For the first time in Malawi history, and only the third time in African history, a female is now serving as President. Joyce Banda, who was kicked out of the President's political party when Bingu decided he would rather have his brother in charge after him, is now President following the sudden death of the President. There were several days of political debating from the President's party to see if they could stop her succession, but the Constitution was clear, and, ultimately, the VP was sworn in. This is a huge step for Women's empowerment (I'm pretty sure my blog entry on Women's rights is what did it) as well as democracy. I'm very proud of Malawi today.

The president of Malawi, Bingu wa Mutharika, died yesterday of a massive heart attack. The comments that people have left about the article below give good insight into the sentiments of the people here.

Streets are quiet today as most Malawians are home for the holiday weekend. Most seem anxious for what is too come, hopeful after what has ended, but lack faith in their political system. It feels very much like I am an onlooker, watching the shift of an entire nation that is not my own. Hopefully, Malawi can transition to a new leadership peacefully.

Malawi President Bingu wa Mutharika dies – exclusive » Comment Page 38 | Malawi news, Malawi - NyasaTimes breaking online news source from Malawi

When I lived in the village I found myself rationalizing most behaviors as “cultural differences.” Behaviors such as throwing rocks at dogs, waking up at 4am just for fun, and men lounging most of the day as their wives struggle to carry the water, wash the dishes, and cook all the meals usually with a baby strapped to the back. Malawi is a male dominated society, and it was only until I moved away from the villages, away from all the cultural “differences” and into a world far more recognizable that I realized just how powerful the men still are and how far women still have to go before they could ever be considered truley equal citizens. On the surface, it would appear that women are given all the same basic human rights; they are allowed to vote, own businesses, go to school, etc. However, spousal rape is not recognized as an offence, and until fairly recently, rape in general was not acknowledged as a crime. The reasoning was that if the man chose to have sex with a woman there should really be no further discussion. Here in Malawi, if a man chooses to have more than one wife, or have a mistress, there is no discussion. My neighbor, and closest friend in the village, was forcefully removed from her home by her husband when he decided he wanted to replace her with another woman. She left only because he threatened to never let her see her 4-year-old son again. Their tribal tradition gave all children and property to the man of the house. Without money, high school diploma, or most likely a valid marriage license there was no legal recourse for her. She lives a two-day and month’s wages journey from her son now with no prospects of finding work. Recently, there was movement by several men to stop women from wearing pants. As western ways slip into daily life here some of the younger generation have taken to wearing pants instead of the traditional ankle length sarong. In protest of this practice women wearing pants or skirts above the knee were grabbed by men, stripped in the streets and admonished until sympathetic onlookers would save them. The action was done by just a few men, but the reaction was the truly scary part. Malawians were divided; half believed it was a horrible act, however, a shockingly large portion of both men and women agreed that although the act was in poor taste, the message was right one: Women showing off their body were asking for negative attention because males are unable control their “urges.” This uncontrollable carnal nature of men seems to be a common excuse for men’s behavior: forgiving them for forcing their wife into sex, taking a mistress, polygamy, etc. A man’s virility here is a common topic of conversation. Several men I’ve spoken with from various villages and tribes believe that if a man has only a few children he is “lazy,” but if the couple cannot conceive it is always the women’s fault. As a white woman here I don’t really count as a woman. Malawians acknowledge that I have my own culture, and they have theirs and the standards don’t apply to me. They all agree though, that one tradition is not better than the other. Accepting this, as a woman, is a difficult pill to swallow. I believe the change must come from women themselves first; they must find their voices, believe in their own equality and begin to effect change. Things are different here now than even 20 years ago, but women in Malawi still are living in a boy’s club, they’ve found the clubhouse, but they must find the courage to knock and force their way in.

You will need: Milk, vinegar, salt, cloth

Step one: Pour milk into saucepan over med heatStep two: Bring to a boil, stirring constantly so it doesn't burn or get that creepy film on topStep three: Remove from heat and let it sit for 5 minutesStep four: Add vinegar while stirring. Add as much as it takes to curdle. You will be able to tell when it curdles. I promise.Step five: Let it sit some more, maybe 20-30 minutes depending on how much patience you haveStep six: Line a colander with a cloth. I've used anything from a tee shirt to a cut up bed sheet. Just avoid fuzzy stuff. Step seven: Strain your liquid through the cloth/colander by letting it sit or just gathering the ends of the cloth and squeezing it, depending again on your level of patience. Step eight: Add salt, herbs, pepper, maybe some lemon... whatever you like!

*The cheese will be the consistency of soft goat cheese. A quart of milk makes about 1/2 to 3/4 cup of cheese. *

What to use it for....-manicotti filling-Calzones stuffing-cracker spread-pizza topping-add vinegar to the final product, strain for longer, and it will be remarkably similar to feta-I'm open to suggestions-Let me know if you try this with goat cheese. I'm dying to know if it works, but asking for the milk of someone's goat would be like asking to milk their newly lactating cat... it wouldn't go over well

I'm four days away from payday and I'm afraid all I can think of these days are my own money woes. Moving to the city, followed by the resounding thud of the economy hitting rock bottom has led to an increased awareness of my spending habits. As my family will gladly tell you, I have never been much of a miser. I prefer to consider my lifestyle as a series of "well controlled indulgences." I'm learning all sorts of fun and creative ways to save money. In my family we like to call it "the stingy bone," which I believe replaces the "funny bone" in those of us some would call "dry." The following is a list of fun ways to save a penny, or kwatcha, depending on your country of origin.

10 signs you might be cheap1. You mix your laundry soap with water rather than purchase dish soap2. You design and make your own feminine hygiene products3. In the heat of the moment you come to and realize you've been screeching at a 60 year old man who is try cheating you out of 10cents for a handful of dried garbanzo beans4. You consider toilet paper a luxury, not a necessity5. You wake up in a sweat only to realize your nightmare was real: you really did leave the bathroom light on6. You wash your hair in the sink instead of showering so you don't waste the water7. Just as the tube of toothpaste looks like it got run over... then you cut it open8. Instead of just buying more oil you just keep using the questionable stuff sitting at the bottom of the frying pan9. You find yourself internally bargaining when shopping "If I get the wrinkly cucumbers I can have electricity for another 12 hours!"10. You catch yourself asking the starving child in Africa "Hey, are you going to eat that?"

*no this is not a plea for money, seriously, don't send it** ok, some of these might be a slight exaggeration

For those of you who know me and my Lazy Photo Eye (LPE)....I thought you would apprecitate these. The first was taken without the "1,2,3 Tyra" with very unfortunate results. Seriously guys, its works. I stand as medical proof.

Thought I would share a few of the most attractive photos of myself. These are just a few pictures of my CURRENT injuries.

Image Below: Blood Blister from trying to close a gate. Stupid gate.

Image Right: Mysterious rash acquired in Mozambique. Yes, it is still around, and still getting worse, and itches like crazy. I don't have any idea what it is.

Comments or suggestions from dermatologists, Mozambicans, germaphobes, or my mother are welcome. (No, it is not mange. I would know)

It all started with a little additional work stress, too much fun on holiday adventures, and then moving to a new home. All of that added up to a complete disregard for my blog. My apologies to those of you that have faithfully checked it over the past month. I humbly admit I am a bum.

So my very biggest news is that I moved. It wasn't really my first choice, but I've learned, when in Africa, you don't always have a choice. I've been homeless since November. Yep. That's right almost three months without residency. I don't really want to go into details of why, but Peace Corps and I decided that my home wasn't really that safe for me anymore. My wonderful friend Christie graciously offered me her home in the interim, and I began my house hunting.

I have since added house hunting to the ever growing list of things that are much easier in America; its right up there with daily meals at Taco Bell and maintaining sense of dignity. Anyway, there's no Craigs List or online apartment listings or bulletin boards or anything other than hearsay. After about two months of this I started feeling like that little leprechan who knew his lucky charms were somewhere but couldn't ever quite catch them.

I gave up.

I hate admitting it but I just couldn't do it anymore. By January Ginger and I had moved three times, which is not easy on a puppy or me for that matter. A wonderful house, that was promised to me fell through, and it was just the end of the line for my sanity. It didn't help that I had exhausted all of my temporary housing options and I was left with two choices: 1. Sleep in my tent in the yard of a cooperative Adventist or 2. Move 65km to big-city-Blantyre where there was a wealth of housing options and a fabulous job opportunity.

So here I am.... moved from the spiders and the dreaded outhouse, and my fancy counter top and my little garden, into a rooftop apartment with all the comforts and conveniences of America. I'm right back to massive, overwhelming culture shock, but I strongly suspect my hot shower will help to wash that away quite quickly.

As you approach the holidays, and question what to get yourself, or your loved ones, consider these gorgeous bags made by an amazing group of women right here in Malawi.

http://lusolamanja.wordpress.com

I have multiple bags; they hold up great and the patterns are always stunning!

My sweet kitty, Milo, was put to sleep this morning. I'm so sad I wasn't there to say goodbye. Thank you to everyone who loved her, friends who played with her, and roommates, family, and friends that took care of her. She was a wonderful cat.

Its never easy to describe how different life is over here to you guys. Other volunteers talk about becoming desensitized to the crazy stuff we go through daily. Its true, and it can be difficult to relate to the normalcy of life back home. Luckily, those familiar things like holidays bring back all the hominess and traditions and snap this crazy world back into focus.

So, here is my first Thanksgiving in Africa Adventure...

First, there was no thought of turkey for dinner. They are large, muscely, expensive, and rare, so that was out. The solution: 4 large fish sold from a man's bike handlebars, one duck that a random villager appeared with, and one chicken.The chicken was SMF and I's responsibility. So how do you get a Thanksgiving chicken in Africa?? Here's my step-by-step guide.

1. Pick a direction and start walking2. Tell anyone you see you are looking for a chicken, in Chichewa, of course, which roughly translates to "Tikufuna nkhukhu. Mukuziwa ali kuti?"3. Eventually villagers will start pouring out of their houses to follow and watch the action.4. The man who earlier had a school of fish tied to his bike will approach, gesticulate wildly, and indicate that he has a chicken to sell for double the price you are willing to pay. 5. You follow him to his house a kilometer away. 6. He makes you take your shoes off, sit on his mat, meet his entire extended family. 7. He will bring you a bowl with no less than 12 mangoes to eat and knife that looks like a piece of shrapnel from WWII.8. You will hack at the mango while you watch most of the extended family chase a chicken around and around the yard and into the house.9. They will tie its legs and start waving it in your face.10. You patiently explain that you want a "lady" not a "gentleman" chicken while pointing at your chest area to get the point across. 11. More chicken chasing and mango mutilation12. Argue over price until finally pulling out all your money to prove that's all you have.13. Walk away proudly with the chicken and 11 mangoes tucked underarm14. Chop off chicken head (I had nothing to do with steps 14-19)15. Throw in boiling water16. Pluck 17. Disembowel 18. Season19. Cook 20. Enjoy!!

Hope all of you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Here's to a lifetime of exciting memories and wonderful friends and family to share them with!

All semblance of a social life, real meals, productivity or hygiene activities have all come to a screeching halt. I always was a sucker for crime dramas, and, with the recent introduction of HBO's "The Wire," I've had to re-prioritize my life a little. Locking myself away to shamefully finish all five seasons as fast as possible has proven to be a little difficult in the absence of electricity, but, not to be deterred, I've figured out I can get in about three episodes a day if I haul my computer up to the hospital, make sure its fully charged before hauling it back home, and, if I bring lunch to work, I can furtively close my door at lunch time and get it one more episode.

I have a problem, but I'm going to blame it on my lack of westernized culture and my need to feel connected back home. West Baltimore is practically identical to Decatur, Georgia; right?

Thankfully, I was forced out of my reclusive/obsessive patterns to go to a Game Count. I thought it sounded like a great idea.... Go walking through a Game reserve,(think safari park) and assist the park by counting any animals you may see. This is how it was sold to me. Sounds nice right?Further probing uncovered that Peace Corps volunteers are led by a lone gunmen/forest ranger as they bushwhack their way across double digit kilometer distances, to try to get really close to animals that are a lot bigger and more territorial than we are. In retrospect, I'm fairly certain we were being used as bait; who else besides Peace Corps volunteers are stupid enough to not only do this, but get put on a waiting list to do this. In fact, if you have more seniority you get to go and count/chase after the more dangerous animals. So, possibly not such a great idea, but, since moving to Africa, my sense of adventure and need for adrenaline has spiked considerably. In reality the Game Count was a lot of walking in high heat and humidity, occasionally a glimpse of an antelope-like thingy running away, and a giant splinter in my foot. To liven up the atmosphere I asked to hold the clipboard; at least then I could pretend I was a lady scientist on a very important scientific exploration. When that fantasy staled, I went back to what I'm most fond of and became a renegade cop who has chasing drug dealers into the heart of the jungle. It got even better when we happened on a group of "poachers," and surrounded them commando style crawling on the ground, ready to attack, until we realized it was just another group of Peace Corps & Gunman. Good thing I wasn't holding the gun; my crime drama training tells me to shoot first and ask questions later, but that would have been quite a lot of paperwork for poor Peace Corps.

Out of the village and into luxury for my birthday. Hot showers, food not over a campfire, wine, cool temperatures... it was perfection

Its so hot. How hot is it you ask? Its so hot that it makes me want to use very, very bad words to describe it but I can't because A. I'm a United States Peace Corps Volunteer and I have a sterling reputation to uphold B. My parents read this blog C. I live with lots of Seventh Day Adventists, and for better or for worse they are rubbing off on me a little. Suffice to say its hot, and this is coming from someone who spent 27 years in Atlanta, Georgia, the first decade without air conditioning, and much of the second decade too cheap to turn it on. The hardest part is that there is no relief, nowhere to hide. There are no cars to get into and blast the AC, or work AC to mooch off. Its just oppressively hot ALL THE TIME. Thankfully, I don't even live in the hottest part of the country, where many volunteers are stationed. From what I understand, they're all sitting under trees with squirt bottles and slowly sweating the summer away in misery and self pity. I'm not quite that bad. I can actually function in the heat. Its just the nighttime that's hard. No electricity means no fans, which means NO air moving at all at night. My new tactic is a giant bucket of water and lots of towels. I can dunk the towels and then put them all over my sweltering body until they dry and then dunk them again. Its effective but it doesn't make for quality sleep. One small benefit of the heat is that I'm up and moving much earlier these days, and I like to think I'm much more productive as a result. My normal wake-up time is around 4:45am. So by 7pm its lights out and time for sleep.

I hear the rains are coming soon. Thank goodness because I feel about as wilted as my poor garden looks.

Until it cools down this blog is dedicated to all things HOT!

Here is a sampling of my new furniture. You'll probably have to zoom in a bit to see my ingenuity. The blue bucket on the table is positioned over a bucket fitted into a counter... and presto! A sink! Even a new cabinet for me so the roaches, ants, rats, and villagers can't get to my food!I'm moving up in the world!

In the absence of real dog toys, Ginger has come up with an eclectic mix of objects she values above all others. Seriously, she likes that stupid potato far more than she likes me.

I know, I know, my blog is pink now. Still working out some technical difficulties.

Q: How stupid can I be? A: Shockingly stupid

Is it my fault that a tiny, malnourished puppy could EASILY be mistaken for either a boy or a girl? Is it my fault that in my former life I mistook my unspayed female cat for a neutered male one, had already named it Milo, and decided to keep the name? Is it my fault that I've never owned a dog before?Is it my fault that I don't walk around looking between the legs of dogs to compare sex organs?Is it my fault that I mistook Simon's lady parts for a very immature male part?

THE ANSWER TO ALL QUESTIONS IS NO!

So please don't judge me when I tell you that my darling little boy Simon is actually a girl, and it only took me 4 months to figure it out.

I've already done the female-animal-masculine-name thing, and I'm not doing it again! Henceforth the puppy will be named Ginger in honor of her gorgeous red locks and my penchant for those blessed with red atop their head. In my defense I would like to remind all of my readers that through my intelligence, hard work and natural intuition I cured this dog of not one, but TWO deadly illnesses, and nursed it back to health when it was on the brink of starvation.

I really wouldn't blame you if you judged me for this one; I already have.

Its time I revealed a little about an intimate relationship I've recently become involved in. His name is Herald, and we've been involved for about a month now. I THINK we met sometime during my training and travels. He is cuddly little worm that has somehow ended up nesting lovingly inside my intestines. At first I barely noticed him, kept him tame with regular administrations of Pepto Bismol; however, now he has begun to really let me know when he's around. Owning/possessing/being possessed by a worm comes with its own set of trials and challenges. For instance, its very important to be near a "facility" about 30 minutes to an hour after food consumption. Food seem to make Herald overly excited,or angry, I'm still not sure which; foods such as ALL dairy, caffeine, meats, vegetables, starches, fruits, and oils. To be honest, I'm not quite sure what he enjoys the most, he seems to treat all of them as equal opportunity fodder. Herald also seems to be nocturnal, which means lots and lots of late night trips to the outhouse. This past weekend he and I made that trip 17 times in one night. Needless to say, what started out as a harmless flirtation with each other has now gotten serious, too serious for me. So I'm afraid its time for us to part ways. RIP Harald. I'm afraid I won't miss you all that much, but I promise to think of you every time I pass the outhouse.

Now that my training is all done I think its ok to share my projects and what exactly I’m doing with all the fabulous tax dollars I’m sucking up over here. Sorry for not sharing sooner, I really want to make sure that I only included projects that I think have a decent chance of success. I also needed to hear from Peace Corps that everything I’m doing is stuff they will support. So I’m dividing my time between four main areas The Hospital My job description lists me as the “Safety and Quality Volunteer,” which means that sit around and think of things the hospital could do to improve our patient care. How to do this? - I have revamped each flow sheet on the patient chart to minimize documentation, maximize patient care, and provide a more accurate clinical picture of the patient. - Providing continuing nursing education by facilitating peer-led education talks with morning report - Trying to get a better lab point of care system donated - Revising outdated policies - Beginning a hospital chart audit and data collection system - Forming a Quality and Safety committee to function after I’m gone - Wrote a few grants in order to get a youth friendly service center started and the staff trained (think Planned Parenthood in America.) This is my biggest project and the one I am most excited about! - Hospital staff volunteers will be trained in soap making as an income generating activity and to provide soap to our patients (this one isn’t off the ground yet, and yes, I DO know how to make my own soap now.) The College My job description at the University lists me as the “Clinical and Skills Lab Coordinator.” This one has a lot of potential! I’m going to be in charge of the nursing school skills lab and helping run the patient simulations. The rest of the job is sort of what I make of it, but it will involve placing the nursing students with good clinical experiences, monitoring their progress, and evaluating their work. I think I’ll be reading lots and lots of care plans! I’ve also done a little lecturing, most recently the reproductive system. That one deserves its very own blog post…. Private Hospital in the City They are opening an ICU, the first that will be to true “western” standards. My job for the past few months has been to train the nurses in Critical Care. There is no such program in the schools, so we were starting at square one here. I helped to form a relationship with the government hospital, which has a high acuity unit that we can train in and observe for learning purposes. The Village My village chief was kind enough to give me a nice long list of things to do. - Build them a clean water source. Looking for funding for this now. * - Find a way to treat their current water source - Help facilitate their fish farming endeavor (yep, that’s right, I know how to fish farm now as well) - There’s quite a few more small projects but since I’m not sure they are going to get done I don’t want to list them Ok, so the fifth area is my house and what I want to do just for me. - Get chickens - Get a goat and make goat cheese, but at least just own a goat - Start a beehive. Just received training on this and it seems totally possible. Not to mention a certain crazy friend is beekeeping in downtown Atlanta, so I always have her as a resource and motivator. - Build a brick oven to make pizzas in. Hoping special man friend is going to help with this one. Construction isn’t my greatest asset. - Still working on learning to play guitar and failing miserably - Make time to read!! - Possibly learn Chichewa, which I am STILL failing miserably at. Wish me luck. I’m down to less than 2 years to get all this stuff done; a fact that sends me into a sweaty-palmed panic. I may not sleep until 2013, but at least I’ll be productive! * You guys knew that eventually I was going to hit you up for money. Well I won’t quite yet, but it’s coming. You’ve been warned.

I should have given a little warning about my current absence from the blog. In my defense, I didn’t do a very good job communicating with anyone about it, including my very own mother who just emailed me the following:"Did you get eaten by a lion? Or a hyena? Or sucumb to a dread disease?" The Peace Corps requires so much official notice when we travel like supervisor signatures, landlord acknowledgement, office approval, blah blah.. I wish they would just generate a nice little official notice we could send out to everyone. Turns out if you aren’t around for a few days in America everyone just thinks you’re working hard, maybe just being a little anti-social. Here, if you’re not good about warning people and go missing you get emails about lions and disease. For the record, I haven’t seen a lion, and I’m pretty sure that because THERE ARE NO MORE LIONS. Ok, the disease scenario is slightly more plausible. I did manage to get mange, which is evidently almost impossible for humans to get, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got another worm, actually, I’m positive I have another worm. I promise I will get around to taking care of it. So I’ve been in the mountains training for two weeks, then to the city for more training only that was me conducting the training. Then, across the country for a music festival at the beach with special man friend, then back home for a few days, then back across country with special man friend for safari. Here is a visual representation for those of you that didn’t get that the first time. Sorry its so enormous....

I don't know that you guys were sufficiently impressed with the awesomeness of my home. To put it in perspective a little bit this WAS the home I lived in for 5 weeks when I first arrived. I was just a little cramped.

Gone are the days where I can just hop in my car and drive wherever the wind, or traffic, may take me. It still shocks me how much a car can change you life, change everything about it. I’m proud of myself that I manage to get around without a car, get around quite well actually, and even manage to navigate the public transportation system fairly well.All my smugness and self-satisfaction got blasted right out the window the other day when I had to haul the puppy, no longer a small puppy, into the city to be seen by the vet. I had put it off getting the immunizations for long enough, possibly leading to his afore mentioned illness. Simon and I woke up yesterday morning around 4:30, had our breakfast, packed our lunches, and left home around 6:15am with plans to arrive at pre-arranged transport at 7am. It normally takes me 25 minutes to walk there…. turns out, dogs slow you down. Especially dogs that still don’t understand the concept of a leash. Now we’ve been practicing our leash training by prancing around the house with it; we had even graduated to walking around the house with it. Nope, not the same as a 25-minute/75-minute walk. In fairness, he didn’t pull that much. He did however cower and shake uncontrollably every time a chicken came within 10ft; there are no less than 11,23,820,982,309,823,948,203,948 chickens walking around my village. He’s also refuses to walk if there are cars, people, large rocks, holes of any nature, big sticks, and strong breezes. Over an hour later we arrived at my friend Diane’s house who had graciously agreed to let us ride along with her to the city. How does Simon thank her? By vomiting profusely all over me, the seat, the car floor, her coffee cup, and himself. As previously agreed, we were dropped off on the street where we could take a public bus to get to the vet’s office. Important point: Many Malawians are terrified of dogs, even 7kg dogs like Simon. They are even less impressed with vomit-covered dogs. Can't say I blame them. The bus dropped us off in the middle of the market in the largest city in Malawi. It took exactly 0.2 seconds for me to understand that Simon was absolutely, under no circumstances, going to walk through the chaos. So into my arms went the vomit dog; not that it mattered since I was equally covered. Just six blocks to go!! I suppose I should have expected this, since I’m not the picture of grace and poise normally; but, of course, I fell, crashing to the ground with a shriek, still clutching the dog high in the air so as to avoid crushing him. Skinned both my knees, which started bleeding like slaughtered pigs (believe me if you haven’t seen this in person, its gory). 5.5 blocks, after Simon desecrated a churchyard, and peed on a Malawian’s shoe, I limped into the vet, caked in blood, vomit, and despair. Simon is now vaccinated. The vet says I need to return in three weeks for the second round of shots…

I admit that my blogging these days has been sporadic at best. I WANT to do better, but life just seems to get in the way. Simon decided last week that he wanted to take a few years off my life by attempting to end his own. I won't go into details for those of you with delicate compositions. Lets just say this: I have NEVER, EVER wanted paper towels and Lysol spray more. Three miserable days into his illness, after laying on the couch with him and sobbing every second that I wasn't at work, I got desperate and emailed my mother to please try to contact a veterinarian in the area and try to solicit any advice. My mother is next to sainthood; if you've been lucky enough to meet her you know how she's puts others before herself every single time. Even though she was on vacation she not only contacted one vet, but several until she got some answers. Because she did this I was able to give Simon the medicines that saved his life. I just want to say thank you so much to her and my father, and thank you so much to the responses from various vet's, both in Georgia and North Carolina, that helped me out. I am touched that you were willing to help even though there was no chance of monetary compensation. Simon and I both say thank you very, very much. I sincerely hope that I won't have to go through anymore illnesses (he's now fully immunized). However, it is a wonderful feeling to know how supported you are by your family and community even way, way, way over here.

As promised, here are the pictures of the front and back of my house! Someday I may actually have grass!

The rooms from left to right: chim (outhouse), dog house, outdoor shower, brick oven room, and compost pile room.

I have to admit I was a little hesitant to dedicate two whole posts to staying in a hotel. I mean really, how much can one talk about? HA! Part of the reason I haven't posted in awhile is because I'm still recovering from the process. Needless to say, I did end up purchasing the box of wine in an effort to soothe my damaged psyche.

Day 5 of living in a hotel: Day started off great! A friend shared the contents of a care package, and since Salami and cheese are best enjoyed from the comforts of bed, I tucked in and face planted into both of them. Crumbs don't matter, the insects have never seen salami so how would they know they liked it? Day 6 of living in a hotel: They like Salami. A lot. I returned home from an exceptionally crappy day at the hospital, crawled in bed only to fling myself out of it. The bed is no longer safe. There were not one, not two, but FOUR big bugs IN my bed. Then took off the mattress and found more, many, many, many more. I've never packed my bags so fast. I marched straight to the office, hauled the poor door man out of bed, and insisted on being moved. This wonderful watchman moved with no problems at all! Day 7 of living in a hotel: The new room is much nicer, no smell, no insects, and absolutely NO MORE food in the room. However, the city water supply has apparently exploded. I dare anyone to try and wash their hair in a sink the size of a soup bowl using bottled water. Day 8 of living in a hotel: Sitting there casually eating my dinner and trying to forget the baby at the hospital with the eyeball the size of a lemon. I am approached by the owner of the hotel who kindly asks me to pay my bill up until the point "of course!" I exclaim, thinking this is a harmless request. When I hand over the money he looks at me like I'm the one with an eyeball the size of a lemon and kindly explains that this is not enough money. He then asks for what is the equivalent to three months rent at my house in the village and politely tells me to get out of his hotel if I can't pay it. Well that just simply not going to work because I'm pretty sure its against Peace Corps rules to sleep on the streets, so after much begging he allows me to move my stuff into the 8 bed hostel. So now up to three room changes... trying not to freak out. Day 9 of living in a hotel: I've taken to affirmations in the mirror of "just two more days, just one more day, etc." Each morning I have to pack my stuff up, put it in the office, wash with cold bottled water, and the insects have returned. Two stores are now competing to see which megaphone is louder, and after a week of MC'ing they've run out of things to advertise so its like dueling Malawian karaoke from 7am-5pm.Day 10 of living in a hotel: I have nothing left to say. The city has broken me. I can't wait to get home to my outhouse, my paraffin stove, my buckets. I will never complain about my home again.

What a surly little post to leave you guys with last week. I was just feeling a little frustrated because I have to live in a hotel for two weeks for my Malawian Nurse Midwives Council MANDATORY nursing training. Day One of living in hotel: Not so bad. Room is surprisingly big, sparse, but big, and my bathroom is larger than most peace corps houses. The paint is a little chipped, but an exceptionally large missing piece resembles a very pleasant looking rabbit holding a hammer. The windows have screens on them helping ventilate the interesting smell, which reminds me of a cross between week old raisins and super glue. There is a TV, and there are outlets, AND light switches so really, what could I possibly complain about?Day Two of living in hotel: The raisin-glue smell is getting stronger. I decided to put my clothes into the "armoire" but when I opened it I saw an insect of remarkable size, so I've abandoned that idea and, just for safe measure, I pushed the chair against the armoire doors. I'd like to see the insect of Satan move that! Day Three of living in hotel: Chair plan did not work at all, and insect of Satan appears to have invited all his friends to point and stare at the crazed white girl cowering in the corner in fear. I hear their little legs clicking on the walls as they run around. Thankfully, the leg-clicking is drowned out in the day time by the man with a megaphone hollering "expert rice cooker" and "trousers so nice!!" Day Four of living in hotel: I grow strong on my strict diet of bread, peanut butter, jelly, margarine, and cheese puffs. In a moment of weakness I walked across the street to stare longingly at the boxed wine (yes, I'm reduced to salivating at wine wrapped in cardboard), but I lost my nerve when I realized that a box is the equivalent of three nights in the hotel.

Stay tuned for nights 5-10....

So I spent a little time looking over this circuitous blog and realized I haven’t ever actually mentioned what it is I’m doing over here. Were you guys just going to let me never say anything? I’m sure wandering blog passerbies begin to read this and stop, scratch their heads and think “wait just a second, this is the best and brightest from America? Well, to her credit she did figure out how to get an image into a word document, draw on it, export it to a PDF file, and then upload it onto the Internet system comprised of gerbils, wheels, and bits of copper wire. If she can do that she must be doing something outrageously smart and productive.” Well I’m here to burst your bubble. I made Alex the IT/Engineer guy help me with the spider picture. I took him away from his incredibly busy and important job help me free hand draw a pencil. Thankfully Alex has developed patience and tolerance for me. Ok, so what am I doing? Well I’m not going to say quite yet, and here’s why. In three weeks I will FINALLY be done with my orientation phase of this process. I’ve spent the past few months lurking in corners with a chewed up pen and a notepad that Simon peed on asking lots of questions and furtively jotting down such notes as, “man with short tie wants new office” Are new hospital wings expensive? Woman with puff sleeves requests chocolate cake at next training session.” In three weeks I will give/acquire/be assigned a very important job description complete with my full name, bullet points, and lots of legalish jargon. I promise to dedicate a whole, very adult, blog entry to my very adult job that I’m doing over here. Rest assured, I am working hard over here at more that just Microsoft Draw.

Things continue to be tense here. Its difficult to decipher truth from exaggeration as the text message and emails fly between the expat community here. Many reports suggest that anywhere from 1-7 people were killed in the demonstrations, that many government and police houses were targeted and set on fire, and that the mob has been setting fire to fuel, tires, and whatever else they can get their hands on. The hope was that this would fizzle after a day, however, all day there have been rumors of major looting and raiding going on in the cities and the mob vandalizing as they go. Again, I am far, far away from all of this activity and remain as safe as ever. Myself and other volunteers wait anxiously to see what our status will be if the violence escalates or leaves the cities. No one worry, throughout all of this there has been no hostility towards foreigners. The people's anger seems to be aimed just at the government and doing what they can to express their point of view. I will continue updating when I can.

Much has happened in the country today. Read below for updates. Things are very uncertain, but just know that I am very safe. I will try to keep everyone updated with changes.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-14217148

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-13266263

I thought it time to take a quick break from the frivolity and discuss the serious state of affairs here in Malawi. Don't you panic US government blogger screener, I swear to you that the contents of this post are strictly observational and any opinions you derive are ones that you reached all by your lonesome.

So here, in a unbelievably watered down and layman explanation, is what is going on today in my country. If I get facts wrong then I'm sorry; I live in mud hut so fact checking isn't super easy.

This all began when Malawian tobacco, our number one export, was made illegal for sale in the United States and part of Europe. It is used as a cheap filler tobacco and contains high concentrations of carcinogens. This means that Malawian Forex has bottomed out. Now, if you live in America, and didn't take advanced economics, than you most likely have NO idea what Forex is. I know I didn't. As I understand it, Forex is where your countries currency holds up in the international que for importation of goods. In other words, how strong is your economy and how much respect do other economies have for you. Our Forex is now very weak, so the Kwatcha is weak, so it now has becoming increasingly difficult to import goods and inflation is sky-rocketing. Malawi, being a landlocked country, already has some major importation constraints so this only adds to the disaster. Most keenly felt throughout the country is the strain on the Petroleum and Diesel reserves. The REPORTED numbers are that we are able to import 30% of what the country needs. Can you imagine if only 3 out of every 10 cars got gas at the gas station? Yeah.. this is causing quite a problem. For instance, my hospital's ambulances are now often at a stand still; we have taken all the diesel from the hospital backup generator to run the cars, but that will only last us so long, we have frequent power outages, and the cars and ambulances will soon be grounded again.Malawi considers itself a democracy. Recently, the President has come under close scrutiny for how the fuel crisis is being handled. In addition, he has been widely criticized for his alienation of the British Government. As of now, Britain has suspended all further Aid to Malawi, which as a country that relies on foreign aid for a myriad of things from Hospital funding to crop security. This is a HUGE blow to the country, and many hospitals are beginning to feel the effect of this very acutely. The President is also responsible for the cancellation of the Parliamentary Midterm elections (I think that's what they call it). Again, imagine if Obama cancelled elections.

All this combined has led to some very pissed off Malawians. Today, in all the major cities around the country the people are rising up in protest of the high cost of living and the fuel crisis. They are considering this the largest demonstration since 1992. However, last night a high court judge issued an injunction against any of those who decided to protest. BBC reporters discussed international outrage at this suppression of free speech. Those of us not allowed anywhere near the cities or protests, such as myself, sit and wait to see as the government and the people "meet in the streets."

Keep Malawi in your thoughts today and in the upcoming months.

Again, no opinions given, just stating the facts as I know them.

Are you following this blog? Well you should! I've become addicted to the blogspot stats, so I can see the various countries people are following me from, and how often the blog is viewed. I'm so flattered and excited that this has taken on such international interest (hopefully not criticism)!! Anyway, if you are popping in from time to time to see what I'm up to then I encourage you to become a blog follower. Its nice to know the audience I'm writing to, and never hesitate to leave a comment or suggestion. I'm always open to suggestions on posts, answer questions, or providing more pictures. I don't know, is this cheating? It does sort of feel like cheating. Is part of having a blog being solely responsible for coming up with witty and original posts?

I'm warning you now, if you don't help me out here I'm going to spend the next two years posting pictures of baby animals, and of me carrying various objects on my head.

Welcome to my Mange Free Zone or MFZ. Every single treatment I have researched involves vacuums and dryers and pesticides. I don't own a single a single one of these things, nor do I have any clue how to acquire them. My only solution is the 22 day quarantine. EVERYTHING has been stripped, and washed and is now hanging on clothes lines outside. However, its been raining for the past three days, and there appears to be no end in sight. So I'm living in the tent since all my linens and mattresses are locked away, and until the rain stops and things can dry I'm wearing my only Mange Free Clothing.

My MFZ is pretty spiffy though. Please note bag of benadryl taped to the outside, mange mittens to prevent nighttime scratching and antibacterial hand gel to use before entering the MFZ. I WILL BEAT THIS!!

I realize its been a little while since I last posted. I hope everyone enjoyed their American Independence day. I know I sure did! A group of us took a little break and hitchhiked the 7 hours to the beach. More on hitchhiking adventures later...Unfortunately, I came home to a small crisis. Me and Simon (dog) have been itching like crazy for several weeks. I managed to get some meds from the Peace Corps Medical office that helped, but when I returned home Simon now has no hair, scabbed everywhere and basically looks like what nightmares are made of. So I managed to wrestled him into a box, get to the only vet in country about 2 hours 2 cars and 2 minibuses away, and now I can comfortably report that the both of us have the mange. That's Right!!!! THE MANGEI expected a few fleas, possibly a skin infection. Not the mange. I am now responsible for a small epidemic of the mange that has affected me, the neighbors, the family next door, most of the dogs in the area, even the monkey, and more families are coming forward everyday.

Needless to say I've been a little busy with damage control.

Plan of AttackShots for Simon once a weekCreams and Lotions for me dailyMedicine for most of the villageWash every single thing I own (once it stops raining, which it hasn't done in the past three months until now). Until then live in the only pair of clothes I know to be ok, and sleep on the floor in my sleeping back. Quarantine myself and the dog. Simon has a nice pair of homemade slippers and head cone to keep him from scratching. Picture to comeLots and lots of apologizing.Die of shame because I have the Mange.

In an effort to keep Malawi fun and interesting we thought it would be a great experience to be led into the forest, at night, by a man carrying an enormous gun, to set bait for the hyenas outside their cave, sit 10 feet away on a rock, and wait for them to come to us. Did I see a hyena? No Did I hear a hyena? No Did I sit on the rock for two hours in the cold? Yes Did I stare at a pile of rancid goat meat for two hours? Yes Could I smell the rancid goat meat for two hours? Yes Did the man ever fire his gun to show off? No Did we ask him to? Yes Did we ask him to let us take a picture holding his gun? Yes Did he let us? No Did he laugh at us when we asked? Yes Did I have a good time? Oh yeah

Please take note of the exciting new additions on the right side of the screen. I've discovered widgets (little text boxes you add to blogs). I like the word widget so much I've added lots and lots of them. Please enjoy. Widget. HA!

Garrett, my nearest Peace Corps neighbor, and I are water bucket carrying masters! I started out with a 15 liter bucket but after some children played an unfortunate prank on me and poked holes in the bottom of it and stood laughing as I got soaked. I was forced to upgrade to the 20 liter sooner than I expected. Buckets here are like cars in the US. The bigger the better and the more you get the cooler you are. I'm currently sitting at 14 buckets and definitely still falling far short of the average Malawian. I will eventually figure out what they are doing with all these buckets.

I know you are dying to know what I could possibly do with 14 buckets...I present to you in order of favorites:

Katie's Bucket List Peenelope- my very first bucket. Can you guess what she's for?hand bucket for bathingscooper bucket for waterwater bucket big water bucketbucket with tap for hand washingdish bucketdish rinsing bucketdirty dish bucketdog washing bucketwatering can bucket for gardenerdog washing bucketlaundry bucket#1laundry bucket #2 (I brought too many clothes)

Four days into owning a dog, and I can say with true conviction that moving to Africa, living without water or lights....none of it compares to the emotional turmoil of my new dog (Simon).

I HAD to get Simon. I passed him at least twice a day on the way to work. I watched as the kids threw him, threw things at him, kicked him, never fed him. I came to Africa to do some good, I guess I just didn't think it would extend to the canine population. Unfortunately, most Malawians do not like dogs. They are treated as we would treat a racoons or possums; they are pests here. Dogs survive purely from scavanging out of garbage pits and stealing food. Needless to say Simon is pitiful. I was told he is about 3 months old, but the dog can barely walk. I have to carry him outside for him to go the the bathroom, which makes for easy house training, but it breaks my heart. He came covered in thousands and thousands of fleas. It took 4 flea baths and 2 rounds of flea powder to get them all off, so he's now flea free but his skin is still suffering the effects. Every day he becomes a little less shy, but he still trembles and shakes when I pick him up. I'm assuming this is from a combination of abuse and no real positive human interaction. The biggest challenge now is getting him to eat. He seems to enjoy milk (I'm using milk powder and water), and I've been adding a tablespoon of oil to it to increase the calories. Otherwise he is unwilling to eat much else. I've tried bread soaked in milk, dried fish (he is mildly interested in these), eggs, potato soup, ramen noodles, and chicken (which he loved, but its virtually impossible to get here.) So what do you feed puppies if there is no dog food? And how much should they be eating? And do I worry if he doesn't eat? I'll be honest I'm not sure how successful I will be at nursing him back to health. If he does make it through puppy-hood how to I begin to encourage positive behaviors? I worry that the past abuse will make for an agressive dog later. What are warning signs of this? So far he hasn't barked, growled, nothing, and he does seem to enjoy being held more and more.

Clearly I am in way over my head. Anyone out there with dog owning experience help me out here!!

I'm taking these little "technicolor goggles" as I like to refer to them, and going on a little adventure... to MALAWI! For two years. HAHA!Ok, clearly I've not been stelar with my blogging over the past... two years. However, now I have my very own real excuse to blog, and people may even want to read it!

Please see photo as expression of my stress level. No joke.

I'm at t-minus 29 more days until I leave. That just isn't a very long time. I like to think that I've been super organized and prepared; doing things like selling my car, moving out of my perfect apartment, finding a foster home for my cat, quitting my job(s), getting rid of all my earthly possessions; piece of cake! Now its time for very serious, and non-fun things like packing, learning Chichewa, and saying good bye to everyone and everywhere I love.

Language is kicking my ass, and I've started calling it "chiche-won't" to myself because I won't learn it. I'm convinced I'm going to be the crazy white American girl/village idiot who just gesticulates wildly and makes strange moaning noises around food. Please send positive and encouraging language vibes my way.

Otherwise, I'm packing, sort of. I own a multi-tool, a backpacking backpack, some clothes that MIGHT work, and a packing list. Oh and 4 jumbo vacuum seal bags. I'm optimistic that I can manage to fit everything I own into two 4olbs bags. Please send positive and encouraging packing vibes my way as well.

In the meantime, to deal with the above stressors I am attempting to manage my sanity in a spectrum of ways ranging from super healthy to absurdly unhealthy. For instance, to cope with stress yesterday I purchased a four cup bag of shredded extra sharp cheese and just ate it straight out of the bag. I wonder if this is how I'll deal with stress in Africa? Certainly not with cheese; I can't believe I'll start stress eating yams.

Don't worry. At some point I will actually have substance to these posts. I'm going to rock your world with all the crazy awesome, insightful, deep posts. Just you wait.

Previous Posts Contain Nothing Concerning my Trip to Africa. They were Created from Boredom and My Own Nonsensical Rambling. Read at Your Own Risk.

So everyone wants to know about my personal conditions down in Haiti; what was that typical day like?

The FoodGross: by no means was I expecting a feast to be laid out for me, but I wasn't anywhere close to prepared for the spread I was provided.

Breakfast: Well I never actually got to eat breakfast since it was almost always served when I was right in the middle of tearing my hair out trying to figure out how to give my 16 patients their 20 antibiotics in less than 30 minutes with one EMT and 2 med students at my disposal. But was, I often observed, a delightful chicken noodle soup complete with two different kinds of noodles, canned tuna fish, bananas, and Vienna sausages floating on top. Somehow the dry, stale granola bar didn't seem so bad.

Lunch: By far the most superior of the meals, when you could get it, consisted of rice and beans, and a meat. No fresh vegetables, ever, for 17 days straight.

Dinner: The most inconsistent meal of the day. One could expect anything from "spaghetti" (noodles and ketchup), to a bowl of meat, to my personal favorite a soup made with tomato sauce, sardines, and cubed up canned spam. Not that I really got to indulge in thesedelectable treats. I had a talent for arriving in the kitchen just in time to see the final remains get scooped onto someone elses's plate. Luckily, I can forage for food with the best of them. So from our little pantry I created macaroni and cheese from noodles and cannedArabic processed cheese. I made fried egg sandwiches, and pastas. Just try to imagine me making a fried egg with a spatula the size of my face in an iron pan large enough for me to sit in. Comical.

SleepingI like to think I got the best spot in the place. The living quarters were in the actual clinic on the second floor. There the room were set up like dormitories. We had to share a bed with someone from night shift, and thankfully my bed partner had the foresight to steal the closet the first night. This was beneficial for several reasons.

1. Perfect means to block out the unreal amounts of snoring these people emitted.

2. You could essentially have your own room with the ability to close the door and read or change without having to schlep to the bathrooms.

3. I doubled as a storage closet for all the food I foraged. I slept with a pineapple for three nights straight waiting for it to ripen.

Free TimeThere was none. The few hours I managed to escape I went into Haiti to "help" set up a water purification system in one of the refugee camps. Ask me later if you care to here about this fiasco.A few nights when I wasn't bone tired and was able to muster up enough socializing steam to carry me out for beers on the roof or sitting in the dirt outside the convenient store. Not my most glamorous moments considering I brought nothing but scrubs to wear.HygieneHa! I did mange a shower occasionally, which wasn't terriably enjoyable considering the hot water wasn't super reliable. I shared the bathroom with at least 12-14 other people, so I would have to get up about an hour before I needed to be downstairs and working if I wanted a chance at the bathroom.

I went to Haiti, saved some lives, and found out a whole hell of a lot about myself that I didn't realize. When you are immersed in a culture so alien from your own it lays bare all the asinine little things that plague your life; you figure out what really is important. And you find out how powerful you are and all the other human spirits are that swirl around you every single day. I received my phone call from Sherri late on a Tuesday night after weeks of avoiding the media hype surrounding the earthquake in Haiti. I felt helpless and unused when I saw pictures of people who I felt I could tangibly make their lives better. Sherri asked me if I could be ready to leave the country by 6am Friday evening; I didn't give it a second thought. Well, that is until I spoke to my mother, who scared the pants off of me with her frantic concerns of rabid bats, white slave trade (what!!?!), and bed bugs. Despite these warnings I found myself rushing off to take my test I had put my life on hold for several days sooner than I had planned. I found myself packing my bag, filling my malaria medicine prescription and brushing up on my adult disaster relief nursing skills, which I had roughly a 0% knowledge base. I found myself realizing hours before I left that I had forgotten to tell anyone but my parents and my bosses that I was leaving. The feeling of nauseous, smothering, overwhelming fear of the unknown was always first and foremost in my mind. "What am I thinking, I don't know a thing about adults, or emergency medicine, or rabid bats" And yet, I got off the plane in Santo Domingo with all the faux zeal and confidence I could muster. My little team of three nurses met and sped off in a rickety little taxi to the Carey House Hotel; a quaint little B&B where the front desk boy will be more than happy to fetch you the list of local restaurant numbers that are held down by his hand gun/paper weight. We spent our first night in Latin America eating Chinese food out of cut up water bottles and homemade utensils. The next morning our one contact in the DR agreed to take us to the local bus station as long as we handed over his coveted Wal-Mart brand tropical trail mix we were told to bring with us. We were herded off to the bus station and placed on the bus bound to Jimani, which included such things as live chickens, pushy sandwich peddlers, and some very lively Latin music. It was during this bus ride that I was finally able to accept my growing panic for what I was about to face and talk it through with my fellow nurse, Sharon. She assured me that even NICU nurse would be more than capable of handling what lay ahead. Our welcome to The Buen Samaritan Clinic was warmer than any of us expected. I suppose they had hoped we were coming but had resigned themselves to the possibility that they may just have work without the nurses. My first impression of the clinic was positive; people seemed busy, but in control, and distracted, but enjoying themselves. But in the office I received my first really bad news. They were going to place me on day shift, but Sharon and Ann, my only support system, were to work on night shift. For the first time, of many, I told myself I wasn't here to make friends, but to work hard, and to do the very best I possibly could. So I threw my bag down, unpacked my meager nursing gear (most of which I lost before an hour passed) and headed down the stairs for my "orientation." The orientation facade shattered 30 seconds later when a patient came in complaining of dizziness and fainting. I found myself being asked to get "orthos"; and what might those be, I wondered to myself. And could I please get a CBC and Chem 10's? The doctor might as well be speaking Greek at this point. hmmmm... I wonder how this lady would feel if I pricked her heel like my NICU babies to get lab work? Oh there is a lab that will draw blood for you? Excellent!! Oh, but they only speak Spanish, so you'll have to find someone who can interpret for you. WEll CRAP. Flash forward 8 hours of this crazy "chasing my own tail nursing," and that pretty much summed up day one for me.

The greatest ideas are often born from the darkest moments.

Let me set the scene: Myself driving down the 400 toll at 11pm last night. I sat there knawing pensively on my stale and microwave induced rubbery pizza that I shiftly stole from the breakroom at work. I found myself looking around my car, which after a looooong work week of 12-16 hour days, was filled with greasy take-out bags and crumpled wrappers. My moment came as my hand slowly crept to the bag wondering if just maybe, hopefully, I could find a little fried hitchhiker to munch on. And then it hit me in a brilliant, blinding flash of blazing creativity; I'm going to set up a drive through in the toll booth!

The Business ModelStep one: I need an "in" into the tolling community so as to network my way into a toll booth job.Step two: Begin work as a tollbooth worker. Fly under the radar at first, no rocking the boat. Just be the best damn tollbooth worker I can be. Meanwhile, begin to get a handle on the market; needs, interests, food cravings....a toll poll! haha!Step three: Start small possibly something similar to a lemonade stand set up, of course all depending on the polling results (refer to step 2). But innocent, small scale so as not to threaten or raise suspicion among the other toll workers.Step four: Begin generating some serious street cred, possibly a need for more workers at this point, look into expanding my booth. Step five: Bring my business to a key franchise company and before you know it I will have the busiest Chik-fil-a/Chinese food/sandwich shop in the entire Southeast.

Flawless.

Plan to commence after the holidays. I'm going to be so freaking, fantastically, fabulously rich from this scheme.

*Yep that's ME in the tollbooth. Thank you Anne for helping this amazing image to come to fruition, and introducing me to photoshop. This blog is about to get a lot more awesome!