this havebeen generous enough to dump your kids on me from time to time, and for that, I thankyou. After all, that’s what Coach Drew is here for, right? In addition to thehordes of rug-rats and miscellaneous youngsters that I’ve had the opportunityto pseudo-parent, I’ve also had the chance to hone my skills while rearing mytwo adopted children, Dino and Mia.

Even though they live thousands of miles apartand have never met each other, they do have one important thing in common:they’re both just like Daddy. Dino, for example, loves him some bola*. Like me, he’s really not intorunning just for the sake of it, but give him a ball and he’s on it like afiend on a pipe. All joking aside, I would recommend against using the b-word* aroundhim unless you are already at thepark and ready to roll with ball in hand.

Mia, on the other hand, is not crazy aboutballs. In fact, I literally just tossed one at her and she ran out of the room.That’s OK because she still likes to get active... which brings me back to my originalthought: she’s just like Daddy too. I guess it's true that the apple neverfalls far from the tree—especially the part about falling. Unfortunately, mylittle girl had some kind of spill during a unsupervised brinca** session with some of her friends. Now she’s got a brokenleft arm... just like Daddy. Actually, she’s ahead of schedule—I think I wasabout one year old when I first broke my arm, and she’s only six months.

It may sound like I am taking this prettylightly, but I’m not. I guess the bitter humor is just how I’m dealing with it—the pity, theguilt, and the frustration. After a few trips to the local animal clinic itdawned on me (again) that I’m not in Kansas anymore. Honestly, it’s easy toforget how isolated I am when I’m watching English soccer via satellite andchecking my Facebook at work (just a little bit). Then my little girl’s got alimb hanging limp, and all the vet can do is give her a shot for the pain andimprovise a splint from random wood scraps and a few strips of tape. Oh yeah, Iforgot: I live on a tiny island in a developing country in the middle of theAtlantic Ocean. Somehow it had slipped my mind that there wasn’t a fullyequipped professional doggie surgeon in the local yellow pages. My bad.

If there is a silver lining, it must be that Mia istaking this whole thing a lot better than I am. Like I said, she loves to getactive, especially with other dogs, and this hasn’t slowed her down a bit. Evenwith only three functioning legs, she is still down to rassle and she never passesup a chance to let the other canines know. And since she's just like Daddy, I expect that she won't be letting a broken arm or two (or three) stop her from doing big things.

Honestly, the chances for a fullrecovery are not looking good right now. All I can do is hope for the best andremind myself that either way, she’s got a long happy life ahead of her. In the meantime, think some happy thoughts for her.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*ball**playing around

I think most people have a love-hate relationship with holidays. Everyone has their favorite, but we all have the one or two "special" days that we could actually do without. For some, it's their own birthday. For others, nothing is worse than taking the day off in honor of good 'ol Christopher Colombus. Personally, my favorite holiday has long been Thanksgiving, mostly because it marks the last day of sanity before the official start of the Christmas (read: shopping) season. Unfortunately, in the last decade the unofficial start date of the spending season seems to have been moved up to the day after Halloween.

While Thanksgiving remains a bastion of unadulterated family values (history aside), I have to admit that New Year's Day has slowly crept into second place for me, overtaking my birthday and April 20th along the way. Before you correct me, let me reiterate that I did mean New Year´s Day, not New Year's Eve. I do like champagne, chicken wangs and pretty thangs, but I've always liked a fresh start better than a big finish.

With that in mind, I look forward to the New Year, just as I look back with satisfaction on the one that we are wrapping up. I say "satisfaction" because in more ways than one, I did what I set out to do. The obvious one was finagling my way into the Peace Corps after a two year application and training process that can only be described as two-steps forward and 1.95 steps back.

Beyond that, I actually nailed my only official New Year's resolution: to read one book per week over the course of the year. After falling a couple books short of the same goal in 2010, I re-pledged myself to the challenge at the beginning of this year. While I don't feel particularly smarter, I promise you that all that personal time with my books was great for my sanity, and probably saved at least one of you from getting cussed out or flashed on at some point during the year.

I still have a few days left to finalize my resolutions for 2012, but one thing is for sure: the book-a-week program is still in effect. While I have no trouble finding (making) time to read, getting my hands on good books has been a challenge at times. Unfortunately, after a strong run across several continents in less-than ideal climates, my Kindle went kaput a few months back. Luckily, my roommate lets me use his Nook. When I'm desperate, I can read digital books right off my laptop, but that can cause a headache quicker than Fox News. Besides, I think our Peace Corps Safety and Security Guidelines recommend against breaking out the MacBook Pro on the bus on my way back from soccer practice at night.

Fortunately, I've always been an analog boy in a digital world—my vinyl collection dwarfs my drawer-full of scratched CD's in cracked cases. Therefore, it's no surprise that I would take a paperback book over any e-reader, any day. So, to get my fix, I've had to be a bit resourceful. There is a livreria* close to where I work, but the books are dumb expensive, and I tend to be dumb broke. Back in October I got my Municipal Library Card, but I got discouraged to find that the entire Portuguese language collection lacked a single book by Paulo Coelho. In their defense, they do have the complete works of José Saramago, which I plan to dig into next year.

The library at the Peace Corps Office in Praia was more promising. Before shipping out for São Vicente in September, I raided the shelf for some good titles, including one very special one that I had to check out just on principle, even though I've already read it. There's nothing like a library with good taste in modern American historical fiction!

Beyond finding her book (again!) halfway around the world, I've been lucky to have Lita present in my life of literature this year. Recently, she was gracious enough to stand in as my editor, offering some golden tips to refine my first short story. More importantly, my windowsill is now crammed full of books that she's shipped over from the states. Muito Obrigado!

So, for those of you that are interested, here's what I was getting into during all those times when I was nowhere to be found:Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides (2002)The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People - Stephen R. Covey (1989)American Gods - Neil Gaiman (2002)A General Theory of Love - Thomas Lewis, Fari Amini & Richard Lennan (2000)Palace Walk (Between the Two Palaces) - Naguib Mahfouz (1956)Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption - Laura Hillenbrand (2002)Devil in a Blue Dress - Walter Mosley (1990)Meant to Be: The Story of a Son Who Discovers He is his Mother’s Deepest Secret - Walter Anderson (2004)The Known World - Edward P. Jones (2003)The World is Flat: A Brief History of the Twenty-First Century - Thomas Friedman (2003)Martyr’s Crossing - Amy Wilentz (2002)New News Out of Africa: Uncovering Africa’s Renaissance - Charlayne Hunter-Gault (2007)My Wild Irish Rogues - Vivian Moore Hallinan (1952)The Fortune Catcher - Susanne Pari (2002)The Bonesetter’s Daughter - Amy Tan (2001)Negro President: Jefferson and the Slave Power - ??? (2005)Women of the Silk - Gail Sukiyama (1993)Soul on Ice - Eldridge Cleaver (1965)Bacardi and the Long Fight for Cuba: The Biography of a Cause - Tom Gjelten (2008)Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone - J.K. Rowling (1997)Motherless Brooklyn - Jonathan Lethem (1999)The Ugly American - Eugene Burdict & William Lederer (1958)Small Business in the Third World - Malcolm Harper (1984)Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town - Paul Theroux (2003)Slaughterhouse-Five - Kurt Vonnegut (1969)War Talk - Arundhati Roy (2003)The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1892)The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks - Rebecca Skloot (2010)Anthem - Ayn Rand (1938)The Manifesto of the Communist Party - Karl Marx / Friedrich Engels (1848)Alice's Adventures in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll (1865)George Washington - William Roscoe Thayer (1922)Blindness - José Saramago (1995)Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance; An Inquiry into Values - Robert Pirsig (1974)The Lacuna - Barbara Kingsolver (2009)The White Man's Burden: Why the West's Efforts to Aid the Rest Have Done So Much Ill and So Little Good - William Easterly (2006)The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafón (2001)Soccernomics: Why England Loses, Why Germany and Brazil Win, and Why the U.S., Japan, Australia, Turkey—and Even Iraq—Are Destined to Become the Kings of the World's Most Popular Sport - Simon Kuper & Stefan Szymanski (2009)Water for Elephants - Sara Gruen (2006)Mountains Beyond Mountains: The Quest of Dr. Paul Farmer, A Man Who Would Cure the World - Tracy Kidder (2004)Bel Canto - Ann Patchett (2001)The Big Short: Inside the Doomsday Machine - Michael Lewis (2010)1984 - George Orwell (1949)Outliers: The Story of Success - Malcolm Gladwell (2008)Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk (1996)The Control of Nature - John McPhee (1989)The Talented Mr. Ripley - Patricia Highsmith (1955)Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen - Christopher McDougall (2009)The Portrait of a Lady - Henry James (1881)Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books - Azar Nafisi (2003)Starship Troopers - Robert A. Heinlein (1959)Bound Feet and Western Dress: A Memoir - Pang-Mei Natasha Chang (1997)

Stay tuned for my thoughts on the best and worst from the list above, which will be posted soon on the "2011 Reading List" page.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*livreria = bookstore

I am alifelong learner. No, that does not mean I loveschool. It just means that I love learning. I guess that is why I love teachingand coaching—after all, there is no better way to learn. As I look back on mylast ten years of working in various capacities, I can point to one consistenttheme. When I stop learning on the job, it’s time for me to move on. I’ve had atleast one job where it was clear that my manager was not interested—or possiblythreatened by and opposed to—my professional development. On the flipside, I’vebeen lucky to have several jobs where my managers wanted me to develop me tothe point where I could do their job.

While I avoided having specific expectations about Peace Corps, I have to admitthat I was primarily attracted by the learningopportunity. Of course, I was and still am looking to help people, but I didnot need to travel halfway around the world to find folks in need of help—I’m fromOakland.

For me, education is simply a matter of personal and professional health. In thatsense, learning is my medicine. Like medicine, it takes many forms, someeasier to swallow than others. On one hand you have tough stuff… think LawSchool. Now, I’ve never been, but I hear it’s something like a 20,000-hourdentist appointment. What about college? I guess that one is kind of likeprescription drugs: necessary, but often times the generic ones are just asgood as the high-priced brands.

Sincearriving in Cape Verde, I’ve swallowed a whole bunch of medicine and hadplenty of “learning opportunities.” For me, there was a clear parallel betweenthe 13-week regimen of anti-malarial pills and the 9-week Pre-ServiceTraining that I went through. Both seemed to last forever, and both caused heartburn and strangedreams. Then there were the endless sessions on the medical and safety concernsof the Peace Corps, which I liken to the Oral Rehydration Salts that kept mefrom wasting away during my weeklong battle through the cycle—essential butdisgusting.

Thankfully,not all medicine is created equal. Take Robitussin: that stuff is pretty good,and I hear it works for everything. More importantly, not all learningopportunities are as painful as my Pre-Service Training (PST). With a tip ofthe hat to our Peace Corps Training Staff, I can gladly say that this past weekwas the perfect example. I just got back from three days of In-Service Training inthe capital city, which was everything that PST was not. Even the bread duringcoffee break was better*, and that’s what really counts after all. Butseriously, I walked away from three days of trainings feeling more motivatedand better prepared to do what I came here to do. Even the medicine was quick andpainless: one flu shot and a bag of supplies to take back to my island.

The onlybad news is that in a couple of weeks I will have to start another 42-daycourse of anti-malarial prophylaxis. But that is a small price to pay for theopportunity to visit Dakar, Senegal in January! Stay tuned... HappyHolidays…

Pura Vida,Drew

*Pao Quente is officially the best bread bakery in the country. Too bad they have not opened up shop on São Vicente yet.

One of the big themes of my Peace Corps experience, dating back all the way the application process, is the idea of commitment. Before I even knew what country I would be posted in, or when I would be leaving, I made a commitment to myself: I would see it through to the finish—27 months. For me, this mindset went hand in hand with a commitment to avoid having expectations—good or bad—about what my Peace Corps experience would be like. Basically, it was a two-part affirmation to myself. One—I had absolutely no idea what to expect, and if I thought I did, based on an info pamphlet or another Volunteer’s war-story, than I was playing myself. And two—no matter what the surprises, I could and would handle them. So far, this approach has carried me pretty well through the first five months, and I’m glad that I prepared to be unprepared. You are always surprised by the things that surprise you... that’s what makes it a surprise.

Along the same lines, I made another important commitment to myself. I promised myself that over the course of my service I would not start anything. I know this one take some explanation, so give me a chance. Don’t get me wrong, I love to start stuff—projects, businesses, activities. The point is, I did not come all the way to Cape Verde to “do my thing.” I certainly want to be involved with the launch of exciting projects while I am here. The important thing is that I will not be the one who starts them. Being an “idea guy,” it can be difficult—damn-near impossible—to hold back when I see an opportunity. But if development work isn’t damn-near impossible, then you’re probably not doing it right. So I haven’t formed a new soccer team, organized a co-op, or launched any awareness campaigns lately. Instead, I’ve been scoping out the landscape, getting my hands dirty when it’s welcome, and doing the double-dutch dance, waiting for the right second to jump in and start jamming.

So, while my contributions have often felt peripheral, I still feel like I am in the right spot. It is still rewarding to witness other people reap the benefits of their own hard work, even when they could have done it without me. For example, I conquered the cycle just in time to attend the closing ceremony of the Culinary Class. Oh, I remember their first days of the training when they needed a recipe to boil water. Look at 'em now—how ya like them apples?!

Not everything in my life has been restaurant quality over the past week. Unfortunately, I have to admit that I recently broke an important commitment to myself. Shortly after my arrival in São Vicente, I vowed that I would never eat meat out of a can. Actually, I’ve been staunchly anti-canned meat for my whole life. When I was growing up, Spam was not a real dish, it was just an idea that came up when clowning folks**. As in, “your mama’s got snakeskin teeth.” Or, “your mama eats canned Spam with a spork and loves that sh*t.” I remember my visit to Hawaii as a child, when I first saw Spam on a actual restaurant menu. Eventually, I learned that Spam’s popularity throughout the Pacific Region is a legacy of the U.S. military presence, which only made me less likely to indulge. I even made it through living a couple of months on Guam without eating “spahhhm”*** even once—sorry Vicky, it’s nothing personal.

Let me be clear, this is not just about Spam—all canned meats are off limits. And don’t give any crap about “it’s just like eating canned tuna," because it’s not, and you know it. But, like I said, I broke down this week. Being a foodie, I was ecstatic when I finally got access to my own kitchen so that I could expand my diet beyond corn, potatoes, salt and butter. But as I stepped out of work on Monday, I recognized a funny feeling on the back of my tongue. It was a craving for something I first tried during my homestay during training: "spaghetti." So, I swallowed my pride, headed to the store, and grabbed the necessary ingredients for spaghetti a la Cabo Verde*: 1 pack of pasta, 2 eggs, butter, and a can of salchichas. Yes, I said a can of salchichas—that's how we roll.

Later that night, I sat down with a bowl of pasta goodness that made me feel just a little bit more integrated. Not surprisingly, my roommate decline to partake in the feast, but he was there to support me in my time of weakness. Besides, we reasoned, if you’re gonna eat canned meat, it might as well be hot dogs—after all, can it really get any more processed than miscellaneous meat parts and preservatives stuffed in an animal intestine? So, I loaded up my fork with a heap of noodles, hot dog and hard boiled egg, dripping with melted butter and hot sauce. And as I savored my first bite of the goodness, the sweet words of Luther Ingram floated through my head...

“If loving you is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.”

Pura Vida,

Drew

* No, this is not the actual name of the dish, it's just what I call it. Many Cape Verdeans find marinara or tomato-based sauce to be "too acidic."

**For the Motown Generation: clowning = playing the dozens

*** The vowel sound in the Chamorro pronunciation of Spam is the like the sound that the dentist asks you to make. As in, "say aaaaah."

Some people have a photographic memory. I have what I would call an audiographic memory. In my mind, almost every song I hear is in linked, in some way, to a past experience or period in my life. You know what I'm talking about. I’m sure you can think of a song that will ALWAYS remind you of the first time you asked someone (or got asked) to dance, whether you were twelve and twenty-one. It’s just that for me, this aural memory has always been stronger and deeper than any other form of recollection.

My first months in Cape Verde have brought plenty of highs and lows, each with their own soundtrack. My best memories of Cape Verde will always be associated with the honeyed sound of Mayra Andrade, or the Gypsy-styled yearning of Tito Paris. Three weeks ago, I passed up a chance to see the latter live in concert, in the interest of not spending money that I didn’t have. Luckily, two weeks later I was sitting at a hotel bar enjoying a free night of coladeira music. Sometime after midnight, the lead singer blessed us with a pleasant surprise when he invited a special guest to the stage… Tito Paris! I doubt I will ever hear coladeira music again in my life without being transported back the outdoor patio of that hotel. And next time he comes to town, I definitely got money on it. But enough of the sweet stuff. As I said, my time here, like anyone’s life, has its highs and lows. Honestly, after a high Thanksgiving week, the last 8 days or so have pretty much kicked my ass. On the 30th we closed out a beardiful Brovember with the festival of M.E.A.T., which featured three-meat (no bean) chili and fried chicken smothered in beef gravy. Later that night as I laid up in my bed trying to get some rest before another day of work, I suddenly felt my stomach turn upside down—and it’s been all bad since. Being bedridden with a bad case of "the cycle*" is bad enough when you can get some rest. Now, imagine trying to cope when the entire country is blasting Rihanna on repeat. Coincidentally, my least favorite thing about this country, by far, is their clinical obsession with “Man Down,” and for that reason, the song will be eternally associated in my mind with the low points of my Peace Corps Service.The lows this week also include my not-so-illustrious soccer career. It appears I counted my chickens before they hatched in my last post, because after telling me that I had made the cut, the coach decided not to sign me—he wants me to help coach instead. Yes, it hurts my pride. Yes, I’ll get over it. After all, it’s been several years since I accepted that I was just a good player who planned on becoming a great coach. I wouldn't change anything about the last month of tryouts (except the result). I played hard and I played well, and I still have a good team to train with. Plus, I've made some more friends, and I’ll be there to support them at the opening game this Sunday. Hopefully, we will honor the passing of the great Sócrates by notching a win for the Corinthians family. If there is anyone who’s really suffered during my status as “man down” it’s Mia. With nobody to play with she has gone literally stir-crazy (plus, I think she’s in heat). Lucky for her, we got to squeeze in a little play date with her best friend, MC**. Enjoy the moment of Zen, and please say a prayer for my bowels. Pura Vida,Drew

*Peace Corps slang for diarrhea, deriving its name from the fecal-oral cycle that often causes it.**Named after the great Stanley Kirk Burrell.

I am not going to spoil everyone’s holidays by going off on a rant about the FUBAR state of the world, the insane lack of equity in our global society, and the ever-growing divide between the rich and the poor. In fact, I have recently overdosed on that entire conversation. In the last few months I’ve read a few different books that in some way or another offer insights and ideas about international development and aid. For the most part, the books have been interesting, but I am more interested in the work that can be done, and change that can be made in my neighborhood or at my job. When it comes to fixing the world, I am temporarily out of service.

I am so oversaturated with the idea of sweeping international development, that I recently did something I almost never, ever do. I put a book down after reading the first thirty or so pages. Admittedly, I was hesitant to start reading The End of Poverty (Jeffrey Sachs, 2005), for a few reasons. Like I said, I’ve recently read several books that get into a lot of the same issues (White Man’s Burden, Dark Star Safari, Mountains Beyond Mountains). Also, I am just a little skeptical of the idea that some guy (no matter how smart he may be) has discovered the secret to ending world poverty and has managed to outline this in simple, digestable bestseller. Lastly, it didn´t exactly excite me that the foreword was written by Bono*. So, as I reluctantly turned the pages through the first chapter, I felt a question percolating to the front of my mind. In all this discussion of how to address the gross economic inequalities in the world, I began to wonder how (or if) Sachs would address the issue of how the world got this way. In other words, if the White Man’s Burden is to save the world’s brown people, does that responsibility grow out of the White Man’s historic role in the underdevelopment and undermining (see rape and pillage) of brown societies over the course of several centuries? Or, are we of the opinion that the developed world is just lucky, and therefore they/we should share because it is nice, and the right thing to do? Well, I did not have to wait long to hear Mr. Sachs’s take on this question. On page … he writes (italics mine):Let me dispose of one idea right from the start. Many people assume that the rich have gotten rich because the poor have gotten poor. In other words, they assume that Europe and the United States used military force and political strength during and after the era of colonialism to extract wealth from the poorest regions, and thereby to grow rich. This interpretation of events would be plausible if gross world product had remained roughly constant, with a rising share going to the powerful regions and a declining share going to the poorer regions. However, that is not at all what happened. Gross world product rose nearly fiftyfold. Every region of the world experienced some economic growth (both in terms of the overall size of the economy, and even when measured per person), but some regions experienced much more growth than others. The key fact of modern times is not the transfer of income from one region to another, by force or otherwise, but rather the overall increase in world income, but at a different rate in different regions." (p. 31). And that was enough for me to stop reading and move on to the next book.** Assume?! Wait, I’m pretty sure that colonialism happened. And it is downright fallacious and fellatious to argue that the massive transfer of wealth from a lot of countries to a few is irrelevant or non-existent because the overall amount of wealth in the world has increased. But-I-ain’t-the-one-to-gossip-so-you-ain't-heard-that-from-me. Plus, I promised you this blog entry would not be about saving the world. The title of this post actually refers to my own life, as I live it day-to-day here in Cape Verde. As in: the things I have and the things I have not. And since I rambled on a little bit in the intro to this post, we will handle the next part in the most efficient and fun way possible. It’s list time!!! In honor of Thanksgiving, I present to you, the things I am grateful for having AND the things I am grateful for not having. Enjoy: The Have-Nots (The Things I Don’t Miss Having) Microwave – If you can’t find a way to cook it without a microwave, you probably shouldn’t be eating it anyways. Mirror – I am not saying that I look good no matter what (but thank you). All I’m saying is who needs a mirror in the house when you’re celebrating Bro’vember? Shaving is not permitted this month anyway. After the culminating Festival of Meats on November 30th I will take my crunchy self to the barber and get cleaned up. Hot Water – I came to Cape Verde swearing that I would NEVER get used to cold showers. I was wrong. My roommate and I (combined) less than 1 cubic meter of water per week.

The Have’s Teammates – There’s really nothing like being on a team. One of the hardest parts of travelling so much in the years leading up to joining the Peace Corps was not being able to fully join a soccer team. It was a great opportunity to train with good teams like Bay Area Ambassadors, University of Johannesburg, of FC Manica, but I haven’t suited up for an outdoor league match since my last game with Bosnjaci in the SFSFL in 2009. But after a few weeks of tryouts, Corinthians will be announcing their team roster this Friday, and I will be on it! Yes, I am proud and thankful for that. Special thanks to all my coaches over the years (Jim, Micah, Rusty, Rene, Ibra, and on and on). Just to clarify, this is a picture of the all mighty Burners Indoor Men's Team, not Corinthians. Cape Verdeans can be light-skinnededed, but they are still brown. A Roommate – Over the years I’ve been fortunate to have some great roommates. Long-time followers of this blog have already been introduced to Jelly. My folks back home in the town know that Trevor and I go waaaay back, and will be honorary roommates for life. Felix was the perfect roommate, until he fell completely in love and stopped hanging out with me. But I forgive you because she is hot and you ended up marrying her. That being said, my current roommate, Rory, and I have a certain chemistry that I wouldn’t trade in. Can you imagine living with someone AND working with someone everyday and NOT wanting to murder them? Well, I am happy to say that I do not have any intentions of murdering Rory, and I enjoy going almost everywhere with in tandem. In fact, we decided to celebrate Halloween this year as a pair of Mormons!

Neighbors - I love my hood and all the people in it!Cheap Fish - No explanation required. Students – This one speaks for itself. I am a lifelong learner, and the best way to learn is to teach, so I give thanks for having students, on the field and in the classroom.

Colleagues – A lot of jobs suck. Mine doesn't.

Furniture- We finally took the plunge and bought some real furniture to supplement our not-so-deluxe plastic picnic table and chairs, and the foot stool that we made out of recycled soda bottles. We will be eating a whole lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches until the next paycheck, but it’s worth it to feel like you actually live in your apartment. A Guest – For me, this one is a lot more important than it may seem. In November 2009 I packed my life into boxes, put them in storage and left town. For the next two years I basically lived off the hospitality of some of the best people in the world (Pops included). While not paying rent is awesome, after a while I began to look forward to having the opportunity and the ability to pay that love forward. So, when a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer contacted me via my blog over a month ago, I jumped at the opportunity to play host. After wrapping up two years of service in Morocco, Adriana has joined us in Sao Vicente for a week of decompression and thanks-giving. No, we don’t have much to offer, but it means the world to be able to share it. Plus, she can cook!All that is just to say, just be thankful for what you’ve got, and be grateful for not being loaded down with all the things that you actually don’t need anyway. Happy Thanksgiving, Chicken over Turkey all day (especially if it’s not my Daddy’s grilled Turkey). Lovage. Pura Vida, Drew *My roommate told me a great story recently that reflects our feelings on Bono and his ilk. It goes like this… Halfway through a U2 concert, in between songs, Bono starts clapping very slowly. “Every time I clap my hands… a child dies in Africa dies.” A voice from the crowd yells, “Then stop f*cking clapping!” **It is hard for me to overstate how big of a deal it is for me to not finish a book once I started. To put it perspective, I read every last page of Don Quixote and 2666, even though in both cases I had decided early on that I wasn’t enjoying it. Once again, thank you Colleen and Lalita for those horribly overrated suggestions. New Rule: no recommending 1000-page books unless you've actually read them yourself. Lita, I forgive you because I just got the awesome batch of books that you sent me in the mail. Colleen, I forgive you because statute of limitations on being mad about a book has recently expired.

“Picked up a package yesterday and I was happy! It was some boxes full o’ goodies from my Pappy!” - “1-Luv” by E-40 (In A Major Way, 1995) Tonight we will celebrating Halloween in style. And although there won’t be any trick or treating, I’ll be fine because I am finally stocked up on my favorite candy. After over a month of waiting, I finally got almost all of the packages that have sent to me since September. Just to be on the safe side, I requested an shipment of Sour Patch Kids from multiple sources. I can happily report that those sources came through, and now me belly full. Special shout out to my cuz, Quineen! In addition to the teeth-rotters, Fauntie* came through with a massive and crucial cornucopia of tasty spices for the kitchen. Here’s the updated of the third shelf in our pantry, which just might put Pont d’Agua to shame:Curry PowderChili PowderGingerCuminGround FennelFennel SeedCorianderMustard PowderGarlic PowderGaram MasalaTurmericBay LeavesPaprikaPappy’s SeasoningHerbes de ProvenceBlack PepperSaltZatarain’s Creole SeasoningCajun Spice SeasoningCrushed Red PepperItalian Seasoning MixCinnamon SticksCarolyn Saucier “Earthquake Garlic Sauce”Carolyn Saucier “Volcano Italian Sauce” Not bad, considering I live in on a tiny island with hardly in any rain in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Wait, did I just say “hardly any rain?” Yeah, about that... So, apparently it does rain on São Vicente. We just get a year’s worth of rain compressed into two days. Last Monday, I woke up around 5am to take Mia out to xi-xi ("shee-shee"). I got about half a step outside of my room before realizing that I was splashing about in water half an inch deep. I thought it was just our toilet leaking (again!), but as I rounded the corner of the hallway I saw that our whole apartment was on its way to becoming a fishbowl. So much for Posh Corps**. After a few hours of scooping, pushing, mopping and bailing, I managed to get most of the water out (thank the Lord for tiled floors). Unfortunately, that night found my roommate and I at war against the elements yet again—this time the water was coming in through windows in the kitchen. Both of us are Small Enterprise Development Volunteers—not civil engineers—so we were a little short of brilliant ideas to prevent a repeat of the previous night. The best we could do was slap some duct tape over windows, get to mopping, and pray for a break in the rain. We both agreed that what we really needed was some sandbags. Unfortunately, my shipment of Sour Patch Kids had not arrived yet, so we were short in that department. Next time I promise we will be ready with a candy-grade levee that will be the envy of FEMA. There is a silver lining to every cloud, and this week’s storm was no exception. The heavy rains left the ground ripe for cultivation, so we got to work in the garden at the Centro de Juventude (CEJ). A previous Peace Corps Volunteer on this island ranja’d a whole bunch of seeds from the Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds company in Mansfield, Missouri, so now we have a nice selection to work with. After weeding and breaking up the ground, we planted three sets of seeds in paper egg cartons: sweet red peppers, squash, and watermelons. In honor of Halloween we also sowed a few pumpkin seeds directly into the ground. Maybe next year we can do a little jack-o'-lantern, pumpkin seed roasting cross cultural exchange activity. When I got home I was still feeling the green thumb, so I kept on rolling. We’ve been saving our 1 liter juice containers, so I cut a bunch of those in half and filled them with some terra sabi (“borrowed” from the CEJ). In the coming months, inshallah, we should be harvesting at least some of the following goodies: Pink Accordion TomatoesWilliams Striped TomatoesArkansas Traveler TomatoesLettuce Leaf BasilLicorice BasilSerrano Tampequino PeppersGolden Treasure Sweet PeppersBull Nose Sweet PeppersChinese Yellow CucumbersGround Cherries So, consider this your invitation to dinner. The food will be spiced to perfection, the veggies will be homegrown, and dessert will be sour and chewy. All you have to do is book the ticket. See you soon, Pura Vida, Drew

* Fauntie = The Fun Auntie = Carmen Anthony ** Volunteers that serve in Continental Africa like to poke fun at those of us who are lucky to land an assignment in Cape Verde, where most of us have electricity, running water, and a functioning government. Therefore, Peace Corps Cape Verde is sometimes to referred to as “Posh Corps.”

The other day I looked up and I realized that I have been living in Cape Verde for more than three months now. I cannot exactly say that time has flown by, especially when I consider the nine weeks hard time in Pre-Service Training. At times those minutes felt like hours. Even now, as I settle into my new home on the island of São Vicente, I would have to say that the last three months has felt like… well… three months.

The only thing that really shocks me is the thought that I have been here in Cape Verde for a longer period of time than I spent in South Africa last summer. It isn't a question of how fast or slow the time has passed. Instead, I find myself comparing everything I did in South Africa with everything I have done so far here, and honestly, there is no comparison. The good news is: that puts me right on track with the Peace Corps' expectations of a new Volunteer. Let me explain. Much of the Peace Corps approach to development work grows out of a process known as PACA—that is, Participatory Analysis for Community Action. I'll skip the seminar and settle for giving you a snapshot of what this actually means. Basically, instead of showing up as an “expert”—presumably fresh off the boat from a faraway land and culture—and prescribing remedies for the development of a given community, PACA is a strategy for immersion and research, with the goal of eventually being in a position to actually help. The key word is “eventually.” For example, before you pitch an idea to a community leader about building a cool new community center, you might spend a few weeks compiling a “seasonal calendar” or a “daily calendar” that would help you to understand the patterns of life of different people or groups within that community. Why is that so important? Well, it would help you figure out when the best time to schedule a planning meeting would be. Or, who might actually use the community center, and when might they use it. The good thing about PACA is that it works. The tough thing is that so many of us volunteer-types want to jump right in and get our hands dirty. We want to feel like we are actually making a difference and changing the world (wait, did I say that out loud?). But when you combine the training phase with the emphasis on easing into our actual assignments, you are left with three months that feel worthwhile, yet not exactly game-changing. Sure, I got to roll up my sleeves a little during my first three months here, but only in the last week or so have I really started cooking. In the literal sense, I have been helping to teach a culinary class, and after two weeks of theory in the classroom we took our first trip to the kitchen. The lead instructor of the class is the General Manager of Pont d’Agua, one of the classier establishments in our city. This week's visit to their kitchen—where the practical sessions will be held—brought me back in time to my first “real job” at the Burlingame Country Club. Now you know your boy can burn, but I am hardly qualified to train fifteen students who are looking to land a actual job in a professional kitchen. Instead, my role as a an instructor is to address elements of professionalism and entrepreneurship to add value to the training. My work experience in the industry is just a plus.

Things are also heating up in terms of my other responsibilities at work. This week, Rory and I started teaching an English class for the staff and volunteer leaders of the Centro da Juventude. We also just submitted plans for two more classes that we will start teaching in November: Aula de Profissionalismo and Aula de Microsoft Excel. Feeling productive is not just about doing development work and changing the world. Sometimes it’s just a question of feeling like you're living right. For some it may mean going to church, for others it means spending quality time with the kids. In my life there has always been a correlation between living right and cooking. If I haven't cooked a meal for a week then I know there is something wrong. In other words, something (psychological or situational?) is stopping me from making time for the right things in my life.Fortunately, as the title of this post suggest, the kitchen is officially open. Rory and I have been piecing it together over the last four weeks—a cutting board here, a can opener there. We've sourced our favorite spices (or at least the ones that are available), and now we know who’s got if for cheap. But last week I knew the final piece had fallen into place when I got a phone call from DHL* saying a package had arrived for me… MY KNIVES! Thank you Big Brother Jaime-san for making that happen, and I hope they served you well over the last two years.

We wasted no time getting to work in the kitchen at home. We recently hosted “family dinner” for the seven Peace Corps Volunteers that live on this island. We’ve also knocked out some tasty spaghetti (a little too often), sweet curry chicken with sautéed greens, rosemary pork chops with mashed potatoes, spicy popcorn chicken, sweet and sour chicken, sweet and sour pork, and fried rice. If you are wondering about the last three dishes, the answer is yes: there are plenty of Chinese people in Cape Verde. But they just can’t burn like the Chinese people back home in the States, so we decided to take matters into our own hands.

As I wrap up this family-sized portion of a post, I have to give a quick shout-out. Since I started Live From Tomorrow I have had a couple of friends tell me that they have been inspired to start their own blogs. Since we’ve been talking about cooking, I want to take a moment to plug one of those. “A Vu on Food” is the work of my littlest friend with the biggest heart (and appetite). After studying at Le Cordon Bleu in London, Christina Vu launched her blog as a way to share her foodie adventures from around the world. Whether you’re looking for a creative new recipe, or just want to sit, read, and salivate, I highly recommend you take a trip (by clicking on the link above). Until the next meal… Pura Vida, Drew

*If you are sending me a care package (you are, aren't you?)... DO NOT USE DHL!!! It is stupid expensive. I recommend International Flat Rate Shipping from the good 'ol USPS. Also, do not declare some ridiculous inflated value, because I will have to pay customs on my end.

Warning: this post is NOT about my life in Cape Verde... it's just about life, family, history, and slavery. In that sense, I guess it is related to Cape Verde, one of the historic hubs of the Atlantic slave trade. But if you're looking for a travel blog that rambles on about all the cool stuff here, you can skip this entry.

My guess is that most of you have NO idea who Silas Chandler was... well, he was my Great Great Grandfather, who was the last slave in my family, and the first to "get free." A few years back a tintype of him was appraised for a pretty penny on PBS Antique Roadshow. Since then, his memory and story has been (mis)appropriated by many, including some "historical societies" seeking to propogate or reinforce the myth of the Lost Cause.

Last year while researching my family, I came across a blog called CWMemory (Civil War Memory), hosted by a high school history teacher in the South. The blog included a recent post called "Descendants of Silas Chandler Speak Out" which featured a real dose of truth from my cousin Myra, who I actually did not know at that point. After reading her post, I emailed the history teacher, Kevin Levin, to offer my perspective as another descendant of Silas Chandler and to request an introduction to my cousin. Mr. Levin featured my email in the next post, along with his response to it.

Here it is:

____________________________________________________"DESCENDANTS OF SILAS CHANDLER SPEAK OUT (PART 2)

Afew weeks ago I shared an email I received from a descendant of Silas Chandler, who is one of the most popular “black Confederates.” I’ve been in contact with two descendants and am planning a telephone conversation, which I hope will lead to an announcement of some ideas I have to help bring a more complete story of this individual to the general public. Yesterday I received an email from yet another descendant, [Andrew Williams]:(italics added by Kevin Levin for emphasis)I am a direct descendent of Silas Chandler from California. Over the years, I have heard many versions of Silas’ story, from family, on the web, and from Confederate historical societies. Thank you to Ms. Sampson for shedding some light on the subject from a reliable, direct source.I remember when my great, great grandfather Silas was awarded the Iron Cross posthumously, and some members of my family attended the ceremony. While I’ve always had mixed feelings about it, it has ultimately become [a] source of pride for me, not offense. I may never be exactly sure how it went down, but I know that I have Silas to thank for my freedom. Believe me, I have no love for the Confederacy or its symbols… I’m just also no big fan of the Yankees, and have no illusions about why the Civil War was fought.I also know that some of the greatest men in history end up being “honored” by their enemies. This would not be the first time that history has been rewritten to make folks look more sympathetic or benevolent (see the movie “Glory” and the mounds of misinformation that it contains).Anyone that thinks that Silas joined the Confederate army out of some “love” for his master is naive at best, and stupid/racist at worst. That being said, there were many slaves that were dragged into the field to fight against their own self-interest. This happened in the Civil War, and in the wars for centuries and millennia before.Honestly, I just hope this discussion unearths as much truth as possible. Thank you again to the Chandler family for helping to set the record straight. I look forward to learning more.Andrew Foster Williams

Oakland, CAThe (in)famous tintype of Andrew & Silas Chandler

I, [Kevin Levin], am featuring this comment for a couple of reasons. Most importantly, it reflects a memory of the war that is much more complex than anything the Sons of Confederate Veterans or United Daughters of the Confederacy would have you believe about the legacy of the Civil War within the African-American community. Both organizations reduce their narratives down to loyalty to master and cause and they do this by commemorating slaves as soldiers. Their preferred narrative has nothing to do with understanding the story of black men in the army or helping families uncover their histories; rather, it is an attempt to dissociate the Confederate war effort from slavery as well as the Lost Cause myth that slavery was benign. Unfortunately, both organizations have been successful in convincing black families to take part.

What I appreciate about Mr. Williams’s response is the extent to which his narrative fails to support or vindicate either a Lost Cause or Emancipationist view of the war. It sits uncomfortably in the middle. On the one hand Mr. Williams has little patience for stories of a loyal Silas Chandler, but he is also suspicious of the assumptions that reduce the United States to the moral cause of emancipation.Mr. Williams's comment may also tell us something about why African Americans have been absent from public commemorations of the Civil War and why they may stay away during the Civil War Sesquicentennial. After all, much of our public remembrance and memory of the war is wrapped up in the dichotomies of North v. South and Union v Confederate. Where does Mr. Williams's memory of the war fit into all of this? It's no wonder that many African Americans are suspicious of Civil War Memory.- Kevin LevinMarch 10, 2010

http://cwmemory.com/2010/03/20/descendants-of-silas-chandler-speak-out-part-2/_________________________________________________________

After this exchange Mr. Levin introduced me by email to y cousin, Myra Chandler Sampson, who took it upon herself to do some serious research to set the record straight. So why am I posting this on Live From Tomorrow, today? Simple reason: tonight PBS is doing a special that will (hopefully) tell the true story Silas Chandler, and the now-infamous tintype that sparked off the controversy. Unfortunately, I will not be able to watch it live because I am in Cape Verde. So, please watch for me!!! I promise it will be interesting. I'll let PBS take it from here... long live the truth!!!

Pura Vida,

Drew

Silas and Lucy Chandler on their Wedding Day 1859/60. They were still slaves at the time.

Over the years this blog has featured a few good lists. Some of you might have been there for the first one, “5 Things I Missed About Guahan,” which I concocted upon returning to the island after a month-long stay in New Zealand. Then there was my personal favorite, “A Few Good Words,” which was a crash-course in survivalist Johannesburg slang. On the more sentimental side, “5 Things I’ve Missed About Home” revealed my reflections while preparing to head back to California after an amazing three months in South Africa. Within that list there was a less sentimental, but equally important sub-list, “Drew’s Favorite Eat-Spot Awards,” which still stands as an ode to the wonders of Bay Area Cuisine, both fine and frugal. But judging from the feedback, the most popular lists on this blog tend to be the bibliographies (2010, 2011), which serve as a snapshot of all the worlds that I visit while I’m visiting the world. So, in the spirit of a good old-fashion list, I present to you…

“My Favorite Dogs in the World” (in no particular order)

5. CheebaBreed: RottweilerFather: Unity LewisRelation to Me: NephewSpecial Move, Skills or Ability: Insists that you walk up/down the stairs first, then proceeds to run into the backs of your legs.

Notes:

This full-sized canine looks like a killer, but he wouldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight. On the other hand, he did almost eat Dino that one time. What do I like about Cheeba? He’s just like his daddy, just chillin’ in the studio.

4. Sparky & Bailey

Breed: Cairn TerriersMother: Carmen Anthony

Relation to Me: CousinSpecial Move, Skills, Ability: Staying Alive

Notes:

Sparky & Bailey score major points for longevity. They can be found in the Oakland hills, taking their morning and afternoon walks along theother local elderly couples. They look similar, but Bailey (the lady) is the one calling the shots (“pee here, sniff there, skip that bush, poop here, and we’re heading back now”). Hang in there little guys!

3. Chance & CharlieBreeds:Boxer & Terrier Mutt

Mother & Father: Sarah Bloom & David Hallinan

Relation to Me: GodsonsSpecial Move, Skills, Ability: Putting up with Charlie (Chance); driving everyone crazy (Charlie)

Notes:This dynamic duo covers ground from Oakland to Humboldt County and they really know how to make a guest feel welcome in the house. Every time they see me, they jump me like it’s been two years… even when I’m just coming back into the room after using the bathroom. It's just a good thing that their personalities are not switched, because if you put Charlie Bear’s energy (and attitude) into Chance’s body, we’d all be in danger.

2. Dino

Breed: Yorkshire Terrier

Mother: Mara Reinhardt

Relation to me: SonSpecial Move, Skills, Ability: Soccer, Hide N Seek

Notes:Son, don’t tell your mother (or my family), but I miss you more than any human in the United States! Please behave yourself, and keep working on your “soccer stop” and dribbling skills. And DO NOT let Grandma dress you up for Halloween this year… you’re too old for that now.Love, Papa Bear

1. Mia

Surprise everyone, I have a new daughter! If you have been wondering how this list has anything to do with my life here in Cape Verde… now you know!

Two Saturdays back I finally graduated from my training program and was sworn in to become a Peace Corps Volunteer by the Deputy Chief of Mission and Chargé d'affaires for the U.S. Embassy in Cape Verde.

After hugs, tears, and goodbyes to our host families, language instructors and training managers, we headed to the capital city for a final night together before going our separate ways to our respective site assignments.

Later that night a nice-sized group gathered for an impromptu goodbye party at a bar near the beach. Early on during the night I noticed a boy following a little puppy around the bar’s outdoor patio, but I did not think much of it at first. A few times throughout the night the puppy wiggled under our tables or brushed past our legs—eventually it became clear the she was constantly trying to get away from the little boy who was pestering her out of boredom. I held my tongue, that is until the boy started throwing rocks at the puppy.

“Pa Modi?!” I eventually snapped at the boy, who couldn’t have been much more than 10 years old. “Why?!” Not surprisingly, the boy didn’t have an answer, so he shrugged and walked off, hopefully in search of some more wholesome entertainment.

For the second time that night, the puppy fell off my radar screen, until I noticed her curled up in my friend's lap a few hours later. My first thought was, “is Gracie drunk?” I love me some puppies, but this dog was NAAAAAASTY, and borderline fugly in its cracked-out state. Our Medical Officer had confirmed during training that rabies was not found in Cape Verde, but there’s a whole wide world of stray-dog pathology that goes beyond rabies.

After several friends informed Gracie that she was nucking futs, she brought the puppy over to me to “hold” while she ordered a drink. My response… “no dice.” I was NOT ready to take the plunge. After a mini-guilt trip, we compromised, and the puppy curled up next to me on my chair.

To make a long story medium, the puppy is now my daughter. Her name is Mia. It was "Junior" for a few days until upon closer inspection, I confirmed that she is a "she." I’ll spare you the details of how Mia actually made it from that bar in the capital city to my apartment on the island São Vicente, about an hour’s plane ride away. I can proudly say that we made it to the vet last week, and Mia is going to be just fine. She's taking her meds, and she is looking less and less haggard everyday!

So here I am in my new place, bare walls, minimal furniture, and miniscule finances to change that situation. But with Mia in the equation, it’s feeling like a home already.

Pura Vida,

Drew

I remember being warned that Peace Corps service might be physically challenging. At some point, on some form, I checked off a bunch of boxes to verify that I could walk up flights of stairs without passing out, carry fifty pounds, and handle various other demanding tasks. I was naturally more concerned with preparing myself for the psychological and mental challenges of the experience. Now, having been here for two months, I can fully appreciate how closely related the physical and mental challenges actually are. This may seem obvious—in fact, I myself have always been a strong believer in the mind-body connection. Still, my biggest struggle so far has been to stay mentally fit in the midst of so many physical changes. It’s not that any single part of my new environment has knocked me out—it’s just that almost nothing is the same. I could spend all day listing everything that is different, but that is not what this post is about. Instead I’ll just give you a snapshot the little and large changes that have affected my body: food, weather, daily schedule, medication, and much more. This post is really meant to share some tactics and experiences that have helped me cool off and avert a core meltdown. Ever since the fall 1987, football has been my number one source of physical therapy. One of the hardest adjustments for me during the last two months has been not being able to play as much as I am used to. You might be scratching your head, thinking, “don’t they love football in Africa?” Yes, they do—unfortunately, my schedule during training only leaves time for me to play on the weekends. I’ve tried to make the most of that window, so every Sunday I make my way down the hill to the plaka in my neighborhood to get in a few games of pick-up bola. The games are 4 v 4 plus goalies (guarda-redi), on a basketball-sized asphalt court—somewhere halfway between the American indoor game and futsal. Over the last year or so I’ve been getting more serious about trying to retrain myself as a goalie, mostly because their careers last longer, but also because I’m starting to love it. Most of the time I start off between the posts, then hassle one of my teammates into switching with me. Another bola-related activity that normally helps me blow off steam back home is my work as a professional cat-herder*. There is definitely a way for a coach to run a practice without breaking a sweat themselves—it’s just not my way. That being said, I was blessed to finally get a chance to run a clinic when I visited the town of Pedro Badejo in the conselho of Santa Cruz a few weeks back. Thanks to an introduction from a Peace Corps Volunteer, I was invited by the local coach to run a clinic. I was momentarily stuck when I showed up the next morning to find more than thirty kids and no ball. Fortunately, I was able to dig into my bag of tricks, which includes a whole bunch of fun “no-ball” activities designed to develop psycho-motor skills (shout out to Coach Peter at East Bay United Soccer Club!). We were also able to ranja** a ball from one of the Volunteers that was hosting me, so we kept the kriansas occupied for a good hour until their coach showed up with more balls. The session was fixi (pronounced "feeshee"), and the kids were kanpion, and when we wrapped up two hours later, I felt completely diskontra. All I could say was, “damn, I needed that!” Before moving onto other means of physical therapy, it is only fair that I admit that my relationship with football is a double-edged sword. While playing and coaching helps me blow off steam, the stress associated with watching the game is probably shaving whole weeks off my lifespan. It was particularly bad for my mental state when the power went out in the middle of watching the Super Taza match between Barcelona and Porto. Fortunately, I knew who was going to win before the match started. I might have also done some damage while watching a slightly smaller “big game” in my neighborhood. Two Saturdays back, a team from the capital city, Praia, came to our neighborhood for a “friendly” match at the plaka. With a little luck the city-slickers in fancy uniforms managed to knock off our home side—our boys put up a good fight, but in my opinion we could have done better. I’m not saying that we would have won if I was playing... but that’s more or less what I’m insinuating. I guess part of sustainable development work is knowing when to let people fight their own battles. Beyond bola, I have found a few more ways to stay active. The least fun example is the infamous bati ropa, otherwise known as doing your laundry by hand every Sunday morning. Good for the triceps, but not fun. At all. Also, I’m a little embarrassed to say that after two months of living in a country where virtually every family grows food, I’ve only pulled a few weeds.

My trip to Serra Malagueta Natural Park was good for the body and mind, and a lot more enjoyable than kicking the sh*t out of a pile a dirty clothes (no joke, doing laundry by hand, Africa-style, could easily be referred to as domestic violence... it’s that physical). I’m not a huge hiker, but I do enjoy granola and shopping at Whole Foods, and nothing could have been better for my psyche than climbing that mountain and checking out what the island of Santiago looks like from above.

This post on the psychological benefits of physical therapy is timely, as my fellow Trainees and I are wrapping up our respective community projects. One of the two projects I worked on was to help organize an exercise / aerobics class (faze trena) with the aim of encouraging healthy living. I would love to say that I had a great workout, but most of the heavy lifting I did involved holding my iPhone camera. My last thoughts on the subject of physical therapy and mental health are not about exercise, they concern medicine. Those that know me well know that I am not a huge fan of the stuff. I tend to think that the cure for most common ailments consists of hot tea and sleep. Nevertheless, part of my responsibility as a Peace Corps Trainee is to stay healthy, and on the island of Santiago that means taking my malaria prophylaxis (sorry for the big word, but I’ve been trying to work that one into a sentence since I first heard “Bonita Applebum”). You might be asking how popping a Doxycycline pill every night at 9:00pm sharp could improve my mental health. Peace of mind in knowing that I won’t get malaria? Nope, that’s not it. Instead, I realized early on in the process that there was a certain grounding quality in establishing a new routine. After all, the changes in my old routine are what have challenged me “up top” in the first place. As I made my way through the first 10-pack of D-candy during my first week here, I started to feel like an inmate scratching tick marks into his cell wall as a means to keep track of time and stave off complete disorientation. I decided then and there to keep the empty packs and use them as my Official Calendar. Anyone who has had his or her daily routine turned upside down or inside out can appreciate how concepts like “Tuesday” or “today’s date” can lose all relevance or meaning to the actual patterns of life. Now, as I look down at five emptied packs, and a sixth pack containing only one more pill, I can honestly say that I am just one step away from finally becoming a Peace Corps Volunteer. And tonight, that is the source of my peace of mind. Pura Vida, Drew

FOOTNOTES

*Youth Soccer Coach **The Kriolu word “ranja” is startingly similar to the South African use of the word “organize.” Please see my previous post for an explanation.

Estimade Señor Vallar, Hoy estaba en mi segunda clase de Kriolu, aqui en Cabo Verde, cuando mi amiga me llamó “Teacher’s Pet.” Sin pensar, respondí “Claro, siempre he sido como así en las clases de idioma. La verdad es que las clases de idioma siempre han sido mis favoritos, empezando con su clase. Su clase era la primera (y la ultima) vez que yo pedí tare extra para el verano, porque reconocí que quería saber más sobre el tenso subjuntivo—para mí, no para una marca. Mis amigos y colegas siempre dicen que yo tengo un abilidad natural y místico de aprender las idiomas. Ahora yo estoy aprendiendo mi quinta idioma (si no conta Ebonics). Aunque yo quisiera sentir ou ser especial, yo sé que tengo suerte. He tenido más que diez maestros y profesores de idioma en mi vida, y casi todos eran exelentes (lo siento, pero no puedo recordar algunos). Por eso, estaba pensando que debo decir “gracias” a Ustedes. Quiero empezar con usted porque Usted empezó tudo para mí (estoy hablando de las idiomas, Señor—recuerdes todo que te enseñé sobre Basketball, Hip Hop, etc?). Como maestro de jovenes también, yo creo que nuestro trabajo es encender la luz a dentro. Es luz no es la abilidad ou el talento. La lúz es la interés—el “querer ser” que inspira el trabajo duro y la energia para aprender. Yo encontré esa interés en su clase, y por eso digo “Gracias!”

Sincerely, Andrew F. Williams July 19, 2011 Cabo Verde

*This post is the text of a letter that I mailed home during my first week here in Cabo Verde. I wanted to wait until my first Spanish teacher actually received the letter and gave me permission before posting it, hence the one-month delay.Pura Vida,Drew

Please don’t be deceived by the title of this post... I am not “going back to Cali” any time soon. Even though I plan to stay away from Oakland for more than two years, I still have two reasons to claim that I am "halway home". First, I’ve just completed the fifth week of my nine-week Pre-Service Training, which officially puts me over the hump. I found the first few weeks to be helpful, but heavy on the theory. In other words, if I have to do another role-play or case study I may just vomit on myself. Luckily, we are into the meat of the training, which means more hands-on work, and more preparation that is specific to my assignment area and placement. Just over a week ago, my 24 cohorts and I crowded into a classroom at the Escola Tecnica to get the answer to the question that each of us (and our families back home) have been asking for: "where exactly is the Peace Corps putting us for the next two years?” The walls of the room hosted illustrated maps of four of Cape Verde’s ten islands. On the floor in the middle of our circle rested 25 inflated balloons, each with a message waiting inside, fortune-cookie style. After taking a moment to get our minds right, we all stepped forward, grabbed our respective balloons, and got to poppin’. This may sound like pure fun, but take a second to imagine the anxiety that you might feel if you were in our shoes. Have you ever had a fortune cookie tell you what you next job would be, where you would be living for the next two years, or who you would be living with? Is that how you picked out your college, your major, or your last apartment? If you answered yes to any of the above questions, then you are strange, but I still love you. As for my assignment, I was hardly surprised when my bubble burst—after all, I am the Luckiest Man Alive™. Here’s what my “fortune cookie-balloon” said: “Andrew Williams - Mindelo, São Vicente - CEJ” For now you just need to know that Mindelo is the second largest city in the country—considered by many to be its cultural capital—and “CEJ” stands for Centro de Juventude (Youth Center). If you need more clarification as to why this is my dream assignment, then google me (or Mindelo) and do the math.

After a week of basking in the glory of my luck, I got focused for a three-day Counterpart Conference. This event brought all of the Small Enterprise Development Volunteers (Trainees) together with our future parceiros (counterparts). Most importantly, I had a chance to sit down with the professionals with whom I’ll be working to learn more about the CEJ, and to draft my job description. In this respect, I am blessed (again), and looking forward to working with my new team. I finally feel like I know where my next home will be (for work and for life), and as I enter week six, I can confidently say that I am halfway there. The sad part about being a step closer to São Vicente is that it means I am a step closer to leaving my family here on the island of Santiago. Without a doubt, I will be adding Lucia, Fatinha, Antonio and Mauro, et. al., to my International Extended Family Hall of Fame, which currently boasts chapters in Guam, New Zealand, South Africa, and Costa Rica. As my eyes water with the thought of moving on, I remember that I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, so talk amongst yourselves while I get it together. I promised you two explanations for the title of this post, so enough about the first reason. Most of you loyal (or half-assed) “followers” of Live From Tomorrow are familiar with my reading habit and my serious dependency on books. Unfortunately, last year I feel two titles short of my book-a-week goal, so in January I pledged to step my game up. This being late August, I an technically a bit behind schedule, but I am still proud to announce that I am halfway home to my 2011 reading goal. For those that are interested, below is a list of what I have soaked up so far this year:

Books Read in 2011 What Went Wrong? The Clash Between Islam and Modernity in the Middle East - Bernard Lewis (2002) Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides (2002) The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People - Stephen R. Covey (1989) American Gods - Neil Gaiman (2002) A General Theory of Love - Thomas Lewis, Fari Amini & Richard Lennan (2000) Palace Walk (Between the Two Palaces) - Naguib Mahfouz (1956) Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption - Laura Hillenbrand (2002) Devil in a Blue Dress - Walter Mosley (1990) Meant to Be: The Story of a Son Who Discovers He is his Mother’s Deepest Secret - Walter Anderson (2004) The Known World - Edward P. Jones (2003) The World is Flat: A Brief History of the Twenty-First Century - Thomas Friedman (2003) Martyr’s Crossing - Amy Wilentz (2002) New News Out of Africa: Uncovering Africa’s Renaissance - Charlayne Hunter-Gault (2007) My Wild Irish Rogues - Vivian Moore Hallinan (1952) The Fortune Catcher - Susanne Pari (2002) The Bonesetter’s Daughter - Amy Tan (2001) Negro President: Jefferson and the Slave Power - ??? (2005) Women of the Silk - Gail Sukiyama (1993) Soul on Ice - Eldridge Cleaver (1965) Bacardi and the Long Fight for Cuba: The Biography of a Cause - Tom Gjelten (2008) Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone - J.K. Rowling (1997) Motherless Brooklyn - Jonathan Lethem (1999) The Ugly American - Eugene Burdict & William Lederer (1958) Small Business in the Third World - Malcolm Harper (1984) Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town - Paul Theroux (2003) Slaughterhouse-Five - Kurt Vonnegut (1969) War Talk - Arundhati Roy (2003) The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1892)

Thanks for reading, until the next post... Pura Vida, Drew & Djanilo

The keyword in my life right now is “process.” As in: applying to the Peace Corps and getting accepted was a process. Or: after almost a month in Cape Verde, I am just now starting to process the new world around me, and the experiences that each day brings. The nine-week Pre-Service Training program that I am currently enduring is certainly a process. This is the third entry I’ve posted on Live From Tomorrow since I arrived, but the first two were admittedly—and deliberately—short on details about my life here. So I guess I owe you, so here goes... My flight out out Oakland International Airport on July 14th landed me in Boston for 24 hours of staging. This orientation included everything from signing more forms to role-playing what to do if someone tries to feed you monkey brains (hasn’t happened yet, and I’m not holding my breath). One of the best parts of staging was the few free hours I had to walk around downtown Boston. Somehow, I had managed to forget that I hadn’t visited BeanTown since 2001, when my mom was living in Massachusetts. The food and buzz at Faneuil Hall was about as good as I remember, and the music was, well... diverse.

During my lunch break the next day I came across a rack of books sitting in Post Office Square, which turned out to be the Library on the Lawn at Norman B. Leventhal Park. The “library” works completely on the honor system, so I grabbed a copy of the first Harry Potter book. I hesitated to "check out" a book for 27 months, but I fancy myself an honorable man—plus, everyone else on the planet has already read the damn thing. Just to be safe, I powered through the end of the book I was already reading—Bacardi and the Long Fight for Cuba—so I could leave it as collateral for my honor. In my final hours in America I enjoyed my last long, hot shower, then proceeded to take the Langham Hotel for every ounce of complimentary toiletries in sight—including the shower cap, sewing kit, and shoe sponge. As the doorman loaded my bags onto the luggage cart I stopped to have a personal moment with the beautiful grand piano in the lobby.

After a seven-hour flight our group of 25 Peace Corps Trainees landed together in Praia, Cape Verde on Saturday morning. We were met at the Immigration Desk by the Peace Corps Cape Verde Country Director and the Safety & Security Coordinator, along with a small mob of currently-serving Volunteers and miscellaneous nice folks holding welcome signs and giving out bolaxa (cookies). We spent the better part of the next two days at a dorm in the Santo Antão area of the capital, where we started to get used to the long-but-valuable days of information sessions, team-building, and language instruction. To cap off the weekend, the Peace Corps staff indulged us with a delicious feast at the U.S. Embassy Recreation Center, where we met more Volunteers and got our first Cape Verdean dancing lessons—you’ll be hearing plenty more about “non-formal/adult education” in future posts. And just to clarify, I am still not a “Volunteer,” just a lowly Trainee—kinda like the difference between a maggot and a Marine. On Monday we piled into two Hiaces (vans) and headed for the various towns and villages that would be our homes for the following nine weeks. I know you might be tired of me going on and on about being the Luckiest Man Alive™, but the truth hurts, so disaraska (deal with it)! My host family is perfect, and my three-person Kriolu class is often held across the street from our house. Most Trainees walk or take a Hilux— a converted, covered pickup truck—to class. Twice a week we all meet together in town for Center Day, which is held at the local Escola Tecnica (Technical Secondary School). These days (Tuesdays and Fridays) normally consist of five block sessions that cover cultural integration, safety and security, health and nutrition, general tools of development work, and training specific to our area or sector of service. All Volunteers in Cape Verde work in either the Education or Small Enterprise Development sector, and each sector is divided into more specific Assignment Areas. The ED Volunteers focus on either TEFL, Teacher Training, or Vocational Education, while the SED volunteers focus on either Community Development, Information Technology, or Business Advising. I’m in the last group, affectionately known as Peace Corps Assignment Area #140. Our structured training sessions normally run from 8:00am to 5:00pm with a break for lunch. After the sessions, I head back to my neighborhood (or back across the street). Unfortunately, for security reasons I’m not allowed to disclose exactly where my ‘hood is in this blog, but it is definitely The Spot. Each Saturday, we take a group “field trip” to a different destination. The first weekend we visited Cidade Velha, the first city founded in Africa by the Portuguese. The centerpiece of this UNESCO Heritage Site is the massive fort that was constructed to fend off French and British Pirates (often unsuccessfully), including Francis Drake. We checked out the ruins of the Catholic Church, which took over one hundred years to complete, and about one day to destroy (see previous sentence). For me, the highlight of this adventure was visiting the grogue factory, tucked under the canopy of trees in the valley. If you are not sure what grogue is, then click of the link above, or play some Monkey Island. And lest you make any assumptions about my high life in the islands, I should point out that I haven’t had a drink since my last night/morning at Lucky Lounge before heading for Oakland Airport.

Our second Saturday outing was actually a safety and security tour of the capital, including a visit to the Police Station and a Jurassic Park-style ride through all the areas of Praia where we should not hang out. Fortunately, the back end of our tour was more positive—a delicious Senegalese lunch, including actual green vegetables (not exactly a staple of my diet here in thirsty Cape Verde), and a visit to the beach at Prainha. I’m not really big on swimming at “urban” beaches (e.g. Alameda), so I passed the hour reading Bumbalo’s copy of Motherless Brooklyn, with a side of chocolate ice cream from a local shop called Artica. Last weekend we headed to the north of Santiago Island to visit Tarrafal—oh, the highs and the lows. Let’s just say it can be a little bit awkward to visit a Portuguese Campo de Concentracão for a couple of hours, and then head for the beach—but I’m glad we did both. The prison at Tarrafal was originally constructed in the 1930’s to house relocated Portuguese dissidents, but was later used to jail revolutionary members of the PAIGC. The complex, and my time spen there, reminded me in many ways of Robben Island. Like my visit to the more-infamous prison off the coast of Cape Town, I again had the privilege of meeting, and being toured by a former inmate, Fernando Dos Reis Tavares—or “Toco.” I felt lucky to hear his story, but the part of the visit that hit me the hardest was when I ducked into a little room that once served as an excuse for a medical building. One plaque in the mini-exhibit told the anecdotal story of the Portuguese doctor who was appointed to serve as the medical officer for the prison. Upon his arrival at Tarrafal—a year after his appointment—the doctor announced that he had not come to cure anyone, but instead to issue death certificates.

Like the previous Saturdays, this outing ended on a more positive note—again at the beach. Only this time the water was a little more inviting so I was one of the first ones in. After a quick dip, I dried off and found a spot to crack open Paul Theroux’s Dark Star Safari. The reading was going a little slow, so I was glad when my Training Director asked me if I was up for a short walk. The walk was good, the chat was better, and after paying a lady 20 escudos (about 27¢) for a quick fresh-water shower, I loaded back in the van with the the other Trainees and headed back home. On that note, I’ll wrap up this entry in Live From Tomorrow. But before I go, I’d like to leave you with a moment of Zen, a la Keith Olberman. Here’s my nephew / lil’ homie, Mauro, getting down on a manga (mango)... Pura Vida, Drew

German. For too many reasons, the name inspired an unfounded paranoia in the mother. She was opening up her home to a seventeen year old exchange student from Central America—and not without reluctance. As she pulled up to the curb underneath the sign labeled “Arrivals,” she wrestled with her anxieties. She wasn’t worried about whether or not her guest would be comfortable; instead, the source of her apprehension was something inside that she did not care to face. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking on the passenger side window as a boy leaned over awkwardly from the curb. His face loomed uncomfortably close, but the first thing the mother noticed was his bag—a large duffle, faded but clean, with a gaudy patch that advertised NBA All-Star Weekend ’95. He was by no means ugly, yet the mother felt repelled just looking at him through the rolled-up window. After a pause, she unlocked her door and stepped out into the street. As she walked around to the back of the car to open the trunk, she managed a smile in the boy’s direction. “Welcome.” “You’ll be staying in Jeremy’s room,” said the mother as the odd couple walked through the front door of the house. “It’s upstairs on the left.” German responded with a shy “thank you.” It was the first time she had actually heard him speak. The twenty-six minutes between the airport and home were filled only with her rehearsed questions and his nods and mutters. These two words were enough to keep her thoughts occupied as she walked away, contemplating how bad the boy’s accent actually was. German lugged his bag up the stairs, eyeing the walls on either side cluttered with family portraits. Every picture was the same: the girl and the boy sat next to each other in front, slightly angled toward each other with inside knees barely touching, while the mother and father stood just behind. He wondered what was the point of taking and hanging the same photo so many times, like a flip-photo book where the scene never actually changed. As he entered the room at the top of the stairs German was taken by an eerie feeling—while he was here in this room, its owner was probably in his, a few thousand miles away. German soon became lost in the myriad of paper images torn from random magazines and stapled to every wall, completely hiding the color of the paint. He already wanted to be back home in San Isidro. German unzipped his bag, unpacking and refolding each article of clothing it contained. By the time he was finished, the brother’s bed displayed four piles: socks and underwear, shirts, pants, and an assortment of outdated accessories, including a yellow and black walkman and a Reebok fanny-pack. With his things in order, German turned to leave the room, but found himself face to face with the girl from the family portrait(s). He retreated a half-step, unconsciously dropping his head a little. The girl held out a bath towel, either oblivious to, or enticed by the boy’s discomfort. “Hi, I’m Lisbeth. You can use Jeremy’s shower. It’s down the hall.” “Thank you,” said the boy, almost to himself. He took the towel, but instead of continuing down the hall, he turned to go back into his room. He already felt naked enough—he wasn’t ready for a shower. Although the mother stood with her back to the doorway, she was aware that her daughter had entered the bedroom. The daughter watched from behind as her mother rummaged through top drawer of the dresser across the room. “Where’s our guest?” asked the mother without turning. “I think he’s in the shower. What are you doing?” “Just getting some of my things together.” Her answer was sung, not spoken, as if to emphasize how lighthearted she felt. “Getting your things together?” The daughter smelled blood. She cherished any chance she could get to catch her mother slipping up in any way. Sure, they loved, and sometimes even liked each other, but an unacknowledged antagonism dominated their relationship. The daughter approached, and when the two stood almost side by side facing the dresser, her mother stiffened. Looking down, the daughter noticed her mother stuffing a handful of jewelry—some priceless and some worthless, but all equally steal-able—into a small box secured by an even smaller lock. “What are you doing?” The mother struggled do defend herself without revealing her true thoughts. “I’m just taking some precautions.” This was not sung. “Against what?” sneered the daughter. There was a pause as the daughter struggled to hide a grin that would have betrayed just how much she was enjoying this. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with German, would it?” “With who?” The daughter couldn’t decide if her mother was in complete denial or if she had already forgotten their guest’s name. If the two were any less human, they would have locked horns at this point; however, since they were human, they were reduced to such games. The mother turned around, clutching a half-handful of necklaces to her chest and glared at her daughter with the look of a cornered animal down to its last option. Being too dumb to recognize the threshold of her mother’s patience, the daughter pressed further. “What are you doing with all that jewelry!?” she pressed, as if it was news to her that her mother even owned any. “Don’t be so fucking naïve!” snapped the mother. Immediately, the daughter realized her mistake, but it was too late. “You think I’m just gonna sit here looking stupid while a complete stranger is in the next room? Jesus Christ! This wasn’t my idea you know, it was your father’s. He was the one who wanted to send your brother away and now I’m stuck here playing host to some needy kid from Mexico or wherever! Do you have any idea how much he could get for one of these? He could probably feed his family for a month... all twenty of ‘em! Look, I’m all for loving thy neighbor and everything, but nobody said I had had to be a damn a fool while I’m doing it!” The daughter was paralyzed. She had never heard her mother talk like this, and she wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed, scared or impressed by her outbreak. The mother seemed to loosen her grip on the necklaces a little, and when it was apparent that her daughter had nothing more to say, she turned her back and went back to hiding her booty. For the first time in his life, German wished he didn’t understand English so well. As he sat on the bed in the brother’s room, trying to ignore the conversation he had just overheard, his eyes again reverted to the cluttered walls. At first he was confused, trying to remember what he had done to taint the mother’s opinion of him. But as he stared into the mosaic of pop culture images, he realized he could not be at fault. It didn’t hurt too much, but he did miss home a little bit more.

Days and weeks passed, and although German managed to shelter his ears from most conversations between his hosts, he still felt the weight of the mother’s eyes resting on his back, even when she wasn’t home. Aside from her suspicions, German had his hands full with the daughter. With each day she became more comfortable talking to him, even though she never received much more than a one- or two-word reply. Her attempts at conversation seemed to be a sales pitch for a friendship that neither of them actually wanted. It wasn’t that he disliked her, but that her presence made him even more uncomfortable, if that was possible. He saw through her increasingly frequent attention and thought he glimpsed a fifteen year old girl looking for a new and creative way to irritate her mother. Their interactions became like a one-sided game of Truth, where she prodded him with questions that never seemed to draw out the answers that she needed or wanted to hear. After too many failed conversations, the daughter’s frustration pushed her in a new direction—Dare. On most evenings, German would lie on the brother’s bed with his eyes closed, trying to draw the details of his life back home in his imagination. This time, he was working on a mental inventory of his mother’s bathroom cabinet when the brother’s bedroom door creaked open. “Jeremy never really lets me come in here.” Laying artificially stiff, German silently prayed that the she would respect her brother’s wishes. “But it’s kinda your room now, so whatever, right?” Realizing that feigning sleep would not work, German sat up on the bed, blinking and rubbing his eyes to give the impression that he had been inches away from dozing off. His eyes met the daughters as she entered with the short, quiet steps of a trespasser. As she approached the side of the bed, German saw that she was carrying a small brown paper bag. She pulled up a chair from the brother’s desk and placed the bag on the nightstand by the bed. Suddenly the small bag felt like the biggest thing in the room—bigger than either of them. She started to ask, “Do you drink?” but instead she reached over and slowly rolled down the edges of the bag, eventually revealing the blue and white “Royal Gate Vodka” label. Instead of taking out the bottle, the daughter sat in the chair and rested both hands in her lap. She strained, but it was impossible for her to see through his expression into his thoughts. Eventually, she reached for the bottle and slowly unscrewed the cap. She brought its glass opening to her lips and tilted both her head and the bottle back, but her tightly clenched mouth stopped any vodka from entering. After a few seconds in this posture, she pulled the bottle away and exhaled with her mouth wide open, just like she had seen her brother do once. She placed the bottled back on the table, crumpling the bag, and to finish off the effect, she licked her lips thoroughly. She immediately regretted it. The new stinging taste on her tongue made her glad that she had not actually taken a sip. It was his turn, but the daughter made no move to pass him the bottle. Even though German had never tasted alcohol and didn’t particularly want to now, he knew that he was about to pick up the clear bottle. The liquid’s visible likeness to water fooled his mind, but not his tongue— he was not prepared for the bitter, burning flow of vodka unleashed on his mouth, throat, and stomach. His grip on the bottle loosened and it fell, splashing the daughter’s bare ankles with vodka before he half-caught it at their feet. He was relieved that the bottle didn’t break, but wished he had spilled more first—but there was still plenty left. The two continued on like this for at least an hour—German subjecting himself to the burn while the daughter kept letting the tilted bottle rest against her clenched lips with a small hand wrapped around its neck to disguise her act. She had set up this encounter, yet neither of them actually had control. The only difference was that the German recognized his growing impotence. Each sip became easier for German until the burning poison became nothing more than a slightly bitter juice sliding down his numb throat. He began to gain his reason and lose it all at once, realizing that he had been taken advantage of, but unable to produce a second clear thought beyond that. At some point the daughter had abandoned the chair to sit next to German on her brother’s bed and now her left thigh was flush against the outside of his right—yet he kept his eyes trained forward, as if the wallpaper had been torn from his own favorite magazines, not the brother’s. As his eyes drifted from black athlete to white actress, the thought occurred to German that this would be a good time to practice his English. Gazing at the wall, he began silently to sound out the names of the pantheon of American celebrities. When he got to Kirsten Dunst, he realized that he had forgotten about the daughter sitting next to him—he couldn’t even remember what she looked like. German rolled his head to the right, but before the daughter’s face came into sight he noticed the near-empty bottle resting between her legs. He reached for it, but was struck by a wave of dizziness, spilling himself into the daughter’s lap. She pushed him off and he slid from the bed onto the floor of the brother’s room, where he remained for some seconds. The collision with the daughter had done something to him: while it had revolted her, it had triggered something within him that he was old enough to understand, yet still did not recognize. With some trouble he regained his feet, only to fall back on top of the daughter, this time pinning her to the bed. Her body, mind, and voice screamed in unison in an attempt to free herself, but it was useless— German’s mind was quiet. At eleven o’clock that night the mother returned home. All was quiet, but that was what she expected as the boy had always gone to bed early, and her daughter spent most nights in her room with her earbuds in, watching a muted television. The mother headed up the stairs, and as she passed the door to the brother’s bedroom she felt the familiar desire to peek inside. She may have told herself that she was checking to make sure that he didn’t need anything, but in truth she sought security in the knowledge that he was fast asleep and accounted for. She was disappointed to see the light leaking out from beneath the door, then frozen by the sound of weak sobs coming from inside. The second or third whimper hit her chest before it reached her ears and she knew immediately that the sound could not be coming from the boy. She opened the door, but before her second step could bring her fully into the room her knees buckled. There sat her daughter, with her feet hanging off the side of the brother’s bed. Her shirt was torn around the right shoulder, and her hair almost did enough to hide a tear-stained face. This time, the daughter felt her mother enter without seeing her, and as her quiet sobs ebbed, the mother’s began to flow silently. Neither had ever been welcome in the brother’s room, and now both wished they had never entered.

German followed the trail of street lamps down the empty suburban street, hoping they would lead him away from that house that was never his. Eventually, he began to feel like he was passing the same three houses over and over again, and he began to wish that the street lamps would go out, or at least not be so bright. Each step he took reminded him of his weakness, but he could not begin to remember, let alone understand what had taken place just a few hours before. It wasn’t until he reached the last lamp at the corner that he noticed the tangle of necklaces and bracelets clenched tightly in his own hand. Slowly, without breaking his stride, his grip loosened and the jewelry fell, piece by piece, onto the sidewalk. German kept walking.

I hope you enjoyed this short story. It is adapted from a story that I wrote for a high school class 1999. I´ve been meaning to dust it off and rewrite it for years, and now I finally have. Most importantly, this short story does not reflect my relationship between me and my host family here in Cape Verde, or any other family that has ever opened their home to me. And no, the Peace Corps did NOT make me include this disclaimer, I just wanted to be clear. Any feedback is welcome, unless you didn´t like it!- Drew

I really should be taking a nap right now with this precious free hour in the middle of the afternoon, but I am not. Actually, I’m somewhere between sleepwalking and exploding with energy, and believe it or not, the idea that I’m going to have 27 months to take in this new place and experience still has not quite set in for me. So instead of recharging my own battery, here I sit, using up the last juice on my computer, kicking off the next chapter of Live From Tomorrow... After a two-year application process to the Peace Corps—no, it is not supposed to take that long, and yes, the delays were mostly my fault—I actually found myself with a real live plane ticket to leave, confirmation number and all! You may be thinking that this is the part where I start describing what the flight attendants smelled like, how the lady on the plane kept elbowing me, how the tarmac radiated heat as I stepped off the A320, or how I already miss guacamole. But honestly, I’ve been in the country for only a few hours, and I feel like I haven’t even blinked yet, much less slept. So, before I get all caught up in the now, I want to reflect on my last days back home in California.

If you’ve been following my blog, or crossed paths with me in the analog universe, then you might agree that I am the Luckiest Man Alive™. My final days in the States were no exception. In mid-June I had the opportunity to join a group of soccer coaches from around the world at an NSCAA Coaching Academy. Back in 2009 I attended a similar Academy to earn my first national coaching license. This time around I was aiming to upgrade my credentials to an Advanced National Diploma. The weeklong 50-hour course held at San Francisco State University definitely kicked my butt, especially the waking up at the crack of whatever happens at 6:00 am (sorry, I’m not that familiar with that time of day). You may ask why I didn’t fork over the extra $100 to take the course in-residence, which would have eliminated the 2-3 hours of daily commuting across the Bay Bridge. My answer is quite simple: I managed to graduate from San Francisco State in ’06 without spending a single night on campus—and I’m not about to start crashing there now... just wouldn’t feel right. So I rose early, made it to breakfast (most of the week), worked hard all day, studied and prepared all evening, and left it all on the field (as my old coaches used to say). While it was certainly a blessing to study under, and be evaluated by world class coaches, I was even more appreciative of everything I learned from all of the other candidates who powered through the week with me.

After my final exam, I headed straight to the Collins’ house to celebrate Father’s Day and my brother Jaime’s birthday. Certain unnamed individuals insisted that it was my going away party, but we all know the true reason why everyone showed up... the cooking!

At the end of the month I headed for La Honda for the most important week of my year—JazzCamp West. If I tried to describe, explain, or advocate what this time, place, and family means to me, this blog would go too soft, too fast, and I’d lose all the roughnecks in my readership. So instead of trying to bottle that JazzCamp Feeling in a blog, let’s just have a little show-and-tell moment. "MOUNT HARISSA"Composed by Duke Ellington & Billy Strayhorn(per./arr by Drew Williams, July 2011)

What you just listened to (please don’t proceed until you do listen) is a recording of my Open Mic performance, with support from some of my new and old favorite musicians. Bill Douglass (one of the upright bass faculty members) jumped at the chance to play anything from Duke Ellington’s Far East Suite. In fact at one point, we found ourselves serenading each other over lunchtime turkey sandwiches while Johnny Hodges’s magic on “Isfahan” floated out across YMCA campgrounds. In truth, it is possible that nobody noticed, but that’s OK because we didn’t notice them back. But back to the actual performance. Aside from being a fun challenge to arrange and perform the song, there were three things about the experience that made me feel just plain good. First, I literally had that song stuck in my head since the early 90’s, when Gil Heyser handed me his Far East Suite CD at St. Paul’s and told me to do my homework (thank you sir, and sorry I never gave it back). Like a lot of “my” music, it was just something that I needed to get off my chest. Second, we got to reunite the backbone of my old band, Diga Tio. I met Reese “Bang-a-rang” Bullen and Jesse “Tasty Chops” Engel at Camp almost ten years ago before we actually started gigging together, but we hadn’t performed or even shed together since 2007. To round out the band we added a 5-person percussion section, including a cachixi, shekere, claws, an egg, and a bucket drum. When we emerged from the woods, caked in California Redwood Forest dust, we made our way back to the East Bay to unload a couple of trucks filled with equipment... but you know we had to take the scenic route via beautiful Pescadero Beach. As always, the days after JazzCamp brought me some serious love withdrawal. Fortunately, the folks from down in the Grotto (if you don’t know where that is, then don’t worry about it) organized a JazzCamp Decompression Concert and Jam session in Oakland, featuring performances by Berel Alexander, Gillian Harwin, and Jason Ewald.

The cherry on top of my final days was our 4th of July / going-away / my nephew Gabriel’s first birthday celebration. In the words of Napoleon Bonaparte III, a picture is worth a thousand words...

After a mind-blowing experience in Moçambique, I was due for a relatively low-key week back in Johannesburg. So, that's what I had (except for last Saturday, but I digress).

Most of my week was focused on preparing for the final project of our Mandela Day Initiative in the Office for Community Engagement at University of Johannesburg. In the spirit of Mandela Day (July 18th) our team designed five different projects to be carried out at the end of the month. The projects were designed around the United Nations Millennium Development Goals, focusing on 1) Poverty & Hunger, 2) Literacy & Primary Education, 3) Gender Equality, 4) Health, and 5) Environmental Sustainability. I was responsible for designing and pulling off the Environmental Sustainability Project, and I am proud to report that our City Clean Up Day was a success!

The next day I was exposed to an interesting global phenomenon for the first time in my life... Christmas in July! I was a little skeptical at first. Honestly, I love me some Jesus, but Christmas is probably my 13th favorite Holiday (after Thanksgiving, New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, my birthday, your birthday, your Mama's birthday etc.). But, after a whole bunch of coaching and volunteering, I was ready for some good ol' fraternizing, so I accepted the invitation and got myself in the spirit. Actually, the event was lekker, and a lot more affordable than real Christmas. We stopped at the sto' on the way to buy our contribution to the gift exchange: a flask of Zorba vodka, a can of Red Bull, a mini-bottle of champagne, and a pack of South Africa's version of bubble tape—all for less than 30 Rand!

The function was complete with Christmas decorations, frosted windows, gluvine, costumes, and and a fully functional ice sculpture. Here's how it worked: you pour a shot of Jäger (or some other poison) in the top the snowman's head, and it comes out the bottom extra cold and ready for consumption. It's your job (not mine) to be well positioned and ready to receive!

When I'm not coaching, working at UJ, or drinking from a snowman's belly, I manage to make time for my one true habit: the books (and the Kindle, Lita!). Here's an updated list of what I've been enjoying (some more than others) since I left the Bay at the end of May.

BOOKS I'VE READ SO FAR:- Uncle Tom’s Cabin - by Harriet Beecher Stowe (1852)- Three Cups of Tea - by Greg Mortenson & David Oliver Relin (2006)- Wuthering Heights - by Emily Brontë (1847)- How Can Man Die Better: The Life of Robert Sobukwe - by Benjamin Pogrund (2006)- Beauty and the Beast - by Jeanne-Marie Le Prince de Beaumont (1756)- The Prince (De Principatibus) - by Niccolo Machiavelli (1832)- The Last King of Scotland - by Giles Foden (1998)- The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin - by Benjamin Franklin (1791)- The Constant Gardener - by John le Carré (2005)

- Illicit: How Smugglers, Traffickers and Copycats are Hijacking the Global Economy - by Moisés Naím (2005)

- The Poisonwood Bible - by Barbara Kingsolver (1998)

- Man and His Symbols - by Carl Jung with Henderson, von Franz, Jaffé and Jacobi (1964)

- So Long A Letter - by Mariama Bâ (1981)

- Civil Disobedience (Resistance to Civil Government) - by Henry David Thoreau (1849)

Pura Vida...

Despite all the stereotypes about Africa, my first seven weeks here could hardly be described as “roughing it.” I spent every night in a big city—Cape Town or Johannesburg—and the wildest animal I’d come across was Heidi (Adrian’s Rottweiler). It's been all warm showers and wireless Internet… until last week. Right after I posted my last blog entry, I jumped in the shower, packed my bag and headed over to the UJ Sports Bureau to embark on my latest adventure: a one-week trip to Manica, Moçambique.

Manica is a small town of about 40,000, located in central Manica Province of Moçambique, near the border with Zimbabwe. Last week I was lucky to join a group from University of Johannesburg on the lovely 18-hour drive north to be hosted by the Grupo Desportivo de Manica (GDM). Our group included 16 fourth-year architecture students, 3 architecture lecturers, three soccer coaches, and two administrators from UJ Sport, a nurse, and two of the coolest drivers ever.

Grupo Desportivo de Manica was founded as a small football club in 1980. After a strong start, the club struggled through the years of civil war in Moçambique. In recent years the organization has rebuilt itself to become an integral part of the Manica community. In 2006, with the help of South Africa native Schalk van Heerden, “the club partnered with the University of Johannesburg to start ‘operation reclaim the dream': a dream of a holistic club that use sport, specifically football to facilitate social change. The rest, as they say is history.” Schalk was our official host in Manica throughout the week.

While Moçambique borders South Africa directly to the east, our group made the drive north to Manica through Zimbabwe. Apparently, the poor state of the roads through Moçambique would have added a half-day to the trip. Unfortunately, this meant dealing with Zimbabwe. My momma told me if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. I will say that our experience in Zimbabwe amounted to one very long, very desolate highway—for which we had to buy vehicle insurance twice!?—15 police road blocks (each way), and only one bribe... yay!

Regardless, the trek through Zim was well worth it. Moçambique is beautiful—the land, the people, the air, and the vibe! We pulled into to town after 8pm on Monday and unpacked the trailer before heading out to dinner. Before we arrived, the members of the GDM men’s team had packed up their stuff and moved out of their rooms at the clubhouse to make room for our group. In addition to housing for the players, the club now has a computer lab, kindergarten, nursery and recreation room.

On our first full day in Manica we got a tour of the town and an introduction to our two main projects. The architecture students and staff would be advising and working at the site of the future GDM sports complex. The plan is centered around the construction of three soccer fields—one for matches, one for training, and a smaller field for the little ones. The site plan also includes a housing village for the players with families, a building for visiting teams, and facilities for other sports. I was surprised by the scale of the project, but was particularly impressed with GDM’s holistic, sustainable approach. For example, the site plan includes the planting of over 100 fruit trees, including citrus, mangos, avocadoes, and lychee. In an effort to prevent deforestation, Moçambique law dictates that each planted tree adds to the land value. Also, the fruit from the trees will be sold to generate significant annual income for the club.

The project is certainly ambitious, and most of it is waiting for the necessary funding. But so far, they’ve made great progress: clearing and leveling the area for the first field, and constructing the necessary well, pumps, tank and storage tower to get running water to the worksite. They’ve also successfully relocated two families that were squatting on the land by building them identical housing nearby.

The UJ architecture team was there to provide technical assistance, as well as the physical labor required to construct one of the buildings. But I don’t know the first thing about architecture, so you know I was there for something else. While the students and lecturers were busy building the fields of the future, I would be back in town at the existing municipal field, getting my coach on. So, in the meantime, I sat back and enjoyed the first of many campfire braais while the architecture team started planning their attack.

On Wednesday morning I headed over field to join the players and coaches of the GDM Men’s First Team. We figured that a good way for me to get acclimated to the team would be to actually train with the players, so that’s what I did. It was strenuous, to say the least, and after chasing a bunch of 22-year olds for two hours I was ready for a nap.

The next morning I was at the field bright and early to run a training session—in the pouring rain—with Coach Mpho. A Soweto native, Mpho now works at UJ, coaching the Soweto Campus team and the Women’s team. We took a tag-team approach with me conducting the warm-up and cool-down, and Mpho leading a session on ball-possession. I also served as his interpreter.

After the morning session, Coach Doc Mabila took us to lunch at a great restaurant in the local open market. Doc and I met over dinner on my first night in Manica, and now he is officially “The Homie.” After his playing career in South Africa Doc decided to focus on coaching and outreach. He now works with the Institute for Democracy in Africa as a coordinator of the Project for a safe South Africa. Previously, Doc spent a year in Manica helping to develop the club, but he had not been back to visit in a few years. Even though he was with our group, he was also a de facto host for me, especially when it came to finding great food. You really can’t appreciate the power and the glory of the African Diaspora until you’re back in the Motherland, staring at a bowl of greens that could have come out of your Auntie’s pot. It was true Soul Food, except there was pap instead of grits, and no tableware in sight (that’s what the pap is for). It was great to work, play, and eat with Doc, and I’m looking forward to when our paths cross again.

That afternoon I ran a session for the GDM Juniors team, who range in age from 15 to 18. After that I got to work with about 30 youngsters (aged 5 – 14)—my specialty! When it came time to take a group photo, I did what I always do with the little ones. I said, “OK, we’re gonna take three pictures: one smiling, one real serious, and one doing whatever you want.” Just to clarify, I cannot be held responsible for what they chose to do.

That evening we all geared up for a night of five-a-side indoor soccer. The format: four teams rotating; each game lasts for ten minutes, golden goal! If no team has scored after ten minutes, them BOTH teams are off. Unfortunately, after our first three games, my team had played a grand total of about three minutes—and it wasn't because we were scoring. Between the Lebanese guys, Schalk's team, and the Moçambican squad with the matching jerseys, the competition was stiff. Eventually we adjusted and managed a ten-minute tie, and even a win later on. Most importantly, it was hella fun guaranteed.

On Friday Coach Mpho and I switched roles—he led the warm-up and cool-down, while I conducted a session focused on or “finalização.” or finishing, In the afternoon I worked with the Juniors and the youngsters again, then joined Coach Doc Mabila to lead a session for the women’s team.

On my last day in town I headed over to the work site to join the architecture team for a little manual labor. There really is nothing quite like building something with your hands. To me, it’s a lot like gardening or cooking—there’s definitely some spiritual earth goddess worship connection going on there. The last time I mixed a pile of concrete or mortared bricks was in 1997, when I helped build a community center in San Luis, Costa Rica. In fact, a lot about this trip took me back to the summer I spent with Global Routes—the people, the land, the construction work, the language immersion, playing soccer in the mud, the cold showers. On the last day I finally perfect my strategy for coping with this last challenge: run in place, imagine you’re in a swimming pool, sing, and keep it short. You almost don’t notice how miserable it is.

But seriously, my time in Manica was a blessing. The say you don't really know something until you can teach it. In that sense, this experience was a blessing two times over for me: coaching soccer—IN PORTUGUESE! It was a great personal and professional development opportunity for me. On top of that, I got introduced to one of my new favorite places on the planet. There is no question about it, I will return!

Pura Vida,

So, what is my life in South Africa like when there’s no World Cup to watch? Actually, I have no idea! Thankfully, the Women's U20 World Cup just started, so I've been able to get my fix. Last night I watched Mexico dispatch England—El Tri's goalkeeper is only 15 years old! But seriously, most of my time has been split between working at the University of Johannesburg and coaching with the Wits F.C. Juniors teams. Since I’ve written about Wits in my earlier posts, I’ll share a bit about my work with UJ.

Since the beginning of July I have been working as a volunteer in the Office for Community in Engagement, which is part of the Strategic Partnerships Division at the University of Johannesburg. UJ has an interesting history—it is the product of the post-apartheid merger between three existing institutions: Rand Afrikaans University (RAU), Vista University, and Technikon Witwatersrand. UJ currently has four campus in the Johannesburg Area: Auckland Park Kingsway (APK), Auckland Park Bunting (APB), Doornfontein (DFC), and Soweto. Each campus has its own character and history, with a different group of students, staff and faculty, and a different academic focus. In total, UJ has about 48,000 full time students and 3000 permanent employees.

I live on the main campus on Kingsway Ave in the Auckland Park neighborhood. The Kingsway campus is the former home of RAU, and is now the campus with the most students-in-residence. My host here is Adrian Carter, the Deputy Director of Sport at UJ. Technically, I am his only roommate… BUT, he’s got two doggies and a girlfriend (not necessarily in that order). I spent the first few weeks separated from Heidi (Rottweiler) and Nemo (Jack Russell Terrier) by a good set of metal bars. Heidi in particular seemed to think I looked or smelled like a nice steak. Thankfully, she’s gotten over that, and now we are certified besties.

As for the girlfriend… let’s just say that Mr. Carter is a hopeless romantic. On Friday, he talked a few hundred students into forming a giant human "I LOVE YOU," spelled out in an open field on campus. The plan was to fly his girlfriend, Marike, over the field in a small plane—and this was to celebrate their 3 MONTH ANNIVERSARY!!! The students showed up, but unfortunately there was a mechanical malfunction and the plane never got off the ground. I said, "look on the the bright side: would you rather be stuck on the ground, or flying in a plane with a mechanical malfunction?" Ironically, it’s not the first time I’ve watched my roommate fall head over heels for a girl named Marike (or Marika, same pronunciation). In fact, Felix is getting married any day now—CONGRATULATIONS BIZZLE!

Adrian’s place is just a 10-minute walk to Campus Square, a good-sized shopping hub for students and local residents. Another 10 minutes walking will get you to Melville, where 7th Street is home to a nice selection of restaurants, bars, book stores and other shops. Plus, there's some nice street art along the way, courtesy of Pressure Control Projects.

The Office for Community Engagement is located on the Doornfontein Campus, near the Central Business District. I’ve joined a small team at OCE, which works side by side with the Alumni and Development Offices. My boss is Ernestine Meyer-Adams, who actually set me up with everything I'm doing here in Jozi (thank you for the intro, Emmet Carson!). On top of putting me to work at UJ, Ernestine's husband, Grant, is one of the coaches at Wits F.C. Juniors.

Our main project in OCE this month has been coordinating a University-wide initiative in the spirit of Mandela Day. “Mandela Day is an annual celebration of Nelson Mandela’s life and a global call to action for people to recognize their individual ability to make an imprint and change the world around them… The Mandela Day campaign message is simple: Nelson Mandela has given 67 years of his life fighting for the rights of humanity. All we are asking is that everyone gives 67 minutes of their time, whether it’s supporting your chosen charity or serving your local community.”

Our office has designed five community projects based around the Millennium Development Goals, and we have been pushing to get all students, faculty, and staff involved. Although Mandela Day is July 18, on Madiba’s 92nd birthday, our projects last from July 19 – 30, with the hope of building on today’s momentum. Apart from helping with the overall coordination of the initiative, my role has been to design and spearhead the Environmental Sustainability Project. So far, we’ve got almost 200 people signed up to participate in a City Clean Up Day on Friday, July 30.

We put a lot of work in this week going to the different UJ Campuses and meeting with members of each Student Representative Council. Their support has been, and will be, the make-or-break factor in the success of these projects. It was great finally see the Soweto campus, since I live on APK and work at DFC. Actually, it felt a lot like being at SF State—only this time I was passing out flyers for Mandela Day instead of for a Collectiv event.

After a few hours of work on the Soweto Campus we headed to a meeting with the local branch of the Red Cross. As part of the Strategic Partnerships Division, the Office for Community Engagement works to build bridges with organizations throughout the region, country and world. Which brings me to the end of this post! The reason why I’m posting on Sunday instead of Monday this week is because at midnight tonight I will be piling into a van for a whole new UJ adventure. I will be away from my computer for the entire week, but I promise, I’ll get you all caught up in my next post!

Pura Vida...

When I was a youngster I was a HUGE fan of Garfield. Not the bootleg TV cartoon, but the original comic strips. I collected the anthology books religiously, and at one point I had the first twenty or thirty editions. Any true Garfield lover remembers how he felt about Mondays, basically protesting life every seven days by refusing to do virtually anything (except eat). Well, today has to be the toughest Monday ever—if not in world history, then at least in the history of South Africa. As the country struggles to adjust to life on the first day of the year 1 A.C. (After the Cup), I find myself just trying to stay busy. Maybe if I spend enough time writing this entry I won’t notice that there is no game on tonight…

But for all the gloom and doom, the last week of the World Cup was a great one for me. On Thursday I got an inside look at African Romance Diamonds in Sandton. African Romance is unique in that it is a completely vertically integrated company, operating its own South African mining, cutting, polishing, wholesaling, and retailing operations. I was invited to see the operation by Michael, who is the first cousin of Sonja Sebotsa, my earlier host in Johannesburg.

On Saturday morning I attended a coaches' clinic for the Witz F.C. Juniors staff. The session was run by coaches from Witwatersrand University and BIDVest Wits FC, dealing with everything ranging from the philosophy of the club to the fundamentals of running effective practices. The technical coaching aspects were concepts covered in different licensing courses that I’ve attended. But, it was helpful because when hearing certain themes, ideas or practices being repeated by different coaches on different continents, it reinforces their value. In contrast, it also helps to get a sense of what aspects of my training are more “American” or less universal. As a coach who has been launching a club back home (Burners F.C.), this was a great opportunity for me. Most importantly, it was helpful for me to observe the top-down approach of the folks that were trying to create consistency and quality on a club-wide level, across several teams and different age groups.

Like any good coaches training, the clinic included an on-field session. Being the youngest one there, I was often nominated to be the guinea pig. I didn’t mind during the small-sided scrimmage, but I was less excited when it came time to demonstrate FIFA’s recommended excersises to build core strength. I did OK, but I'm sure that Mara would recommend a solid Pilates regimen to get my act together.

That night Eli and I headed to Soweto to check out the much-maligned third place game. In my opinion, the consolation match separates the futbol fanáticos from the World Cup groupies. True soccer addicts—like Jelly and I—appreciate another 90 minutes of world-class play. Uruguay and Germany delivered, and we enjoyed an exciting match over grilled “Moja Chicken” at Roots Restaurant.

When I got home that night I sat down at the computer to check my email and enjoy a little music before bed. When my phone rang I almost didn’t answer the unrecognized number—but I did, THANK THE LAWDY LAWD! On the other end of the line was my new favorite person, Dr. Sue Cook from Royal Bafokeng, calling to invite me to Match 64 between Spain and Holland! Thank you Schyleen! Thank you Sue! Thank you Kgosi Leruo, for going so far out of your way to hook me up!

When I stepped off the bus the next evening in front of Soccer City I was nearly in tears, about 3 millimeters away from having a complete breakdown right in the parking lot. Yes, it’s that serious. It would have been an amazing experience on any continent, but the site of the newly rebuilt 90,000-plus capacity stadium was something ridiculous. My first thought was the alien craft from Independence Day, hovering over the world’s major cities. As far as global football is concerned, Soccer City is truly the Mother Ship. By the time I made it to the Royal Bafokeng Suite, I just had to take a seat, sip a Sprite, and try to relax myself. The pregame ceremony made the Super Bowl Half Time shenanigans look like a school talent show. Just before the teams took the field to warm up, Madiba made a surprise appearance, bringing everyone in the crowd to their feet in salute. I am convinced that he is the most loved human being on earth, and I felt lucky to be in a stadium full of people cheering him on for the second time in my life (see earlier post).

The game was ugly at times, thanks to the Dutch. But the better team—the one that actually played with some class—won, so I was happy. Now that the tournament is over my energy is focused on my responsibilities and projects here in the country. I have been working in the Office for Community Engagment at University of Johannesburg, so starting next week you’ll be hearing plenty more about that. Also, some of you were asking for some follow up on the Jelly connection, so stay tuned for that as well.

Pura Vida...

Almost exactly ten years ago I wrote letter to Georgetown University. I had recently been accepted to the School of Foreign Service, and in a matter of months I would be packing up my life and heading east to Washington D.C. for the next chapter of my life. Instead of just counting my blessings, I decided to go for the gusto, hoping to turn the proverbial inch into a yard. You see, I was an aspiring DJ, spending hours every day/night in intimate sessions with my record collection, honing my craft… a true room-rocker. My biggest fear about going to college was that my dorm room would not be big enough to accommodate my DJ equipment and vinyl collection. So I wrote a letter to the University, passionately detailing my status as a “special needs” student (i.e., my acute musical dependency), and requested any accommodation that might help me cope with the adjustment. In other words, “Hook a brotha up with as big a room as possible.” To ice the cake, I enclosed a copy of “Once Upon A Rhyme” by The Grouch with my letter, and hoped for the best.

When I arrived on campus that August, I found my room in the Village C East Building—it was the BIG one with its own handicapped-style bathroom, and a wide study desk, perfect for my equipment. Immediately, I began unpacking my stuff in the proper order—turntables, mixer, headphones then records. That way I could listen to music while I started unpacking my clothes (which I don’t think I finished doing until second semester).

After a few minutes with the music bumpin, a curly-headed young man crept into my room and starting fishing through my records. No “hi,” no “hello, how are you,” no “nice music, can I check it out?” He just went straight for the vinyl, as if it were public property, donated for the good of the entire incoming student body. I knew right away that we would be friends. Eli Jelly-Schapiro, of Montpelier, VT, turned out to be my next-door neighbor, and for the next year and a half we would be partners in crime: intramural basketball teammates… co-hosts of our on-campus radio show… intellectual sparring partners… roommates sophomore year.

When I left Georgetown Jelly was none-too-pleased with my decision, but we stayed in contact. He wrote some of the first articles for Collectiv.com, and I came back to visit D.C. every year until my old classmates graduated. Sadly, we eventually lost touch—no working emails or phone numbers for each other… truly, one of the only close friends that I have ever lost touch with, as many of you out there can verify. So, why on earth am I writing about this now? Take a guess…

On Tuesday, after perusing a few bookstores in Melville, I popped inside an Internet café to see if they could print some business cards for me. It was a long shot, but I had time to kill so I gave it a try. As I expected, they couldn’t help me, so I was headed for the door when I heard someone call my name. It was Jelly, posted in the corner of the café on his laptop! Who woulda thunk it!? So once again, the world proves itself to be a ridiculously small (and wonderful) place. Later that night we were catching up over dinner at the Melville Cafe. The next night I cooked him dinner, and yes, we've both come a long way since the days of of sneaking my Goerge Foreman Grill into the freshman dorms (note: open all windows, place towel under door, and bribe the RA with a piece of steak if it comes down to that).

Oh, yeah, a lot of other things happened this week. I got to work with the Witz. F.C. U13 SAFA team.

I found another bookstore with common sense (Books Galore, Mellville).

I observed the 1Goal educational soccer program for local kids, sponsored by the Qatar Football Association.

I played in a friendly match with the University of Johannesburg Men’s team against a group of random German guys.

And as always, I did a whole lot of reading. I haven’t shared my reading list for this trip yet, so here goes:

BOOKS I'VE READ SO FAR:

Uncle Tom’s Cabin - by Harriet Beecher Stowe (1852) Three Cups of Tea - by Greg Mortenson & David Oliver Relin (2006) Wuthering Heights - by Emily Brontë (1847) How Can Man Die Better: The Life of Robert Sobukwe - by Benjamin Pogrund (2006) Beauty and the Beast - by Jeanne-Marie Le Prince de Beaumont (1756) The Prince (De Principatibus) - by Niccolo Machiavelli (1832) The Last King of Scotland - by Giles Foden (1998) The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin - by Benjamin Franklin (1791)

And last but not least… I became an Uncle!!! Congratulations to Jaime and Bari, and welcome to the family, Gabriel Sudduth Williams… all 8lbs. 11oz and 22 inches of you!

See you soon little buddy, Uncle Drew

One of the best things about being in the World Cup host country is that you don’t even have to be at the stadium to feel the vibe. On Tuesday we headed to Vilakazi street in Soweto to watch Bafana Bafana take on France at a restaurant called Sakhumzi. The atmosphere there was incredible, and as always, the company was great. There’s nothing quite like being in a crowd of South Africans off all races, singing their national anthem and “Shosholoza” while the home team sends the French side packing! The trash-talking was only made sweeter by the fact that we were sitting with a French journalist who interviewed us throughout the game.

For reasons that I hope you understand, it is difficult for me to discuss the World Cup right now. But, I was lucky enough to go to two more games last week, so I will share a little bit about it. On Wednesday, the US came up huge in the last seconds of the match against Algeria to secure a spot in the knockout round against Ghana. You probably didn't see me on TV, but if you saw the HUGE U.S. flag unfurl in the crowd, then you know exactly where I was sitting.

Originally, I didn’t have tickets to the game against Ghana, but someone talked me into hitching a ride to Rustenburg with the hopes of getting tickets off someone outside the stadium. As it turned out, a little angel-birdie whispered something into Kgosi Leruo’s ear, and he blessed me with a ticket to the game. His Majesty Kgosi Leruo T. Molotlegi is the 36th King of the Royal Bafokeng Nation. While I still have not met Kgosi, I look forward to being his guest in July and August while I’m working with the Royal Bafokeng Soccer program.

To call my ticket just a “ticket” is a little bit of an understatement. I never knew there was such a thing as “VVIP” (Very, Very Important Person?). I ended up sitting right at mid-field in the third row, right in front of Bill Clinton, Mick Jagger, Katie Couric and Wolf Blitzer. I’m not sure how Wolf Blitzer got on the list, but I appreciated his goal celebration, so I didn’t mind him being there. The game was amazing even though we came up short. I could spend a whole blog entry analyzing the players and coaching, but I’ll spare you that—the world has enough Monday morning quarterbacks. Now that the U.S. is out, I'm supporting Ghana all the way for two reasons. The obvious reason is that it would be awesome if an African took the trophy for the first time in history. Secondly, the further Ghana goes, the better the U.S. looks after losing to them

But enough about the World Cup—let’s talk about the smaller side of football. This week I finally got to start coaching out here in Johannesburg. My hosts have been the University of Johannesburg and the Witz University Football Club. Don’t get it confused, UJ and The University of the Witwatersrand are two completely separate institutions, with very different histories. I’m staying on the UJ campus with Adrian Carter, the Deputy Director of the Sports Department. Unfortunately, the UJ students are off on break, so I will have to wait until later in my stay to work with them.

On Thursday morning I was invited to the township of Alexandra (known as “Alex”) to run a clinic there. The local team, Black Diamonds F.C., is headed by Coach Tsheko, one of those rare men that seem to chase a vision, no matter what the obstacles. I arrived in Alex to find dozens of hungry players ranging in age from 8 to 23 years old, eager to be coached. Judging from the way they mobbed me when we broke out the equipment, I figured that they didn’t really believe me when I said we had enough balls for everyone. I’m sure you’ve all heard the stories about kids around the world playing soccer on dirt with “balls” made of bunched up plastic bags and no shoes, so I’ll spare you the drama. This was more like broken concrete with bits of glass—it was hard to swallow, but beautiful to watch the resilience of the kids. Using curriculum from our Jack London Youth Soccer League Academy, I ran a two-hour technical session, focusing on one-touch passing. I even learned how to say “wall” in Xhosa (I think it was Xhosa, but there are at least three languages spoken in Alex alone!).

Later that night I ran a technical training session on shielding and tackling for the Witz F.C. U10 team. Talk about feeling right at home! If I closed my eyes I could have been back in Oakland, CA at Astro Park with the Burners. I guess knuckleheads are knuckleheads, no matter what country you’re in. But seriously, the boys can play!

On Saturday I got to work with the SAFA Under 15 team. Using curriculum from the NSCAA National Diploma Course and the U.S. Soccer National Youth License, I ran a tactical attacking session with an emphasis on penetration. It is always interesting to work with playe off different ages, at different developmental levels. For this session, I put on my mean-face and got down and dirty. That means getting called out when you mess up, push-ups when you let in goals, and wind sprints at the end of practice. And just to clarify, sprints are a reward, not a punishment!

Through all this, my heart has been back at home with my family, especially my Dad. Earlier this week my Uncle Kieth passed away after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just a few weeks ago. I will definitely miss and love him forever. I can’t imagine Thanksgiving dinner without him. His passing came too soon, and it is just another reminder to all of us to squeeze the juice out of life while you can. The “Bucket List” is an entertaining movie, but it's not a good strategy for finding happiness. In honor of my Uncle Keith, I ask all of you to do something you’ve always wanted to—not before you die, not when you retire, not when you have time, and not next year. Today, please. Buy that plane ticket, call that estranged relative, or donate that money. Remember, you cannot “save” time, you can only spend it.

Pura Vida

I spent my first full week in Johannesburg in the care of Sonja Sebotsa and family. On Wednesday I got to tag along with Sonja, her brother, and her mother on an interesting trip to the township of Westbury. Sonja’s mother, Sophia Williams-de Bruyn, was a founding member of the South African Congress of Trade Unions, an organizer with the Coloured People’s Congress, and a veteran leader of the anti-apartheid struggle and women’s movement in South Africa. She is currently an ANC provincial legislator for the constituency that includes Westbury and the surrounding areas. Westbury, the coloured township where Steven Peinaar grew up, has a reputation for being one of the toughest corners of Johannesburg. We visited a property next to Peinaar’s old primary school that is currently owned by the Anglican diocese, but has fallen into disrepair. The site is being considered for various projects, including a home for children. As a youth programming aficionado, it was amazing to stand in the space and appreciate its potential. With the right energy (and money!) the project could change the lives of a lot of kids, while having a positive impact on the surrounding neighborhood.

After leaving Westbury, we stopped by the Roodepoort Parliament Constituency Office. Then they took me on a tour of Kathrada Park, which just may be the illest case of urban poverty I have ever witnessed up close. Trust me, there is nothing like this, ANYWHERE in the United States. Named after Ahmed “Kathy” Kathrada, this neighborhood is the product of RDP, the ANC’s Reconstruction and Development Programme. Among other things, RDP sought to relocate millions of South Africans to “proper” housing. Unfortunately, squatters and improvised housing still permeate Kathrada Park, literally springing up in the open spaces between the small government-built RDP homes. Mrs. Williams-de Bruyn explained the challenges of distributing the country’s limited resources when it is almost impossible to ensure that they will have the proper impact. For example, she pointed out that some families apply for government housing, only to turn around and sell their structures once they get them. What struck me most was the extreme differences between one plot of land and the next, despite being built at the same time to the same specifications. These differences were clearly the result of how well people took care of their property, and whether or not they took pride in, or ownership of what little they had. It reminded me of the never-ending debate about the roles of parent involvement versus funding in public education.

On Thursday I took a stroll around Parkview, the Johannesburg suburb where the Sebotsa family lives. If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you know I could spend a whole day in a used bookstore, especially if they know a good book when they see one!

That night I headed to Bulldogs Pub to watch the Mexico vs. France match on the big screen with a friend that I meet during my first week in Cape Town. Tim, a recent graduate of the University of Connecticut, studied abroad in South Africa, so he’s been a good person to roll with. I must say, I've thoroughly enjoyed watching the French team collapse under the weight of their own pride. Especially when they’re demise comes at the hands of CONCACAF and CONMEBOL teams! I never thought I would find myself cheering for Cuauhtémoc Blanco, but he's earned my respect after his stint in the MLS. After the game, I headed over to Circle Bar with a group of folks that were staying with Tim at a local hostel. There was nothing special about the bar, but it was great to be with folks from all corners of the world… England, Mexico, Honduras, Slovenia, South Africa… and Texas!

Friday was game time again, so I headed to Ellis Park Stadium to watch the second U.S. match, this time against Slovenia. My company was Xathisa Somana, Sonja’s cousin.What an amazing game! The low-point was sitting right in front of two American fans that must have been directly related to Barney Gumble. The high point was definitely Landon Donovan’s goal (top 5 of the tournament!), even if it was followed by a shower of beer, sprayed courtesy of the Gumble brothers. As a ref, coach or player, you’ll never catch me blaming the referee for the outcome of a match… but, c'mon Koman!!! Absolute robbery! With all due respect to Mansu Musa, I'm just not feeling Mali right now. It was still the most exciting match I’ve ever watched in person. Better than Brasil vs Cameroon at Stanford in the 1994 World Cup! Better than Barcelona vs Valencia in the Camp Nou!

On Saturday I got settled in on the University of Johannesburg campus, where I’ll be staying for the next two weeks. I met with some the coaches of Wits University F.C. and the South African Football Association (SAFA) and watched their U14/U15 teams play a few matches. I’m looking forward to training some of their teams while I’m here, and swapping knowledge with their coaches. On Sunday I had the privilege of observing the Dutch National team’s training session at Wits University. Of course I saw a couple things that I plan on stealing and bringing home to the budding stars of the Burners Football Club!

As my second week in South Africa began, I could feel the excitement mounting on every corner and in every building. Two days before the first game there was a country-wide call to action. Everyone was asked to don their Bafana Bafana gear, grab their vuvuzela, and take to the streets at midday, when the sun was highest in the sky. That was almost a week ago, and the horns literally have not stopped sounding since then, with one exception (I’ll get to that later).

On the eve of kick-off day, I decided to check out Kirstenbosch National Botanical Gardens. Just before I left California, a friend told me that if I only did one thing in Cape Town, this had to be it. That’s saying a lot, so I jumped a cab to see one of South Africa’s six World Heritage Sites. Like Robben Island, also a World Heritage Site, Kirstenbosch is something to be seen and experienced, not described. This is the kind of place where you spend the day when you’ve reached the end of your rope and you feel like you just might cut the next person that looks at you funny. Thankfully, I am nowhere near that point, but I still found the park to be among the most peaceful places I’ve visited in my life… a true woosah moment. I do wish I could have seen the park during South Africa’s spring or summer, when it’s a little warmer and more colorful. After more than an hour walking the endless crisscrossing paths, over bridges and along creeks, I found myself a nice quiet place to sit down with my book for a while before heading back to the city.

That night I had my first experience with Kurdish cuisine, which was not-surprisingly tasty. After dinner, I stepped out into the streets just in time to catch the Cape Town World Cup Kick-Off Parade. I can’t think of ever being a part of a bigger crowd in the streets… maybe the 2004 protest in New York City to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the invasion of Iraq. The Cape Town Parade reminded me of what it felt like to be in the streets of Downtown Oakland on November 9, 2008, except on the scale of Carnival in Rio De Janeiro.

After enjoying the first days of the tournament on TV in Cape Town, I headed north to get a taste of the action in-person. At the newly rebuilt Cape Town International Airport I had a chance to use my two-word Japanese vocabulary when I spotted Yuichi Nishimura and the FIFA Referee Crew from the previous day’s match between France and Uruguay. They were visibly confused and surprised when I asked to take a picture with them, but I explained that I, too, was a referee, and yes, I did think they were cool.

I mentioned earlier in this post that there has been one break in the constant horn drone since Wednesday. That was when we were about to take off, and the flight attendant announced that the blowing of vuvuzelas was not permitted while on-board the airplane.

After a two-hour flight north to Johannesburg, I rented a car at the airport, and prepared for yet another first. This time, it was driving on the “wrong” side of the road and on the “wrong” side of the car. Fortunately, my first exposure to driving manual transmission was as a youngster, when Ayana (my first piano teacher) use to let me help her shift gears from the passenger seat. Actually, shifting with my left hand was surprisingly comfortable… navigating the South African “highway” system was a little more challenging. After a brief pit stop at the home of my (amazing) hosts in Johannesburg, I hit the road for the two-hour drive to Royal Bafokeng Stadium north of Rustenburg.

Rocking my “Mr. President” Obama t-shirt, and my U.S. Soccer Supporters Club “Founding Fan” Scarf, I got to my seat just as the players were taking the field. I am now officially a member of “Uncle Sam’s Army,” the seating section reserved for the die-hard U.S. fans. Honestly, I’ve been to enough Raiders games and sat close enough to The Black Hole to know that Uncle Sam’s Army is relatively tame as far as “die-hards” go. Still, there was no place I would have rather sat, and I enjoyed our amateur hooliganism—especially the vulgar songs about the Queen of England. As for the game, Clint Dempsey’s goal wasn’t the prettiest, but our boys played well and I’ll take the point against England any day. I won’t harp on the logistical nightmares of getting home after the game. I’ll just say that two hours after the final whistle blew, I had only made it 6 kilometers from the stadium.

On Sunday, my first proper day in Johannesburg, Sonja and Moiketsi (my hosts) showed me around some of the city. We had a tasty outdoor lunch at Tasha’s, at Melrose Arch. Hundreds of international tourists and locals gathered on the plaza to enjoy their meals while watching the afternoon matches on a massive jumbotron screen. In between the two matches, a musical group from Rwanda gave a concert that included everything from traditional music to Hip Hop

We wrapped up the weekend with a Sunday evening barbecue at the home of Moiketsi and Sonja’s friends. As always, Germany kicked off their tournament by absolutely mollywopping their opponent. The game was entertaining. The food was delicious. The company was excellent. I slept like a rock.

It's been 3 months since my last post to this blog, but let the sabbatical continue! My time back home in between trips was well-spent, visiting friends and family and taking care of some business. But, as you can imagine, part of me was always counting the days until this trip. In reality, I've been counting the days for the last few years, ever since I pledged to make it to South Africa for the World Cup. And now, here I am, and the first week has been sweet!

MONDAY/TUESDAY:

Of course, I saved packing until the very last minute, but that's just how I roll. It wasn't too hard since all my worldly possessions have been confined to my dad's guest bedroom for the last 3 months (except for storage). As for traveling, I'm getting kinda good at this, so the three flights it took to reach Cape Town couldn't phase me.

WEDNESDAY:

After about 23 hours of flying, a few more sleeping in airports, and a 9-hour time change, I arrived at Cape Town Airport. Call me sentimental, but it was pretty special to step off the plane onto the tarmac and breathe African air for the first time in my life. After getting to the apartment on the Waterfront where I'm staying, I went out on my first exploration walk. My first mission was to buy a camera. Sadly, I'm gonna pull this trip off without an iPhone since my fairy godmother reclaimed hers after my last trip. After grabbing a camera and a few groceries, I headed back to the apartment and passed out for the rest of the day/night.

THURSDAY:

One of the first things that jumped out at me as I walked around downtown Cape Town the next day was the incredible amount of construction that the city is undergoing. I had heard stories that "things weren't ready," but it's a whole different story to see it in person. It seems like every other sidewalk is being repaved or replanted with trees. It reminds me of Oakland right after the Reinvestment Act was passed. Every morning I would pass a group of 20 workers milling about a different hole in the ground (19 of them holding a sign, and 1 actually digging). I will say that the workers here look a little more busy than at home, but it does make me wonder/worry how much money is being spent in the name of beautification.

At one point I spotted a huge crowd of people a few blocks away. Assuming it was some kind of fan fest event, I headed over to check it out. Actually, I ended up walking into a thousand-person-strong pro-Palestine / anti-Israel rally. The rally was in response to the Israel Defense Force's intervention / attack on the aid boat headed to Gaza last week.

Back home in the Bay Area, there is no shortage of people who sympathize with the Palestinian cause. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they start selling keffiyehs at The Gap. Since 2003, when I first marched against the then-pending U.S. invasion of Iraq, I have been a part of countless rallies sympathetic to the Palestinian cause. As an American media consumer, I've also watched endless hours of footage of Arabs and Muslims across the world marching for Palestine and/or against Israel. Watching this rally in person was distinctly different from the experiences I was used to. Unlike the rallies at home, this one was full of real live Arabs and Muslims, not pesto-and-sprout eating Californians. On the other hand, the event felt so much safer in person than it would have looked after CNN or Fox News got its hands on it.

In 1999 I spent a summer with a Palestinian-American roommate who had never seen his home, and thought he never would, due to the circumstances on the ground. Since then, I've come to see the system in Israel as an apartheid state. It was powerful to see the same direct parallels being drawn by South Africans, as they called on their government to oppose the Israeli action. Don't get me wrong: I did not "join" the march, I was a spectator. While I'm sympathetic to the Palestinian struggle, and agreed with much of what I saw and heard, I can't associate myself with some of the ideas and signs that were a part of the march (for example, see below).

The march culminated in front of the Parliament building, where the crowd massed and cheered under the shadow of a massive statue of Louis Botha... ironic?

After the march, I headed around the corner, and stumbled across the Slave Lodge Museum. The entrance was only a couple bucks, so I decided to check it out. It ended up being so interesting that I stayed for a couple hours, went and had lunch, then came back for a few more hours. The Museum is housed in the building where the first slaves were brought to the Cape from across Africa and the around the world. There was an exhibit on the history slavery on the Cape, an exhibit on the life of Nelson Mandela, as well as a collection of Mandela political cartoons by Zapiro.

FRIDAY:

On Friday morning I boarded a ferry to visit the infamous Robben Island. There's not much I want to tell about the Alcatraz of South Africa—it's really something to be experienced in person. One highlight for me was being toured around the island by Sparks, a.k.a #5683. In 1983, at age 17, Sparks was arrested on charges of terrorism for being a member of Umkhonto we Sizwe, the military arm of the African National Congress. He spent 7 years on Robben Island with no shoes, in a cell shared by 60 political prisoners. Before leaving the island, I stopped by the gift shop and bought a copy of the Robert Sobukwe's biography, which I'm looking forward to reading this week.

Another highlight of my visit to Robben Island was connecting with a handful of Americans. After we got off the boat, we headed to a pub to catch the U.S. put the smack down on Australia in a pre-cup friendly match. As the day turned into evening, our group kept growing until we were almost ten-strong. For the finale we headed to the Waiting Room, a club / lounge on Long Street, Cape Town's main drags. It was good time all-around, especially since Miss H let me rock the turntables for little bit!

I'd like to say that I'm just a little superstitious about the number 13, but I have to be honest. I think the real reason why it's taken me an extra week to do this post is that I just didn't want to admit that my trip was really over. You know what they say: "de Nile ain't just a river in Egypt." But here I am, and I'm happy to be home. Before I get into all that, I do want to share a few things about my last week on Guam.

On Saturday I had my "going away party" at The Venue. Of all the good spots on the island to check out live music or just grab a drink during Happy Hour, this was my first and last favorite. Vicky's mom hooked up the catering (much love!), and a lot of good peoples came out to say peace and just enjoy the night. It was an added bonus to be having my party upstairs in the The Loft while my favorite local band was playing downstairs. If you've been following this blog since December, you know I have love for the live music scene on Guam. But if you know me beyond this blog, you know that I'm not the one to blow smoke for the sake of another musician's ego. That being said, Rebel Lion is legit. There were legit when I first checked them at the Guam Music Festival, and they're legit every week at The Venue. So when we packed up the party in The Loft around 1am, I was happy to relax and enjoy one last show with the folks for a few more hours downstairs.

I think I was halfway through my last Stella when my friend Toby talked me into joining him for a little adventure the next day. Maybe I should have been skeptical, based on his vague answers when I asked what exactly the adventure would entail. But I trust Toby, and we hadn't really spent quality time since I met him on our trip to Fiji in January. All I knew was that it would involve running, and that I should bring water and a long-sleeved shirt. I figured I would go out with a bang on my last weekend on-island, so I agreed to meet him at the rendezvous point the next day.

Damn, I'm glad I did. I have now been initiated into the wild and beautiful world of "hashing." For those who aren't familiar (I wasn't until two weekends ago), this kind of hashing has nothing do to with corned beef or Indian herbs. In a nutshell, a "hash" is like Survivor, meets an Easter egg hunt, meets summer camp, meets a college keg party. I gave a lot of thought to how I would describe this experience on my blog, but part of me always knew I would never even try. So at this point, all I will say is, you had to be there. It's definitely not for everyone, but for me, it was magic. Thank you Toby.

My last Sunday on Guam was set aside officially for family time. That's what brought me to Guam, so that's how I wanted to go out. Vicky's parents prepared the feast—do you see a trend here? Crab... steak... and other stuff that can't remember because of the crab and steak. Once "the itis"* set in, I succumbed to a short food coma on the couch.

Monday, March 8th, was officially the longest day of my life. At 2:00 am we headed to the airport. At 4:00 am I boarded my flight for the first leg of my journey back home. Four hours later I landed in Tokyo, but due to the time change, it wasn't 8:00 am, it was only 7:00 am. After a 9-hour layover in Narita Airport (God Bless Expedia.com) I boarded a 4:00 pm plane for California. Here's the kicker... after 9-hour flight I landed in Los Angeles at 9:00 am... ON MONDAY!!! My two hour layover in LAX turned into a four-hour layover, "due to bad weather in San Francisco," which could only mean that American Airlines just fucked something up. But at that point, I didn't really know what day it was (even though it was still Monday), so a few more hours was no big deal.

At the beginning of this post I mentioned that I was in denial about my trip ending, but that I'm happy to be home, so now let me explain a little more. I still haven't accepted that I won't be going to the beach this week (at least not without a wetsuit). And I haven't accepted that I'll have to make my own damn finadine for the foreseeable future. And after a lifetime of being fortunate to travel a lot, this is the first time that I've returned to the Bay Area without having that visceral, video game-like "power-up" feeling. No, I'm not exactly doing cartwheels right now.

But, what I can really appreciate is that my "home" is not a place. It's not the apartment I moved out of before my trip. It's not the house or houses where I grew up. For me, my home is only one thing... the people that I call family. In that sense, this trip has only made my home bigger and more beautiful. I felt that every time someone welcomed me at their dinner table or offered me their couch. I felt that when I met The Notorious D.A.D. at baggage claim at SFO on Monday. On that note, I'll wrap up this thirteenth post by saying the only appropriate thing I can think of. Thank you all!!!

PS: This is not the end of "Live From Tomorrow." Next stop, Johannesburg, South Africa... so, in the tradition of The Hash... "On-On!"

*"The Itis" is a chronic, debilitating condition, prevalent in Oakland, California, but also found in humans throughout the world. Symptoms include temporary lack of motivation, the need to take a power-nap, and a willingness to de-prioritize any previously-important obligations. Different cultures have dealt with this age-old condition in different ways. While Puritans often attributed the itis to original sin, many Latin American societies have adopted the siesta as a way to deal with this mysterious force of nature.

Bibliography of My Trip (updated on 3/13/10)> Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human - by Richard Wrangham (2009)> Angels & Demons - by Dan Brown (2000)> Last Words: A Memoir - by George Carlin (2009)> Say You're One of Them - by Uwem Akpan (2008)> Long Walk to Freedom - by Nelson Mandela (1994)> The Da Vinci Code - by Dan Brown (2003)> Guns, Germs & Steel: The Fates of Human Societies - by Jared Diamond (1997)> Foundation & Earth - by Isaac Asimov (1986)> Living Poor: A Peace Corps Chronicle - by Moritz Thomsen (1969)> The Alchemist - by Paulo Coelho (1988)> Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting by in America - by Barbara Ehrenreich (2001)> Don Quixóte - by Miguel de Cervantes (1605/1615)> Waiting for Snow in Havana: Confessions of a Cuban Boy - by Carlos Eire (2003)> The Bluest Eye - by Toni Morrison (1970)> Before Night Falls - by Reinaldo Arenas (1992)> Moby Dick - by Herman Melville (1851)> Angela's Ashes - by Frank McCourt (1996)> Cross Country - James Patterson (2008)

This week was pretty basic in my personal life, but a few things going on made me want to write about the ocean.

I didn't include "The Beach" in last week's list of "5 Things I Missed About Guam," only because I'd been in New Zealand, which has its fair share of beautiful bluffs and shores. All the same, I did miss Guam's beaches, and I was lucky to visit two new ones this week. It started on Monday with a trip to Tanguisson Beach. After a month in the not-so-tropical waters on New Zealand, it was nice to enjoy the warm water without having to piss myself.

On Saturday I visited Rotidian, which is now officially my favorite beach on Guam. Unfortunately, I forgot my book, so I was forced to just lounge, drink Coronas, go for a run, and enjoy the surf. Short of being in New Orleans circa August 2005, there is no better way to appreciate the power of water than to step into the ocean. This is especially true when there's a strong undertow or current, like there was at Rotidian that day. If I picked the right spot, I could actually swim in place, using the current as an aquatic treadmill. But that was a little much after a beer and a run, so I went retro and decided to play one of my all-time favorite games from childhood... Jello.

Many of you have played this game as kid on a long car trip—it's simple. You just let your body go limp, and "accidentally" smash the brother/sister/cousin sitting next to you every time the car takes a turn. Well, when we were little, my brothers and I used to play a beach version of this game in the summer. Basically, you lie down on the edge of the ocean, where there's almost enough water to cover your body, then you go limp and let nature do its thing. It's not as violent as the road-trip version of the game, but there is something sublime about just "going with the flow." You may end up a hundred yards down the beach; or, you may end up getting sucked in and body-slammed into a mass of coral.

That brings me to the not-so-fun side of water. My prayers go out to the people of Western Europe that got slammed this week in the storms and flooding. My thoughts are also with the people of Chile as they try to put their lives and country back together. I was in Hawaii in 2004 when the Indian Ocean Tsunami wrecked Indonesia. This time, I found myself in the middle of a Pacific region-wide tsunami warning, resulting from the 8.8 earthquake in South America. I fell asleep on Saturday night to the sounds of CNN predicting that a wave would probably hit Guam around 1pm the next day. The scariest part was the wait, and not knowing what the next day would bring. I had not had that exact feeling since I fell asleep on Sunday October 20, 1991. Thankfully, the tsunami warning was cancelled, and the only fallout for me was a nixed boat trip to go check out the local dolphins.

A big part of the reason why my mind has been on the ocean is that I'm thirty pages shy of finishing Moby Dick. I felt a sad irony when I read about Tilikum, the orca, making the third human kill of his career in captivity. There's been a strong outcry from the animal rights community, and a lot of defensive responses from Sea World and the rest of the animal entertainment industry. Ultimately, reading Herman Melville's classic makes me appreciate how ridiculous it is to argue that it makes sense to capture a 12,000 pound whale and keep him in a pool. All that being said, rest in peace to Dawn Brancheau.

So those are my thoughts on water, the power of the ocean, and how untamable it really is. Signing off until next week.

Pura Vida,Drew

I'm back "home" on Guam after a month away from the island. I thought I'd change up the format a little for this post, so here goes my "5 Things I Missed About Guahan" list, in no particular order.

5. GUAM FISHERMEN'S CO-OPLocated on the water next to Chamorro Village. Where else can you get sushi this fresh, and this tasty at this price? This is what 5 dollars worth looks like:

4. THE VENUEJust a few blocks away from home, and also from my favorite food spot (see #5) is my favorite drank spot. The Venue almost always has a live band playing downstairs, with a DJ in the upstairs room a few nights a week. I'm looking forward to having my going away party there next Friday.

3. WE ARE GUAHANThe movement's been moving since I've been gone. Just over a week ago, the Governor introduced an Executive Order to officially change the the name of the island (back) to Guahan, which means "What We Have." On Tuesday we attended U.S. Congresswoman Madeline Bordallo's annual address to the island's Congress. This week was also the deadline for public comment on the military buildup, so We Are Guahan was present in full effect at the address. Now that the deadline has passed, the focus in on getting Obama to speak with the community, not just "on-base," when he visits next month. On Sunday I checked out a campaign party/rally on the beach for gubernatorial candidate, Carl Gutierrez, to round out my week in politics. Mr. Gutierrez wrapped up his speech by saying that he was unequivocally in favor of the military build-up, and it seemed to me that most of the crowd was also. It was a little weird when the band that came on after the speech started of their set by covering John Mayer's "Waiting on the World to Change," and then followed up with "Zombies" by The Cranberries. I was catching mixed messages, but as always, I enjoyed the music and the free hot dogs and beer.

2. Vicky and the FolksThe Chamorro family love has been good to me! The Leon Guerreros are still putting up with me with a smile! The homies are ridiculous, and this week was no exception. Ronnie's birthday dinner was a good time, even when it turned into a roast. Saturday was Hush Masquerade which turned out to be the best party party that I've been to on Guam. Live House band (as in house music, not as in the same tired ass musicians every week); DJ's who still play music from California, and a finale performance from Jovan the Oddchild and Million Billion. Melvin (aka Million Billion) is one of the handful of folks on-island that I had met before I got here; but, I hadn't seen him perform since we met in Hawaii (2006?), so that was cool.

1. The Sunsets

Last week started with Super Bowl Monday... yes, I said Super Bowl Monday. Remember, this blog is called "Live From Tomorrow." I had a few hours to kill during the day while my friend was recording the game for later viewing, so I strolled down to Courtney Place in downtown Wellington to do a little book shopping. I had spent the previous two weeks laboring through Don Quixote, which I had been meaning to read for a long time. The first 50 pages were hilarious; unfortunately, the book is just over a thousand pages. Let's just say if someone tells you to read it, don't. I guess some books are just a lot more important than they are good. Needless to say, I was looking forward to redeeming myself with a better choice, so I took my sweet time in the aisles of Arty Bee's Books. You know it's a good bookstore when they have three copies of Cane River and two copies of Red River.

After a couple of hours of shopping, I headed over to the folks' spot for the big game. The weekend before I was watching the Rugby 7's final, so it was nice to be the one answering all the questions about the rules of the game for a change. I will admit, I had to ask a kiwi friend which teams were actually playing in the Super Bowl, since I hadn't actually watched a football game since last November. We made it a point to keep it real... so we found a store that sold Miller, chips and dip, and some franks for the grill. It's amazing how short the Super Bowl is when you take out all the commercials.

After the game I headed back downtown to catch my friend, James Nokise, hosting a stand up comedy night. Then, just for old times sake, I joined in on a midnight guerrilla marketing run. Sometimes I miss the smell of wheat paste and glue, but truth be told, I'll be alright if I never pass out another event flyer for the rest of my life. There were two other highlights of the rest of the week in Wellington. One was watching a completely off-the-hook Korean movie called "Sympathy for Lady Vengeance." The second was catching a play called "Vernon God Little," directed by Willem Wassenaar and Sophie Roberts (one of my lovely hosts!).

Later that week, I hopped on a train to head back north to Auckland for my last weekend in the land of the Kiwis. The plan was to go out in style. Friday night was Summer Jam, so I headed to Rakino's to check it out. A few weeks back I had connected with local MC, Bella Shanti, when her group, Shine Forum, was opening up for dead prez. This time they invited me to join them on the mic for a freestyle session while DJ Manuel Bundy handled the turntables with true class and finesse. After the cypher, I stuck around for a while to catch The Brofessionals, a quality live soul band. The skills were tight and the energy was right, so stay tuned for a Sok and Shine Forum collaboration, in the works as we speak.

The next night was the true coup d'grace of my trip to New Zealand... Palais Du Chat. Technically, it was a house party, but to call it that would just be misleading. Just ask yourself, when is the last time you saw a live trapeze act at a "house party?" I didn't think so.

This function was complete... full service bar... poker table... cabaret... siamese twin dancers... walking on the ceiling! Tom Rodwell invited me again to join him on piano during his blues & calypso set. I love my keyboard, but there is nothing like playing a real upright. I also love Yoshi's and the like, but there's is nothing like live blues in a true party setting where people are dancing... almost on top of the piano. Honestly, it felt like a scene from Idlewild... a true Prohibition-era gitdown! After Tom's set, I joined DJ Barney on the turntables, and we kept the dance floor on meltdown until well after 3am. After a little slow-dancing, and a lot of trying to get people to leave, the night wound down to just four of us.

It was a beautiful night... I woke up the next morning, literally humming Jamiroquai's "Do You Know Where You're Coming From?" So that's where I'll leave you until next week... (click below)

"What I was humming to myself when I woke up the next morning"

Bibliography of My Trip (updated on 2/16/10)> Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human - by Richard Wrangham (2009)> Angels & Demons - by Dan Brown (2000)> Last Words: A Memoir - by George Carlin (2009)> Say You're One of Them - by Uwem Akpan (2008)> Long Walk to Freedom - by Nelson Mandela (1994)> The Da Vinci Code - by Dan Brown (2003)> Guns, Germs & Steel: The Fates of Human Societies - by Jared Diamond (1997)> Foundation & Earth - by Isaac Asimov (1986)> Living Poor: A Peace Corps Chronicle - by Moritz Thomsen (1969)> The Alchemist - by Paulo Coelho (1988)> Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting by in America - by Barbara Ehrenreich (2001)> Don Quixóte - by Miguel de Cervantes (1605/1615)> Waiting for Snow in Havana: Confessions of a Cuban Boy - by Carlos Eire (2003)

I may have come to Wellington for the craziest weekend of the year. After a 10-hour drive south from Auckland we pulled into New Zealand's capital city, parked the car, and sat down for a pair of beers and a basket of curly fries. Later that night we checked out a funny, funky play called Pirates vs Ninjas. The production is written, directed and produced by Anya Tate-Manning, who also happens to be one of my hosts in New Zealand. In fact, a lot of the friends I've made here are in the theater community, so it was cool to see them in action.

I had been warned the Wellington would be a little... well... "different" this weekend. It was very true, for three reasons.

First off, Saturday was Waitangi Day, a national holiday to commemorate the signing of the Treaty between the British Crown and the Maori chiefs. I mentioned before that the treaty is somewhat controversial, and I've learned a little bit more about that since I arrived in Wellington. The treaty was translated into Maori before it was signed in 1840. Years later, it came to light that the Maori translation was a little different than the English version. Not a big deal when you're dubbing over a japanimation flic, but this is the founding document of the country. It's kind of like of your version of the First Ammendment said, "Congress shall only make a few laws respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, of the press; or the right of the people peacebeably to assemble, and the petition the Government for a redress of greivances." You can see why Waitangi is a sensitive subject.

The second reason why this weekend was special is that Saturday was also the birthday of Robert Nesta Marley. I had plans to attend Wellington's One Love Festival, but I heard he was going to be a no-show so I backed out too. Instead, I had a more personal Marley Fest on my iPhone and at a friends BBQ, enjoying about three or four of his albums throughout the day. My personal favorite is still Kaya. The BBQ was also cool because I tried my very first Ostrich Sausage, which, to my surprise, does NOT taste like chicken.

The third, and wackiest, reason why this was a "different" weekend in Wellington was that the International Rugby Sevens World Series was in town. Rugby Sevens is a small-sided variation of the game with a lot more speed, and a few less scrums. Every year when the Sevens come to Wellington, the city turns into a two-day party. Imagine Halloween, the Bay to Breakers, Mardi Gras, and All-Star Weekend all rolled up into one, and then you're halfway there.

I didn't attend the actual games (most folks don't, they just get dressed up and go nuts), but I did get a little caught up in the fun. While cruising down the wharf, we came across a massive restaurnat with a few hundred folks hanging off the balcony, all facing the walkway. Hmmm... I wondered what they were all watching? So I went inside to investigate (and to have another beer).Apparently, the walkway out front was actually more of a runway... or a catwalk of shame?

I watched from above as groups in costume filed into the restaurant below. My friends and I were pretty juiced when Hulk Hogan, The Ultimate Warrior, and Macho Man Randy Savage showed up in full wrestling gear. It was all fun and games until we spotted a SECOND pair, also dressed as the Hulk and The Ultimate Warrior. Now, anyone that's seen a decent science fiction movie knows that this would have dangerous repercussions for the fabric of the Universe... apparently, the drunken wrestlers agreed. Next thing I new, the catwalk had transformed into a makeshift WWF* wrestling ring and the crowd went wild! These guys were actually pretty good... DDT's, pile drivers, the suplex press... even a few "chops" to the shoulders and chest (do those actually hurt?)

I won't give all the details on what I witnessed from the balcony, but most of it involved peer pressure and countdowns.

After that show, we headed to the other side of the wharf or a quick jump off the pier. No, we're not trying to look hard, it was just some cold ass water. From there, we headed to the BBQ, and then to a bar to catch the finals of the Sevens: Fiji vs Samoa. Based on my recent travels, I decided I was going for Fiji. Plus, the buddy I was with is Samoan, so I thought that would make it more interesting.

The next day was relatively calm and collected. I got to meet up with Toya, and old friend from high school who's been traveling in Australia and New Zealand for the last 5 months. We swapped war stories and book recommendations. We shared thoughts about how amazingly hospitable the world can be, and what it will be like to come home to The Bay. We ordered gumbo and fried chicken: the food was cool, but a little overrated, and not quite worthy of Nina's Blog. I think when I get home one of my first stops will be Lois the Pie Queen!

Pura Vida,Drew

*Any self-respecting 80's baby refuses to use the term WWE. No disrespect to the panda bears intended, but WWF will always stand for World Wrestling Federation.

Some of you may be thinking, "Drew, Dilla's been dead for a while now." Others of you are probably scratching your head, thinking "what is the title of this blog about?" The rest of you have already poured a glass of whiskey and toasted to the interesting and obscure memory of JD Salinger, one of the most influential (if not prolific) writers of the 20th century. At least, that's what we did to commemorate his passing last week.

Back when I was a teenager working on my first album (onescore minus eleven years ago), I also happened to be reading "Catcher in the Rye." I don't think I ever really told anyone, but part of the album is directly inspired by (stolen from?) this book. Here, take a listen and see if you can spot it now:

Interlude 1 (Track 4 from Elenchus: The Album)

Well, that's pretty much how I felt about playing the piano for a long time... not exactly shy, just real personal. It really wasn't until I started performing a lot in other capacities that I got real comfortable playing piano "for other people." I'm glad I finally did, because one of my favorite things about traveling abroad is jumping on board with local bands and trying to keep up. From busking in the street with teenagers in Salvador, Bahia, to jammin' with a Mexican reggae band, I've had my fair share of interesting impromptu performances... and they've been some of the most fun of my life.

Last week was no exception, as Tom Rodwell invited me to play a set with him and at the Wine Cellar. If you're not familiar with the music just check out my last post for a taste. Anyway, I was obviously juiced to jump on board, and the show was even more fun than I expected. Tom on guitar, Joe Pineapple on bass, Shadow on harmonica, and me on the old upright! About 3 minutes into the second set, the venue became a sweat box, but that did not stop the ladies on the dance floor (but at least one of them had to change outfits halfway through). Damn, calypso is fun!

So, now your probably thinking, "I still don't understand the title of this post." Well, now I'll finish explaining: last Thursday dead prez (dp) was here in Auckland "Small world!" That's pretty much all Stic.Man could say when I caught up with him coming out of sound check. My friend and Napalm Clique accomplice, Unity, just released some music featuring Stic, so it was cool to finally get it into his hands (I don't think he'd heard the track since the recording session). Here, have a listen:

"Let's Ride" - Unity feat Stic.Man (of dead prez)

The show was quality, and it reminded me of being back on Guam. See, New Zealand has its own (ugly) history of oppressed indigenous people, the Maori. We know what side of the argument dead prez is on wherever they go, so it was no surprise when they hung the Maori flag from the DJ booth. I couldn't help but notice the parallel to my Chamorro friends passing the "Reclaim Guahan" banner on stage during Ooklah the Moc's performance at the Guam Music Festival over a month ago.

Whenever I travel, one of my favorite sayings comes to mind: "same sh*t, different toilet." But here, its important to point out some key differences between the status of the indigenous populations on the three islands I've visited.

The government of Fiji is run by native Fijians (Melanesians), after a 2006 military coup ousted a predominantly Indo-Fijian government on the grounds of corruption. The Parliament building still remains empty (except for the maintenance crew that still cleans it everyday), the Constitution has been suspended, and no elections have been held. For this reason, Fiji was expelled from the Pacific Forum last year.

In contrast, the native Chamorros of Guam hold MANY local offices on Guam, but cannot be said to "control" their government. Ultimately, Guam is run by the U.S. Department of the Interior, whose leader (Secretary) is not elected by anyone! Even if you trust Obama, who appoints the Secretary of the Interior, I hope you recognize a slight conflict of interest here in light of the U.S. Government's historic and future plans for the island. To put it crudely, Ken Salazar of Colorado is currently the King of Guam!

The situation in New Zealand lies somewhere in between. Where Guam has the Organic Act, New Zealand has the Treaty of Waitangi of 1840, between the British Crown and the Maori chiefs of the North Island. While both documents are as controversial as they are condescending, the Maori have been able to leverage the Treaty in the last few decades to win many monetary and land concessions or settlements. I have a lot to learn about the subject, but my sense is that the Maori have been gaining ground while the Chamorros have been losing it. May the force be with We Are Guahan!

This week I will be traveling south to Wellington and and other surrounding areas. One place I will be visiting is the last "majority-Maori" area in New Zealand. As always, I look forward to getting my education live and in-person.

Pura Vida,Drew

I've made my way to Auckland, New Zealand, and what a beautiful city it is! It's obvious why they shoot so many movies here (Lord of the Rings, Avatar, King Kong, etc.) One my first night in town my friend and host, Colleen, took me to the Wine Cellar. I was treater to plum wine and some seriously good live blues, courtesy of Tom Rodwell (guitar) and Joe Pineapple (bass). The music was so good I just had to bootleg the concert on my iPhone. Here, have a listen:

Feelin' Good @ The Wine Cellar

I've had some top notch "tour guides" since the second I got here. So, when I'm not reading or watching the 1st season of "The Wire" (caution: may be more habit-forming than the Cheesesteak Shop), I'm off visiting another corner of this beautiful island.

Marine Reserve near Long Bay

Black Iron Sand Beaches of Waitakere

Looting Grandma's Garden at Orewa Beach

I knocked down three good books last week. Living Poor: A Peace Corps Chronicle, was recommended by Colleen. More than anything, it made want to stop B-S'ing and finish my application (I did one of the essays last week!).

I picked up Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting by in America back at Hafa Books, the used bookstore on Guam. It was interesting and damn funny, but it wasn't exactly breaking news. The saddest part about it was realizing how much the (U.S.) economy has tanked since the book was published in 2001, and that things have only gotten worse for most folks.

My friend, Jamie, recommended The Alchemist as a great short read that would be perfect for me on my journey... she was right. Paulo Coelho manages to squeeze a whole lot of food for thought into the story, but one parable stuck out as deep and relevant to my life right now. So, here goes:

A certain shopkeeper sent his son to learn about the secret of happiness from the wisest man in the world. The lad wandered through the desert for forty days, and finally came upon a beautiful castle, high atop a mountain. It was there that the wise man lived.

Rather than finding a saintly man, though, our hero, on entering the main room of the castle, saw a hive of activity: tradesmen came and went, people were conversing in the corners, a small orchestra was playing soft music, and there was a table covered with platters of the most delicious food in that part of the world. The wise man conversed with everyone, and the boy had to wait for two hours before it was his turn to be given the man's attention.

The wise man listened attentively to the boy's explanation of why he had come, but told him that he didn't have time just then to explain the secret of happiness. He suggested that the boy look around the palace and return in two hours.

'Meanwhile, I want to ask you to do something,' said the wise man, handing the boy a teaspoon that held two drops of oil. 'As you wander around, carry this spoon with you without allowing the oil to spill.'

The boy began climbing and descending the many stairways of the palace, keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. After two hours, he returned to the room where the wise man was.

'Well,' asked the wise man, 'did you see the Persian tapestries that are hanging in my dining hall? Did you see the garden that it took the master gardener ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library?'

The boy was embarrassed and confessed that he had observed nothing. His only concern had been not to spill the oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.

'Then go back and observe the marvels of my world,' said the wise man. 'You cannot trust a man if you don't know his house.'

Relieved, the boy picked up the spoon and returned to his exploration of the palace, this time observing all of the works of art on the ceilings and the walls. He saw the gardens, the mountains all around him, the beauty of the flowers, and the taste with which everything had been selected. Upon returning to the wise man, he related in detail everything he had seen.

'But where are the drops of oil I entrusted to you?' asked the wise man.

Looking down at the spoon he held, the boy saw that the oil was gone.

'Well, there is only one piece of advice I can give you,' said the wisest of wise men. 'The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world, and never to forget the drops of oil in the spoon.'

Bibliography of My Trip

> Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human - by Richard Wrangham (2009)> Angels & Demons - by Dan Brown (2000)> Last Words: A Memoir - by George Carlin (2009)> Say You're One of Them - by Uwem Akpan (2008)> Long Walk to Freedom - by Nelson Mandela (1994)> The Da Vinci Code - by Dan Brown (2003)> Guns, Germs & Steel: The Fates of Human Societies - by Jared Diamond (1997)> Foundation & Earth - by Isaac Asimov (1986)> Living Poor: A Peace Corps Chronicle - by Moritz Thomsen (1969)> The Alchemist - by Paulo Coelho (1988)> Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting by in America - by Barbara Ehrenreich (2001)

Reading list continued on 2/16 post

We landed in Fiji last Saturday morning, at Nadi International Airport. It took our small group a few minutes to adjust, as one Fijian after another greeted us with "Bula!" You see, on Guam, "bula" is the equivalent of the Bay Area's infamous "hella." As in, "Dude-man-bro, Guam's got bula marines coming!" I was thrown off at first, but quickly realized that "bula" is like the "shalom" of Fiji. Every culture needs a super-word that serves as a greeting and salutation, plus has four or five other meanings.

Our first night out we hit Sitar, a delicious Indian-Thai-Fijian restaurant with the best service I've had in months (aside from the family bbq's on Guam!). After some top-notch samosas and a plate of SPICY goat curry, we headed to Ed's bar. Ed's came highly recommended as a spot that welcomed tourists, but was mostly frequented by locals, which turned out to be true. The pool tables were slanted, the music was hit-or-miss, but the beer and the company was good. I did narrowly escape an a$$-kicking after a brief misunderstanding on the dance-floor. A word of personal advice, don't go too dumb in a country that just had a military coup... someone is bound to show you what dumb really is. But relax family and friends, I'm merely embellishing for the sake of an exciting tale!

One highlight of my time in Fiji was our visit to the Garden of the Sleeping Giant. At the base of a mountain range that's looks like a giant on his back, lies a secluded park that started out as a private collection of orchids. Here's what it looks like now:

On my last night in Fiji I found myself at Ice Bar, the new hotness in Nadi. After some very minor flirting with the very-cute-and-nice bartender, I found myself in charge of the DJ booth... who woulda thunk it? I reached deep into my collection and managed to deliver a quality two-hour set on the cutting edge of international pop. It's amazing what you can do in some places with just a winamp playlist and an 8Gb flash drive.

The next morning it was back to the airport, and onto the next leg of the journey. Check back for the next posting to find out where I am now... let's just say I'm even further south, and further into tomorrow than I've ever been.

Pura Vida,Drew

So, if you've been following this blog since the start, then you know what's going down on Guam. I just set foot on the island for the first time in December, but I've been aware of, and supportive of the Chamorro community's struggle for self-determination for years. Currently, the U.S. Government directly controls 1/3 of the island, primarily for military bases. On top of that, the current planned military buildup will bring an additional 79,000 people (at its height) to an island, increasing the population by up to 40 percent.

In recent weeks, the people's movement to oppose this plan has picked up new momentum right before my eyes. What started as a frustrated handful of friends, has now evolved into a highly organized opposition... "We Are Guahan." "Guahan" is a Chamorro word that means "what we have," and is the original name for the island... before the Spanish Conquest.

Within the span of one week, We Are Guahan has made some big noise, attracting international and local press. If you've got a sec, please click on the links below to check it out:

Wall Street Journalhttp://asia.wsj.com/video/guam-prepares-for-massive-military-buildup/2D9A949B-4593-488E-A991-C72AF265FA07.html

PRI's "The World"http://www.theworld.org/2010/01/04/guam-awaits-the-marines/

Pacific Daily Newshttp://www.guampdn.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=20101030320

On a more personal note, I had an adventure that really opened my eyes to exactly what is at stake... some of the most beautiful land on the planet! We Are Guahan led an all-day group hike to Pagat, an ancient Chamorro village and burial ground located right on the coast of the the island. Instead of trying to describe it, I'll just show you a few of the pictures:

While the trip was fun, there was definitely a heavier side to it. If the military buildup goes as planned, access to Pagat will be cut off so that the Marines can have another "live fire" ammunitions range. Our original motivation for organizing the hike was to find a non-political way to connect with locals, and get them to realize exactly what was on the chopping block. Just look at the pictures above again for a second, and then ask yourself what's more important?

I feel lucky to have been on the hike. Who knows, next time I'm on Guam, I may not be able to visit Pagat at all. Besides, how often do you get a chance to swim in an underground freshwater cave AND jump off a cliff in the same day? (click on video below)

Three years ago, my friend and I walked away from this accident. Well, technically, I pulled him out of the passenger side window, but no props to me since the accident was my fault. No, I wasn't drunk... I was just tired. When I got home, I labeled this picture "luckiestmanalive.jpg" and that's how it's been listed on my computer ever since. Wherever the message came from, I got it loud and clear... "slow down." Since that morning, that's exactly what I've tried to do.

Call me a nerd, but when I booked my ticket for this trip back in November 2009, there was one thing that I looked forward to more than anything else... reading. Maybe that doesn't make sense to you... why fly halfway around the world just to read? To me, it makes perfects sense. For me, reading represents the best possible way to just "slow down."

Many people think of vacation as a chance to just "get away." While I definitely looked forward to "getting away" from home, there was/is nothing back home that I really want or need to escape from. I love the Bay and it will always be my home.

That being said, this trip is an opportunity for me to do more of things that I always want to do at home, and reading is at the top of that list. Before I left, I decided that I would read a book-a-week. And so far, I'm ahead of the game. Here's what I've been chewing on so far, listed in the order I read them... I figure I'll just add to this list as I go:

> Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human - by Richard Wrangham (2009)> Angels & Demons - by Dan Brown (2000)> Last Words: A Memoir - by George Carlin (2009)> Say You're One of Them - by Uwem Akpan (2008)> Long Walk to Freedom - by Nelson Mandela (1994)> The Da Vinci Code - by Dan Brown (2003)> Guns, Germs & Steel: The Fates of Human Societies - by Jared Diamond (1997)> Foundation & Earth - by Isaac Asimov (1986)(Reading list continued on 1/25/10 post)

Long Walk to Freedom was borderline life-changing! I can still remember going to see him speak in person at the Oakland Coliseum when he first got released from jail in 1990. I don't remember a damn thing he said, but I just remember how important it seemed to the tens of thousands of people around me, especially my dad. The whole time I was reading the book, I just kept on thinking how lucky the planet is to have him (still!). I want Magic Johnson to share some of his "Live Forever" pills with Mr. Mandela so he can stick around for another 100 years. It's long, but it's not hard or depressing, its the opposite.

In many ways, Say You're One of Them is the polar opposite of Nelson Mandela's memoir. First of all, it is a collection of short stories, not one big undertaking. Second, it's fiction (but it's not at all). Third, it is very, very, tough on the spirit. Written by a Nigerian Jesuit Priest, Say You're One of Them is about the pure resilience of children in the midst of utter ugliness. Please read this book, but don't expect to be uplifted too much by it.

As for Catching Fire, it definitely does not read like a textbook. It's kind of a blend of anthropology, gastronomy, and physiology... gastrophysiologicalanthroplogy? Wait, I think I found the topic for my Master's Thesis!

Yesterday, I took a nice long walk to the next village, Barrigada, to check out Hafa Books. After trekking along the highway for a half-hour (walking is not very popular here), I reached the used bookseller, and started combing the aisles. I honed this skill spending countless hours (and paychecks) at Amoeba Records starting back in '96. Effective shopping at any used book or music store is like speed-reading with higher stakes. It's all about recognizing the little things that jump out at you... positioning yourself in relation to other crate diggers so that they end up in your wake, not the other way around... and yes, good old-fashioned patience and restraint. After a good 30 minutes of mining, I dropped my booty on the counter, only to be told that the closest ATM was just another 15 minutes down the road. No sweat, plus walking in the cool tropical rain is pretty damn refreshing.

Later that day I was back on the couch with my newest (used) book, Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies by Jared Diamond. Aaaaah, just were I want to be. If you enjoy reading, or if you know how much I do, then you'll appreciate just how good this is for me. If you're not into reading, I will just have to quote Menace II Society by saying, "I fill sorry foh yoh muddah!"

If any of these books jump out at you for any reason, leave a comment and let me know what's on your mind. Personally, I would recommend any and all of them, but I would point out that The Da Vinci Code is basically the same exact book as Angels & Demons, the first book in the series. I have the third book, The Lost Symbol, with me, but I'll probably have to wait awhile before I jump into that.

I'll be updating this blog entry as I go with new titles as I finish them. I will also add some reflections on how the books relate to my experiences here. Please check back again soon!

Pura Vida-Drew

- Jan 18: I just finished Foundation and Earth, and after I turned the last page I threw the paperback against the wall on the far side of the room and yelled "rubbish!" The last time I had that reaction was when I finished Roberto Bolaño's 2666. At least Foundation and Earth wasn't a thousand pages long, so I didn't take it so personally. Isaac Asimov's Prelude to Foundation was the book that first got me into reading, some time back in the early 90's. For me, that book ranks right up there with The Power of One (Courtenay), The Count of Monte Cristo (Dumas), and everything by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, as all-time favorites. Over the next few years I plowed through the next four books in the Foundation series, feeling like each book was not quite as good as the last. Eventually, I lost interest, until I saw the final book in the series on the shelf in a department store in Fiji. I guess I thought I owed it to old Isaac to finish what we started together so long ago. In the end, I would say Foundation and Earth is what happens when an author is under too long of a contract, and takes too much of his publisher's advice. Sorry Dr. Asimov, but the next sci-fi book I read will be by Frank Herbert.

Before reading this post, you MUST read the recent, short article by Doug Glanville of the New York Times. Otherwise, this post will be coming out of FAR left field... Click on the link below to view the article, then read my post. Please leave a comment if anything in either article gets your wheels turning.

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/12/26/not-just-tigers-temptations/?emc=eta1

That's an on-point article! While I am only a legend in my own mind (a true minor leaguer), I have tasted what he's talking about while on tour. I learned a WHOLE LOT about how your placement, or image, or status, can dictate how (and how many) people treat you. I can't tell you how many times I have been completely invisible to a female (or male) until AFTER I get off stage, even when I'm not the headliner or a main part of the show. It feels like there is some weird transitive property of fame and status.

I've also watched colleagues use that status to get virtually anything and everything for free while on the road, including meals, drugs, sex, lodging, attention, etc. It didn't take me long to appreciate the path of destruction that is left in the wake. As more and more bridges get burned, and more and more friends are revealed to be just acquaintances, the person with the status pays the ultimate price... they are left empty.

It's feels good to be traveling, but to not be "on tour." In the last few weeks I've sat in a dozen different clubs, listened to a dozen different bands, and met dozens of people. The vast majority of them have no idea that I've performed in front of thousands of people, with some of their favorite artists. I would like to do some shows here before I leave, but I'm not in any rush. I find myself wondering which people, if any, will suddenly take an interest in me once I step off stage... and what their motivations will be.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying just listening to the band, and giving them their props after the show. I guess I'd rather be a groupie, than be groupied.