Last week was revision week at school and now my students have begun their exams. “Revision” is what we Americans would call “review,” except that there’s not a whole lot of revising going on. I don’t know about the other schools in Lesotho, but at my school, revision week means the teachers are busy in the office typing exams on dusty typewriters with many of the keys missing, while the students are supposed to be in the classrooms preparing for the end-of-quarter exams. At the end of this quarter, winter break will begin, from June 7 until August 1. For the most part, teachers do not go to the classrooms during revision week. However, the students are not excused from attending classes. The students are still expected to show up every day at 8 AM and “kena classeng!!!” (go in the classroom!!!) at all times, except for the 20-minute break and the hour for lunch. This means the students are sitting in the classrooms for about seven hours each day. These classrooms are not the classrooms of America. There are no posters on the walls (I’ve tried to hang some but the walls are crumbling – the posters fall off), no electricity or running water, no computers, and no resources except for the textbooks that belong to the students (what resources we do have are kept in the office because “the students destroy them”). Many of the windows are cracked and there are chunks of glass missing, allowing the icy mountain winds to enter. On top of that, my students come families whose income depends on growing maize, sorghum, beans, wheat, and marijuana. The soil and terrain isn’t the best for agriculture around here, so as a result there are many poor families. A lot of students show up to school wearing only the thin sweater that is a part of their uniform, despite the fact that its winter now. I’m also appalled to still see village toddlers running around without pants or shoes (potty training in Lesotho is simple – just let the kid run around with no pants). Moreover, the students aren’t being fed lunch this year. How are these kids expected to prepare for exams when they are cold, hungry, and bored? One morning I tried to have them bring their books outside to study in the sun but, once the other teachers eventually showed up to school, they yelled at the students and made them go back inside (now that’s a completely different issue – expecting the students to come to school early yet the teachers arrive half an hour late).I find revision week extremely difficult. I try to play review games and go into the classrooms to help the students when I can, but at the same time, it takes a very long time to type the exams. There are five teachers and three typewriters. At my school, we have Form A, Form B, and Form C. Each of the three classes has to take science, maths, business education, agriculture, English, Sesotho, and geography exams. Some of the exams, such as science for example, have two papers. Often the first paper is multiple choice and the second paper is short answer. Every exam has to be typed with a typewriter onto a stencil. Once the stencils are complete, they are put through the messy mimeograph. This involves squeezing ink into the machine, placing the stencil on the roller, and turning the handle until as many copies as you need come shooting out. For so much effort, the copies quite frankly look like shit. You never know exactly how much ink to pour in. So, for all of that work, you get exams with ink smudges all over the pages. Some of the words are impossible to read because there is too much ink. In other areas, there is not enough ink, so you have to go back through each exam and write the word or draw the diagram by hand. Sounds fun right?It’s a huge waste of time. I could be doing so many activities with the students during this week except I am busy typing and copying exams that the students won’t be able to read anyway. Sometimes I truly think that so many students keep failing because they can’t read the exams. In other words, it’s not because of their poor English, but the poor printing job. If I could type my exams on a computer, use a printer, and then take the exams to town to make copies, so much time could be saved. I could spend more time reviewing with the students AND they would be able to read their exams! However, we apparently don’t have the money for a printer. I would really like to know where all of the money paid by the students and their parents goes. Through talking to the other teachers, I know that the number of students attending Mabuleng Secondary School has been dwindling every year. This year, we’re down to 49 in all three of the classes. I recently discovered that a lot of the parents and students have a problem with the way things are done at this school, which means they have a problem with the principal. I hate to generalize, but there is something that really bugs me about this culture. I have been here long enough and have talked to enough Basotho and other volunteers to know that what I am about to say is quite typical. If a person has a problem or disagrees with a figure of authority or the status quo, they take no action. They may complain to others, but they will go an extremely long time, perhaps forever, without confronting the issue or the authority figure directly. It’s like they don’t have a vision of an improved future or a mindset conducive to the progression of society. When people here have problems, a lot of them seem to simply suck it up and deal with them. Americans, on the other hand, are the complete opposite. We are taught from the time we are small to be critical, creative thinkers and problem solvers. Anyway, this mindset may be the reason why ways at my school have not changed. Perhaps the country, too. I don’t know what the answer to development is, but I feel like this could potentially play a role.As a Peace Corps volunteer, I am often torn between creating changes and fitting in with the culture. I have to live in the same village and work with this principal, my supervisor, for two years. Therefore, it wouldn’t really benefit me to be direct and tell her how I think things should be done (even if you do it nicely with a smile on your face, you can risk ruining a relationship). First of all, it’s unlikely that the other teachers would back me up, even if they did agree with me. Secondly, I would not have a particularly spectacular relationship with the principal for the remainder of my time here. In this tiny village, I need as many friends as I can get. I don’t want everyone to think of me as the crazy white girl who’s bossing everyone around. Therefore I’m not planning on trying to make huge changes anytime soon. Over time, I hope influence her, even if it’s in a small way by offering a few suggestions here and there. I already got her to help me apply for a school library. Things are looking up!Things are also looking up because my battery-powered microscope arrived! Also in the package – a telescope! Many thanks to my lovely grandmother. Now I can teach the parts of a microscope with – gasp – an actual microscope (you many wonder why I taught it before without a microscope…I have a syllabus to follow). And we can finally look at cells and hair and fingernails and boogers and stagnant pond water…you know, all the fun and gross stuff that gets kids interested in science. Also, the Basotho voted on Saturday, May 26. So far, everything's been peaceful. In 1998 there was apparently a lot of fighting/violence when Mosisili became the prime minister. I heard an interview on the BBC this morning with the All Basotho Convention party leader Tom Thabane. Because there is no clear majority, it appears as if Lesotho will have a coalition government for the first time ever.I’ll miss my students over the winter break, but honestly, I’m ready for school to close. I need a break, as well as some time to reflect on things. Perhaps I could improve the way I approach things, my Sesotho, and build stronger relationships in my community. I have a hard time bonding with people due to the language barrier as well as the fact that we come from completely different backgrounds. Eventually we hit a wall and then have nothing more to talk about. But that’s okay, the Basotho are completely okay with what we would consider an awkward silence – not awkward at all for them (which is good because it happens a lot)!

My 8-day vacation to America is approaching quickly! Unfortunately it’s probably going to pass quickly too. Perhaps I should come home for a longer period of time, but for those of you who are not aware of the situation here, Peace Corps Lesotho has a lot of rules. These rules often drive me crazy, but I suppose they’re necessary. One of the things that annoys me the most is the lack of flexibility with vacations. My mom's getting married, so I want to go home for that, but I also want to see Africa! Unfortunately we volunteers only accrue 2 vacation days a month. Everything is very bureaucratic here. We can’t just head towards the equator to Mozambique during June and July (winter here) when school’s out. We have to count our vacation days, fill out a vacation form, get our principal’s signature, and finally, get the form to Maseru, which is often the most difficult part. I do understand that there have to be rules because, if there weren’t, people would be disappearing to travel rather than do their jobs. However, I wish they could be a teeny bit more flexible during the winter break when school’s out and I’m freezing in the mountains.I haven’t experienced winter yet. I arrived during the spring. But I live in the mountains and I do know that it snows and gets very windy. This will be the first winter in my life I will have to spend without electricity and running water. I also live in a house made of cinderblocks with no insulation. I think I’ll spend a lot of time in my bed and probably won’t take many baths. It’s nice to be able to go home for a bit, where it will be the usual hot and humid summer in North Carolina. I’m sure that, by that time (a little over a month away!), I will be eager to see my family as well as get to the pool to soak up some sun. I am also excited to finally get my hair cut, show a little knee/thigh again, walk around without people staring at me or my shoes, cook with all the ingredients I need, drive/ ride in a private vehicle, order a manhattan, dance with my friends, etc. YAY!

I’ve now been in Lesotho for almost seven months. And I’m now 23 years old. I managed to have a nice vacation in the Drakensberg Mountains and in Durban, where I spent my birthday with Adrian and some of the other Education volunteers who are in the group that came in October 2011 (The ED 12’s, we’re called). We ate at a Mexican restaurant that also happened to be a pretty snazzy cocktail bar, where I was “iced” in the ladies restroom by Shanelle. To be “iced” means that someone surprises you with a Smirnoff Ice and you have to kneel in front of the person while he/she laughs at you and drink the whole thing. There have been some pretty hilarious ices in our group. Among them include someone pretending to be sick with diarrhea in the latrine and when someone comes to check on them, they pop out with a Smirnoff Ice. Most of them have involved faking some kind of sickness or sadness because it’s hilarious to see the reaction when a “sick” person pulls her duvet off her bed where she’s laying to expose 10 Smirnoff Ices underneath for all of the other volunteers around. I love my ED ’12 volunteer group. My birthday and vacation wouldn’t have been the same without them.

Anyway, Shanelle and Hannah baked chocolate cream-cheese brownies for me at their hostel to serve as birthday cake, which the staff in the restaurant hid until after we finished the meal. Then they brought out their dessert, which was delicious, with candles for me to blow out. Once we finished our meal, we laughed and chatted for a while and then went dancing. I ended up spending all of my money buying shots for people. I have never spent a birthday away from home, but I couldn't have imagined a better one. Not only was I on vacation in South Africa, but I was also with my boyfriend and all of my closest friends here in Lesotho.

If only it hadn’t gone by so fast! I am now back in the highlands, where it’s getting cold and I’m becoming apprehensive about May, June, and July, which is the true winter season. Right now it seems to be near the end of autumn. All the leaves have turned shades of brown, orange, and yellow and are now falling off the trees. Everyone is starting to wear huge, colorful blankets and I’ve resorted to using old cardboard boxes to seal my windows at home and cover the broken windows in my classrooms at school. Our school is literally falling apart. Not only are there broken windows, but the cement walls are also crumbling so much that it seems as if all the teachers in the three classrooms are in one room talking at the same time. Half of the students I teach have been expelled for their inability to pay school fees and aren’t able to return to school until they pay them for the second quarter. I wish I could do something to help them but as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I am only getting paid enough to buy food and to travel to local towns on the weekend. I try to give some of them jobs, like washing my clothes, but this is not going to pay their fees.

I’m beginning to wonder whether people here save money and create plans for the future or if most of them are living on a day-to-day basis. I would love to help people create plans and help them start businesses if they seemed motivated or enthusiastic about doing so, but many people go about their daily lives and don’t seem concerned whether or not they change, even if it’s for the better. Mostly I think this is because the area in which I live is so far removed from the influence of Western culture as well as major towns and cities in Lesotho. Men are farmers or animal herders. Most women stay at home to cook, clean, and care for their families. Basotho people old and young often come up to me and ask me to give them money or things, like my mobile phone or ipod (I now keep them well hidden). After I explain to them that I’m only a volunteer here, I am left with tons of questions. Why do the people here think I can save them? Because I’m white? Of course, I would love to help them, but they need to understand that it’s essential to learn how to help themselves. I could give them tons of money, but it’s not sustainable. Sure, once I’ve left Lesotho, they might have some new stuff, but it’s going to eventually fall apart and they will still not know how to solve their own problems by raising and saving money for themselves and their children (and they can only learn to think creatively as problem-solvers through an education, which many of them do not get because only primary school is free). I’m not sure if this is actually why people are poor here, it’s just speculation. Sometimes I compare this small individual situation to the larger situation of foreign aid to Africa. Is foreign aid really helping? Or are good institutions (no corruption), investment, and volunteerism the way to go? Maybe it’s some combination of both. All I know is that I see a third world country that’s beautiful and has tons of friendly, capable people. Yes, HIV/AIDS is a huge problem here, but it’s a huge problem in South Africa too, the developed country that completely surrounds tiny Lesotho. Though developed countries like South Africa and America still have a large population of poor people, there is definitely a difference in the standard of living between South Africa and Lesotho. It appears to me as if the poor people in South Africa are better off than the poor people in Lesotho. Maybe I’m wrong though. Lesotho is landlocked, but I feel things could improve with a few more institutional and infrastructural changes (especially paved roads), a few more Basotho entrepreneurs and a bit more foreign investment. It’s true that Basotho aren’t keen on the large population of Chinese people here, but many people are able to now get jobs in Chinese shops as cashiers, baggers, shelf-stockers or security guards. The Chinese also provide the Basotho with cheap goods, which leaves them with more money in their pockets at the end of the day. You will always hear Basotho complain about the Chinese, yet they buy from their shops all the time. My advice is that, instead of hating the Chinese, work for them, learn from them, and then start your own business. That’s just my opinion on the matter. I think a lot…one of these days I will start doing. In order to feel like I’ve had a true impact on my community, I need to raise money and do some kind of project, like start a library, repair the school, or build latrines for families in my village so they don’t have to shit on the side of the mountain anymore. However, I still have 1.5 years to figure this out. I think it’s important that I more completely understand the situation and people here before I begin something big.

I cried a little at school today. Not because of anything bad though. At the beginning and end of the day, the students and teachers gather together for assembly. There, we make announcements, pray (my school’s Catholic), and often, the students will sing. Today, it was raining a little, so we all gathered in a classroom after school. There are only about 40 students total, so this was easy to do. The students organized themselves according to how they sing (soprano, tenor, etc). Today, they sang for about an hour. I don’t know how they know so many songs. I suppose they have been singing them since they were small children, but what comes out of their mouths is something that would take Americans weeks of practice. These teenagers, who are normally so obedient and quiet and call me “madame,” finally come alive when they are singing together. The boys, some of whom never make a peep in class, are singing and dancing with smiles on their faces. It’s hard to describe how beautiful it is when the Basotho sing. Like today, it often makes me tear up. I have never in my life encountered a culture in which every single person can sing and harmonize so well. And they all know the same songs! Maybe I will know some once I leave here. I can sing the Lesotho National Anthem, but that’s all. Anyway, it’s a wonderful way to end the day. I think people all over the world would be a lot happier if they sang all the time like people do here.I’ve really started to enjoy teaching. I think the students are now finding out that, no, I am not going to beat them with a stick. Therefore, they’ve been more receptive to my Q&A style. But they still can’t get the idea of positive and negative numbers, especially adding and subtracting them. I’ve probably explained it in five different ways. I’m always asking them questions, trying to get them to think rather than simply memorize, especially in science. Critical thinking skills aren’t as well developed in children here, it seems. Also, teachers can be mean! Corporal punishment is everywhere. I personally haven’t seen a beating yet, but other volunteers have, and I see the teachers carry their sticks to class most days. I also hear them yelling at the students, calling them lazy and scolding them all the time for things that seem so insignificant to me. And they aren’t sympathetic at all. For example, teachers will yell at them for being late.Ok, fine, but some of the students have a 1-2 hour walk through the mountains and over the river every morning. I understand if they can’t make it to school exactly by 7 AM for “study hour” before school. I also understand that the teachers want these students to be disciplined, but I prefer to use other strategies, like positive reinforcement. That’s what really motivates them to do well, I’ve found. Even when they get answers wrong, I think its important to encourage them to work hard and keep trying, they’re on the right track, etc. I always give them a huge smile when I walk into class. I want to show them that school can be a nice place to be and that I am happy to have them there.I just ate way too much chocolate while I was writing this. I got two packages the other day, one of which was from Adrian. Of course, it contained quite a few of those lovely square bars of Ritter Sport dark chocolate with hazelnuts, my favorite chocolate from Germany. When you haven’t eaten chocolate in a couple of months and you finally get a substantial supply of your favorite kind, it’s a bit dangerous. My grandmother sent me something called "cuddl duds" which is a silly name for what is basically nice long underwear. I looked at the tags and they were made in Lesotho! I thought that was interesting that they ended up back in Lesotho. I also got some books, an Indy, some magazines, socks, a new coat, warm boots, and other good stuff. Thanks y'all! It felt like Christmas again.So, I know that my family is probably reading this and some of them are going to visit me within the next two years. Therefore I thought I should show you what my village looks like.The view from my house is in the picture below. That tin structure on the left is my latrine.I can barely fit inside it. It also belonged to the volunteer before me, who is at least 6 feet tall. I can’t imagine what he went through every time he needed to poop. So, that stone thing to the right of it is the beginning of my new latrine…yay! The picture below that one is the house that I share with my host family. My little section of the house is on the left, where there are bars on the door. It’s a nice house by Lesotho standards. I certainly enjoy it. And in the picture below that, there are some of the girls that I teach. They are standing in front of my house in their school uniforms. Some days they just show up and demand “Madame! Please take the photos!”I usually have nothing better to do, so we go outside and have a photo shoot. Some look a little angry or unpleasant, but most Basotho don’t smile when they pose for photos. In their opinion, this makes them look more professional. Also, all of the school children shave their heads here.I’m not really sure why, but I think maybe it sort of goes along with the uniform thing. So yeah, they are all girls.

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

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

I remember one of the behaviors of the Basotho that I found funny when I first arrived was the nose picking. Basotho pick their nose without shame. At the dinner table, on the taxi, when they’re bored, waiting for someone/something (which you spend a lot of time doing here), whenever and wherever! At first I didn’t really understand why everyone was always picking noses, and I found it interesting that as Americans, we are instructed from the time we are toddlers to keep our fingers out of our noses. After some time in Lesotho, I discovered that the reason for the perpetual pursuit of boogers was the climate. I started getting them too. A dusty, dry climate where the sand often blows with the wind tends to give you a crusty nose, and it’s a natural impulse to stick your finger up there to get them out so you can breathe properly. I honestly think my nose has produced more boogers here in three months than it had in one year in the U.S. Anyway, I’m glad to have tissues. This southern belle is sticking to her manners, even though no one here cares if my fingers are in my nose or not. The other thing i find quite amazing is the capability of the Bo-M’e (‘M’e means one woman, Bo-M’e means many of them) to carry ANYTHING on their heads, even a duffel bag of mine that probably had the same weight and awkwardness of an 8-year-old child. These ladies have necks of steel and, although few of them have ballerina bodies, their balance is excellent. They never look like they’re struggling. In fact, they do it with grace. I’ve seen many of them pause, turning their heads to chat and laugh with a friend they run into on the way home, all while a 20-liter bucket of water balances perfectly on each and every one of their heads. Meanwhile Sbongile (that’s me!) is coming up the side of the mountain from the tap sweating, huffing, puffing, grunting, and occasionally sliding along the gravel path with the 20-liter bucket dragging one side of her body towards the ground. When she pauses, it’s to switch arms or to greet the children along the way who are laughing at her. At this moment I feel like the typical American girl trying to “rough it” in Lesotho. The first time I did this, it was seriously frustrating, although I’m beginning to get used to this daily task. I will say that I’ve tried to carry water on my head one time, and it wasn’t pretty. The tap is a long way from my house, and I’m not going to spill my precious water again. However, I now consider this my daily workout, and I hope that my arms and shoulders will be extremely toned and that this will become increasingly easier as time goes on. But, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to carry the bucket (with no hands) on my head though. Anyway, I’ll mess up my French braid! I keep that sucker in for three or four days sometimes. Oh, I guess it’s gross that I wash my hair approximately once a week? If you didn’t have running water, you probably wouldn’t think it was so bad. By the way, happy new year everyone! After all the work and determination it took throughout 2010 and 2011 to get where I am now, I’m very glad to begin 2012 in the beautiful Maloti mountains of Lesotho. My new years resolutions? Have fun, make lots of friends, and make science and math more engaging and comfortable subjects for my students here. I have only vague ideas and expectations of what this year has in store for me as far as experiences and accomplishments go, but I’m excited to see how it plays out!

After a 15-hour journey, I am back in my village in Mokhotlong. This wasn't the first Christmas away from home. However, it’s the first Christmas without any family members whatsoever. Of course, it wasn’t the same, but I had a great time with 9 other volunteers. We were at Katse Dam, which is an infamous development project. Some academic even wrote a book on it but I haven’t been able to read it yet and I’m not sure how I’ll get my hands on it now. However, I have heard a lot about this project, particularly that it tends to benefit South Africa rather than generate income for the people of Lesotho. They basically sell their water to South Africa but who gets the money? I don't know if anyone knows, but probably not the people who really need it. Anyway, one of my friends is living at the site of this tourist attraction, and the lake that’s been created is indeed very beautiful…we even took a boat tour! Despite having limited access to certain foods and ingredients in Lesotho, the meals we shared were great. We had two roasted chickens, butternut squash casserole (with marshmallows!), green bean casserole, macaroni and cheese, a colorful salad, stuffing (made by yours truly), cheesy potatoes, and lots of homemade breads. Desserts included fudge, coffee cake, snickerdoodles, fat cakes (just fried dough…delicious), and probably more that I’m forgetting.Heather even made bagels one morning!Speaking of food, if you don’t know how to cook and you’re in Lesotho, you better learn or you’ll be screwed, which means you will starve. There are no fast food restaurants and not much packaged convenience food. I think that’s why a lot of volunteers end up losing weight here. If you don’t know how to cook here, you’ll probably end up eating a lot of pb&j sandwiches, boiled eggs, and apples. It’s a good thing that I like cooking. You have to get really creative here. It boggles my mind how many of the Basotho live off of papa and moroho.Personally, I’m not a big fan of the food here. It’s not very nutritious, but I guess you have to deal with what you have when you’re poor. Papa is maize meal cooked with water. Its sort of like grits if you don’t put enough water in it and leave out the butter and salt. Yeah, its chewy, stiff grits. They pick it up with their fingers and eat it with moroho. Normally I wouldn’t mind moroho. Moroho is a general name for leafy greens, usually swiss chard. Beautiful leaves of swiss chard are taken, chopped into microscopic pieces, and boiled and salted/MSGed to death.They like their MSG here. I don’t see how there could even be any vitamins left in the moroho by the time its eaten. If there is some nama (meat) at the meal, the man gets access to it first.Then it goes to the women, then the children. The children definitely don’t appear to be getting enough nourishment for their developing bodies and brains. Particularly, protein is an issue.This is something that really bothers me. I imagine it’s hard for kids to concentrate and make progress at school when they are hungry. I would like to do a nutrition class/workshop here but I don’t know if anyone would care, especially when giving everyone their share of the protein (which I would encourage) disrupts the hierarchy. The other day when I bought a piece of chicken at the butchery in Mapholaneng, some man glared at me and put his hand out to me as I bought it, as if I was going to give it to him or buy him a piece. I was either going to blow up in his face or walk away. Luckily I walked away. It’s a man’s world here. I don’t ever feel like I can be myself, but that’s life in a developing country and I have to suck it up and deal with it, which I'm handling quite well so far. The other thing I can’t grasp here is the public transportation. On the way back from Katse, I had two relatively efficient taxi rides! It was so exciting! I went from Katse to Hlotse, got a ride from Hlotse to Butha Buthe, and took the Butha Buthe taxi to Mapholaneng. I left Katse at 6 AM and was in Mapholaneng by 3 PM. Although my stomach was jostled from the three-hour ride across pot-holes on the unpaved, twisting mountain roads, we made it almost home in good time (for Lesotho). Upon arriving in Mapholaneng, I was looking forward to getting on that taxi and taking the 45-minute journey to my village, so I immediately registered and paid the driver. Mom, you might want to ignore the rest of the paragraph if you’re reading. So, in Lesotho, sometimes you have to write your name down for the driver because roads are so bad.Accidents are common, especially on the mountain roads. Often, there are no guard rails. It’s surprising and scary how many upside down taxis I’ve seen at the bottom of mountains. And they just leave them there. Two PCVs in Mozambique recently died in a car accident just before Christmas. They had just completed training and swearing in December. With this being said, I’ve been trying to be extra careful this holiday season when traveling. I say this holiday season because people drink a lot here around Christmas time and there are a lot of drunk drivers. I think it’s really important to be aware with this. I’m lucky I got home safely. After the last step of paying and writing your name down, you usually sit in the nasty taxi minibus thingy and wait for it to fill up with people going the same direction you are. This can take anywhere from a few minutes to, unbeknownst to me, THREE HOURS. Yep, it took three hours to fill, and there was even one other dude sitting on this empty taxi before me. God knows how long he’d been waiting. Poor old man got up after an hour, bought 4 beers and sat in the taxi chugging them one after the other with a frown on his face. I don’t blame him, but waiting is life here. I would have also bought a beer if I wasn’t a woman (I didn’t think I’d ever have to say that in my life, but yeah, women drinking is not really acceptable here apparently).So I spent most of those three hours trying to figure out where I could inconspicuously use the bathroom, playing on my phone, watching drunk guys wander around the town, and watching people stare at me, the raggedy little white girl with a huge backpack and wrinkled clothes from sitting on gross vehicles all day. I also probably didn’t have the most pleasant approachable look on my face…those rides through the mountains always make me nauseous. I managed to make conversation with some people but at this point I was so ridiculously tired and just wanted to go home and sleep after getting up at 4:30 AM. Around 6 PM I finally wandered behind this sketchy restaurant/bar and found a latrine so I could pee, came back, and the taxi was ready to go. Yeah, sounds FUN right?! Needless to say I’ve spent better times in the town of Mapholaneng. But because I usually feel the need to put a positive spin on things, the long wait really did make my bed feel so much more heavenly. I have a down comforter and silky sheets. I decided that I was going to make my home a nice place, including my bed, if I have to live here for 2 years, even if that means spending a little bit more money. But that’s what the Peace Corps settling-in allowance is for, right? I start teaching at Mabuleng Secondary School in about two weeks! I'm so excited. I'll be teaching two math classes and a science class to 8th and 9th graders. Here are some pictures, kind of out of order but whatever: my new kitchen and bedroom in Mabuleng, me and Lauren at the swearing-in ceremony in seshoeshoe dresses, and the day we arrived in Lesotho in our training village (look at those kids! think they're excited at all?)

Finally!!! After waiting two months the time has come when I get to write on my blog. It’s gonna be a long one, brace yourselves. Hopefully I can make it interesting. For the first 9 weeks I was in Lesotho, I stayed in a village called Makola with a host family. My host mom just happened to be the chief of the village. She was so awesome and beautiful, as were my sisters. They were incredibly welcoming and looked after me well. After training was over, we were sworn in as official Peace Corps Volunteers and had a village feast. I passed my Sesotho language test with intermediate-high, to my surprise (although I’m still having trouble communicating with my new host family). After the swearing-in ceremony, all of the volunteers left the training villages to head to their sites all over Lesotho. I went to a village called Mabuleng, which is in the Mokhotlong district. It’s in the highlands of Lesotho, so I am surrounded by mountains and it takes me roughly an hour by car to get to the nearest town called Mapholaneng. It seems like all the men here are always wearing big Basotho blankets, gum boots, and knit hats with a pom pom on the end. Most of them seem to be working as herdsmen or in the fields, using cows to plow the fields. They grow so much corn here (they call it maize though), which seems to be one of the similarities to the US.

I have a very spacious block house with a high ceiling that is attached to a host family. It’s nice to have a host family. It allows me to practice my Sesotho when I want and they help me out if I have a question, but they pretty much let me do my own thing, which is nice. They have given me a Sesotho name, although I’m told by others that its actually Zulu: “Sbongile,” pronounced “sbong eel ay.” It means “thanks.” I’m not sure what my host dad does, perhaps work in the fields. My mom makes a huge vat of joala about once a week, the homebrew of the Basotho (the people living in Lesotho). It looks really thick, almost like cream of wheat (gross, I know). I still haven’t tried it yet. Last Sunday she put her little white flag up to signal to the village she was selling beer. There were random people (mostly men) on the porch of my house all day, drinking this mysterious liquid. At one point, I was messing with my phone in my window (which is the only place I get a signal), when a little old lady wandered back behind my room. I wondered what she was doing, maybe she wanted to say hello. Then she just squatted right there on the ground behind my house (yet in front of one of my windows) and peed. It was absolutely hilarious. Although I don’t start teaching until mid-January, I have already made my presence known in the village, I hope. At first, I had a difficult time making friends. I would walk along the main path and just see people staring at me. This freaked me out a little. But you just have to greet them in their language and then they are practically your best friend. I met one girl, Nthatuoa, who is about my age and speaks English very well. She took me on a day-long hike. One of the things that surprised me was stumbling upon neat little rows of marijuana growing in fields on sides of mountains. Also, I saw a wild rabbit with huge ears hopping along the side of a mountain! There aren’t many wild animals in Lesotho, apparently. A few baboons here and there, I think. When I haven’t been walking around the village, I’ve been decorating my new home and reading a TON. I just finished the Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. It now might be one of my favorite books. It’s set in the Congo mostly, and I’d recommend it to anyone with an interest in Africa or how colonization has affected the continent. Because I had spent almost the entire day before reading, I decided yesterday that I needed to get out of the house. It was a beautiful day, I was bored, and so I got super motivated and decided to WALK to Mapholaneng. Now, this is an hour drive through the mountains from my village. But I wanted to get to know some of the other surrounding villages and make some friends. Also, I needed to mail some letters at the post office and didn’t want to pay 18 rand for a taxi both ways. Yep, I walked 3.5 hours basically to meet people, mail some letters, and buy a piece of fried chicken and an apple. I wore my red seshoeshoe dress that I recently had made for me, which is the traditional dress here that many women wear here. I feel kind of like an old lady when I wear it because it’s so stiff, has a funny pattern, and huge, puffy sleeves that make me feel like I have the shoulders of a man. Yet, almost everyone I passed told me I was “motle,” or beautiful. My host mom even made me come into her room inside the house (which I had never seen before) so that I could look in the mirror and marvel at how beautiful I looked. I find it very interesting because this dress is probably quite hideous by American standards, unless you’re an old lady or live among the Amish. Somewhere along the way, a group of children from ages 3-7 started following me. I adore the kids here, y’all. Even though they are poor and always wearing tattered clothes, they are nevertheless happy, giggling, and singing. They want to hold your hand and will follow/walk you everywhere. They say “bye-bye” to mean hello and it’s the cutest thing ever. Many of them also say “good morning” no matter what time of day it is. I could be having the worst day and missing my family and friends so much, and the kids always make me forget about it. So, right now I’m in Mokhotlong town, which is the biggest town in this district. The Peace Corps has a volunteer resource center here, so I am writing this on its computer. It’s so nice to type! I have written tons of entries in my notebook at home, maybe one day I’ll actually get the chance to post them on here. It’s interesting to look back at them and see the things that shocked me at first, like the pit latrines and the poop all over the ground from the many donkeys, horses, cows, goats, sheep, roosters, chickens, dogs, and pigs that seemingly wandered freely all over Makola. Now I’m almost used to that rooster that repetitively cockadoodledoos every 10 seconds for an hour starting at 5:30 AM. I realize its Christmas time and I should be in the Christmas spirit, but it’s hard to when its summer here. It’s probably a good thing because if I was in the spirit, I would just be homesick and miss everyone so much more. Of course I have great days and bad days here, but overall it’s been a fantastic experience so far. I’m even starting to like the music (called “famo”) they blare in the stinky, crowded taxis while I’m smashed between two sweaty, rather large people eating fat cakes and drinking sprite. The only reason I’m not hitting my head on the ceiling every time we go over a bump on the dirt road that leads to my village is because I’m wedged in between them. Honestly, I’m telling this with a smile on my face. Some things in Lesotho, you really have to accept and laugh about. Like how everyone asks you for “sweets!” with their hand extended because of the color of your skin. Why all white people are assumed to have bags and pockets full of sweets, I will probably never know. I’m heading to Katse to celebrate Christmas with the volunteers tomorrow. We have created three themes for our nightly parties: “classy,” “trashy,” and “’stachy.” So excited to cook and relax with everyone, and draw little mustaches on our face and wear the American clothes that we can’t wear here because they show a lil too much knee or shoulder! I tell ya, knees and thighs are about as sexual as boobs are in America…boobs here are nothin’. Anyway, happy holidays to everyone!!! Wishing you all a very merry Christmas and a happy new year from Lesotho!

Right now all 23 of the Peace Corps trainees (there are 23 of us, not 35 as I had originally thought) are sitting in the airport amidst piles of luggage, eating beef jerky and luna bars, at 6 AM. No big deal, just getting ready for our 26 hour journey to Maseru, Lesotho. Staging in Philadelphia was so great. After having breakfast (philly cheesesteak and spinach omelette...yum!) with an old friend, I came back to the hotel in the historic district and met my fellow volunteers. We filled out some paperwork, had a good overview of the core expectations, and played the cheesy get-to-know-each-other games that I secretly love. We have a great group! Most of us are recent college graduates from all over the U.S, and all of us are going to be teachers of some kind: science, math, english and resource teachers. After staging ended at 7 PM, we went out for dinner and drinks. Me and a few girls decided to get sushi. While trying to find the restaurant, we managed to not only get lost, but rained on too. It was quite hilarious. When we finally arrived at the restaurant, we were soaked. Hot sake would have been great, but I found out that in Philly, you bring your own drinks to restaurants. No worries though, we found a hole-in-the-wall bar around the corner for a much needed beer. When I finally returned to the hotel, I took my last hot shower for a while and called it a night...well, at least until 2:15 AM. We checked out of the hotel super early in the morning in order to get to the airport while there's plenty of space and time to spare. We arrived about an hour ago at 5:30 AM with about 6 hours to go until our flight...perhaps a bit extreme? But, I don't mind too much, because it's more time I get to spend getting to know my new friends!

This Wednesday, October 12, I leave Raleigh at 6:40 AM for Philadelphia, where I will meet the other PC Lesotho volunteers. Later, we'll take a bus to JFK where we will catch a plane to Johannesburg early Thursday morning. That flight is, if I remember correctly, FIFTEEN hours. From Johannesburg, we take a smaller plane to Maseru, the capital of Lesotho. From there, we travel just outside the city to the village in which training takes place. As soon as we arrive, we meet our host families and go home with them. Training begins the following day. I will try to take pictures and write about that initial experience, but I think it's going to be overwhelming (in a good way I hope!), so I'm not sure how successful I'll be at capturing it. I've been informed to tell my family and friends that, in the first few weeks, "no news is good news." I suspect that training is an extremely intense and busy time in which language learning, cross-cultural training, and technical training is crammed into nine weeks. For those nine weeks, I'll be living with my host family. Upon the completion of training, I will get a job placement in a school, be sworn in as a Peace Corps volunteer, and move to a village where I'll have my own home. Right now, I'm not sure what my internet situation will be, but I'll try to write about my experiences here when I get the chance, which I hope will be often. My address is in the right column of this blog if you'd like to become my pen pal. Would love to hear from you! I'm going to miss everyone so much--let's keep in touch!

Since I'm sort of technologically challenged, I've dedicated this post to figuring out how to post pictures and videos.

This is my mother in London during our trip in March. We're eating desserts and drinking tea. I think that fruit tart is probably the prettiest thing I've ever consumed.

This video is us cycling around Bruges in Belgium. One of the things that I love about Europe is how easily you can do some things, like rent a bike for example. No liability forms to sign, no helmets. We just paid, got on our bikes, and took off. The lady took down my mom's credit card number, just in case we decided to steal them I guess. That was all. Anyway, the process would be a lot more complicated in America.

Blarrrgh! Like usual, I have no idea what's going on. I guess everyone pretty much deals with this though, so I'll try not to complain too much. My Peace Corps nurse called me a week ago (last Wednesday) to inform me that she received all of the paperwork and that my medical deferral would be lifted soon. I asked her how soon, and she replied that she simply needed to run the information by the doctor, and that I could expect medical clearance by Friday. It's now been five days past Friday and I've heard nothing. Naturally, this makes me nervous. Did they find something else wrong with me? Surely not. It's ridiculous how many times I've been in and out of a particular doctor's office...I even noticed when they got new pens at the receptionist's desk. I guess my point is that my nurse got my hopes up too early, in turn smothering me in another wave of RAS where I obsessively check my email and always keep my phone by my side.

In other news, I graduated! I received a Kindle as a graduation gift, but I haven't quite tried it out yet. I have a short stack of actual books that I want to read first that are either loans from friends or the library. I just finished The Inheritance of Loss and now I'm reading Room by Emma Donoghue. Does anyone have any suggestions for my summer reading list? Shantaram is next, I think, but I'm always looking for a good book. I guess the only downside about the Kindle is that you have to pay for the books. Nevertheless, it will be great in the Peace Corps, if I ever actually go. It's hard to believe right now. I've pretty much destroyed all expectations I had. A few months ago I thought I'd be somewhere in Sub-Saharan Africa this June, but that's obviously not happening. Despite the delay, my determination has been strengthened. Since I have a biology minor, my original nomination was secondary science education. But, I recently enrolled in a TEFOL class that runs from May to July...just in case. After all of this waiting, I want to be flexible as well as competitive.

Although the entire Peace Corps application process is annoying, I think it's actually improved my character in some ways. I view it as a kind of test. I think it's important to avoid creating too many expectations, especially when going into a new situation or traveling to a country very different than your own. Of course, one has to be prepared to a certain degree, but too many expectations may contribute to culture shock. I don't care how much you've researched a country. You'll never know what that place and its people are really like until you actually go. I think this is very important to remember. Another thing that's improved is my level of patience. I don't think this needs any explaining. Anyone who's applied to the Peace Corps knows what I'm talking about.

I guess I'll close with the idea that I'm kind of viewing my experience with the Peace Corps as a test of the American Dream. If I want it bad enough and work hard enough, will I get to serve? We'll see! These next few weeks/months will certainly be interesting...

I'd like to share a beautiful passage from Orlando by Virginia Woolf:

"He sighed profoundly, and flung himself--there was a passion in his movements which deserves the word--on the earth at the foot of the oak tree. He loved, beneath all this summer transiency, to feel the earth's spine beneath him; for such he took the hard root of the earth tree to be; or, for image followed image, it was the back of a great horse that he was riding; or the deck of a tumbling ship--it was anything indeed, so long as it was hard, for he felt the need of something which he could attach his floating heart to; the heart that tugged at his side; the heart that seemed filled with spiced and amorous gales every evening about this time when he walked out. To the oak tree he tied it and as he lay there, gradually the flutter in and about him stilled itself; the little leaves hung; the deer stopped; the pale summer clouds stayed; his limbs grew heavy on the ground; and he lay so still that by degrees the deer stepped nearer and the rooks wheeled round him and the swallows dipped and circled and the dragonflies shot past, as if all the fertility and amorous activity of a summer's evening were woven web-like about his body."

I'm reading this book in my class on major British writers and have absolutely fallen in love with this passage. It's also quite fitting with the arrival of spring and my anticipation of summer. I also think a lot of people can probably identify with the need to stay grounded, including myself.

A modest, thin letter arrived for me on Wednesday last week. Turns out that I'm deferred until June 2011, which was my original nomination date. I was extremely surprised, and, maybe it's just me, but it seems as if a few minor things were blown out of proportion, such as a benign fibroadenoma. Because my doctor mentioned a follow up in June and, along with me, didn't fully realize the implications of indicating this on my physical exam form, I am now deferred. I think the possibilities are quite slim that I'll develop breast cancer in Sub-Saharan Africa at the age of 24, but I'm going to talk to my doctor, take care of the issue, and send in the forms. After that, I just have remain extremely patient, hope that Peace Corps reconsiders me, and let fate take its course. I'm in an extremely important, yet uncertain point in my life. I suppose that, after graduation, I will keep working at Whole Foods while applying for graduate schools, if Peace Corps decides they don't want me. Or, I could try to find a job more related to my field of study. However, by this point, I am so passionate about the Peace Corps that many of my "Plan B's" seem remarkably less fulfilling. The exception is teaching English abroad, but I don't really know how to go about doing this. Any suggestions? Since applying for the Peace Corps (which I've been doing since August) is such a dynamic process, I've had so much time to begin mentally preparing and working up excitement about the experience. The deferral has put a small kink in the chain. Nevertheless, I'm remaining determined, and whatever happens, I think that my unpredictable life will sort itself out somehow.

Now that I've gotten that out of the back of my mind, I can reflect on what a wonderful few days I have experienced in London! After arriving extremely early on Friday morning, my mom and I have managed to walk almost everywhere, even the first day after an hour or two of that notoriously crappy upright airplane sleep. We walked from our hotel near Paddington to Hyde Park, along Oxford street, and managed to get to Covent Gardens to see street performers and warm ourselves with an irish coffee at an outdoor cafe. We went to bed, I found out that my mother is a snorer, and awoke to an unexpected full English breakfast provided by our hotel. A wonderful way to start a morning! We met my friend Kate, who is a graduate student at Kings College, for lunchtime scones and tea at the Victoria and Albert museum, did some sightseeing along the Thames, and had dinner and beer at the oldest pub in London. Today we stumbled upon all kinds of crazy outdoor and indoor markets, including the famous Spitalfields Market, in East London. All along Brick Lane we found international street food (we ate Sri Lankan), and vendors selling all kind of off-the-wall clothes, accessories, and knick knacks. The whole time, I swear, there was funk music playing, and people everywhere! Never in my life have I seen such a sight. I wish every Sunday could be like that. It could if I lived in London.

Anyway, after that, we visited Chingford, which is where my mom used to live when she was married to a British man a while back. Once we returned to London (Chingford is just outside of London), I tried to go to the British Library but it was closing, so we went to a sweet little patisserie for tea and fruit tarts. Tomorrow, we take a train to Bruges (or Brugge, as it's called in Flemish), Belgium. Anticipating canals, medieval architecture, and hearing what Flemish sounds like!

It's a beautiful morning in Raleigh, NC, and I'm inside one of the oldest buildings on the NC State campus, attempting to work on an annotated bibliography for my International Studies Senior Seminar research project. I'm researching the ways in which globalization has influenced a global nutrition transition and its relationship to the emergence of obesity and chronic disease in low- and middle-income countries. An interesting topic indeed (to me at least), but I am having the most difficult time concentrating on ANYTHING due to the Peace Corps. Seriously. It's almost all that I think about, especially as June becomes closer, which is my nomination date. However, according the my application status update, news is on the way! The Office of Medical Services made a decision, and the letter's in the mail. Fingers are crossed for good news.

With that being said, it takes a lot of willpower to restrict myself from making that 10 minute walk home from campus to check the mail in between classes (ridiculous, I know). But, I'm going out of town Thursday, and will be gone until March 13, so I won't be able to get any mail. That's part of the reason why I'm so anxious. I'll chill out in a few days, especially with the help of yoga. I have found that yoga does wonders for my physical and mental wellbeing, not that either were bad to begin with, but it definitely has contributed a lot to my health. Despite this, Restless Applicant Syndrome still has the tendency to affect me in short, intense bursts. But I think that, by the time I leave for my spring break trip, I will have mellowed out a bit.

From March 3-13, my mother and I have planned an exciting trip to Europe. Because she has lived for half a century (a.k.a. turned 50) and I am graduating from NC State in May, we decided to celebrate by making a short, but extravagant little trip to Europe. We'll be visiting London, Bruges, and Amsterdam. Is it silly that I am most excited about beer, fine chocolate, and waffles? That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it's what popped into my head at the moment, because I'm kind of hungry. Okay, enough of this, back to work! Lots to do before Thursday.

Two days ago, I had two wisdom teeth extracted on the right side of my mouth. If it weren't for that single, stubborn impacted one, I wouldn't have had to get any out at all. Wisdom teeth are actually valuable assets, especially for the few Americans like me who still eat plenty of fruits, vegetables, and other complex carbohydrates that require chewing (I'm not big on processed foods). Besides plenty of root-cracking, creepy tools in and out of my mouth, lip-stretching/bleeding, tasting my own tooth dust, ALMOST SWALLOWING MY OWN TOOTH, and dentists digging for the bits of residual roots, it wasn't so bad. Yes, that's right, the non-impacted tooth came out so quickly that it fell halfway down my throat. I was so numb that I didn't even feel it and my dentist had to push me forward. It came flying out onto my lap. Other than that, I had my ipod, so I could drown out most of the horrible sounds. I even kept my teeth (yes, kind of gross, but I am a bit of a science nerd). Since Peace Corps wanted a note confirming the extraction, I momentarily thought it would be hilarious to send the one tooth and the remaining pieces of the other one that had been impacted (they had to chop it up to get it out--that's why I tasted my own tooth dust). I'm glad I didn't. I think I was a bit loopy still from the Ativan I had taken to ease my anxiety.

Now what? More waiting. Still waiting for medical/dental clearance. Checked my application status today and they're still reviewing my medical forms. I'm hoping not only that I will hear from them soon, but also that it will be good news!

I'm not quite sure what it means, but I am a Peace Corps nominee. After four months of completing online forms, essay-writing, an interview, and obtaining fingerprints, I've finally been nominated to teach science in Sub-Saharan Africa, as well as legally cleared. Now begins the time period in which I must wait for medical clearance.

Within the past month, I have probably been to the NCSU Student Health Center at least five times due to the physical examinations, tests, blood work, and immunizations that are required in order for me to receive medical clearance by the Peace Corps. Never in my life have I had so many people poking and prodding at me in an attempt to find my imperfections and weaknesses. Although I'm fascinated with human biology, I have never been too keen on visits to the doctor. Overall, I am a healthy individual, it turns out, if one were to ignore my bad habit of cigarette-smoking, which by no means is excessive. I do intend to quit in the next few weeks, but am still unsure as to how it will be commenced. Perhaps I will start by rolling my own to make smoking more of an inconvenience.

Two days ago, I sent my medical results to the Peace Corps. Now it's teeth time. I have a dental examination next Wednesday, and I'm quite sure that either the dentist or the Peace Corps will tell me that I need to get my wisdom teeth extracted as a preventative measure, or at least the ones that are coming in crooked. I have had teeth taken out before, four actually, before getting braces in high school, and it definitely stands out as one of my more unpleasant experiences, not because it hurt, but because I was conscious enough to feel the pressure and hear the sounds of the dentist ripping important structures out of my head. The idea of going through this again isn't something I like to think about, especially since these teeth are not only larger, but are also further back in my mouth.

As I've read and personally experienced, this is the most difficult part of the Peace Corps application process. Although I've been nominated, there is still a relatively large chunk of uncertainty that has almost prevented me from talking about becoming a Peace Corps volunteer. Despite my underlying anxiety, I have great expectations for myself. Fingers crossed!