Hi everyone!

Just wanted to announce that I am now blogging at my permanent site,

http://www.pancakesandpostcards.com

Please update your bookmarks/google readers/RSS feeds/whatnot.

Hope you like the new blog!

Courtney

Hello everyone!

I am taking a short break from blogging on here... I wish I had left you with something more uplifting than the last entry, but I am sure you can deal with it. :) I am actually working on a whole new blog that is going to be approximately 375% better than this one, so I might post occasionally here for the next few weeks, but I am trying to get that one going. And I will make sure you all know when its ready to go!

Be well.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

Failure. There are probably thousands of adages and pithy apothegms that deal with the concept. Encouraging us to be grateful for failures and the opportunities for improvement and personal growth that they provide, while distracting us from the main point: failing sucks. Whether it's rejection, failure to meet personal or professional goals or objectives, or simply letting yourself down (or even worse, someone else), coming to terms with our shortcomings is a difficult process. But ultimately beneficial… if you survive it.

All things considered, I didn’t deal with a lot of failure in my former (UCLA) life. I applied for a variety of competitive jobs and student organizations and always got what I wanted. My junior and senior years I was always running from some class to some meeting to some party to some bar and still managed to swing basically straight A´s in both of my majors and graduate with a variety of honors. I applied for Peace Corps without a doubt in my head that I would be accepted, and got sent to an idyllic locale in a beautiful country with a job that affords me amazing professional experience.

In short, I have been really, really, lucky.

The last year and a half has not been like that. And it has really knocked me down a notch or ten.

Out of the seven deadly sins, there is no question that Pride is my Achilles heel. Sure, I have my moments of gluttony and sloth (who doesn't?) but failing is the hardest thing—even if the only person noticing is me. If you want to get over issues of pride and self-importance, then Peace Corps is the thing for you. The former, normally well-put-together version of me could not have imagined the humiliation and awkwardness suffered on a daily basis. Whether it's trying to do something simple like buy tomatoes in the market and having no one understand you (or worse, telling you you don't speak Portuguese when all you had to utter was about one simple sentence), or not being able to express even simple needs and wants, or being formerly loquacious but being silenced by a language barrier, is incredibly affecting. Not to mention the other daily embarrassments afforded by this life, such as constantly dripping sweat and wearing unattractive clothing because it's the only thing that makes sense; banishing makeup and hair products and kissing young, healthy skin goodbye; being followed down the street by children who are laughing at you; to carrying your own stool sample around in your purse or discussing different types of diarrhea at dinner; to constantly being told you are getting fat (THANKS)… Peace Corps is far from glamorous. But I guess no one joins PC to learn how to be high-maintenance. You get over it. You deal. Because you have to.

I used to do everything in my life pretty darn well. Peace Corps has not been like that. I've had so many shortcomings, so much falling-short, so many disappointments. Some of them are not my fault. But many of them are. It has been a constant battle to dig through the miry clay of negative thought and fight to rediscover my own sense of self-worth and confidence. It has been hard throughout, but my psyche got dealt its greatest blow on Saturday.

Studying for the GRE was tedious at times, but through it all I thought that this was just a snobby version of the SAT. I learned this stuff in junior high. Easy-peasy.

The scarier part was the implications of said test. Can I apply to graduate school this year? To the programs I really want? Or will I be forced to wait another year, and strengthen my application? I can be prone to stress regarding the future (“Let go and let God” sounds great in my head, but usually doesn’t make it all the way into my heart) so this test WAS important. But whatever. It's just the dumb GRE—the annoying little sister of the REAL post-grad exams (LSAT, MCAT) trying to be taken seriously and failing.

The writing section came first and went well. Even though it is the section no one cares about, I was still feeling good. Right into the first verbal section, which went fine. But then the ish hit the proverbial fan.

I’d been the most worried about the math, for a variety of reasons. There were a few topics that still made me anxious (who really needs to know how to calculate the length of the altitude of a triangle inscribed in a circle inscribed in a square, for example??) and the timing. I did six practice tests from my Barron’s book and could barely finished the 28 problems in the 45 minutes allowed, but I was doing it. I can only blame myself in that I didn’t realize the book was based on the computer adaptive test and that the paper test, a privilege reserved only for those of us overseas, actually had 30 questions (more problems) in 30 minutes (significantly less time). The reality of this situation didn’t set in until I realized I was halfway through the time allotted and had completed precisely nine problems—the easiest ones. The ensuing mad rush resulted in me filling in somewhere between six and ten (out of 30!) in the last seconds, blindly guessing.

This has never happened to me before. EVER.

My brain was spinning with shock and disappointment and tears for my dreams of a 1450 and Princeton admittance began to creep in. I had to turn the page immediately and continue into the next section—but I was off my game. Staring at analogy questions where I knew all 12 of the vocab words, but my brain couldn’t string a relationship together. The self-destruction carried right into the final math section, which a very hyper-on-the-verge-of-full-out-panicking me filled out as fast as possible, on the edge of my seat, haphazardly filling in bubbles with the hopes of saving just a few more seconds. I didn’t have to guess on as many this time. But I still had to.

After it was over, I sat there in shock. Months and months of studying had come down to this? I was supposed to be feeling happy, relieved, accomplished. Instead it was taking everything in me to resist running up to the front of the room, stealing my test sheet, ripping it into small pieces while screaming “THIS IS NOT FAIR!! I WAS SUPPOSED TO ACE THIS TEST!!!” Indeed, I felt like an Olympic sprinter who had trained for twelve hours a day for years, giving up everything else, only to trip over a shoelace at the start.

I tried to hold it together but the tears, they still came. And all those things, those encouragements that I KNEW… (You haven’t even gotten your scores back. Maybe you did better than you think. Everyone thought it was hard. You can just take it again. If anything you just take another year off before school; you were thinking about it anyway…) Nothing made me feel better. It touched a deeper nerve within me.

I had failed myself.

So much of PC, I have had to deal with feeling like I failed to meet other’s expectations, for a variety of reasons. Like I had let them down. But this was the one thing that was just for me. And I failed myself.

These last few days have been a powerful lesson for me in terms of how I react to things like this. In short, as you can probably tell, I SUCK at it! But if there is one thing I know: this is not the first time I have failed, and it is FAR from the last. It may indeed be true that my life will be more defined by how I respond to failure than by my successes. I just need to learn to pick myself back up. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. And I’m not dead yet.

Great things come in small packages.

But sometimes the biggest, most overwhelmingly huge and frustrating problems come in the tiniest little bodies that you just want to murder in the most violent manner possible until your house is littered with the dead.

I’m talking about the ants.

Living in a bamboo house with a thatched roof means making peace with all of God’s creatures who make themselves at home. Since moving in, Sarah and I have enjoyed the company of rats, birds, mosquitoes, cats (or other unidentified cat-sized animals in the roof…) cockroaches, spiders, moths, snakes, a tarantula, and bugs that fall from the sky (roof) onto our heads. All of these have maybe given me a scare (the snake on my apron), grossed me out (roaches cuddling up in bed with me), or left me looking like a scarred leper (mosquitoes). But none of these have succeeded in ruffling me like the ants.

Whoever said they come marching one by one was sorely downplaying the gravity of the situation. Add a handful of zeroes after the one and now we’ll be speaking with veracity.

They moved in sometime during the fall months—well, the spring here (September, October), right about the time I started getting towards the end of my rope. It was innocent enough at first. Some in the food I accidentally left out, or making the occasional other appearance in the kitchen.

But then the troop surge came.

I can’t remember an exact moment, but something changed and all of a sudden our house was flooded with ants. They were everywhere. Including, but not limited to:

• My loofa sponge

• The sinks

• The animals’ food and water

• My makeup bag

• My roommate’s bed

• Inside our water filters

• My precious jar of nutella

• All over the shower head (so if you turned on the shower when you were already in it, your first shower would be a fresh dose of ant bodies)

• All throughout our stacks of clean clothes

• My underwear “drawer”

• Inside a sealed box of Pop-Tarts I got in a package (found their way into the box, then chewed their way through the foil packages. Splitting each precious tart open revealed a series of tunnels left where the miscreants had devoured their way through the heavenly cinnamon brown sugar filling… I felt my heart break in my chest. I ate several bites anyway. Hey, I think all the ants had left by then… I hope.)

• Anything damp. Apparently they aren’t just looking for food, they are looking for water. In any and all forms.

I don’t know what it was about these ants that got us so pissed off. Well actually, I do. The rats, they come out at night and we don’t really see them. The roaches try to keep to themselves, but when they crawl out of our sink while we are washing dishes and scare us half to death, they get squished. Etc. But the ants… literally nothing can be done. And believe me, we have tried everything. From bug spray so lethal that I am quite convinced I feel my own brain cells dying a poisonous death whenever we spray it, to ant traps that did nothing, to having to dry every single dish we ever washed in fear of leaving out something with drops of water on it (and then the damp drying cloth turning black with ant bodies before the evening was out), to cinnamon (apparently ants hate it? Lies), to bleach… each massacre just brought them back stronger than ever. The breaking point was when they finally, after a protracted effort on our part, got into our water filters. All three of them. Which led to me drinking our sink water unfiltered (which tasted more or less healthy…) and then getting sick. I could hear them laughing.

So it seemed like there was nothing else to do really than to make peace with them. Or as much peace as possible when finding them crawling through the refrigerator half an hour after I had cleaned it and nearly erupting in a fit of rage. Nothing like bathing yourself with a sponge filled of ants… or washing your dishes with a scrubber that they’ve probably been nesting in… or lifting up a cup of precious hot chocolate to take the first sip and realize the several dark spots you mistook for non-dissolved cocoa powder are really tiny little ants, floating there innocently in what was your supposed to be your indulgent cup of creamy goodness. Like it or not, there is no escaping them.

Part of me has to admire their evolutionary prowess: fifty of the little buggers can fit onto my thumbnail, and yet still they are the only thing we cannot seem to kill off. But the other part of me questions how they remain so prolific despite obvious stupidity (they love water, so when we refill the dog’s water bowl, they climb in for a drink, and fall in and die. Literally, ten minutes after we fill it, the thing will be black with dead ant bodies. And yet they continue trying!!! How do these species survive??? Oh look, mommy and daddy and thirteen thousand of my closest friends just went for a swim and drowned themselves, guess I should join them too!)

The season was just supposed to be a month or two. But due to lack of rain (or so they say… I am dubious of the truth of this claim) they are still around. Let me remind you, it is February. (Tomorrow). It rained for the first time in nearly two months this weekend. Still the ants remain. But we will see if they go away. Something tells me no.

I wish I could say that I have accepted the ant’s omnipresence, but that isn’t entirely accurate. Although instead of erupting into primal screams of rage (it has happened), I guess we could learn a few things from these ants. They are small. They might get stepped on, eaten, drowned. Perhaps some of their insect compadres don’t take them seriously, assuming they are too small to do anything. But yet despite this, they overcome. Defying all odds, the smallest creature has triumphed over Goliath, joining forces to work hard and never give up, succeeding in conquering the house of man in the true picture of resilience for the victory of all ant-kind.

Okay maybe that is a stretch.

But still, while they stick around, part of me wonders if there’s a life lesson I can learn from these little creatures. Use them for inspiration and metaphor instead of wasting way too much of my life trying to kill them when I know it will make no difference. But hey, no one can eat my Pop-Tarts and get away with it.

It’s been a rocky relationship. But until we finally break up for good, there will be more tiny tales to tell. And until then, may the squishing continue. At least it’s kind of therapeutic…

don't you feel squeaky clean showering with this???!!

It’s the last day of January, which is the month in which you tend to make your resolutions and commitments for the year to come. I figure I am writing this just in time.

A few entries ago, I wrote about how I think New Years Resolutions are kind of funny, and how last year I decided to keep it simple and make three goals that used only eight words: Wear sunscreen. Drink more water. Stand up straighter. That was 2009. Back to basics. Living in Africa. My entire life drastically changing.

Anyways, I feel like 2010 is a bit different… I feel myself a bit more focused, a bit older, a bit wiser. And I wanted to set some goals for this year, before January escapes us. And I am posting them on the blog not because I think the world really cares much about what I want to accomplish this year, but also because it makes them more real to me. This list is far from exhaustive, but includes most of the puntos chaves (key points). Some are measurable, some are far from it. But that’s okay. Here they are.

1. Reprioritize my life by putting God back at the center. I claim to try to live a God-centered life but so often, it is anything but. I know that nothing in this life is certain and that the best is yet to come, so I want to get back to a good place where I am making decisions for Him and not just for myself. If there’s anything I have learned it is that God’s plan is perfect (whether or not we can see that from our human perspective) and that my plan, more often than not, sucks. Well, I tend to think it’s pretty good but… you know.

2. Straighten up! AKA, stand up straighter (no more slouching!) and swear less. I would like to make these habits now to follow me for the rest of my life.

3. Rock the GRE (which is six days away and I should be studying for it right now instead of doing this); do a more profound research of graduate programs (do I want to do ID, an international MPA, or international comm.?); apply for graduate schools and scholarships/fellowships. Phew. This one exhausts me just writing it. Goal plan B: if said planning for future exhausts me and I feel like I have more to offer here in Moz, wait on the whole grad thing and extend a third year here instead.

4. Succeed in integrating HIV/AIDS/health, gender, and group training into every sector of the SEED project before I leave, as well as bring more health information to colleagues and participants, and provide English and IT help at my office throughout the next ten months.

5. Continue to commit to a healthy lifestyle, including drinking lots of water, exercising six times a week, eating as healthy as possible given my limitations here, minimizing alcohol and other things that kill you slowly (or quickly). If possible, lose a few pounds to get back to my “happy” weight BUT if that is not possible and I am healthy in every other possible way, that is fine for me. Moderation is key.

6. Travel! I am here in Africa, I want to take full advantage of it. Plans that are pretty strongly etched in my brain currently are Swaziland (for a music festival), South Africa (for this thing what’s it called I forget… oh yeah, the World Cup!), and Tanzania (Zanzibar? Kilimanjaro? Serengeti?). Included in this “travel” goal: see animals. I have lived for 16 months in Africa and have not seen a lion yet. Fail.

7. Develop an awesome blog with my writing, random musings on African life, and pictures, instead of settling for an okay but overly verbose and not that interesting one. Post at least once a week.

8. Stop selling myself short.

9. Own my time here in Vilanculos. It seemed never-ending at the outset; now it seems as if it is going by too fast. I am already at nine months and change til my COS (Close-of-Service) date, and the last thing I want is to look back on this time I spent in the Peace Corps and have any regrets. I have it figured it out now, now it’s time to dive in headfirst (not that I didn’t dive in already, but still) and make sure to get everything I can (and give everything I can) throughout this year.

10. Practice living in the moment. I know that may seem ironic as number 10 on a list of goals, many long term, but goals and plans should be markers, guidelines to spur us through the uncertainty, rather than unyielding obstacles that must be overcome. I want to practice looking to the future yet allowing myself to experience the beauty and wonder of each moment instead of rushing towards the next thing. As it has been said, living in the moment may very well just be the key to the meaning of life.

So there we go… 10 for 2010. Bring it on.

Crawling into my mosquito net, armed with my headlamp, for the first night in a month since departing Mozambique for the United States made me feel a little nostalgic… and a little sick. Stack of assorted reading materials in hand, I “shut” my net with a clothespin, lay back gingerly on the broken headboard and stared up into the corners of the netting for the unsolicited visitors that were surely buzzing around up in there somewhere, promising a torturous evening full of itching and scratching.

I did not want to be here.

I knew returning to Africa from a few wonderful weeks in California would be hard, but I never expected it to be this bad. Every fiber of my being longed to be anywhere but here, unready and unwilling to come to terms that I was already back in this life, in this alternate reality. Just one more month at home. Just one more week. Just one more day. But no, here I was. It was “late” by the standards of my Mozambican life, but the jetlag and left my internal clock completely confused, as if the hour and the minute hands were circling in opposing directions.

I want to go home.

The hint of moisture on my cheeks is the first external indicator of the torment going on inside. I am not much of a crier. But the last month has seen more than enough tears. The unwelcome evidence of my sadness slowly emerges; silent sobs that make my whole body shake. I glance at my cell phone, part of me desperately willing it to ring with a loved one’s voice on the other end, but also knowing it would be better if that did not happen, as the dam would burst and I was presently incapable of picking up the pieces.

I love Africa. And my Peace Corps experience. As I have been telling everyone for the last three weeks. So how did I end up here? What went wrong?

I glance at the haphazard pile of distractions I had laid on the bed next to me. Underneath the fitness magazine and the untouched GRE Cram Plan study book, a small journal catches my eye. I reach for it. This little book had been lying around in my American bedroom, and after a quick glance revealed that only a small portion had been written in, I threw it into my suitcase, planning to rip out the used pages and use the journal for other purposes. I open it now, and my sobs cease suddenly with a gasp of surprise and shock.

Early in high school, weighted down by the adolescent trials and tribulations that characterize this time of life, I read somewhere that to improve happiness and self-confidence, we should strive to write down at least five things we are thankful for every day. No matter how small or seemingly trivial they may be, no matter what trials we are going through… five things that we are thankful for. And here it was: my Gratitude Journal.

Flipping through the pages, I was transported back into my own life as a girl nine years ago, a stage of life so far removed from my current one that reading the scrawl (complete with several i´s dotted with hearts) felt more like illicitly trespassing in someone else’s private space than looking into my own past. The entries varied from daily to weekly to monthly, each page with its own small bullet-pointed list. The entries ranged from spiritual (“I have a relationship with an all-powerful God who loves me”) to truly important (“My parents are still together and love each other”) to truly shallow (“I looked cute today!”) to unabashedly vapid (“Well at least I'm not fat!”). Over the year, mashed in with the inane observances of my selfish fourteen/fifteen-year-old self, there were many repeats of similar themes (my family, my friends, my relationship with God). And even in my most depressed days of yore when I couldn’t believe that some people peak in high school or that popularity wasn’t everything or that I would ever get over that one huge crush (He has to be the one… maybe someday he will know my name!!!), I still found the time and emotional capacity to step back and be grateful for the blessings in my life—no matter how serious or silly they may be.

When did I stop doing this?

Lying there on my bed, huddled under a pilfered airline blanket I realize for the umpteenth time: I am incredibly lucky. I realized this at home. I am so incredibly blessed. And that doesn’t change, whether I am in California or on the other side of the world. I am so, so grateful for so many things. But principally for my loving God, my loving family, and my amazing friends. And when it comes down to it, few other things really matter.

I have been brought here for a reason and choosing to stay is my choice and no one else’s. I am grateful for this experience, I truly am. Grateful for the incredible opportunities it has afforded me, from not only seeing the world but for personal growth and increased self-awareness. How much brighter would each day look if I awoke with thoughts of gratitude rather than thoughts of longing or anxiety? Despite all the things going on in our lives that we cannot control, we CAN choose to do this. But I guess I had forgotten how.

It was a funny wake-up call for my overly emotional, overly analyzing mature self, to be reminded of a simple and beautiful concept by a silly fourteen-year old whose life was highlighted by drama with her dance teams and the cute boys in P.E. class. Even if she did happen to be… me.

These next few weeks will be hard, maybe the next few months, or even the whole year. I know that. I know that and yet still choose to stay. And through it all my prayer is that I will be able to step back and consistently remind myself of what is truly important. To give thanks, for nothing in this life is certain. But through all of it, there is learning, there is beauty, and there is love.

And for that, I will always be grateful.

Three weeks in America. Not enough. But certainly enough time to have some fun. Some of the highlights were...

--Eating punch bowls of cereal (honey bunches of oats or honey nut cheerios) every morning.

--Hang time with my beautiful sister!

--Seeing some amazing girls...

--Hot water. Hot water. HOT WATER!!!

--DOGGIES!!!

--Keeping my car radio tuned to the new 90's station because I didn't recognize anything on the top 40...

--Lake time

--Constantly shivering despite wearing two shirts, a scarf and a coat. Hey, I came from African summer and its practically freezing, gimme a break here!

--SUSHI!!!

--Wandering the aisles of Raley's, Whole Foods, and Target for hours and being thoroughly entertained. Unfortunately I am not joking. HOURS.

--Girl time!

--Going shopping in my own closet. For anyone who is dissatisfied with their wardrobe, i highly recommend moving to africa and rotating the same three unflattering outfits every day for 15 months. then come home and have your mind be blown by how TOTALLY AWESOME the contents of your closet are. Providing everything still fits...

--Go Karting. I may or may not have come in last. But at least I looked good doing it.

--Getting over my slight sense of snobbery when it comes to sophisticated taste in music and busting out GaGa lyrics at dozens of relatively inappropriate times.

--Tours luvin' reconnect.

--Taking lots of pictures of pretty food and drinks to torture myself with back in Moz.

Speaking of food, I glanced at my blog from before and had a 30-something percent success rate with said food goals. The apparent failure comes from the fast food category (Wendy's, In-n-Out, Taco Bell, Daphne's...) because there were just so many BETTER things to eat! But I did hit all of the highlights (SUSHI, chipotle, chocolate milk, sushi...) so in my mind, a success.

It's been a great trip. I didn't get to do everything I wanted to do or see everyone that I would have loved to see, but it won't be too long until I have another chance.

I get on the plane in just a few hours. Last time I got on the plane for Africa, nearly 500 days ago, I was feeling all sorts of things. Nervous. Sad to leave my family. So excited for the unknown. Today I am feeling none of those things. I am in a completely different place. Excited and nervous I am not. Rather, going back feels like a duty: not in the sense like it is something I am forced to do, but rather, it was my goal to complete my PC service successfully, and I am returning for a year of working hard to take full advantage of the experience and to make as much of a difference as I can, and help in whatever way I can, why simultaneously continuing to learn and grow, because I realize now that PC is temporary. Getting on that plane in September 2008 felt overwhelmingly impossible, because the time commitment stretched out so long in front of me made it feel like I would never come back. But now, I may be a bit sad to be leaving my family and this amazing place I took for granted for so long (and the hot water and the sushi doesn't hurt) but I realize now that this time is temporary and I need to take advantage of it. Can't wait to see where I am at this time next year. Next time I blog it'll be from my house in Mozambique, God willing. I guess you do always find your way back home.

Every new year sparks reflection in all of us… whether it is looking back on regrets of the past year, or getting excited for important events to come, each January 1st seems to resonate deep inside somewhere, compelling us to make a change in our lives we have been wanting to, or to make “resolutions.” I must say, the new years resolutionists have definitely been present in my life this week, as I’m pushing through throngs of sweaty people at the gym compared to the seven people I was sharing it with the week before Christmas. I have never been big on resolutions, but in 2009 I declared here that I was simplifying and resolving to make three basic but important changes: drink more water, wear sunscreen, and stand up straighter. I’m legitimately proud to say that I was 66% percent successful. I went from being constantly dehydrated to drinking a gallon of water a day, and from never wearing sunscreen (in the African sun, even!!!) to wearing it religiously each day (been slacking a bit here in Cali but… you know). Posture still needs work, so for 2010, by “simple” resolutions are this: stand up straighter and stop (superfluous) swearing. I’m not a huge potty mouth, and sometimes a well-placed F-bomb is EXTREMELY therapeutic, but swearing unnecessarily is a bad habit for me personally that I’d like to tame.

I’m glad to see 2009 go. And I know I am not alone in this. My experience in Africa was difficult in many ways but also a bit removed from the tough times that have been affecting everyone in America. But even being here for the last couple of weeks I have gotten a sense of it all. But my mom wrote a great blog talking about the subtle but pervasive hope in our collective human psyche, that 2010 is going to be better.

I think 2010 is going to be better.

2010 didn’t see me getting laid off, losing my home, watching my assets in the stock or real estate market dissipate, or applying for hundreds of underpaying jobs for which I am overqualified and being rejected by all of them, or any of the myriad other things that afflicted so many Americans. But it was challenging in different ways—leaving my family, struggling through personal and cultural and professional issues, feeling lonely and homesick, fighting a language barrier, and many other things that moving to Africa with the Peace Corps tends to include. So it’s different, but I can identify.

I am not one to have regrets. I believe that every experience, especially negative ones, provides an opportunity to learn and guide future decisions. However, its easy to say that, but hard to not look back and wish you could change things, or take something back that you said or did—or didn’t do. Looking back on 2009, there are a lot of things I wish I could go back and do differently. I made a lot of excuses for myself, often subconsciously. “It’s hard to integrate in Vilanculos.” “It’s hard to relate to Mozambicans in my town.” “I don’t speak Portuguese well.” “I’m still new.” Et cetera. And it’s easy to look back and think about the many opportunities I maybe missed out on in the last year because of my own insecurities, my own weaknesses. But… I am trying not to do that. Because there’s no point to looking backwards when I have another year to look forward to: in 2010, I not only resolve to stand up a little straighter and cuss a little less, but to take full advantage of the 11 months in front of me. Undoubtedly it will continue to be challenging, perhaps even more so, but I’m going to be looking back on my PC experience for the rest of my life, and regardless of what results I do or do not see, I want to feel assured that I gave it my all and did all I could. To take full advantage of the personal and professional opportunities available to me in Mozambique. 2010 will take me through our mid-service conference (January), the GRE (February), trying to really buckle down and finally make a difference at work and in my community, my 24th birthday and the World Cup (!!!) in June, and finishing up my Peace Corps service, potentially applying for graduate schools, hopefully traveling to Tanzania, and moving back to America, all before next Christmas. It’s a lot to handle. But I think 2010 is going to be a good year. I think. I hope. I hope, because I can’t imagine choosing anything else.

I am at home.

I will have many things to say, undoubtedly, about my trip getting here and the things I am experiencing here and the many inane observations I have as a foreigner in my own country. Suffice it to say it will be entertaining... for me.

For now though if anyone is reading this and wants to hang out and help me cross things off the food list, feel free to get in touch. I have knocked off the chipotle, one starbucks holiday beverage, the sushi, and a couple other randos so far. Am facing the challenge head on however.

This trip is going by way too fast already! Better make the most out of every minute that I am not struggling to hold my eyes open.

So I am going home in a few short days... I will write a post about that soon. But, one of the things I am most looking forward to is eating. This is obvious. Being here has made me appreciate our tremendous variety of food options like no other. I started craving the most RANDOM things, so I started recording said cravings in my gmail because I thought it would make a pretty funny list come December. Maybe this will only amuse me... but here are some, in no particular order...

• A cinnabon (if there is one in the Atlantic airport, I am going there with my roommate the second that I get off the plane back onto familiar land)

• A large chipotle barbaccoa burrito with a ton of the super-hot salsa, plus chips and guac on the side

• Large Vanilla iced coffee from McDonalds (ew…)

• Blue ____ (paradise? Something) margarita and boneless buffalo chicken strips from Chili’s

• A frosty and fries, and a spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy’s

• A double-double and a vanilla shake from In-n-Out

• Chinese Chicken Pasta from California Chicken Café

• Crunch Roll from Ami Sushi in Westwood

• Edamame, tempura, miso soup, BBQ tuna and some kind of amazing roll from Mikuni

• Strawberry whatever topper from Jamba Juice

• “iced mocha” from Boba Loca aka bad iced coffee with some nesquik chocolate milk poured in (unrealistic)

• Real milk, like, from a gallon

• Ralph´s low fat ultra-pasturized chocolate milk

• Crunch wrap supreme from taco bell

• Blue moon on tap with an orange!!!

• A REAL breakfast with bacon and sausage!

• Fat Tuesday’s cat-5 hurricane with an extra shot (unrealistic)

• Strawberries dipped in sour cream and brown sugar (you have to try it!!)

• Cinnamon teddy grams dipped in rainbow chip frosting

• Caramel apple cider, caramel frapp and passion tea lemonade from Starbucks plus holiday gingerbread if they still make it

• A sprinkles red velvet cupcake

• Garlic fries from Damon and Pythias

• Trader joe´s hummus on their naan bread

• Panda express orange chicken (I know, I know…)

• Covel pasta (unrealistic)

• Enzo´s eggplant pizza (when drunk)

• My mom’s carrot cake and peanut butter cookies with the Hershey’s kisses stuck in the middle

• Rubio´s fish tacos

• Half a baguette, dill sauce, spicy Thai soup and Asian noodle salad from La Bou

• Fire feta zestas with gyro meat from Daphne´s Greek café

• Strawberry lemonade, miso salmon and chocolate chip cookie dough cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory

• A toasted hoagie from wawa with caramel apple dippers and milk (very unrealistic)

• A NYC black and white cookie (also unrealistic)

• One of those Chocolate Orange things where when you open it, it kind of splits open like a real orange! (WTF??)

• A fluffernutter sandwich

• Eggo minis cinnamon toast waffles

• Like, five hundred Pizza Hut breadsticks. Even if I have to buy them at Target. Ooo, and Olive Garden breadsticks too.

• Starbucks Mud Pie ice cream

• Spicy pork Asian dough ball thing from Famima! (unrealistic. Especially cuz every time I try to go buy one they are sold out)

• A cosmic rita, raspberry mojito, calimari, pizza, and those cheesy potato things from Palomino at happy hour

• Wetzel’s pretzel bites with the sweet glaze icing frosting stuff

• Pigs in a blanket!!!

• A Bruin Café hot ham and swiss sandwich (seriously? Gross! Weirdest craving ever) (unrealistic)

• yellow tail pinot grigio

• sesame bagel, toasted, with honey almond schmear from noah's bagels

• circus animal cookies with the frosting and sprinkles!

• chinese restaurant lunch special near my house

• Mel's oreo milkshake

• jack in the box curly fries with buttermilk ranch and large shake

• red mango with strawberries, banana and capn crunch

• little debbie´s oatmeal cream pies

• pastries and anything resembling coffee cake.

• Puppy chow! (that stuff with the chocolate and the PB and the chex…)

• Produce OUT OF SEASON!

This blog makes me so excited to go home and also scared for the twenty pounds I am going to gain (but it will be well worth it). It makes me more scared for pregnancy… if these are the things I want when my hormones are in order, then what the heck is going to happen to me?? I guess I will worry about that when the time comes…I have not eaten any of this stuff in how many months? Never again will I take food options for granted. Ever!

From the list, I am slowly learning that (pick one)

1. I love food more than I thought.

2. I am going to gain at least twenty pounds when I am in the States.

3. 90% of my money at home will go to food.

4. Pregnancy is going to be a bitch.

5. All of the above.

So first of all I would like to apologize for being a total failure of a blog writer the last two months. There are a variety of reasons… not thinking anything is exciting enough to merit a blog entry, being a bit frustrated at many times in the past couple of months and not wanting to be a downer, and several other things. BUT… i know you will forgive me. It´s funny, I was thinking about things to do post-PC and one of my “ideal careers” that popped into my head was to be a blog writer… and then I laughed because I haven’t updated this in two months. But whatever. I resolve to be a much better blogger next year, I promise.

Last week was thanksgiving. I was lucky enough to spend it in Namaacha (where I was during training for my first ten weeks last year) with the new group of trainees (Moz 14!), getting to know many of them and partaking in a thanksgiving celebration that included an SUPER impressive spread of food prepared by PCTs (cheesecake! Apple pie! Mashed potatoes! Gravy! Ah!) as well as something even more exciting… site announcement! It was a lot of fun, but also my absence from Vil (and my internet access) means I am just now thinking about thanksgiving. So I am blogging about it nearly an entire week late. Sorry bout it.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. For a million and one reasons. The whole concept of a holiday whose sole purpose is to get people together with their loved ones to eat and reflect on what they are thankful for is just beautiful. (I am thankful for thanksgiving.) It makes me pretty sad that I have to miss a whopping three thanksgivings while I am out here in Africa… but mark my words, mom and dad, thanksgiving 2011 I will be there! I just think it is important to take a little time out of our busy and hectic lives to be grateful. Without further ado (yes I am blabbering… but it is my blog and you are choosing to read it, so there!!) I wanted to mention a few things I am thankful for this year.

I am thankful for my family. I have always been thankful for them, but being this far away for this long of a time guarantees that I will never take my family for granted again. I am so blessed to have been brought into the world by the most amazing parents any child could ever hope to dream for, and with a sister whom I love and cherish. I am the luckiest girl in the world to have a family like mine!

I am thankful for God pointing me in the right direction to take a “leap of faith” into this whole Peace Corps thing. Part of me was always a bit skeptical, and I would be lying if I said this was easy—this year has been HARD—but at the same time, I already can´t imagine the rest of my life without this experience. I am growing and changing and learning more about myself every day, and for that I am grateful.

I am thankful for morning walks on the beach with my dog.

I am thankful for being an American. It is a country whose faults are easy to criticize, but being away has made me so proud that I am an American and also so incredibly grateful that I was born somewhere where I could have opportunities for education and where I never have to worry about going hungry. Of course problems and lack of access exist in the States too, but being born there carries with it so many advantages that, as I have been experiencing, the majority of the world does not have. We are truly blessed.

I am thankful for hot running water, microwaves, reliable electricity, internet, and cell phone reception, and for washing machines. Thankful for the fact that this experience will mean I never take conveniences for granted again.

I am thankful for my roommate and how much fun it is to live with a friend here. To share frustrations, joys, and mass murder of snakes, rats, cockroaches and ants. It just wouldn’t be the same by myself! : )

I am thankful for being able to walk and talk and breathe and run and live.

I am thankful for PC putting Colin (my friend from the States) just a handful of kilometers away from me so I will have a friend from home close by, half a world away!

I am thankful for the opportunity to travel the world and to see a new country, and have my eyes opened by the overwhelming variety of life and people in this world, how different we are and yet how similar.

I am thankful for being able to go home for the holidays to see my family and friends. More on that in an upcoming blog.

Sorry this post is kind of boring but take it for what its worth. And for my family and friends reading please know that I am so so grateful that you are in my life. I couldn’t do this whole Africa thing without you.

Hope everyone had an amazing thanksgiving. I still haven’t gotten a thanksgiving fix of stuffing, cranberry sauce, or pumpkin pie… maybe I can make up for it in December : )

How do you measure, measure a year?

It's been a year since I drank one of these...

Or driven my car (or any car)...

Or eaten anything resembling this...

Or this, for that matter :( ...

Or hugged any of these people...

There's a lot of things that are important to me, like my family and sushi and starbucks, that I have been missing out on this last year. A lot of "normal" things that I haven't done in a really long time.

But what HAVE I done?

Let's see. I got on a plane that took me to this country called Mozambique...

I moved into this house...

Went through Pre-Service training with an excellent group of people...

Got sworn in as a real PEACE CORPS VOLUNTEER!!!...

Moved into a completely new kind of house...

With a completely new kind of backyard...

Reflected on life...

Learned about Mardi Gras...

Had a bunch of visitors, some very welcome...

and some not so much!!!...

Had a lot of great times with a lot of great people...

Learned to recognize the beauty in this new life...

And that when the sun sets on one chapter of your life it rises on a new one.

I can't believe it's been a year today since I landed in Mozambique. People always said that the time flies, but I didn't believe them. I think back to where I was a year ago and where I am now. Am I in the place I thought I would be? No, I'm not. I never could have imagined the different challenges and setbacks and other things that I have faced this year. But I also realize now that it isn't necessarily about accomplishing huge things, but instead looking for small victories. I still don't speak Portuguese perfectly. But I speak it enough to discuss HIV prevention and transmission with Mozambicans. I still get intimidated by some things. But I can travel alone over large distances on African public transportation without being nervous. I still freak out, when there are cockroaches in my bed and things like that. But other things (like snakes!) no longer faze me. I still stress out about some meaningless things. But I also have learned to really go with the flow and take each day as it comes, instead of constantly looking towards the future. I have not accomplished huge things. But I have accomplished some things. And more importantly, I have learned and I have grown more than I ever could have imagined. It has only been a year, but it HAS been a year, and I am excited to see where this next one takes me.

Being here has taught me how much I take for granted in my American life. How often I have believed that there's not time to call, not time to email, not time for the things that I now realize REALLY matter. Being away for so long, I hope that for the rest of my life I can remember what it feels to miss people so badly that it hurts, and to remember that there is ALWAYS enough time for the things that really matter in your life.

I have learned to take pleasure in the simple things, like a hot shower (instead of a bucket bath) or a washing machine (instead of washing my undies in a bucket) or a hot cup of cocoa on a cold day. I have learned how good we truly do have it. In the States I often mourned the fact that America doesn't have its own original culture (news flash: we do!) and also was quick to jump into the America-bashing that comes from college-age liberals who lived through the Bush era. But living here, I realize that our country is not without fault... we do a lot of things wrong... but we also do a lot of things RIGHT. And for the first time, I really am Proud to be an American (cue Bellagio fountain show, with song of same title, here). I'm excited to see how the rest of my time here in Mozambique plays out. But I am just as excited to go back to America with this experience ingrained in me. To marvel at the amazing opportunities that we have available to us, and I'm not just talking about out-of-season produce in a grocery store or an oven with adjustable temperature! Rather, I'm excited to wake up and know what it means to take each day as a gift.

In Mozambique, I have learned not only about Africa and AIDS and how NGOs work and how to kind of speak Portuguese, but also--and more importantly--I have learned more about myself than I ever would have guessed; more about life and love and priorities. This may have only been one year of my life, but I know that the experiences I have had will stay with me forever. It has NOT been easy. In fact, it has been way harder than I thought. Way harder. But through all of that, it's going to stay with me forever. And for that, I would not have it any other way.

Here's to the next year. Nao sei onde estarei, mas tenho certeza que sera uma boa ventura.

As a little fun thing to celebrate our one year anniversary, I asked several of my fellow PCVs to contribute one lesson that they’ve learned after spending a year of their lives in Mozambique. Some might not make sense to those who are stateside, but I still wanted to share. Enjoy!

Moz 13: What I've learned after a year...

The BBD legend does not always hold true.

I’ve absolutely learned that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…

It’s totally worth it to take the time to sit and chat with village elders, even if its for several hours and it’s super awkward, because they will love you so much more for it.

With enough inspirational talking you can get any teen to air guitar.

When traveling, always have a book and toilet paper.

I’ve learned that the worst experiences, or things that seem to be terrible at the time, always make the BEST stories. So, I try to enjoy that amazing story as it’s happening, even if it seems like the end of the world at the time.

Caldo makes everything better. And it’s okay to greet people by telling them that you are doing well and not asking how they are.

Portuguese! I knew like 2 words when I left for site. Practice makes perfect.

I have learned that there’s really no experience quite like passada-ing with my students.

Your best hope for tolerating the bull that gets thrown at you is to make friends with Mozambicans to keep life here personal instead of just a job. And just because we do it differently in the states doesn’t mean we do it better. And take everything everyone else says about you, Mozambique, and everything else with a pinch of salt. And make sure you are actually seeing what you think you are seeing. Also maybe focus on living and living well instead of surviving—the perspective of it all.

I’ve learned that everything has both a 100% chance of succeeding and a 100% chance of failing, but you have to get out and try hard.

When you’re at a party, always dance. Even if you suck, the enthusiasm is always appreciated.

What I’ve learned so far: How to turn down marriage proposals in four languages and STILL not get my point across!

How to better recognize when I should be patient and when I should put my foot down.

I learned that the phrase “he didn’t know better” is the ticket to doing basically anything in a foreign country blame free.

Sometimes it pays to be a complainer!

I’ve learned to be able to sit quietly and do nothing for a long period of time and think nothing of it.

Personal space is not a right; it is a privilege (and/or a completely foreign concept)

I’ve learned the versatility and value of coco and amendoim!

Bring a book.

Don’t walk barefoot between vilanculos and inhassoro if you like your feet.

My counterpart has shown me that in order to incite change we must realize that we must sweat for the things we want in life and then show others why we are sweating and what we are sweating for. It is then that others will see our struggle and be inspired to sweat for their own desires or to help in achieving ours.

Also if I had collected one metical from every man that wanted to marry me here, “learn English” from me, and go to America with me, I would be rich by now!

Look hard for a dedicated, motivated hard worker in your community to start a project. You won’t get anywhere with most of your lazy coworkers.

The fastest way to get somebody to stop asking you for money is for you to ask them for money first!

If you have it, give it away. If you don’t have it, go ask someone for it.

You really don’t need to refrigerate everything.

I’ve learned that a true friend isn’t someone who’ll stand by you when you shit yourself in a field, it’s someone who stands by after they’ve found you banana leaves to wipe with.

I’ve learned to try to appreciate the attention because we will never be treated like we’re so frickin special any other time in our lives. Also, never expect perfection because you’ll be disappointed but do your best and be happy with the little successes.

30 is the new 20.

Give what you want to get.

That it’s a crazy ass time to be alive on the planet and not being able to change that, it’s our right to just smilingly watch it all and not worry.

Recently, that I’m not above boiling batatas and then using the hot water to bathe.

99.9% of the time, being frustrated, angry, or bitter is a choice that does not help anything. “Choosing your attitude” sounds cheesy, but can really make or break your time here.

This experience will change your life much more than it will change those of whom you are serving. Accepting that without becoming jaded and valuing the personal growth that happens in you is the key to making the most of your experience.

I survived.

If I had to sum up my adventure in less than three words, it would be this. But perhaps with a bit more enthusiasm and punctuation: I SURVIVED!!!!

Okay so backing up a bit. I requested two weeks off—my first break this year since starting work at the beginning of January—to trek up to visit one of my closest friends, Michelle, up near Ilha de Mozambique in Nampula. Which is, as we would say in Mozambique, “lá.” (Which is Portuguese for F*@#!ng far away). But I figured it would make for quite the adventure, in addition to getting to take a break and see some more of the country. I had no idea what I was getting into!

I left on a brisk Saturday morning armed with only my daypack and purse. (At first I was going to brag that I succeeded in packing for a fifteen-day trip in a daypack, but then I realized that is much less a testament to my packing abilities as it is to my acceptance of being dirty and ugly. And the thing was packed to the gills with useful things such as my huge GRE test prep book—you know the sort—which I spent about 15 minutes with over the course of the trip. Thought that counts, right…)

My first stop was Chimoio, in Manica province not far from the mountain range bridging Mozambique and Zimbabwe. It is technically Mozambique’s fifth-largest city, but you wouldn’t know it—feels like a small town and very safe. And there´s a shoprite that had chocolate milk and cake, so I was happy. I had planned to leave early Monday morning to head north, but it turned out that a bunch of other volunteers who I don’t get to see very often were headed into town the next day and since I was already here, might as well stay and hang out! Only problem was that I had already bought my bus ticket for the next day at the exorbitant price of about… $18. Ouch. I went with a couple friends to get the money back so I could change my ticket for the next day, and the request was of course greeted with a noncommittal shrug and that unfortunately for us, the dude with the money had left. My friend tried in earnest to convince the man of the gravity of my situation. He thought we were lying. So the story turned into that my friend hadn’t washed the veggies well before dinner and now I had horrible diarrhea and was unable to travel. (False. But clever.) This is all in front of a large audience of Mozambicans, probably many of who were traveling on the bus the next morning. Having failed at our mission, I had two choices: wake up at 3:45am to go beg for my money back, probably not succeed, and then have to ride on a ten-hour bus with a bunch of people who think I’m suffering from the runs, OR, sleep in, lose the money and pretend it never happened. I’m on vacation. I chose the latter. Totally worth it.

I did end up heading north at 4:30am on Tuesday, with no drama to speak of. The highlight of this leg of the journey, for not only me but also for every single Mozambican I was traveling with, was getting to cross the bridge over the Rio Zambeze that marks the border between Sofala and Zambezia provinces. The river is far from formidable, but until just now, the only means of crossing were on a couple of ferries that took ages and were overpriced (and this is on the national highway mind you). Not only did people have to wait for occasionally hours to load their cars on the ferries, but to add insult to injury, while they waited they got to stare at the perfectly completed bridge which sat there unused for months until the president could like, break a bottle of tipo tinto over it or some other unnecessary beauraucratic publicity stunt. But I digress. It is open now, which was greeted by hoots and hollers (and a bunch of camera phones) by my fellow passangeiros.

Upon finally arriving in Quelimane, I quite literally jumped out of the bus and ran across the paragem to attempt to catch the last bus to Mocuba, where I could meet my friend Gabe, versus getting stranded for the evening in Queli. Luck was on my side at the moment and I jumped on the last bus, as it was just about to leave. Only problem was that there were too many people on the bus. But seeing as another one wouldn’t be leaving til the morning, I was not even considering relinquishing my position. Some kindly mozambicans helped me squeeze my body and all my belongings into like, the well where the door opens where I sat, my face right in some guys crotch (great) for the 2 or 3-hour ride. Whatever. I wasn’t complaining. I just wanted to get there. Which I eventually did. I had a great time with Gabe in Mocuba for a day and a half, getting to see his town, eat some of the best chamussas ever and most importantly watch nearly all of LOST season 5. It is always great to take a hit with a fellow addict. Anyway. My next bus, to Nampula city, was comparably painless and I only ended up with one number in my phone saved as “Crpy dude frm bus.” Successos.

Upon arriving at the paragem in Nampula, the first bus to Ilha (my final stop!!) had no one on it and was starting to get nervous that I would be stuck there, but then we got moved into a smaller chapa, which loaded relatively rapidly (aka I was sitting there with my knees in my chest and sweating for only about an hour and a half before the chapa left). One of my favorite things/biggest weaknesses is the assortment of fried goodies being sold at the paragens to feed and energize weary travelers. I blame my weight gain on change of available food and a less active lifestyle, but apparently my inability to say no to cake or fried balls of dough being sold to me through the windows of moving vehicles could have something to do with it. Anyway, the cuisine is a bit different in the north and there is something called an apa which is basically a fluffier, fried tortilla with an egg and ketchup and mayo or something of the sort folded inside. A recipe for a heart attack. I wanted to buy one but couldn’t find any moedas (coins) and the unthinkable happened—the Mozambican man sitting next to me reached over and bought one for me! As a gesture of kindness for the foreigner. I was floored, and we became friends over the journey and I repaid him in kind by buying him a toy for his daughter once I finally found my money. This warm fuzzy moment cancelled out how affronted I felt when another teenage boy asked me to give him all of my money, and when I said no he opened the window and yelled "F*CK YOU!!!" in my face. How sweet.

Three hours later, I ARRIVED! Yes, I have just now arrived at the part where I actually got to Ilha. So great to see Michelle and finally not be traveling. But then fate intervened... about three whole minutes after arriving I started feeling horrible. And then spent the rest of the evening throwing up, and the next several days extremely sick and miserable. Murphy´s Law, right?

Sickness and bad luck aside I had a wonderful time up in Ilha. The North is very different, much more of a Muslim and also a European influence on the culture. Ilha de Moçambique was just beautiful. It felt like walking through a 15th century ghost town... and it kind of is. We went to a beautiful, isolated beach, ate yummy food, and I learned how to cook lula (squid). It was also just a great time catching up with a great friend and enjoying the mental break of my day-to-day back in Vilanculos.

Two days before I have to leave and head back, things start getting interesting again. I finally didn´t feel sick and miserable, and then I get a call that night from my dad saying that Fraud Protection keeps calling about my debit card. Warning sign much? After a conference call with Wells Fargo, I find out that someone has made a functioning copy of my card and has tried to use it several times, and thus there is a block on my card. Only problem was that I needed to use this card to book a hotel night or two to get home safely. The man assured me that I could call right before I needed to use the card and they would lift the block and thus permit me to book a hotel/take out money/qualquer coisa, and then would close the account and send a new card immediately to my address in Moz. When I expressed concern over the cost of calling the States from Moz, he assured me that he was taking notes on all of this so whoever I called would know exactly what was going on. Sweet! No big deal.

However, the next day I went to take out money from the bank with my PC debit card and got rejected. Three times. Okay, now this is a problem. I had three full days of travel ahead of me and only 200 mets (8 bucks) on me, and 2 debit cards that were not functioning. Concerned? Slightly. But it will be okay! It always is. Never mind that all three hotels in Nampula are already full, we have nowhere to stay and I have no money. It´s chill.

Michelle and I head out to Nampula city at 4am and sat down for a nice coffee (real coffee!! so exciting). Then the excitement starts. I try my PC card again... at 3 ATMs. All reject me. Okay. Call Wells Fargo. I am at the ATM ready to take out enough money to get home. Slight problem is that this lady today, has no idea what I am talking about and... wait... "oops, that account has been closed." No, it hasn´t, you said you had a block on it and I would call when I needed it lifted. "Um, no, I am sorry, that account is closed and there´s nothing we can do." Hey, bitch, I am stranded thousands of kilometers from home and I have four dollars on me. "Wow, that´s really rough. I´m sorry. Nothing I can do." This escalates to a literal screaming match (I made quite the scene, which was embarassing but also kinda fun because I am NOT a person who gets angry. And boy was I angry.) Then I get my parents in on the action, and I am holding back tears trying to figure out how the hell I am actually going to get home, or maybe I am gonna be sleeping on a bench in Nampula city for a few days. About an hour later we realize that my parents can wire money to Michelle and I can take it out of her account and get home to Vil where I can figure out my PC card and get to my credit card. Phew. Talk about your close calls. (Tangent: how is this for insult to injury? When I got home and went to the bank to get a new card for my PC account, I figured I should try it at the ATM first... and it worked. Figures.)

With my huge wad of cash and slightly extended nerves, we explored Nampula´s attractions (aka, I went to another Shoprite), and ordered chicken burgers (after about fifteen crystal-clear explanations that apparently just did NOT translate) from a stand in the middle of the road, and we drank boxed wine from cups pilfered from the pensão while we waited. I love those moments. Our pensão had hot running water (luxurious), so the last evening in the North was a success!

The next day I head to the airport for my first in-country flight. Talk about your culture shock. No one looked at my passport or any other form of ID, nor did the metal detector work, nor were my bags scanned or x-rayed or even opened (Security: "What is in here?" Me: "clothes." Them: "Okay.") I stared out the window watching bags get loaded--I had to check my backpack, of course--waiting in fear for mine to get lost (this has happened before and I will never check a bag again... except today when they forced me). I do not take my eyes off the baggage dudes, and I don´t see my bag make it onto the plane. Thought one: "OMG." Thought two: "Figures. Of course." Thought three: "People are gonna feel pretty bad for me when I write about this on my blog. That might be the only positive to come of this." Being fatalistic, I spend the flight trying to remember everything I had stuffed into my bag so that I could fight for every penny once I got back, only to have my backpack arrive in more or less one piece in Beira. A little present from above. Thanks.

My last night is spent in Beira, and alone. Beira is a pretty horrible city in my opinion, only redeemed by two things--shoprite and the chinese restaurant. Determined to make the most of my last evening and the fact that I was flying solo, I end up in one of the nicest rooms at the pensão (AC! Hot running water!!) and take myself out to dinner at the Chinese restaurant, where I enjoyed a cold beer, some of the best hot and sour soup I have had in like, a year (ha, ha) and the amazing Sweet and Sour pork (in a shade of pink so bright it would make even Barbie cry, and enough calories to make ME cry, but totally worth it). Last night: sucess.

Got back to Vilanculos the next day, sweaty and worn out but extremely happy to be home in one piece and with most of my personal belongings and my dignity. I feel like I aged a bit in the process, but had an amazing time. Hope these stories amused someone out there. Até a próxima...

ola todos!

I am headed up to visit my best Peace Corps buddy way up in Nampula province (about three and a half days travel by bus), so unlike my normal daily internet access I will be a bit disconnected for the next two weeks! But I will be sure to write about all the ridiculous things that are sure to happen to me, once I get back.

I know the new Moz group is gearing up to head out pretty soon here, and lots of people are thinking about packing. Trying to fit what you think you might need for the next two years of your life in a foreign country into two bags is extremely stressful. So I thought I would share my packing advice here for future Moz PCVs and the various other future PCVs who stumble upon this blog! It is totally just my opinion though so take it for what it is worth.

MY FAVORITE THINGS I BROUGHT (or in the case of a couple, got sent to me, in no particular order…):

• A headlamp!!!

• Pack towels (fold tiny, quick-drying)

• Battery-operated speaker (can get them for like 10 bucks at best buy. Use it to play music in the house from my iPod, or plug it into my laptop while watching movies, etc. I use it everyday)

• Lonely Planet Mozambique and Southern Africa

• Pictures from home

• A couple high quality, SHARP cooking knives (with a sharpener if possible. Knives here suck)

• A garlic press

• Real coffee! (and a French press) (everyone drinks instant coffee here. Real stuff is hard to find and really expensive)

• Crystal Light single-serving drink packets

• A good dictionary! I have the Collins Portuguese concise dictionary and it has helped me a LOT. (In our training we only got pocket ones. This will be different for other groups, so it could just be a waste of packing space…)

• Spices (mixed ones are great, like Italian, Cajun, taco, steak, curry, etc)

• A couple boxes of pens!!!

• Construction paper and markers (you can find these here though)

• A roll of duct tape

• Lots of ziplock bags in different sizes

• Rubber bands

• Under Armor

• Crayola markers and construction paper

• My laptop and iPod

• A good journal (I wasn’t a big writer in the States, but have a lot more time here)

• Two pashminas that go with everything (wear as a

• Basic, cheap jewelry

• Flash drives, and extra memory cards for my camera

• My hammock

• My backpacking bag (for longer trips) and my daypack (use everyday)

• My running shoes

THINGS I WISH I HAD BROUGHT:

• Rechargeable batteries and a charger, AA and AAA

• My favorite movies (how did I not bring these. IDIOT) and TV shows

• Hugo, Portuguese In Three Months (GREAT book for helping with language)

• A big, comfy hooded sweatshirt and/or a heavier jacket

• More warm clothes

• More non-spaghetti tank tops

• A midweight sleeping bag that has a stuff sack and is easily packable

• A travel pillow and a folds-really-small ThermaRest

• A small mirror with large magnification

• More high-SPF sunscreen (the sun is murderous)

• Lots of bobby pins!!!

• A flash drive or external hard drive with huge capacity (to pass around movies and TV shows) and with virus protection

THINGS I WISH I HAD LEFT AT HOME:

• A bajillion medicines (bring some stuff, but PC gives you a fairly comprehensive medical kit and can provide something else should you need it)

• Anything (clothes-related) that is white! Wear it once here and it will never be white again. Totally not worth it.

• Boots (I have never worn mine. Other people will say otherwise)

• All my clothes that need to be ironed and pressed. I brought several button-up shirts from Express and two pairs of dress pants. Maybe one of each are good, and for some people it might be really important, but for me they are unnecessary

THINGS I WISH I KNEW THEN…

• Africa is where clothes come to die. Okay, exaggeration, but not really. You will wash your clothes by hand in a rough manner and they will sit out in the scorching sun to dry. It really wreaks havoc on your clothes. So bring stuff that isn’t going to fall apart right away (no flimsy cotton), BUT also don't bring anything expensive that you want to have post-Peace Corps. It is better to leave that stuff at home.

• It gets cold here. Okay it is all relative, but in the “winter” I was sleeping in everything I own (leggings, sweatpants, wool socks, shirt, underarmor, jacket, scarf or hat, under like ten blankets). Okay so it’s probably not technically cold, but you will FEEL cold here and since you won't have heat anywhere and your house will be drafty, bring a few things for the cold.

• You will want to dress normal and feel pretty (or at least average looking, let’s be honest, we’re all dirty). Don't bring safari-ish clothes that you wouldn’t be caught dead in at home. You won't wear them here. Bring some cheap jewelry, your makeup, whatever makes you feel okay about yourself. You will want it when you are out here!!!

Okay so these things are just my personal opinions so take it for what its worth. Ask other volunteers in your country as well, people can offer different insights. Good luck and don't stress. If you make it here with your bags more or less in one piece, you have succeeded  I will add other things if they come up. And will solicit more volunteer insight as well! Tchau!

Hello all. Sorry it's been a while… I have been a bit overwhelmed as of late to put it mildly. But I figure you are all just dying (ha, ha) to hear more ridiculous accounts of my ridiculous life here in Mozambique. In lieu of recapitulating about the last month or so I want to tell you a story about my viagem (trip) to Maputo last week.

Life in Mozambique is never boring, but ESPECIALLY not when you are traveling. I was set to head to Maputo for a training in Behavior Change Communication put on by the CDC and GHC in partnership with Peace Corps. I planned on dilly-dallying my way down the country, stretching the 1000-km journey into either two or three days, but I received the exciting news last week that my friend Lis, who was in South Africa, would be able to come and visit me in Mozambique! So I headed down on Sunday with the hopes of meeting up with her when her bus got in around 5PM.

So these last weeks were school ferias (holidays) and what do you do over the holidays? Go to the beach, right? And I live in the beach site slash Las Vegas of Mozambique, so there was a bevy of volunteers from all over Moz in my town (and my house!) hanging out and enjoying some relaxation. I said my prayers and left my house in the care of a dozen drunk PCVs (I say that lovingly. I was happy to let people stay in my house) to head for the bus to Maputo. Direct bus, Vilanculos to Maputo, no problems. Right? Wrong. I didn't even make it out of town before the drama started. The Maputo bus goes daily and they usually say it's at 3:30 or 4. (Last time I took it, I was told to be there at 3:00AM for a 3:30 departure. It left at 5. This is the norm.) So the driver told me to show up at 4 em punto and after about an hour of haphazard and unsatisfying sleep I trucked out with my overpacked backpack, Simba, and two fellow PCVs who were kind enough to walk me out to the bus despite being deliriously sleep-deprived. I reach the corner of the market at about 3:57am… no bus. But not panicking… maybe I just can't see it? Nope, its not there. We arrive at the corner at 4AM em punto and of course, no bus. A few other locals are standing around there and say that the bus has already left. Great. This leaves me my only option of trying to hitchhike 1000ks in one day before dark by myself with my valuables. Um, no way would I do that outside of a life-or-death situation. Several minutes later some dude (that is the best way I can describe him) tells us the bus is coming back. Sure it is. So I stand there with my confused dog and my two poor friends until about 4:45 when the bus decides to return. Of course now it is pretty much full including the seat I had reserved for myself yesterday. And I did not want to check my backpack with my laptop computer into the bowels of the bus, never to be seen again. The door opens and the cobrador greets me with a snarky "você demorou MUUUUITO" aka I was really late. Um, no. I began an indignant rant in Portuguese about how I was there before and that he was lying and they left early and now my seat was gone. Unfazed, obvi. So I climb onto the bus and get to share a seat with my backpacking bag, a Mozambican woman and her four picnic baskets full of various items, and her two infants. Okay, fine. T.I.A., I am flexible, personal space smershonal space, whatevs. I was singing a different tune about four hours in when the kid who was basically sitting in my lap pooped in his pants… twice. (This was determined by the woman lifting the kid's crotchal region up towards her nose, pulling down his pants and taking a big sniff. Mmm, fetid odor.)

Somehow I make it down to Maputo with no passport checks, no blown tires, no baby poo actually on me and a shred of dignity remaining. Oh! But one more thing. One of the best things about travel in Moz is that whenever your bus/chapa stops, millions (okay, dozens) of locals will run up and try to sell you anything imaginable. (Need some clothespins for the road? Actually, with the way that baby smelled, they might have been helpful…) Many places produce honey locally and I was excited when a criança (child) banged on my window with a huge bottle of honey, bees and honeycomb on the top and all. Enthusiastically, I buy it without realizing that I am resigning myself to not only needing to protect a glass bottle of sticky, ant-attracting, viscous liquid for an entire week of traveling, but also that the bottle in question was a familiar brand of Whisky that is about the same color of the honey. No matter…

I finally arrive in Maputo at the hell on earth we know as Junta and get off and start looking for a chapa to take me into town to a hotel I have never been to before. I am getting quite some looks at this point as a mulungu walking around junta… with what everyone assumes is a huge bottle of whisky in my hand. Great. I get on a chapa and everyone is pointing and laughing and talking in Changana, of which I know none so I just sat there like an idiot. The cobrador kept asking me about the whisky and other nonsense I didn't actually understand. Yipes. I am the target of many a what I can only assume was a mean joke, me and my whisky and my huge backpack and bad Portuguese. I finally make it to the hostel, The Base, which I really recommend. It is really cute, affordable and a beautiful view, and the guy who works there is super nice (and insisted on speaking to me in Portuguese, which I appreciated after the severe blow to my ego that was my chapa ride). Lis makes it in. Successos! Okay, a few bumps here and there, but otherwise all right.

I had a day til the BCC training started so I used it catching up with Lis slash dragging her all around Maputo with me, where I succeeded in buying a few of those priceless commodities that only Maputo can really offer (a bagel with cream cheese at Café Sol, tiny hand weights and new cheapo plasticware at Chinese Wal-Mart, and two cans of Nutella at Hiper that were only 40.00 meticais cada… who cares that it expired last week??) and eating falafel and ice cream (YUM! I am with some serious saudades de ice cream) at Maputo Shopping Center. Then came time to check into Cardoso. All I can say is… HOT SHOWERS. I will never ever in the rest of my life take a hot shower for granted. So nice. Rivaling the showers was the unlimited buffet meals I got to eat for four days which resulted in me gaining about five pounds but was totally worth it to have chocolate mousse and a ginormous bowl of fruit at every meal.

The training was pretty cool, talking about barriers and facilitators of behavior change specifically in the health sector, and some different activities that we can implement with our focus groups. A highlight was a little theater about sex/condoms put on by a group of volunteers that I cant even try to explain, because it won't actually be funny. Anyway.

I was able to spend some quality time with some of my closest friends in PC/Moz so that was really fun, and also got to see a bunch of other volunteers who were in town as well. We went out one night and saw some live music. The only big damper on the whole thing was that I came down with the Migraine of Death. I wish I could say I was exaggerating but a partir de Tuesday until pretty much Sunday I felt like I was getting stabbed in the forehead repeatedly. Nothing like taking a couple Advil or Aleve, drinking water, settling down for a long night of rest and feeling WORSE in the morning. So that was pretty miserable and slightly hindered my ability to enjoy Maputo but since I spent a month´s "salary" in the one week I was there, it was probably for the best.

Friday morning, still feeling horrible, I saddled up with Lis, Amy and her friend to make the trip back to Vilanculos. Traveling hasn't been the smoothest process lately, so who was I kidding that the trip back would be different? We arrive at Junta about 5:15AM. The direct bus to Vilanculos usually leaves around 530 or 6, but it can leave as early as 5. We get there and of course, "ja saiu." It already left. AWESOME. Isn't there another bus? No. Is there an Inhassoro bus? No. Double awesome. Okay, T.I.A., its okay we will get home somehow! Amy and Michael were going to Inhambane City so, let´s just go with the flow, it will be cool for Lis to see I´Bane and then we can ferry/chapa home.

It was not meant to be.

We had to wait for the bus to fill up, and after getting on at 5:30 we left a bit after 7. My favorite part of all this is that as we are finally pulling out, I see a Vilanculos bus AND an Inhassoro bus pulling out. Aka, a ride home. Figures. Oh well! Bad weather prolonged our trip, which was made even better by the fact that I was involuntarily crying/shaking half the trip expecting my head to actually explode. (Spoiler alert: it didn't!) This ends up with us arriving in I´Bane about 3:30PM. Ha. Okay, so we probably aren't going home. We grab some delicious food and hot chocolate (me)/beers (the others) at Verdinho´s and wander through the Inhambane market, where I at long last spend the 25 meticais (one dollar) on a straw purse to put my whiskey/honey in (yes, I have been carrying it this WHOLE time). We take the new and improved ferry over to Maxixe which was a long shot from sitting on one of those dhow boats that took an hour and a half to fill up and while it went across the bay the engine would die a minimum of six times and it was more likely than not that someone would scoop some water out of the bottom at some point… development IS happening! We hunker down (haha. That phrase) at Campismo for the night, roll out of bed for breakfast (poor Amy had ROUS´s-Princess Bride anyone?-running around her feet… always keeps it exciting) and then start trying to get a ride out. We get into the cab of some semi truck, all four of us, which is slow-moving of course. Get dropped off at Pambarra and get a chapa in with people trying to of course, rip me off and then I yelled at them in Portuguese about not giving me the Mulungu Price and then they laughed about this and (assumedly) made fun of us the entire 15K into town. Just get me home already please.

Finally, everything got sorted and I was able to hang out with Lis and force her to eat Matapa at Alemanha, went horseback riding on the beach and watched Twilight and laughed at all the brooding… she is back home today, I will miss her terribly but it was so nice to see her and she put up with a lot! I was proud of her. Africa thickens your skin. Its back to the grind for me for three weeks before I take a "vacation" of sorts up to visit a friend. Woohoo!

This is really long so no one probably read all of it, but all I can say is: I am going to be a much more laid-back person when I go home. And next time you are pulling your hair out while sitting in 405 rush hour traffic or cursing the world when your flight gets delayed AGAIN, just remember: you could be sharing your seat with a backpack, four picnic baskets, a woman and a baby who's pooping on you. Haha. I love Africa.

Picture this. I am sitting in a chapa. A chapa is a minibus taxi of sorts that Mozambicans use for public transportation, used to link sites anywhere from fifteen minutes to eight hours apart. These are fifteen-passenger vans, but their minimum capacity in Mozambique hovers around 21 and I am fairly sure you can fit thirty poor souls in there at the same time, no problem. So I am sitting in a chapa, bored and frustrated waiting for it to leave. I'm in one of the seats that's not actually a seat; rather I am sitting in the crack between the actual seat and the one that folds out, uncomfortable to say the least. It is already really hot inside, and reeks of sweat and humanity. In the seat next to me sits a local woman. She has the more comfortable seat, that's for sure, but seems to be pretty much sitting on my lap. Her hand might even be resting on my knee, because it’s more comfortable there. Our skin is sticking together with sweat, and as much as I squirm away, I cannot even get half an inch of personal space. As if I was not already uncomfortable enough, then she pulls out her breast to start nursing her baby right there in my seat. The heat is scorching, but she is keeping the window closed, keeping me from my precious fresh air. I sit there, squished, sweaty, smelly, feeling just so wronged by this woman in the seat next to me. How dare she be all up in my space like this?? Can she not tell I am uncomfortable?? Why is she keeping the window closed?? My frustration builds and builds until I am almost ready to scream at this complete stranger sitting next to me.

Then we switch the scene to her perspective. She has climbed into the chapa, ready to go home after shopping for her children. She has her baby with her, which is inevitable but a challenge, constantly crying and demanding her attention, leaving her tired and ready to get home. She climbs into the chapa and sits down next to the window, choosing to leave it closed because the baby seems cold, and to avoid the harassment of the street merchants hawking their goods through the windows. Soon after, a white girl climbs into the chapa and wedges herself into the seat next to her. English, maybe American. The girl doesn’t acknowledge her, doesn’t smile or say hi. How rude. She begins to nurse her baby, which is normal in any situation in Mozambique. The girl looks at her with a death stare, constantly moving and squirming away even though there is no place to go—the chapa is crowded—making the woman feel uncomfortable: she has done nothing wrong. The girl doesn’t acknowledge her, and the woman notices the wrinkles and dirt on the girl's clothes, a cultural faux pas. She begins to get frustrated with this unaccommodating foreigner next to her, who won't even give her the time of day.

This is the kind of thing that happens, albeit unintentionally, every day. And who is right? Who is wrong? No one is. And this is the immense beauty and overpowering frustration of cultural exchange. No matter what you do, no matter how much you learn, there will be things that bother you, things that seem rude or uncalled for when the simple fact of the matter is, they are just different. Every day I find myself frustrated with little things that are normal here, just because they are so far removed from what I have grown used to in my culture. But even worse, is knowing that every day I unwillingly offend, or put off, or simply perplex someone, because of my different cultural behaviors that more often than not I am unaware of.

Some people begin to assimilate into their host country culture fully; others tend to skim the surface. There is no right or wrong answer. Cultural differences are the things that on good days make you smile big and remark at the wonder of getting to know a land so different than your own… and on bad days, make you want to scream and cry if just ONE more little kid yells “mulungu” at you. Good or bad days, though, it is an interesting ride… and you feel yourself growing and getting stretched in ways you maybe never would have experienced otherwise.

Besides the personal growth yadda yadda yadda, another good thing to come out of this is appreciation and realization of American culture. I have said many times, that I didn’t think America really had a culture. And being at a school like UCLA where so many people come from all over the world, I often found myself jealous of their cultures and resenting my American-ness. I tried to connect with my Middle Eastern heritage, studying Arabic and specializing in Middle Eastern studies as part of my Development Studies major. But that didn’t really change anything. I was just American. Boring. But America is a country of immigrants, and somehow we have managed to forge our own unique cultural identity in this crazy mash-up of peoples and languages and traditions. But perhaps you need to be removed from America to recognize what our culture is, both the good and the bad. For example, you might not notice Americans´ preoccupation with “personal space” (a foreign concept in many other lands), or the importance of expressing things like “please” and “thank you” verbally. You might not notice that unlike many other places, Americans don’t ask each other how they slept, or (often) ask about each others health and families each time they see each other. It has been fun recognizing what American culture is, and what parts of me have been shaped by living in the States. I am also compiling in my head, a list of things America does really well. This is really fun to bring up when people from other countries are talking crap about America. Here are some of the ones we have so far:

--customer service

--free water in restaurants

--high quality napkins

--happy hour

Okay that’s just a few but I would like to hear YOURS. What does America do well?

Sorry this is a random blog and a bit all over the place, I just wanted to share a little bit about what I am learning about cultural exchange. I guess culture is one of those things like many others where the more you learn, the more you realize you don’t know or understand. And perhaps you never will… but that’s okay. You take what lessons you can and keep your eyes open to the intricacy—and the beauty—of our differences. And you may learn that across the world, people are more alike than you thought.

Anna: oh jk I forgot you were flying into Sacramento hahaha

LAX and Pinkberry ftw

eu: i know i was gonna fly into lax

Anna: WHY DIDN'T YOU

eu: but then it was kind of stupid

Anna: hello slow run opportunity

word

not about africa but i think my dad is one of the three people who read this so here goes anyway. happy father's day. i love you more than i could ever express. you have always been there for me with unconditional love and support and i will never be able to repay this. i wish i was in town today so i could take you out for a beer and just sit and talk for hours about life. i can't, but i'll owe ya one for when i come home. and it's amazing how i feel sometimes like you are right here with me even though we are ten thousand miles apart. i love you so much, daddy. if the man i someday marry is half of the man and the father that you are, i will consider myself blessed. thanks from the bottom of my heart. your favorite daughter (or at least in the top two), courtney.

Today is my birthday. I have tried to refrain from self-indulgent and overly contemplative musings on the meaning of life because no one really wants to read that stuff, but I do feel like birthdays tend to merit a little bit of reflection. I thought about requesting the day off to relax and reflect, but I kind of forgot, so I am reflecting at work. It is probably for the best though. Even if I had taken the day off, I probably would have slept in until about… 7:30, then taken the dog for a run, taken a shower, stared at the ocean and thought about life and love and God… and then it would have been about 9:15am and I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself for the rest of the day. (Although my 24 season 7 (!!!) is still untouched… coulda made quite the dent in Jack Bauer.) But anyway. Jack can wait.

I got to celebrate on Saturday night with a co-birthday party with another PCV in my area… basically, just any chance for us all to get together and have some fun. We had about fifteen people at our house for Mexican night, which included tortillas and chips (home-made of course), tacos, salsa, guacamole (somehow I found four avocados here, way out of season… expensive but well worth it) and velveeta cheese dip (to die for… how had I never heard of this stuff before Africa??). We also made margaritas with the Jose Cuervo and Triple Sec that I found in town, as well as sangria that consisted of a 5L bottle of red wine, a bottle of brandy, a lot of cheap fruit and some orange juice, mixed in one of the big buckets that I wash my clothes in… delicious. We also had a piñata (!!) and some guys with nasty mustaches, so all in all it was a success. We just hung out and went out dancing and it was a nice way to celebrate with people that I love. Slash I didn’t realize how much I would miss Mexican food when I no longer lived in LA and had chipotle, taco bell, buck fiddy´s, poquito mas, alberto´s and pink taco in a five-minute radius of me. Yummy.

There is a song by Jimmy Eat World called “23.” If you haven’t heard it you should listen to it—its good. Anyways, this song came out on their Futures album when I was 18 and was the soundtrack to my life for quite a long time. (I still consider it one of my favorite albums ever—like the Ataris’ So Long Astoria—for how much the album meant to me and my life at the time.) Anyway, this song followed me through a lot of rough spots a few years back and it is weird though, the sentiment of the song is aching and yet hopeful. And the bridge of the song—“Amazing still it seems, I'll be 23… I won't always love what I'll never have, I won't always live in my regrets…” is at one part depressing and melancholy but also, I think, in a weird way, hopeful—looking forward to the future and that hopefully things will eventually not be the way they currently are. I used to listen to this song and wonder where I would be at this point of my life. I probably wouldn’t have predicted the whole Mozambique thing, but that is part of the beauty of life and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Today marks a transition for me in many ways. First as a birthday. It is the first year ever that it pretty much doesn’t matter, to me or anyone else. It is really just a day. In college it’s a great excuse to party, but then again, what ISN´T in college? It is also the first time I am not excited to be turning another year older. Haha. There will be a lot of these to come, huh? How temporary is youth… kidding. But seriously, time flies! So this is my first birthday that is just me at work, not wanting to get older and not really caring either. But also, this upcoming year will be an interesting one. 22 was a good year, but pretty crazy—my last week at UCLA, my last three months of Los Angeles, a city that I often miss so much it hurts—and then moving to, you know, Africa! But then this year will be spent in Mozambique, completely. Here I am, six months into PCV life. And my next birthday, I will be six months away from going home, inshallah. A lot will happen and change and I hope I can live in the moment this year. I know I always say that—because I'm trying to remind myself, because it’s HARD. But I have “only” another year and a half here in Moz—and there is so much here to learn and discover. Here’s to 23, and all its charms and perils that are sure to come.

I recognize that many people in the world have never even heard of Mozambique (well, until this blog!) and even then, many could not even tell you where in the world it is! I wanted to take this opportunity to let you know a little more about the situation in this amazing country that I am currently calling home.

Mozambique, a sub-Saharan African country loctaed on the East coast of the country, between South Africa and Tanzania, has a population of approximately 21 million people.

A minimum of 16% of those people... 1.8 million people... are infected with HIV. But in reality, the number is probably much higher. Mozambique is one of the top ten affected countries in the world in terms of HIV/AIDS.

The GDN per capita is US $340.

Only 49% of the population is literate. 40% of men and 63% of women cannot read or write.

As of 2007, Mozambique was number 170 out of 173 on the Human Development Index.

On the Gender Development Index, Mozambique ranked at 140 of 144.

Almost half of the piopulation lives on less than $1 per day. And more than 70% live in absolute poverty.

Almost 1 in 4 children will die before the age of 5.

Only 43% of the rural population and 72% of the urban have access to safe drinking water.

Mozambique suffered through many brutal years of war... first the war of independence with the Portuguese followed by a civil war that just ended in the 1990s, leaving a profound affect on its people.

These statistics paint a striking picture of the poverty and problems in this country. In the States, when I heard things like this it would be impossible to truly understand what it meant, and even living here I still cannot truly comprehend the depth of need here.

But it doesn´t need to paint a depressing picture only. These statistics reaveal some of the inescapable problems, but they cannot encompass the joy and optimism of the people, an attitude that will be able to propel the country forward, should it be able to be harnessed.

I just post this to give you a little idea of what goes on on the other side of the world. And I think the world would be a better place if each of us could just take a few minutes out of our busy days, and think about what we can do--no matter how small or seemingly insignificant--to make this world a better place for all of its inhabitants.

8th monthiversary today. Feeling a bit uncreative in terms of ideas for blog posts and emails... comments or suggestions are very welcome at this point. Once I am sufficiently motivated, expect an update and maybe even some pictures! woohoo!

I am so glad that the Peace Corps is two years.

In the States, when people here you are going into the Peace Corps and ask how you long you will be gone, the reaction to your response of “27 months” is usually a little taken aback. “Wow… that is a LONG time.” “I would love to do the Peace Corps, but two years is too long.” “OMG, ARE YOU SERIOUS??!!1” et cetera. And indeed, two years IS a long time. It feels like I have been here forever, when the reality is that I am still in the first third of my service and have at least 18 more months to go. Sometimes it feels like it flies by and other days it crawls… but that is life anywhere, isn’t it? Spending two years outside of your country, away from your friends and family, is really hard at times. But I also think it is one of the best things about being a Peace Corps Volunteer.

It is funny how your concept of time changes. In the States, two years feels like an eternity. Upon hearing you will be gone for such a long time, many of your friends (who are still about 21 or 22 years old and for whom “two years” still sounds like a lifetime) start forgetting you before you are even on the plane. But once you are here… “Hey, it is just two years.” You start realizing (and as you get older as well) that it really is just a drop in the bucket.

But in reality, for a PCV, two years is not long enough. When you are in the States, fresh-faced and idealistic like most incoming volunteers are, you dream of a few months of hard work and cultural integration and then you will be just rockin. Indeed, I too had visions of the first six months or so being quite the challenge, but then after that I would be fluent in Portuguese, chatting up all my neighbors every morning in the local dialect, and just generally being well-known and the totally beloved American in my community and being super productive at work and totally changing the world blah blah blah… everyone entertains these thoughts at one point as they are preparing for PC. And then you get here and reality smacks you in the face.

As a PCV, you are (most likely) not a seasoned, experienced working professional who is contracted for a short time to come in and do a specific intense job and then go home. Rather, you are supposed to be part of your community, investing in a different way besides just professionally. You are supposed to really get to know the people, the language, and the culture, really understand this new place and its inhabitants and what makes it work and what your place can be in it. And this takes time. A LOT of time. Many volunteers talk about how they were pretty much useless their first year, and not for lack of trying! But to really understand this new place, understand your job, communicate effectively… it is not a quick process. And that is the great thing about Peace Corps is that you can spend a year trying to figure this stuff all out and then have an entire nother year to get down to it and really do what you came here to do.

I have been here for almost eight months now. And I have definitely learned a lot. But I am nowhere where I would have predicted I would be at this point before I left… I still don’t speak Portuguese very well, I speak next to nothing of the local dialect, I am starting to do a bit at work but still am nowhere close to where I want to be in terms of my competencies and ability to get things done. And if I was only going to be here for a year… it would be incredibly discouraging, to feel that JUST when I would start to get stuff underway and just start to be productive, it would be time to leave and go home and I would be left to reflect on how much I DIDN’T do when I was in the Peace Corps.

There is so much I want to do here. I want to be fluent in Portuguese. I want to be able to converse, at least some small talk, in the local language. I want to be able to facilitate exercises in the field easily and smoothly, and to bring in my experiences and knowledge to benefit my project and my coworkers in my organization. I want to get to know people in my community, to have local friends, to have a real LIFE here outside of my house and my office. I want to find a way and the time to start a community project, something that fulfills a need that I can use to have a sustainable impact here in Vilanculos.

I have pretty much not done any of this stuff yet. And maybe partly for lack of trying, but I don't really think so. I am still new. And it takes a while, as I find myself realizing more and more everyday.

And the realities are, that maybe I won't be able to accomplish all of these things during my service. But what I do know is that I have time. Time to absorb my new surroundings and time to really just learn and appreciate what I have here and fall in love with this country. And then there is still another year. And for this I am grateful.

This time commitment is intimidating, especially on the States side of things. But to invest yourself in a completely different experience than you have ever had before, it isn’t long enough. And though some days it may feel like an eternity, I will try to take full advantage of every day that I am blessed with spending here, knowing that in the end, it will be completely worth it.

Okay, from the title it might seem like this is going to be an inane or awkward (or both) blog post, which are both most likely true. The thing is that I haven´t updated in a while and often when I do it mostly consists of random musings and spouting streams of consciousness instead of actual concrete writing about day to day life in Mozambique. I often want to write about such things, but then it is frustrating to even attempt to put into words the things that I experience here on a daily basis so then I end up just not writing anything at all. But I have had a few requests so here comes inane topic number one: getting clean.

I love hot showers. A lot. I´m not at the level of one of my certain high-maintenance male friends (ahem) who sits in there for 30-40 minutes, but still, hot showers are nice. Then I moved to Mozambique. The preferred method of bathing here is the banho--portuguese for bath--which involves a bacia (bucket) with some water in it and if you are lucky, a cup to use to dump the water over your body while you squat awkwardly next to the bacia and try not to fall over. (Sometimes there´s no cup and you are just supposed to splash it on yourself... don´t even get me started on that one.) My first time doing this in Namaacha at my host family´s house involved me going to the casa de banho outside, whose walls are only about six feet high and my house is on a hill, so my neighbors could definitely take a peek if they wanted. (And I know the little kids did..."Hey, look at the crazy naked white chick!" Awesome.) I pulled off my clothes, tried to splash enough water on my face and head so that it looked like I actually bathed myself, and then went back inside. Success! (I think it took me a week of practice before I could actually shampoo my hair... gross.) But anyway, it is definitely an acquired talent and something I became quite proficient in with my ten weeks at homestay. Although I did miss running water... enough to write a poem about it, which I will post here if my mom (the sole possessor of this priceless piece of work) will send it to me. It is also important to note that Mozambicans take cleanliness VERY seriously. Everyone bathes two times a day, or three when it is hot out (before every meal time). Many people think of the white people as dirty because many of us don´t see the problem with taking just one bath a day, especially when you aren´t dirty or sweaty. But to Mozambicans this is unacceptable, so you go through the motions anyway--no one wants to be thought of as the dirty mulungu (white person). But that´s what you will be thought of anyways, so it´s better just to not fight it. Especially because you probably suck at bucket bathing anyway, and therefore actually ARE a dirty mulungu. T.I.A.

But then I moved to Vilankulo, where I was greeted by the TRUE Peace Corps Jackpot: a SHOWER!!! With RUNNING WATER!!! And good water pressure!!! This is a rarity for many PCVs, especially in Mozambique. Now I had never been into the cold shower thing, so the first couple times were a bit painful--although the water was almost lukewarm, considering it sits in a HUGE (read: ten feet tall) black plastic container that sits in our compound and bakes in the sun all day. So for the next couple of months, I was able to live in the blissful peace of cleanliness rather than realizing I still had a chunk of shampoo in my hair and had just used the last of the two inches of water in the bucket... good times indeed.

Então. This is all well and good but one thing I failed to really conceptualize in my first few months in Mozambique is--it gets COLD here. FREEZING. Okay, it´s probably like 70 degrees mais ou menos. But when you spend a few months in humid, tropical, African summer, the seemingly 30+ degree tempature swing is overwhelming for your body at the least. The last few nights, I have been sleeping under my sheets and two thick blankets, while also wearing pants, a tank top, a flannel shirt, socks and sometimes even a sweatshirt to bed. (Bamboo houses don´t exactly retain warmth). This is in contrast to January where I would fall asleep on top of my bed wearing as little as possible, and would wake up in the night when the power would cut out, because my fan would turn off and I would start sweating profusely. Sexy. But while this cooler season is wonderful, it also means something else...

My shower is now absolutely freezing. FREEZING. As in occasionally when I get in, I scream out of necessity (singing at the top of my lungs helps a bit too, however I don´t want to do that to my roommate, or all the Mozambicans who hang out right outside the fence). But the choice becomes either suffering through a frigid shower that will take your breath right out of your chest but take less than ten minutes and leave you relatively clean, OR take a bucket bath, which involves ten minutes to prepare the water, at least that long to take and then on top of that I am pretty much guaranteed to still have soap in my hair or still be dirty. And additionally, I have not been taking bucket baths for the last four and a half months, so I am a bit rusty--I tried this week and at one point completely missed my head with my cup of painstakingly heated water. FAIL. So this is the choice I end up making. And it is definitely an internal (and a physical) battle--I am trying to use visualization techniques to get me through it. I imagine a serene, peaceful morning, standing on the top of a glacier. I feel the ice beneath my bare feet, and the icy wind blows by me, stinging my cheeks. Then I gracefully execute a swan dive into the icy water, getting swept over an icy waterfall, submerging myself in the refreshingly icy Arctic sea as i try to avoid the large chunks of ice that float by me in my little swim through Antarctica.

Maybe this visualization is not really helping.

Regardless, I am getting toughened up. And realizing how lucky I am to have a shower in my house. And laughing at how when you join the Peace Corps and move to Africa, little routines like getting clean, that you never even paused to think about in the States, become important enough to you to warrant a blog post, perhaps more for my own entertainment than anyone else´s. But I´m done now. And I promise, if anyone comes to visit, I will prepare a kickass bucket bath for you. Hot water and all. :)

Hi all!

Things are going well here in Moz. I have not had a topic I felt super inclined to blog about lately, so forgive me being boring. Beach olympics was a success this weekend in Vilanculos, and it was amazing catching up with old friends, celebrating our 7-months-in-Moz mark, and just enjoying the company of some awesome people. My good friend Michelle is here visiting for the week from Ilha de Moçambique, which is really exciting. We took our first trip to the islands off the shore of Vil yesterday, and it was beautiful, despite the fact that it rained on us. We got to go snorkeling on the coral reefs off of the island and I felt like I was in Finding Nemo. It was really fun and I posted just a few pics on facebook for those of you who are interested.

I will think of something cool to blog about soon. I promise.

half of Peace Corps/Mozambique is coming to my town today and tomorrow to spend the weekend. So excited. Pointless blog post. Hooray!

A year ago, I was at UCLA. Still not completely positive about what I would do after graduation. Going to bed before midnight was a rarity--actually, I am pretty sure it did not happen. Social life took priority before everything, trying to make as many memories in the short time that was left. I had eaten in De Neve Dining Hall every day for four years, I did not even know how to cook pasta. I never went to sleep without a list of a few dozen tasks that I never got to.

Now I don´t stay awake past 10PM or get up later than 7. I have time to read and relax and forgot what homework was. I can now cook a variety of meals on an unadjustable gas burner with one heat setting (HOT), and manage my own finances and paperwork and other stuff I never used to do before. I worry about wrinkles and healthy diet and what I can accomplish before I turn thirty. Every time I log onto facebook I see more friends that have gotten engaged or married, or even babies on the way and still others whose lives have changed dramatically and I never even realized.

When did this all happen? I feel like I literally blinked and became an adult and some type of transition is missing.

Uma Pescoa Moçambicana

I don't write about God that much, but I feel like it today, so you know in advance what this post is about. This Sunday was Easter, as many of you probably know. And for the first time since I got to Vilankulo, I dragged myself to church in the morning. As someone who is quick to profess her Christian faith as the singular most important thing in her life, I hate that in the last few months I officially was/am one of those people who goes to church on Christmas and Easter, but these six months or so in Mozambique have been quite the interesting spiritual journey for me. Out here in Moz, I have been trying to rely solely on God and place my ultimate trust in Him—things that sound easy in happy Christian theory, but in practice are incredibly difficult. I am only human, and therefore I am affected by the ego, the pride, and the selfishness that afflicts pretty much every one of our kind. Yet, I have been searching to explore ways of communion with God that allow me to live my faith in practice, and am learning to see God everywhere.

That being said, there is still something to say for the importance of fellowship, and church attendance. I have always subscribed to the “spiritual, but not religious” mentality, but sometime this liberalism can make it easy to write off certain practices that are not so much obligations, but provisions from God to benefit you personally. And one of these is church. My reluctance to get involved with a church here has been based on many petty issues, including how ostracized and singled out I felt at the one time I have attended church in this country, the fact that many churches are conducted only in dialect, and probably most significantly of all in my selfish mind, the fact that my normal brand of mass-market, hippie-chic liberal Christianity has caused me to expect my church services to come with shiny programs, thousands of people, dudes jamming on their guitars, dancing and singing, concert-style light shows, social events galore, professionally-made comedic videos and easy-to-understand, watered-down sermons that appeal to just about everyone and are likely to include some self-deprecating quips and some analogies between biblical faith and modern pop culture. (If you think I am kidding, think again.) But then I pause to reflect on how silly this all is, and worshiping God is worshiping God. And since it is really the most important thing I am meant to do here on Earth, I need to get over myself. (Easier said than done, eh?)

I attended Easter mass with some friends at the Catholic Church in my town. I grew up attending a contemporary catholic church, but have avoided it since then in favor of my previously mentioned let’s-all-love-each-other, nondenominational cookie-cutter Christianity. What I remembered about mass as a child still held true this year at 22—I never know when I am supposed to be standing up, or sitting down, or kneeling, or what! But regardless, it was a great experience. One of my favorite parts of church is worship music… now I do not have a nice voice, mind you, or even one I would consider decent, but singing to God in a “heavenly chorus” (ha, ha) is just the best. And this service was no exception. The songs were all in Xitswa, so I was unable to sing even a word, but instead just listen to the hundreds of voices blending together into a beautiful melody to God. I could not sing along with them, but it was worship in its own way. It just overwhelmed me with the beauty of Easter and this amazing gift that God has given each and every one of us—whether we are at Bayside Church in Granite Bay, or a catholic church in a tiny Mozambican town.

Later that day, on my lazy Sunday afternoon, the tide was out. And in Vilankulo, the tide being out is no small thing. There is about 10K of ocean separating us (the mainland) from the Bazaruto Archipelago, but for at least the first several miles, the ocean is incredibly shallow. So while at high tide, the water comes literally right up to my beach gate, low tide is a different story. When the tide fully recedes, strips of sandbars and tiny pools of water drift out for miles. It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and is still a sight that takes my breath away every single time. So, the tide was out, and I decided to go for a “swim” (which, at low tide, is pretty much just wading through a little water and then walking out on the beach for a very long distance). Simba decided to come with me, so we ventured out. The deepest part at low tide, weirdly, is right offshore, so I actually had to wade for a few minutes. Simba followed me willingly, soon needing to start dog-paddling. I didn’t want him to get too tired, so I just kind of hooked him under my arm after a little and glided him through the water. Soon, we were on solid land again—which is weird when you are a quarter mile offshore. But anyways, there we were. On Easter Sunday, half a world away from nearly everything and everyone that I hold dear. But here I was, walking on a sandbar, far from the shore, with my furry friend tagging along dutifully, the sun shining overhead in a beautiful bright blue sky, the islands shining in the near distance. I was just overwhelmed by the beauty of God’s creation, stunned by the realization of Easter, the fact that He would make the ultimate sacrifice to give ME, little old, selfish prideful me, and every other person on this planet, something bigger to live for, the greatest gift of Grace that can never ever be repaid. Completely overcome by God’s beauty and the fact that I could be so alone, but that yet I was NEVER alone, that He will never leave me or forsake me… well, I burst out into Amazing Grace right there. I didn’t care if the far off fishermen could maybe hear me, or that no one was worshiping with me. It was me and God, and that is all I needed. I can find God in a church of hundreds of people, singing songs in a language I do not understand. Or I can find Him on a sandbar in the Indian Ocean with only my dog for company. All I really know is that wherever we seek Him, He is there. And his love is steadfast, and that His mercy endures forever. And that even in solitude, or difficult times, or moments where we struggle to believe, we are still blessed. Sometimes it just takes a little more work—or a little more faith—to see it.

Katie Frost. You rock my life! And my world too.

As of this week, last Thursday in fact, I have spent six months in Mozambique. Which really does not feel like that many since we have a 27 month service… it is kind of a drop in the bucket. But then when I realize I have actually now spent half of a year here it makes it a little more real to me.

At this point I feel like I am doing pretty well. Things are finally starting to flatline a little bit. When I first got to Moz, and also when I first got to site, I felt like things were always up and down, up and down, and intensely so. But now I realize I spent a lot less time like “Wow, I am living in AFRICA omg ridic lol!!!!1” or like “Why the hell did I leave LA and move to Africa??!?!?! What the &*#&*@&! Was I thinking?!?!?!!!” and more time just… living, going about my life like normal. Which is weird that now there finally is something I would consider “normal”… but it is good. I am ready to settle down a bit.

This is also a weird time in the life of a PCV because things are no longer new or shocking, and now we actually start sitting down and processing the reasons why we came here and what it is that we are hoping to do. I have referred to it in the past as “idealism meeting reality.” Everyone who joins the Peace Corps is at least a little bit idealistic in some ways, and everyone has this idea of what their Peace Corps experience is going to be… what THE Peace Corps Experience is, more likely. I have had many a conversation with other PCVs about this process of reconciling what you THOUGHT your experience was going to be, with what it actually turns out to be. This can be a very frustrating experience and really forces you to think about what it is that motivates you, what it is you are hoping to do or change during your service. I wish I had something deep to say about the conclusions I have come to in this process, but in reality I am very far from anything of the sort.

While it has been exciting to see that I am starting to finally “settle down,” it is also incredibly hard in many ways. Because back in December, when I was just finishing with training, kind of still completely terrified about the huge question-mark in front of me, I assumed the first two months or so would be really hard but that by april, of course I would speak perfect Portuguese, and be really integrated in my community and have tons of Mozambican friends and not get harassed at the market ever or mistaken for a south African or Zimbabwean tourist, and I would know all the expats in town too and have a social life, and be super integrated in my workplace and be super duper productive at work and just be this amazing and happy volunteer! Well reality sets in and of course not one of these things is actually happening. And for the most part, it does not mean that I have failed, just that I did not have accurate expectations for my first few months at site. But regardless it leaves me feeling frustrated and like I have let myself down.

But I am ready to stop feeling this way. I am going to get my ish together this month. I am really going to try to work on me, and my life here. Get a tutor for Portuguese so I can not sound like an idiot anymore. Get my exercise routine down so I feel okay physically. Try to meet people in town. Work on my relationship with God. Mind, Body, Spirit. It is so important and so hard here sometimes.

This is a big challenge for me. But I am up for it. I am ready to “do one thing every day that scares me.” And start making my existence here in Vilankulo feel less like a weird dream and more like a life.

Bring on the next six months. Woohoo!

I was looking forward to this weekend all week! Lots of plans to have fun and relax and meet new people. But what am I going to do now? Evacuate my city to get out of the way of a cyclone that may or may not actually hit me and is not actually even a cyclone yet. Hooray! Yay weekend. Boo cyclones.

Okay, so I have skype. Kind of. At my house. Internet is not good enough for iChat or ghcat to work (tear), but skype does. I can IM and maybe even talk! Kind of. Well, it is worth a try. But I don't know anyone's skype handles and the search feature is failing me. So if you have it, please add courtneyalev to your contacts and let's chat. Or at least try to! And if you don't have it... umm download it its free.

Love.

Hi all,

Many people have been asking about my work. Okay, like three people. Or, about posting more pictures. Or talking about the people I have met, the people I work with, etc. And I used to take a TON of pictures in the states (two flashes!!) but have not been here, regrettably. Well, I didn´t have a camera charger for the first three months and then now, half the time, when something cool is happening that I would like to take pictures of, it´s a dangerous idea to carry around a camera. And then other times, it is usually awkward. Win-win, right? So I know it has been hard to accurately represent my Mozambican world. Luckily, someone else did it for me.

GreenLiving Project: SEED

This video was made by the GreenLiving Project and it is all about SEED, the project I have been lucky enough to be placed with here in Mozambique. The people featured in it are the people I work with, the communities I visit. The video paints a beautiful picture of many of the moments I get to witness daily here. Check it out if you are interested.

Life is fragile... we all know that, and it sometime takes tragedy to make us really realize this. Being a Peace Corps Volunteer is not without its risks. Accidents can happen, like anywhere in the world, but sometimes they strike pretty close to home.

Last week, a PCV named Katie was killed in Benin, a west African country where one of my good friends and fellow Dykstra RA, Sarah, is doing her Peace Corps service. She was found murdered in her house in her remote village, where she was apparently loved by her community and fellow volunteers. Benin is a relatively safe country with very few outbreaks of violence such as this.

This really strikes home for me (and, I´m sure, many other PCVs) in terms of the dangers that we face in this life path that we have chosen. My thoughts and prayers are with not only with the friends and family of Katie and her fellow volunteers in Benin, but also with other across the world who loose sleep at night wondering if their loved one is safe.

As many of us know, tragedy can strike anywhere, whether it be in Los Angeles or in Liberia. And I guess all I can do is pause to not only think about and pray for her friends and family, but also to thank God for the people in my life that I have been so blessed with. We don´t often have a say over when or how we die, but we DO have control over how we LIVE. A tragedy like this makes me reflect not only in the pain of what happened, but also in the joy in life that we must all seek to find every day--no day but today--because life is short. Sometimes painfully so.

I want everyone out there reading this to know that, I love all of you, my friends and family, so much, and am so lucky to have you all in my life, no matter how long it may be.

A little write-up on Katie can be read here:

http://www.boingboing.net/2009/03/14/xeni-on-the-road-in-1.html

Please pray for her friends and family, and the families of PCVs everywhere who struggle to continue to support their loved one in their decision when things like this happen.

So, I am back in Vilankulo/Vilankulos/Vilanculo/Vilanculos (probably my biggest gripe about my town is that it seems to be constantly in an identity crisis) after a week of meetings in Maputo--In-Service-Training for us new volunteers, and then regional meetings with all of the volunteers in the southern provinces for the next two days.

I have heard it said by other volunteers that the only time they ever considered ETíng (Early Termination, aka quitting and going home) was when they were traveling in this country. Luckily, I am blessed to live in a town that has absolutely everything I need for day-to-day life, so I rarely need to travel unless its for work (and therefore in comfortable work cars) or the very occasional weekend trips. Usually people come to us, which is convenient, but also means that we "miss out" on the experiences that can come from trying to get around on the public transportation.

We set out for Maxixe on Sunday morning, a town that is about 3.5 hours away (or 5.5 in a chapa), "really close" for PC/Moz standards. We cram into the chapa as the onlookers kind of stare at the three mulungus (white people) and are kind of laughing, and then one even takes a picture of us when he thinks we aren´t looking. Seriously? We speak Portuguese and we are sitting on your chapa at 6 in the morning, we must have SOME idea of what we are doing here. Well, the ride was stuffed and uncomfortable as always, and then five and some hours later, we arrive in Maxixe safely. Yay! But then the cobrador (guy who collects money) tries to rip us off for our bags, which were under the seats. My sitemate Laura is amazing at confronting jerks trying to rip us off, and she had a little success with some of the money we were owed being returned to us. The guys on the chapa were lying and saying they had told us in the morning that we´d be charged for our bags--LIE. And they were laughing at our indignance. So this sours the mood a bit. We walk a good hundred yards to the place to take a large boat taxi to Inhambane City, across a small bay of water. When we try to buy our tickets (about 50 cents American), the guys selling them try to make us pay for our backpacks. Um, no. We walk away down the pier and when we hand over our tickets to get on the boat, the guy there also pedir´s us for money for the bags. Which you do NOT need to pay for if they fit in your personal space, which ours did. So, we are finally seated on the boat after all this harrassment happening in about 15 minutes, and then the people around us start talking about us (in dialect) and laughing. Laura calls them out, and they kind of shut up. Then a long sweaty ride to Tofo beach and... salvation comes. I am reminded when I see Tofo that this is a beautiful and wonderful country even though sometimes traveling can have me at my wit´s end. I wish there was some way to erase the dollar sign that seems to be on my forehead! But it´s all good, I usually have a good attitude about it. But some days like this it´s more difficult.

Tofo was a fun afternoon of swimming, reading and sipping soda at sundown on a beautiful beach. I just love this place. Vila(c/k)ulo(s) is a beautiful place as well, but there´s just something about Tofo! We left around 4:30AM on a machibombo (minibus) to Maputo and I will spare the details on the ensuing nine hours of discomfort with my knees pressed against a metal bar and a Mozambican trying to sleep on my shoulder. It is moments like this where I remember why a sense of humor is absolutely crucial to every PCV´s well being. So I try just to laugh.

Maputo was an amazing "culture shock," which was funny because the first time I saw Maputo I was shocked at how "third-world" it seemed--I had never been to Africa, and didn´t know what I was getting into! But now that that shock has worn off and Moz is my home, I was shocked in another way by how developed Maputo really is. We spent Monday eating/relaxing at Mundo´s, which involved chocolate brownies, nachos and beer on tap, and then saw a movie. A MOVIE. IN MOZAMBIQUE. I saw Doubt, with Meryl Streep, and it was a good movie that really made you think, but I was a bit distracted by the impending wave of tiredness AND the immense confusion that came from watching a movie in a movie theater and eating one-dollar popcorn. Beautiful.

The hotel we stayed at for regionals was gorgeous. It had hot water (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!), wi-fi internet (didn´t bring my computer though, but I am happy with that decision), a pool, AC, and the best part was probably... no, undoubtedly, the unlimited buffet meals. I probably gained ten pounds there off of the eggs, sausage, guava and orange juice, ham and cheese sandwiches, lasagna, and never-ending dessert bar. But it´s okay. I will have plenty of time to lose the weight, some other time. Yay good food!

All in all the week was a great time to reconnect with other PCVs in the area. It was great to see how everyone was doing, and really reassuring and encouraging to hear and see that all of us Moz 13s are facing our own and unique challenges, but everyone is adapting and maturing and growing in response to these challenges. We are only a few months in, and I am sure that the next time I see everyone, we will all be collectively amazed at how far we have come.

As good of a time I had hanging out with "old" friends (and making new ones!), I was ready to head back to Vil (now that´s an easier name to use!). I missed my house, my routine, my cat and my dog, I even missed not eating very much food (and eating a PB&J sandwich every single day for lunch). I was really ready to get back to site and get back to work.

My trip back from Maputo yesterday was the complete opposite of my trip down. Determined to get back to Vil in one day, I had two choices: the regular bus or the Panthera Azul bus. The regular bus is just what it sounds like... a regular bus, but in Mozambique that can mean dozens of people standing in the aisles/on your lap, extreme heat, smelly, frequent breakdowns, etc. Now these things are just some of the many charms that come from African living, and are quite easy to adopt to. But this also involves catching the bus at the Junta. Junta is one of the scariest places on earth. Imagine a huge lot of land the size of a few football fields, completely covered with cars, vans, and busses heading everywhere in the southern african area, with no system of organization whatsoever. Pull up to Junta and have a hundred motoristas and cobradors suffocating you trying to get you onto a bus or chapa, and wading through the people selling refrescos and bolo com creme (that stuff is goooood). Definitely tolerable, but due to my desire to get home (and my desire to evade unnecessary travel stress), I decided to NOT be a volunteer who "knows the price of everything and the value of nothing," and take the Panthera Azul bus that leaves from the baixa area. Assigned seats, double decker bus (I was on tree level), air conditioning, reclinable and roomy seats, snack and tea served, TVs playing lionel ritchie music videos on repeat and martial arts films... it was glorious. It was completely worth being TWICE the price and I am doing that every time now, or trying to book a ticket. Maputo is far!

So there is a little synopsis of my week. Now I am back, fatter, but re-motivated. And I even missed my cold showers during the week... I guess I am adapting to this new life, after all.

hi friends,

i know my blog has been super boring for the last month, partly due to the fact that i have been out of vilankulos for the last week or so. But I am headed home tomorrow, and expect some high quality updates this week! Hope all is well stateside.

Hi there. I haven´t updated a substantive blog entry for a couple weeks now due to a variety of factors--I spent a whole week outside of site in the field (last week), and this week I have had a lot of stuff going on. But I have some great ideas for things to write about so I promise I will have something entertaining on here soon.

Stay tuned for stories from the field, and a couple funny things that have happened to me in the last couple of weeks. Living in Africa definitely means that even when things are at their most boring, they are still interesting.

I am at a turning point in my Peace Corps service. I have now been in Vilankulo for almost three months and am starting to figure out how things are going to work in terms of living here for two years and settling into my role at work. I am constantly learning new things and am still far from settled in, but things aren´t brand new anymore. I am leaving site for this entire upcoming week to return to Maputo (the capital city, about, I don´t know, 10-12 hours south of here, maybe more) for a week for Regional meetings with all the other PCVs in the southern provinces (Maputo, Gaza, and Inhambane). It should be a really fun time to catch up with friends I haven´t seen since training, and also just be encouraged in the realization that we HAVE come somewhere from those training days! Maybe I will even go to a good restaurant and eat good food and get a frozen margarita or something! And we are staying in what looks like a pretty nice hotel so I will probably even have hot water (!!!!!). It should be a great time and I hope to return to Vilankulo refreshed, encouraged, and ready to start this next phase of my PC service.

I am entering the ticket lottery for the World Cup in 2010 this month--it is open until the end of March and then we find out if we got tickets or not on April 15th. I am so excited and I will be so mad if I don´t get them! It´s an amazing opportunity with the WC being in neighboring South Africa, so I am looking forward to that. I am definitely going with my roommate, Sarah, and perhaps some other PC friends and friends from the states (!) If anyone reading this is thinking about going, let me know! We are going to try to get tickets for games in Cape Town.

In other far-away news I am trying to book a ticket for the States in December. It is really far away, but I know that I want to go back to America for the holidays, especially because it will have been 15 months since I left the country. And if I book now, it will cost me less than $1500 to fly home, which is hideously expensive but much better than the $2500+ that many people pay. Once I have any plans finalized I will inform the world through this little piece of space on the interwebs that I proudly call home.

I will post an update from Maputo. Until then, fumba kuatsi.

Yesterday marked five months in Mozambique. Longer than that since I left California. In one more month it will be half a year.

And the world spins madly on.

**

Thanks for comments/suggestions about what to write about. I will get on that soon.

Hello, world. Life continues here in the Bique. Had a Mardi Gras party this weekend, will write about it sometime later when I can upload some photos. Otherwise, I am feeling momentarily uncreative at this juncture.

What should I write about on this blog next?

I am open to your suggestions, all four of you who read this!

Let me know.

This weekend is Dance Marathon. It is weird not being there... it´s the first HUGE event that has really happened since I have been gone, and it´s really starting to sink in that I am not there for it in any capacity. I am trying not to dwell on that, but it´s hard, especially because I have been a little bit homesick for familiarity as of late. But instead I am trying to take the time to, instead of wishing I could be there, just think about how much DM has changed my life.

I signed up to dance at DM 2005 not having any idea about what I was getting into... I just loved to dance! Those 26 hours had a profound effect on me, and my eyes were opened to the HIV/AIDS pandemic.

Fast forward three more years to DM 2009. At my fourth (and final... for now) Dance Marathon, I was a different person than I was that first year. I was on the steering committee, following two years on general (reslife for life and dancer captain extraordinare) and not really believing that this would be my last year. Those 26 hours were some of the most memorable of my life... I spent the whole time trying to avoid "hitting the wall"... you know, the point in any marathon, running or dancing, where you think you might actually die. (It was 6AM my first year... 10PM my second year when I was on committee, and I am pretty sure I fell asleep under a table somewhere.)

Besides from DM 2008 being my last one, it was also a special time for me in an entirely other, but related, way. My involvement with DM affected my UCLA experience in many ways... it helped me settle on International Development Studies as one of my majors, and also led me to conduct independent research on HIV/AIDS education in Africa. But then I knew it didn´t stop there... I felt myself compelled to do something bigger, go farther. So I found myself, on February 13th, just three days before DM, getting my nomination to work with HIV/AIDS in Africa with the Peace Corps.

Fast forward to that last power hour... standing backstage with senior steering members, bursting into tears that I had held back for the first 25 hours... couldn´t believe this HUGE part of my life was coming to an end.. (and WHAT was I gonna do with all that highlighter?!?!) In that moment, I couldn´t imagine leaving LA yet, leaving these people, these friends, these memories that meant the world to me.

And in that moment, I knew that I had to.

As those last morale dances winded down and those numbers were held up, as the tears did not stop... I knew I was closing a chapter of my life that would fundamentally change the rest of it.

I am not going to lie, I am homesick for LA, and I am really, terribly sad that I will not be at DM this year, sporting my highlighter (I did keep some of it...), cheering on dancers, encouraging committee members. But as I write this, I am sitting here in Mozambique, as a Peace Corps Volunteer, making new memories and learning new things that will undoubtedly change my life at least as much as four years of Dance Marathon did.

I am sad I cannot be there this year. But I at least know that I am doing my part for a better world, and I would never be here if it was not for DM.

If anyone is reading this who is involved, I want to say good luck... and thank you for giving up part of your life for something bigger. And I can only hope that DM touches your life the way it touched mine.

Who knows, maybe I will make a comeback at DM 2011. But no matter what happens, I am here in Africa, dancing in spirit.

Last night, around 1AM, I woke up because I felt something on my head. This worried me, because although there are all sorts of living creatures scurrying about my house at night, I sleep under the (relative) security of a mosquito net hanging from the ceiling and then tucked in around my double bed. Sounds safe enough, right. Well, the thing that woke me up made me nervous because if it was indeed a bug/animal and I wasn´t just dreaming (I had a nightmare about a snake attacking me the previous night...), then it was IN the net with me and doomed to terrorize me the rest of the evening. So then I turned on my headlamp and shook out my sheets and saw nothing... and then I felt something move IN my shirt. But being half-asleep, I figured maybe it was a bobby pin that fell from my hair or something. SO then I reached into my shirt to pull it out and pulled out a huge cockroach. HUGE. OMG EWWW. I tried to smash it on my bed, but those things are indestructible. So it ran away, but I couldn´t tell if it was still in the net or not. And I was going to get out of the net and check for the offending roach, but there was a HUGE moth from Hell camped out on the net ready to attack my headlamp should I move outside the net. Oh, and the roach pooped on me. Safe to say, I did NOT sleep well last night. How does one recover beauty sleep after something like this?! Oh well, one of my friends had a snake fall into her bed that was eating a lizard at the same time... could be worse.

T.I.A.!

Everyone is doing those 25 things things on facebook. Part of me felt pressured to, because it´s fun to reveal random things about yourself that wouldn´t come up otherwise. But I also did not want to spam people on facebook who do not really care about said random things. And since I have not put anything interesting on my blog recently, I figured I would post it here because people bored enough to check the blog might need something to do. So here are my 25 things. Enjoy. I am really not that interesting.

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1. My faith and my family are the most important things to me. I consider myself a very spiritual person… and I think my family is the shit!

2. The last thing I did in LA was force Aaron and Steve to ride the LA subway with me because I didn't believe that it actually existed. News flash: it does!!!

3. Some of the things I miss most about the States are beverages. Such as diet pepsi, free water in restaurants, starbucks anything, and good beer on tap. Mmm blue moon with an orange.

4. My "future plans" have included law, student affairs, and professor. But now, after PC, I want to get my Masters in International Development from Georgetown, Princeton, Harvard, or London School of Economics, if I get in anywhere. Or be a travel writer.

5. I am developing a before-I'm-30 Life List. On it so far: learn how to drive a stick shift, travel SE Asia, run a marathon, learn French, and learn how to make my mom's carrot cake really well.

6. The first thing I am buying when I move back to the States is the latest version of rock band. You all can come over and play. But don't even think about getting on drums. I play drums.

7. If I could marry Jim Halpert or Edward Cullen, I would in an instant.

8. I not so secretly hope to be in Vegas with ucla/tours alumni every memorial weekend til I'm 40. Anyone with me?

9. I've been to like 40 of the states. I really need/want to go to Alaska next. I have been to 15 countries but am not well-traveled; I have only been to North America, Europe and now Moz.

10. I believe that beer pong tastes better with margaritas instead.

11. My most embarrassing moments: my entire senior year of HS when my first-choice school was USC, and yesterday when I realized that Miley Cyrus "See You Again" is #3 on my iTunes most played.

12. 3 of my favorite places on earth are Gimmelwald, Switzerland; the roof of Dykstra and the Bellagio fountains.

13. Some of the "phases" I have gone through in life: equestrian/horseback riding (ten years… I miss it!), playing the viola, piano, soccer, and then dance team, woo!

14. I can write legibly with my toes. Meaning if I ever lose both my arms in a freak accident, I will probably be fine.

15. 4 years of Dance Marathon has affected my life in so many ways. And it's definitely the reason I am writing this note from Africa right now. I will go through life getting excited whenever I see highlighter. Eww.

16. One of my biggest fears is normality. And mediocrity.

17. I'm working on compiling a life soundtrack. I will post the track listing someday when I finish it. It will have Neil Diamond, Journey, Lee Greenwood, and Bon Jovi on it for sure. Oh, and Rick Astley.

18. I have a really great memory but only for useless things; like, I know pretty much every word to every rap song on the radio, but can't remember academic information after the midterm/final to save my life.

19. When I was a kid, apparently I had these green plastic peas I carried around. And I couldn't sleep without them, so I would drive my mom crazy yelling "MY PEAS!! MY PEAS!!" what a proud moment.

20. I try really hard to not judge people, but with one glaring exception. I judge people who use Hotmail or Yahoo! Instead of Gmail. What are you thinking?!?! And when people have 65,483 messages in their inbox… label and archive that ish please. You will thank me later.

21. I don't think I really have a "hometown" but being gone from the States makes me realize I am very californianized. I will probably live in LA, DC or NYC when I get back… I loved LA, and I miss UCLA a lot, but I am happy I left. I think if I was still there it would be a lot harder to mentally move on from something that was so great, and here in Africa I am kinda forced to!

22. I think that the Stuff White People Like blog is absolutely hilarious and pretty much always true (see "Taking a Year off" and "Traveling").

23. I am pretty sure that UCLA´s main graduation ceremony last year was the worst grad ceremony EVER, but I still loved it cuz it was OURS.

24. I am very outdoorsy… I love rock climbing, mountain climbing, hiking, skiing and snowboarding, waterskiing, kayaking, whatever you can think of. I love sleeping outside under the stars.

25. I am usually pretty fun and laid back, but I am also a very introspective person. I love deep and open and soul-searching conversations. I try to see the meaning behind everything and to see love in everyone and everything.

so i love letters. they are way better than email. and i was bored this weekend and made a bunch of cards to send home. but then i went for my huge stash of envelopes and realized that the humidity here sealed all the envelopes. and i don´t know where i can buy more. so snail mail is temporarily on hold until i can discover where i can potentially find more envelopes.

oh, my life.

Per request, I figured I should talk about what i actually DO here in Mozambique. Most of you of course know by now that I am a new Peace Corps volunteer, and I live in Vilankulo, and I work at Care International. But what do I really do?

First of all, I am still very new and very unproductive in the sense that I am still learning SO much about my new work and my new job! But I am learning a ton and very quickly, and hope to start being able to be productive soon. But I am working on the SEED Project. SEED stands for Sustainable and Effective Economic Development and is a seven-year project funded by Care Canada. The project seeks to reduce poverty in the vulnerable northern districts of Inhambane province which are very susceptible to droughts and floods. The goal is poverty reduction by enabling participants to diversify their means of income and provide market linkages for commercial production. There are different sectors to the project: livestock, horticulture, arts and crafts, microentreprise, and village savings and loans. All the groups work together towards the goal of the project--helping people increase their income as well as diversify it.

An important aspect of the SEED Project is integrating gender and HIV/AIDS issues into everything that the project does. Gender and HIV/AIDS are vitally important to touch on because they play a huge role in family economic situations. My job is, or will be, to assist others on the project with integrating HIV/AIDS and gender into all activities. This happens through a variety of means, such as facilitating activities that make people think about topics such as decision making, division of labor within a household, the effects of natural disasters or chronic illnesses on a family, and so on. The project operates in four districts, in many different rural communities, so I am based in the office here in Vilankulo and will travel to the field to assist with these activities.

I am still new and I am still learning, and it is a very humbling experience. But it is definitely safe to say I am really excited about my job and my placement here and really hope that I can make a difference in any way possible.

Hope this clears it all up. I will email my list soon and share some funny stories from my time here in Mozambique. :)

Até a próxima.

1. Wear sunscreen

2. Drink more water

3. Stand up straighter

I´m simplifying.

This may not be very exciting to the vast majority of people, but it is the most exciting thing ever for me. Today for lunch, I ate a sandwich made with Jif super extra-crunchy peanut butter (choosy moms choose jif!) and Smuckers strawberry jelly, finished with a dessert of Oreos, all while watching season 1 of Gossip Girl on DVD.

Gosh, packages from home ROCK.

Life in Africa has shown itself to be a world of contrasts. Granted, I have not been here long enough--only a little less than 4 months in-country and about 5 weeks at site--to adjust and settle down into routines, so it is fitting that things are still up in the air. It will probably take several months to acclimate into some semblance of a "normal" life here. But it is really interesting to me how things dip and peak so quickly and easily during this adjustment period.

Probably the best example is the concept of time here. It seems like I have been here years because of how much has happened in the last 4 months. I have learned and changed so much, that I cannot believe I was still living in LA last September. But at the same time, time is flying by. A day might go by and feel SO long, and then all of a sudden the week is over. A person who lives six hours away from you is "close." Planning a trip for six months from now is "soon." I "just talked" to a certain friend a week ago, and I "just talked" to another good friend 2 months ago... it all feels the same. It is quite confusing, really, and I am not sure why it feels like this. But I guess this can be said for many aspects of life. A friend I was talking to about this pointed out that college years FLEW by, but yet it seems like decades since that first day of freshman year. I guess life has a way of keeping us on our toes.

One thing I am very convicted of this year is trying to live in the moment. So often I am looking ahead to the next big thing, that I miss the present. One minute I will be thinking about how I need to take this experience for what it is, day to day, and the next minute I am daydreaming about the trans-African adventure I will have in December 2010 when I finish my PC service. Back and forth, back and forth. I am learning a lot about what I need to do to stay grounded and really exist in the present moment, and not let this experience slip me by as I waste time thinking about what is to come in the future.

The same emotional swings every human being has exist here as well, but like everything else, they are more polarized. The "highs" are these supreme moments that are unexplainable, just sheer joy and wonder at the fact that I am here and living in Africa and seeing the world and just being so blessed. But the low moments exist, and they of course pass, but in those moments they are tougher than what I am used to, because my cravings for familiarity cannot be satisfied here. I am again learning much about coping, learning about myself and how I tick, especially in Africa, and how I carry the good moments and the blessings I have throughout each and every day. It´s funny how one minute I am thinking about how I will probably be living in Africa forever, and the very next minute looking up airfare to the States and counting down the days til a potential visit! It´s funny, all these things, and recognizing that this is a transition stage, I am gonna be all over the place for a while, and then before I know it it will be September and I will be wondering where the year went.

I was just gchatting with a dear friend and during my conversation with her, it sparked my memory of a greeting card hanging up in my room here in Africa, a card my mother sent me last year that has followed me around the world. The quote on the card says,

"Any given moment can change your life," she said. "You just have to BE there."

This card catches my eye every few days and I need to keep that in mind here. Though my new stage of life and its sheer overwhelming nature may cause me to laugh louder, dream bigger, miss greater, think deeper, and cry harder, in each of these moments, I learn more what it feels to be truly alive. And in each and every moment, I am blessed.

So 2008 has come and gone, and I'll be honest, I'm a little sad to see it go. As I get a little older, the years seem to come by a bit faster, and all of a sudden, it's another new year. And this New Year was a bit more poignant than most that have come before it in my young life. As far as years go, 2008 was one of the most defining of my life. Okay maybe not “one of the most” as much as by FAR the most important year of my twenty-two and a half.

Let's see. I rang in this New Years at a bar in Vilankulo with some Peace Corps friends. Where was I a year ago? In San Francisco, with some Tours friends, excited to be having fun and excited for what the new year would bring. I had just finished up the first part of my senior year and was simultaneously looking forward to and dreading the last six months of my college life. I knew I was graduating in June, but past that I had no idea where I would be spending the summer or, much more importantly, what I was planning to do with my life when I graduated. I had ideas, sure, but nothing substantial, preferring to live in the moment of senior year rather than face realities of the future and the “Real World,” those two words that instill fear and loathing into college seniors everywhere.

And what has happened since then? Way too much to recount in a blog entry, and not very exciting for anyone but me. But to summarize, the next few months saw my fourth and final Dance Marathon, an amazing and bittersweet weekend; applying for the Peace Corps and getting in but still not being sure if it was something I wanted; deciding to return to O-Staff as an OA and stay in LA for the summer; a fun trip to New York, a place that always seems to feel so much like home; then Spring Quarter and Senior Dis-O and Joshua Tree and more FACs and marg pong than I can actually remember and more FUN than I can actually remember; so much laughter and so many tears; dealing with that I'm-a-senior complex that had me out partying more nights than not and still pulling a 4.0 every quarter thanks to extreme lack of sleep; the most epic weekend in Vegas EVER that had me stressed to the gills but also will go down in history as one of the best weekends in my entire life; turning 22, staying awake for three entire days straight so I could manage to take multiple finals, finish a 60-page paper and still go to undie run and Margarita Mondays and tours bonfire because it was the last week of college ever, after all; and then finally Phi Beta Kappa induction and then the worst/best UCLA college graduation ceremony EVER; and then Oh-My-God-I-Just-Graduated-!!!!; and that was just the first half of the year. Then followed by Erika’s wedding—I can't believe we're growing up; and a “senior trip” of sorts to Palm Springs with my girlfriends for some bittersweet last hangout time. Then back to Westwood to move into my first apartment ever with Bethy; O-Staff retreat and the beginning of Hurt Brigade Bread and Butter; Tahoe for the 4th with some of my favorite people in the entire world; a summer of fun and sun and drunkenness and drama and all the beautiful things that happen in college or when you're a recent grad in denial; the Orientation Office and BrewCo and Maloneys and Family O and OCíng and M.I.A. and Miley and more Vegas and San Diego and all those fun things; and then all of a sudden it was saying goodbye to LA, the city I really consider home, so much so that I sometimes miss the 405 traffic… bursting into tears alone in my car just as I reached the Valley, fully realizing that my life was irrefutably changing and would never be the same again, and then biting my lip and resolving to proceed with strength into my next chapter. Then home in Sacramento with the family for two weeks, saying more goodbyes, and then all of a sudden I was on a plane to Philly and then to JoBurg and then to Maputo and all of a sudden I was in Moçambique; and then moving to the town of Namaacha for ten weeks to learn about culture and lifestyle and learning Portuguese and learning how to be a health worker in this country, and then celebrating Thanksgiving away from home and learning I was moving to Vilankulo… and then saying goodbye to many new friends and moving to my bamboo hut in this sleepy coastal town where I am prepared to stay for the next two years. And that was the last 12 months.

It is safe to say that a lot has been happening in my life lately.

But what will 2009 bring? In the past the years were easily divided into stages: winter quarter, spring, summer, fall. And each comes with its milestones—DM, Spring Break, Vegas, finals, etc. The year divides itself so easily at UCLA. 2009 will be a bit different. The schedule: live and work in Moz. And possibly going back to the states for the holidays, an entire year away. So this year will feel a little bit different than the ones before. But that’s okay. So often I have lived my life always looking ahead to the next big thing without pausing to truly experience the present. But that is going to change this year. I hope. Little by little. Pouco a pouco. I have no idea what I will be reflecting upon about 2009 a year from now. But it is sufficient to say I am excited.

Happy New Year everyone.

This blog will be where I post everything about my journey to Mozambique with the Peace Corps this upcoming September. Look here for updates and photos whenever it is possible for me to do so!