I've had a few revelations over the last weeks, sometimes while taking walks outside in the mild Carolina weather, or while watching my baby make bubbles and faces at me, but nothing really worth writing an entire blog entry about. So, I'll write about what's been on my mind: sugar.

I was overweight for a lot of my life. I was a chunky kid and teen, before the obesity epidemic hit and most kids weren't chunky. My mom cooked all our meals and we ate nutritiously, but subscribed to the, "finish your plate" concept. Or maybe I just liked to overeat? I lost weight for a short time in high school, but I don't really remember what drove me to, or how I did it. I didn't enjoy sports or come from an athletic background so I didn't exercise. Once I got to college, I gained a freshman 15, then a sophomore 15. By the time my sister graduated high school in the spring of 2002, I didn't even recognize myself in a photograph, I had gotten so fat. How did I get that way? I walked everywhere, and had jobs in kitchens where I was on my feet the whole time. One of those jobs was as a cake decorator.

While working, there was always something to snack on in the bakery. Fresh chocolate chip cookies, leftover cake crumbs, you name it, it was there. My significant other and I would treat ourselves once a week or so to a dinner at a restaurant, and probably cleaned our plates, not realizing each plate was really meant for a family. I developed a love for cooking, and used a lot of butter, olive oil, and I'm sure I didn't eat enough vegetables. Anyway, by the time I realized I was fat, I was pretty fat. It really grossed me out to see that photo.

One day sometime around the time I started graduate school, or maybe before that, I decided once and for all that I would start getting active. I realized my current diet and exercise routine was not cutting the mustard, and so I got a bicycle and told myself I would ride it to work one day a week. Slowly, I enjoyed it, so I increased the amount of times I rode to work. Then, I kinda just started riding it everywhere. Sometime after that, I decided I wanted to do yoga. So, I checked out this DVD from the library, liked it, and moved to the next level once that got easy. Slow changes.

My love of cooking started in college. I remember my friend Melissa and I would relish our Saturday nights when we could watch Iron Chef together on the free college cable in her dorm room. We would marvel over how the chef could butcher an eel and create five first-class dishes in one hour! Nothing was off limits, and boy, was I curious. Growing up, I thought I hated steak because steak was black and chewy. It wasn't until a "steak dinner night" in the dorm cafeteria that I realized steak could be pink and soft and tasty! Granted, I did go to an ag school (woot woot Oklahoma State!), so they knew about their beef, but you get the point. An entire culinary world awaited me that I never knew existed, and I intended to grab it by the horns and make it mine. That included the cake decorating and baking world, the magical world of sugar.

Fast forward like 5 years to today. So, I took up running when my nephew was born, September 2008 but didn't really get any distance behind me. I ran 2 miles like 5 days a week with my dog, and I had really gotten my diet to a healthy place: lots of fresh, local veggies, fresh fruits and not very much meat, but legumes and yogurt. Whole grains, all that good stuff. Cooking nearly every day, for myself and for friends. Then I joined the Peace Corps, and lo and behold, lots of runners in my intake group! Several people, especially, were so encouraging that I keep running and try for a marathon. Me, who has never been athletic, or even that physically fit, run a marathon? You've got to be kidding! I thought. But, I thought if I could get to South Africa, live in a village and do crazy education work that I know little or nothing about, I guess I could train for a marathon. And so I did! Living in the village with no oven and a very tight budget, I did not make very many sweets. A couple times, i made cinnamon rolls in my leftover food tins and took them to school, and they were a very big hit. But, I bought and soaked my beans, ate rice often, veggies, fruit, and battled for the clean water. Talk about healthy living! But I really did miss making those cakes. Before I left the USA in July 2009, I was doing wedding cakes and other celebration cakes on "the side" out of my kitchen, here and there in my spare time. While I was away though, I realized that is something I'd like to pursue full-time. But there arose a quandry: how to rectify my new healthy changes to my baking?

In order to remain true to myself, my purpose, my calling, I had to find a way to bake more healthfully. Sure, a big, fat, rich, piece of chocolate cake is amazing to eat every once in awhile, but do I feel good about proffering this to a public saying, "this is good for you, buy it?" not really. So, I've been on the hunt for recipes that are more healthful than the traditional butter, sugar and refined wheat flour-filled treats we are accustomed to, and recipes for those with special dietary needs like gluten-free and vegan diets. It has been kind of a bumpy road, let me tell ya. Nothing is worse than pulling your pan out of the oven and having the item look like a science experiment, or waiting patiently for a cupcake to cool only to have it feel like gummy sand in your mouth. When the highlight of my day is waiting for enough time to put together a recipe, and it is a bust, it can be depressing. But, there have been some bright spots, which is encouraging.

I tried Jessica Seinfeld's recipes from her book Deceptively Delicious, thinking that is a great idea, to use veggie purees instead of milk or oil in recipes, but they aren't right, IMHO. You can tell there is something "amiss" and sometimes even taste the veggies in the finished products. I've tried lots of different suggestions for vegan stuff that doesn't involve "fake butter" or "fake eggs," and those don't really work out either, for the most part. I've had the biggest successes with the gluten-free items, blending different flours together to get good taste and textures for some things. So, I think this will work. It's just too bad that seven minute icing doesn't last longer than a day, because that is the perfect icing! Very low fat, marshmallowey texture, and oh-so-dreamy...I digress.

A good friend of mine thinks that sugar is evil. In order to stop my unhealthy habits of eating, in the beginning, I had to think that way, too. I had to take it out of my diet almost completely in order to be able to incorporate it moderately. I realize though that each person has his or her own way of dealing with difficulty. I also realize that, in my never-ending quest for knowledge that our bodies process sugar in the same way they do alcohol- as a toxin. On a chemical level, our body cannot tell the difference between fructose, glucose or alcohol. Sugar is found rarely in nature and is not a part of a whole-foods diet. It has been linked to obesity, particularly in children. Etc, etc. etc. etc. So, what is the answer to a health-conscious bakery question; to replace all sugar with Splenda? To make products that are just much less sweet? Yes, no, other. To promote an active, balanced lifestyle and "practice what I preach" seems to be a good solution, sort of. One of my friends was recently training for a marathon, and I told her how awesome that she keeps us aware of her fitness updates. I think my exact words were, "You're a machine!" She said, "No, I just have a wicked sweet tooth."

Immediately, when I read or hear the word, "compassion," I think of the two aspects of a Bodhisattva, an enlightened being trying to achieve nirvana, wisdom and compassion. A Bodhisattva is a follower of the Buddha, one who wishes to throw off the shackles of attachment to worldly goods and thoughts, to help others, to achieve moksha, or freedom from the cycles of life and become one with the universe. These two attributes are most difficult to learn, and even more difficult to put into practice.

One personal goal I hoped to achieve by leaving my professional track in the information sciences was that of compassion. I wanted it, and not like a new bicycle or bag of apples. I wanted it like one wants a good pair of jeans or a cashmere sweater, something to last a lifetime and something that gets forgotten about but used all the time. I sincerely desired to become a more compassionate person, as opposed to the cerebral, clinical, critical cynic that I am. It was paramount at that time to make a foolish financial decision by leaving my student loan debts, contacts, career and home behind in favor of a period of personal growth and diminished physical goods. The rationale was that I could always work, but I could not always be so unemcumbered to embark on such an adventure. And I don't regret it. I'm just wondering what happened to the zeal I had for wanting to soften up and get to my underbelly, to live in the bottom of the pot of human need and emerge with a new sense of humanity.

Lately, I have been reminded of my cruel humor and that I delight in others' failure. While this may sound terrible, it is true. I just can't wait to point out what someone has done wrong, and find it hard to hold my tongue. I just want to give everyone advice, as if my thinking and knowledge are the right ones. What about those lessons I learned in rural South Africa, about the importance of family, and looking out for one another as fellow humans, giving attention to a child because maybe nobody else does? What about all that listening, and time spent observing and helping, rather than being the first to criticize? There were entire days that would pass in SA where I wouldn't speak more than a greeting, and I sure did an awful lot of helping.

One theory is that, because the pendulum swung so drastically from "free, selfish American" to "poor, stranger, volunteer" it's now swinging back to the selfish American side again. Instead of softly and gracefully transitioning back to this cushy, wasteful lifestyle, I whirled like a dervish into it, thrashing about, trying to find my way amid a cespool of wasteful gluttony, gasping and grasping at whatever I could find that seemed normal.

Another is that, by choosing to live with my family, with whom I had not addressed several deep and large issues from the past, I compounded my difficulty of readjusting to American life, and have been failing miserably at achieving my goals because I just couldn't hack it. I really only have those two theories, so if you have a better one, please send it my way.

By becoming a mother, I automatically have more compassion for babies and children, as this is a biological necessity for survival, I think. I must be sensitive to the needs of my child or he will not prosper, and that just makes sense from a scientific perspective. Crying means something is wrong, whether it be company, diaper change, hunger, or sleep. Movement indicates development, so once he starts moving a lot I must be more careful where he lays, such as, not from a high ledge or near anything sharp or precariously balanced. Ok, that makes sense. But I'm trying to make sense of this set of values that is cruelty/compassion, and that is not as clearly sensible.

In one of my classes in "library school," I enjoyed learning about information seeking behavior and sense-making. All queries, informal or formal, are a person's way of making sense about the world. As we study the different ways people can come at a problem, we can understand a lot more about them and about the discipline of information management (new term for library science) as a whole. One big surprise to me was that most people, especially professors with doctorate degrees, will first ask a colleague when they need a question answered. That's right, they want to talk to a human being, not an encyclopedia, or a peer-reviewed journal, a buddy. Medical doctors are the same way. So now, physicians bring laptops or notebooks into the exam room and record their info into your digital chart, but you know what? Even though they have access to the internet, to look up medical information in journals or medlineplus.gov or whatever, they don't do it. They go next door to consult with their colleague or they rely on their memory to give you the information you need. The South Africans I lived with placed their trust entirely in those with authority for their information seeking. Need help with a tea, go ask the sangoma (traditional healer). Want someone to help you fix the water, go ask the kgosi (chief). Need help with your homework, go talk to the legkoa (white person). It was pretty simple, you ask the person who knows. You don't go to the internet and "google it," or ask around until you get the best deal.

So far, what i have done to feed my query is the following: sought out books, documentaries and web sources to remind me what is important i.e. sustainable food and living, composting and gardening, living a life of little carbon footprint. I have been in communication with friends who are compassionate and seek the same kind of higher living and thought. I have asked trusted family members to help me with my quest, and engaged them in some difficult conversations. The key, it seems, is awareness. Now that I am again aware of my quest, and aware of my shortcomings, I can begin to achieve success in my goal. I don't see this as a terminal quest, but one that will take a lifetime. Sometimes the task seems daunting, but mostly I see it as an exciting challenge. The tough part is trying to explain to people how the moral compass fits into life outside the box of religion...

"PLEASE ACCEPT MY RESIGNATION. I DON'T WANT TO BELONG TO ANY CLUB THAT WILL ACCEPT PEOPLE LIKE ME AS A MEMBER". attributed to Groucho Marx

I find it strange, crazy and hilarious that I am in the parenthood club. For one, I don't even really like kids. For two, I did not receive a copy of the handbook. I like my own kid, and kids I get to know on a one-on-one basis, if they are reasonably well-behaved, but large groups of children in general, I have never really enjoyed. South African village living did go a long way in changing this fact about me, as I had many enjoyable moments with children there, but had many dreaded moments with the thought of being around children all day long, as well. And I am a Virgo, which means I like to know the rules, regulations and expectations of any given situation before embarking on membership. Unfortunately, this club has very few rules, and is really hard to understand the purpose unless one has joined.

One thing I've noticed that is different since joining this club is that I make sure to keep up with other people's kids and their goings-on. I wasn't very good about doing that before, but now, I see how much a priority one's child becomes in one's life. For example, I've started keeping track of kids birthdays and plan to send cards or greetings each year, if I cannot attend any functions due to proximity barriers. I remember my birthdays as a child, and they were always a lot of fun even though they did not usually include friends, but cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. We lived near many family members, which made these family parties easy to facilitate. Once there was a birthday in the park with a pinyata (tilde, where art thou?), a raggedy ann cake my mom made, a Casa Bonita birthday, the list goes on. Anyway, people really shape the life of a child, and I guess I didn't really "get" that until now.

Another thing that's different is that I find things "cute" where I would have sneered or not batted an eye at said things a few months ago. Such as, my nephew jumping on the bed and my four-week-old son being bounced up and down to mimic his jumping on the bed, too. Or a newborn flannel shirt. Or the small, dark watchful eyes of my son. You get the idea.

Another thing that really gets me about this whole "parenthood" role is that there need not be fanfare or hullabaloo surrounding the transition into parenthood, especially after pregnancy. It's just the most natural thing in the world to take care of the thing that was growing inside you, at least that has been my experience. My friend Barbara said that very thing to me, giving me small snippets of this sage advice as I was preparing for the birth of my child, and she was certainly right on. Most answers can be derived from instinct. Those that require outside help can be quickly and easily found if one has a good network in place, and accurate media. The first few weeks were rough, attributed to the adjustment of mother and child to aspects of our new lives and the rush of hormones that accompanies delivery. Now, it's pretty gravy, akin to troubleshooting a computer problem. That cry means something's wrong...hungry, diaper, lonely? That cry means he is angry. Gas? Too long in one locale? That cry is kind of a fake one...he just wants some cuddle time. Kind of like, did you plug in the machine? Did you try restarting the program?

I've enjoyed taking tons of newborn pictures, sending out birth announcements, comparing baby's body parts to mom and dad to see who he resembles more, trying to keep socks on his feet, figuring out what he likes to do best so he doesn't cry all the time, and my life has been completely consumed by my child. Instead of this being an inconvenience, or a bigger deal than I expected, it has just been the way it is supposed to be, the next step of the journey. I wonder how much of this ease comes from biology, and how much can be attributed to conditioning (aka spending time in the Peace Corps)?

So anyone who tells you there is something romantic about natural childbirth is a dirty liar. Just want to preface that right away, get it out in the open. Now that's out of the way, I can try to describe my labor and delivery experience, resulting in one teeny baby named Jasmir Francis Alam.

For about one week up to the day of delivery, I started having mild cramps that lasted for a few minutes, mostly in the evening time, similar to a normal monthly menstral cramp; that is to say, not too painful, but an indication that some change is happening. The first time this happened, I thought it might be the indicator that labor was shortly coming. Then, when it didn't, I just kind of ignored them, or just got used to them and didn't really pay closer attention.

The day I actually went into labor was Saturday. I visited a local bicycle shop with my mom, sister and nephew because I asked for a bicycle for my birthday gift. Since I was 41 weeks pregnant on that day, we knew labor could happen anytime, so we thought we should go try out some bikes while I could comfortably sit and before September 10, which is my birthday, rolled around. So, in the early afternoon, I found this great cruiser that was on a special clearance, and it happened to be super comfortable and awesome, so I took it for a test spin, and could comfortably ride at 9 months pregnant, so deemed it a good fit. Then, we went to eat lunch at a local Thai restaurant, kind of a hole in the wall place, and with an incredibly amazing sushi bar. I know that certain things are not recommended for pregnant women to eat, raw fish included, but being the rebel that I am, I took my chances several times throughout and indulged. We ate, took a grocery shopping trip, which entailed me hanging out in the parking lot with my nephew, letting him pretend to drive, then headed home.

After a few hours, I started helping with dinner. That's been something nice my family has been trying to do, at my request, is eat dinner together. That was the "last meal," as I started having some serious labor pains after dinner. It just slowly creeped up on me, starting more that morning, then just coming like in 15 minute intervals, then 10, then 5, and by that point, I was starting to freak out a little. It was really hurting, and I thought, "well, this sucks." My sister suggested it was time to go to the hospital, but I just wasn't ready. Mentally, I thought I would be more prepared, but I wasn't. But I just started getting in that mode where I listened to her, then my doula, once we arrived at the hospital, then went into my own world from there.

We arrived at the hospital at midnight, and they kept me in triage for over an hour. My cervix was dilated 4 cm and the baby was at -2 station, so maybe they were keeping me a bit longer so they could admit me. I'm not really sure, and the contractions had sort of stalled out by that time, and weren't very painful (in comparison to the later ones, anyway) so we were just chatting with the nurse and waiting on my body to do its' thing. Once they admitted me, after about an hour or so, the contractions started getting really painful and I was, well, surprised about how hard it was. When I broke my leg, i thought I could not top any pain like that, ever again, as that was so intense and so crazy, and it made me kind of bitter, so I thought labor would be a cinch. Wow, do I ever feel like an idiot!

So for some reason, I had decided I wanted to keep my new running shoes on. Ever since I broke my leg and could walk again, I have pretty much lived either barefoot or in running shoes. My mom bought me some a few days before I gave birth, so I was ecstatic about having foot comfort again, after limping around in my old South African running shoes. And I know myself, how I don't ever just sit down, and thought I'd like to be comfortable during labor. And I was right on the not sitting down part anyway. I didn't sit or lie down once, until they made me at the very end. No position was comfortable, to say the least, but the best ones were sitting on the toilet, squatting up and down, and grabbing onto any handle-like object and leaning or squatting. Good lord, that was the craziest most painful thing I have ever done in my life. It certainly trumps surfing, breaking my leg, nearly getting arrested, or any other crazy things I've experienced. All the books, stories, and information that talks about birth as this romantic notion I can understand in the abstract, but in concrete, real-life, I think it is hell. I still feel all queasy with nausea and teary-eyed thinking about how bad it hurt, and how I felt like my sanity was super close to teetering off the deep end several times throughout.

My doula and my sister both commented on how focused I was, and how well I did, but I was moaning and groaning and screaming because I couldn't help it. I kept thinking how I ought to be able to go to some happy yoga place in my mind to trick it away from the pain, but instead, what I focused on. They say every mom finds her way to get through it. Then, at the end, the reward is this baby. But I was just glad it was over! I didn't really think of it that way at all, until after the suctioning, stitching, cleaning, etc. were complete and I could get a chance to focus on life outside labor again. It was a totally tunnel-vision type of experience, but not religious whatsoever. Before labor began, I was really sad that Jackei couldn't be with me. Now, after it's over, I'm really glad he wasn't here. Nobody should have to see somebody they love go through that crap! I'm really amazed my sister actually wanted to help me, and was really, really glad she was there. I'm also really glad I hired a doula. The two of them made a great team, and I could NOT have done it by myself. The nurses and everyone in the hospital taking care of me were great, too, because they all supported my plan to go "au natural" but if I ever do it again, a) I must be crazy, and b) I'll take a Tylenol or something!

Anyway, it seems when i write anything significant, it's always about pain. Well, it seems I entered my time of pain in life, and hopefully am kind of on the way out. I know motherhood is a totally different kind of path, and it has actually been great so far, but lots of special pains involved with it. It took me awhile to bond with my son, but not too awfully long, and he's terribly cute so it wasn't really that hard :) It's just that nothing, absolutely nothing, prepares you for the long road of pregnancy, labor, delivery, and motherhood. Not all the books and manuals in the world, the well-meaning advice from friends of family, your own imagination, nothing. I am looking forward to what this new beginning will bring, but am really, really glad the last part is finished.

It's been nearly two weeks since we moved into our new house on Willow Oak Road, and it really feels like home. My sister and I were both pretty nervous about moving, because we thought it just seemed so far away from many of the places we frequent: doctors offices, YMCA, splash parks, shops, etc. but it's manageable, and it's really peaceful to live near the lake.

We've been working non-stop at a steady pace; unpacking, hanging, cleaning, cooking, while our dad has been doing things like putting doors on, fixing doorknobs, changing light fixtures, etc. The house had not been kept up all that well, and it just seemed easier to us to get as much taken care of as possible before the new addition to our family arrives, either Jannat or Jasmir.

I've not been able to cycle or swim, or use the elliptical everyday like I had become accustomed to before the move, and that's starting to really bug me. I have been plenty busy, and take a walk everyday as well as my yoga routine, but really looking forward to some activity again. Come on baby! It's really weird to think that in a matter of mere moments, I just won't be pregnant anymore. Oh, and then there will magically be another human appearing. I don't know how I'm going to feel about it, only time will tell.

Walking takes twice as long now, with this enormous pressure in my lower back. I catch glimpses of myself in the mirror and do a double-take, as no human should have to protrude that much from one area of the body- it's very odd.

The last few weeks have been kind of tumultuous. At least three days of each week are spent in various doctors' offices or laboratories, as I have my various ailments tended to, while I run errands and go swim at the YMCA in between and after appointments. These errands have consisted mostly of hunting for low-priced furniture and home furnishings for my room.

When I left the States in July 2009, I got rid of my meager collection of belongings, including a bicycle, lots of framed artwork, cheap furniture, and kitchen gadgets. I procured the biggest/baddest of the kitchen stuff while I journeyed to Oklahoma, but I'm pretty much starting from scratch.

I'm staying with my parents, so I don't have an entire house to furnish, just a room for me, my new coming baby, and fiancee. Many items were generously given to me by friends in Oklahoma, but I needed shelving and drawers, and a bed. I managed to get all these things, and have almost finished sanding and painting the bookshelves, and am still working on stripping the paint and old stain from a really pretty wooden chest of drawers i found at Habitat Restore, but man...I did not anticipate the time it would take to refinish this piece. I'm running out of time, because we are moving to a new house on Sunday (this is Friday night, just shy of midnight), I may or may not be getting ready to go into labor, and I have been pretty stressed about the living situation. Not only does my youngest brother still live at home with my parents, but also my sister and almost 3 year old nephew. I don't have my own vehicle, and so I'm sharing with my family. I have a lot of appointments, which places a burden on them, but mostly on my sister because my parents are always at work. She doesn't work, but she has this pressing need to take my nephew to many places rather than stay home and find things to do. So, being mobile, but in a limited capacity, has been somewhat of a strain. They say you can never go home again. Well, "they" are pretty smart because it proves to be a huge burden sometimes, although I try to remind myself of the alternative: living in a small grocery shop in a rural South African village, 2.5 hours away from a decent hospital and obstetrician, with no car to get there.

So, as I've tried my best to live within these parameters, I've also been in pretty debilitating pain. I did something to my back/SI joint on the left side, and for almost 2 weeks, could barely walk, sleep, or really do much that involved movement. While attending sessions with an amazing chiropractor, physical therapist and massage therapist, I was shopping for furniture, swimming, and still doing my yoga- cooking, trying to clean up after people at our house, interact with them, and battle my mood swings/pregnancy hormones with no support from any nearby friends, I think it's time.

Maybe I'm finally succumbing to the stress of it all, or maybe I am in early labor? Only time will tell, I'll keep you posted. BTW it's Eastern Standard Time, 11:58pm, Friday, 19 August 2011. My sister, Esther, who lives in Colorado, just gave birth to her first baby yesterday evening, little baby Rueben (sandwich). My mom flew out this afternoon to go spend a week helping her take care of herself and her new addition. Best wishes to them, and best rest and relaxation for me.

This post is ranty. This is your disclaimer. This will allow me to segue into my first point...

I guess I didn't realize how much pent up energy or anger or frustration or whatever i had lurking in my heart of darkness after serving in the peace corps. Spending two years living without things at different times: pride, privacy, dignity, choice, attractiveness, peers, friends, intellectual stimulation, communication, transportation, comfort, etc., really took it's toll. Combine that with some physical pain and restriction from my injury, separation from my fiancee, moving back in with my parents-sister-and-nephew, and the growing of a fetus, you've got yourself one big tornado of stress whirling your way. I've never been so volitile and stupid (pregnancy fog), and both of those things are increasingly frustrating.

Because of my injury and abrupt termination of peace corps service, i did not have the benefit of attending any workshops the organzation provides volunteers about transitioning into "normal life" again. I see now that would have been really helpful. My sister tells me I talk to everyone like they're old and stupid. (Well, they're probably one or the other right?! Heh heh, sorry...) She says I hurt her feelings all the time because I say things too bluntly. I find myself being increasingly less compassionate and tolerant. How much of this is post peace corps and how much is the pregnancy and stress? I don't know, but I think I need to create a cave. I used to have one, it was called my own house. And when I had roommates, I used my art studio for this retreat. Perhaps I ought to get busy finding something similar before i alienate myself from everyone I know, eh?

Another odd discovery about pregnancy is that I'm beginning to see little parts poking from my belly. Possibly elbows and knees, or maybe little fists? Thanks, little one, for punching and kicking. That means you're still alive! Who needs a machine that goes, "ping!"? It's weird for me to feel around to try and tell which position it's in because it kind of freaks me out. Some people just cannot accept my clinical fascination over an emotional response, but I'm not really surprised. These same people rely on their emotions far too much for my fancy in other situations, so it only makes sense. No matter though, because it is my pregnancy and I'll enjoy it or be freaked out by it if I want.

I've ALREADY been battling my mom and sister about baby stuff. I am just not a stuff person, and I never will be. And neither is my child, at least, not yet. No matter how many times you ask me, or bring stuff home, or try to convince me, I do not need stuff. And neither do you. You have been convinced by clever marketing to think you need stuff. If you need a reminder of your disgusting dependence on physical items to fulfill your needs, I recommend viewing the film, "Fight Club." Reading the book is alternately recommended. I actually find it comical that they cannot comprehend how a baby can survive without a jumping gymnasium, playmat with junk hanging down from it, whirling singing toys, and the like. Perhaps in the same way they have done so for millions of years before the arrival of Fisher Price? Just fine, or in fact, maybe even more successfully, because this means another human will have to be involved in the baby's exercise and playtime as opposed to the baby being left to exercise in some equipment while no one else is around. It's not that I don't understand how a lot of these things can make life easier for a person, or how much joy they receive from their things. I just happen to favor old fashioned people over things and would rather have less than more.

I've said this several times since returning to the USA from RSA, but I'll say it again: I still get tripped out about the washing machine, electric clothes dryer, and the dishwasher. So much of my time in rural South Africa was spent cleaning. I do not have an OCD, nor would I classify myself as a "clean freak," but I do like to keep my living quarters tidy and sanitary. When I say, so much of my time was spent cleaning, I don't mean because I wanted my house spotless, but because of the water issue.

Water is scarce in many parts of the world, particularly in the Kalahari desert, where I lived from September 2009-November 2010, and from January 2011-May 2011. Just procuring and treating drinking water consumed a large quantity of time. Factor in water for bathing, cleaning and washing, and you have a lot of your day consumed by the generic term, "cleaning." For one person, each time I washed clothes, I probably used 40 litres of water. For cleaning my dishes each day, I probably used 2-3. Bathing can be estimated at 5 litres per bath. Laundry day started early in the summer months, because hauling water is quite the chore and you wanted to get that out of the way before it became too hot. Then you also wanted to wash before the heat of the day set in, because it's definitely a workout to hand wash clothes in buckets and pails. Then drying was easy, because you just used your pegs (clothes pins) and hung them out on the line, and in the dry Kalahari, would be dry in a matter of 2 hours or less in summertime. During winter, you wait until the sun comes out so you don't freeze your ass and fingers off before plunging them into the water, and sometimes you heat the water first. This also takes time.

Lest I belabor the point and render it completely useless, doing laundry in the USA consists of piling your dirties into a box, pouring soap on top, turning a dial and pushing a button. Then you walk away. Well, possibly loading coins or tokens at a laundromat. ?????? No traipsing down to the village tap, lugging litres of water back to your house, swishing said water with super strong washing powder, and getting your daily arm workout? I'm still finding the whole process to be very convenient, indulgent and wasteful, all at the same time.

I haven't had the same issue with dishwashing, however, because I never used a dishwasher in the USA. I spent most of my adult life living in places that did not have a dishwashing machine. I was happy being the dishwasher. I would (and still do) fill a large bowl or basin with hot water, add some liquid dish soap, get my dirty dishes, and start scrubbing. Once they are sufficiently cleaned, I turn on the tap and rinse. Pretty simple task, I believe children often perform this same task around the world, and perform well. You wouldn't know it though, according to some people, who always ask me, "why don't you just use the dishwasher?" I'll tell you why. I find it preposterous that, in order to load dishes into a machine which is supposed to clean and rinse dishes, that they must be washed first in the sink. I refuse to use such an inefficient machine. Machines, especially ones which use valuable energy, ought to make it worth their energy consumption by performing a task that is so difficult for me to do, or so disgusting, that I choose not to do it myself. But, when I can outperform the machine, why waste the time and money? I just don't get it.

As wasteful as it might be, I am very thankful for the automated washing machine at this point in my life, because in a few months, I will be using it all the time. Babies make a lot of waste, it's easy to catch the waste in cloth, then you must wash it and dry it before it can be used all over again. So let's hope all my years of conserving everything, including water, can make up for my future of mechanized cleaning.

While in service, some fellow PCVs and I always mused about why volunteers who left their posts in South Africa would still keep in touch with us remaining volunteers. The general consensus is that they weren't really satisfied with life in the States, and still partially longed to be back in South Africa. Those who were ready to leave the country and get back to life in the developed world found what they were looking for, and rarely, if ever, kept in touch with anyone who remained.

Now that I find myself "one of those" who has left the country, whether I like it or not, I am in the new category.

I always think it is neat when the friends I made kept in touch with me, whether they were PCVs, co-workers, high school pals, or something else. So many times I received the, "oh, I meant to send you a letter but it's still on my desk" kind of response. Sorry, but good intentions are only that, and they don't really count. Actions are what matter most. Receiving a piece of mail, e-mail update or facebook post from someone was especially welcomed while I was in service.

Maybe I am still in a "transition period" or something, but I still feel quite connected to my fellow PCV friends in South Africa, and like to keep in touch; both PCV friends, and South African ones. I enjoy reading blog posts, Facebook updates, occasional country news, and e-mails from my Country Director and other officers in the field. Does that mean I am not fulfilled in my current life in the US of A? Not in the least. I am busy making birth plans, researching moving companies and expenses, planning trips to visit friends and family, spending quality time with my nephew and keeping up with household chores and exercise. It's given me a new perspective, to be on the "other side of the fence."

So I arrived safely in the states last Monday, May something or other. 2011. Staying in NC with my family, getting settled, making birth plans, and hopefully going to visit family I haven't seen in about 2 years.

A big year for me! Number one, I will be turning 30. The big 3-0. My fellow volunteer friend Casandra will enjoy her 30th in South Africa really soon, and I wonder what she will do to celebrate. Hopefully something fun. I will most likely be giving birth, or will have just done so. I imagine my celebrating will be different than all adult birthdays come before, much milder and less alcoholic in nature as I don't want to poison the little one. But more excitingly, number two, the little one!

I found out I was pregnant on Dec 23, so that means for all of 2011, I have been preparing for the arrival of my first child. Most of this time has been in South Africa with daddy, but as lovely as that was, it's really great to spend the last trimester in the States. Here, I am a 20 minute drive away from several hospitals, doctors offices of many varieties, 2 hours from the nearest birthing center, with nearby Lamaze and other supportive classes. In SA, the nearest hospital any local recommended was 250k (about 2 hours driving time in a private car or 3 hour taxi ride away) from us, and we didn't have a car. Classes for expecting new parents were only available in a dream, and books only in Afrikaans (a language I don't speak) from the local library.

Even though I wasn't excited about leaving SA and my fiancee, now that I'm here, I see that was the best decision, for many reasons. My mom and sister, especially, are really supportive; both emotionally and financially. I can find a doula (birthing coach and support person), choose a hospital (my pregnancy is considered high-risk because of the blood clots, therefore I do not qualify for home birth or birthing center, unfortunately), and I joined my local La Leche League for breastfeeding support. I am planning to take Lamaze classes, or some other type of natural pain-management programme because I'd love to have a drug-free birth. I also plan to sign up for as many other parenting or health classes as I can. Knowledge is power! None of this was available in SA, and with the time drawing more near, it seems really important to take care of business rather than just leaving it all to chance.

I'm about 6 months along, and in the last few days, the thing has been moving like crazy. It's really quite strange, but comforting to know that it's still alive. In the last 3 weeks or so, I've really started getting bigger, and feeling that weight in my lower back. I can still sleep or lay on my stomach, but sort of augmented by a leg out, or weight shifted more to one side. I'm eating several small meals or snacks throughout the day, and not having heartburn or much digestive trouble as a result.

Every woman has a different experience regarding pregnancy, both emotionally and physically. I find it really interesting that my younger sister, who is due one week before me with her first child, is very "lovey dovey" and seemingly emotionally attached to her little one, and the idea of being a mother. She talks to her unborn baby, stares at it, posts photos, and seems to anticipate each new change as if it were the greatest thing since sliced bread (if you consider sliced bread to be all that great to begin with.) I, on the other hand, feel much more scientific about the experience. I have done a bit of research, am glad the organs are of normal size, want to breastfeed because it's healthy, and feel more of a detached interest than she. I never really felt "maternal" or that I necessarily wanted to be a mom like some ladies I know. I hate shopping, and an excess of things, so I haven't and won't go pick out matching baby stuff, or decorate with baby ducks or pastel colors or any of that stuff I imagine my sister doing. She wants my mom there for her delivery and aftercare of the baby, and I am glad my mom will be occupied elsewhere. She's emotional and I imagine my delivery going much more smoothly without people freaking out in the background.

In some ways, I feel like breaking the leg and living abroad in a rural village have both prepared me pretty well for this new journey. Both were really painful experiences at times, both have taught me that you don't earn anything without working hard, and that you need other people's help to survive. But most importantly, the lesson to take away from those times is to not sweat the small stuff. The big hurdles need your energy, and just enjoy the rest of it. So, I shall try.

People have been asking what are my food cravings. I don't feel especially strong feelings for any food or drinks, so i have been saying,"none." I've been thinking about it, and obviously my diet has changed. On closer examination, i have been much more inclined to dairy, namely milk, yoghurt, and eggs. I do occasionally eat cream and cheese. Additionally, i have eaten biscuits almost every day the last two months. In South Africa, biscuits are what we in the states call cookies. However, here, many varieties are less sweet and rich than in the states. For example, the ones i usually eat are like un-iced animal crackers, sometimes with a cream filling or sometimes ginger flavored. Not like ginger snaps, though. Just less sweet. Surmising, i am eating more fat and carbs. I also tend to choose fish, beans or nuts for my protein instead of meat. Easier to digest?

I read on facebook today that my rpcv friends chose a name for their soon coming baby, i think a zulu name. We chose our names today, too. Just like the gender, this will remain a surprise until after the birth. It's funny how we haven't been actively thinking about it, and i never had any picked out, but how easy it was to decide. We are pretty good at forging our two different cultures together and making shared decisions, most of the time.

I thought it would be nice to keep track of some things during my pregnancy, if for no other reason than to be able to share them with the little one someday.

One thing that stands out, now that winter is approaching in RSA, is that i am not very cold. Normally, i am the most frozen of all popsicles. I stayed warm last year by running, keeping busy, wearing everything i owned, and drinking wine. This year, i am wearing flip flops. That little thing generates energy by growing, i guess, enough to keep me warm. It's nice.

Another positive observation is how my life's priorities have changed. Before, i was trying to figure out what i should be doing, where should i be going, what to eat, drink, etc.; always thinking about life in the singular and personal. Now the questions are, where will we live, how will we do it, what is best for us? It is much more fulfilling planning for a family rather than just myself. Maybe it's just having a new challenge ahead of me that is refreshing? The previous health issues were getting really annoying. I have made peace with my healing condition and that i may not be able to run again for awhile. Time to focus on somebody else for a change.

Some of the less pleasant issues are gas and constipation. I will not go into detail, but these are common enough symptoms i don't feel alarmed. I eat fiber cereal daily and drink plenty of water. Mostly, this helps. Luckily, i have not experienced morning sickness or anything sinister.

During the first four months, i had a pretty voracious appetite. I also got pretty tired. Now, i can eat only small amounts in intervals. I just feel full. I remember a few years ago when my sister was pregnant, we went to a fancy steak place with a friend. She ordered filet mignon and ate like three bites; i was beside myself! Now i totally get it. You can't help feeling full or crazy or sad or whatever, it's just the way it is. It's funny that humans usually aren't truly able to understand unless it happens to us. Well, luckily for me, she isn't the kind to hold grudges (like me) and is excited for me to have my experiences.

My doctor told me last visit that i looked particularly nice, that some women do that during pregnancy. He is a nice old man who races bicycles with his wife, and i imagine could have been at home as a country doctor 100 years ago. I like his compliment, as well as the daily ones i get from my sweetie. Overall, it's thus far been a positive experience.

The funny thing about procreation is that just about anybody can do it. It doesn't require any special qualifications, certificates or training. Humans have been good at reproducing since our inception, way back when. It seems in developed societies, a trend, as of late, has been to use various methods of birth control to postpone procreation until later in life, when the parents are well-established. One problem with waiting until the host is older is infertility.

Apparently, the prime time for fertility in females is 18-24 years of age (Longevity magazine, April 2011). In the States, this is usually the time when young people are attending university, living away from their parents for the first time and enjoying freedom. In South Africa, this is also common for white people. However, whites are a small minority in this country, maybe comprising 10% of the population, and between the blacks there are the class divisions to consider. I can speak for the society with which i am well aware, and that is the impoverished village life.

As soon as girls are able to bear children, they do. A large reason for this is culture: children are much desired in African society, seen as precious gifts from God. Secondly, virginity means little to nothing in most Southern African tribes. It does not affect a woman's prospect to marry, or have a boyfriend, if she has children by another man. Another reason is the systemic lack of education that effects impoverished societies worldwide. Family planning, birth control and the topic of sex are not frankly discussed in village homes. The national curriculum does a pretty good job of incorporating HIV/AIDS education, and the body parts stuff, but i do not know how the issue of pregnancy is addressed. In my time working in the schools, it was never discussed. My schools were primary, grades 1-7, and i guess it is not so common for girls this young to become pregnant.

In some places in the States, teen pregnancy rates are also high. I believe the rates for teen pregnancy, as well as divorce, are higher in the poorest states. In Oklahoma, for example, many marry young or become pregnant while still attending school. My mother and father both left high school at grade 11 to raise me and get married. I was always sure, though, this was not the life for me. Even though i grew up with very little and many siblings, i knew i would go to college and do something professional. It just wasn't a question of why or how, but where would i go and what would i study.

Throughout the years, i have only very briefly entertained the idea of becoming a mother. Once, when i was 25, there were a few weeks where i was seriously thinking babies. Thankfully, that passed, and shortly thereafter, i began i graduate study programme in library sciences. There were some ladies in my classes who had children, and some had children AND jobs! I never figured out how they managed it all. Who knows, maybe they didn't, but their attempts were admirable. I worked two part-time jobs and after my first semester was over, decided one job was all i could manage.

My sister tried college soon after she left high school, and worked a full time job simultaneously. That lasted one year, i think, before she left school to continue working. Now, she has a two year old son and is trying again to earn a bachelors degree. It is very difficult for her to find enough time to complete the work for two classes, even though she is enrolled in a completely online degree program. I can attest that online classes generally take twice as much time as more traditional face-to-face ones. Nevertheless, my nephew is first priority and school comes secondly in her life.

This brings us to the present, in which i am now pregnant. In about five and a half months, i will take part in the long history of procreation. My mom was so shocked when she found out and said, "wow, everybody thought you would never have kids." As more friends discover the news, i have been flooded with nothing but positive comments and congratulations. The general consensus is that i will be a great parent. Good to know! At first, i was a little freaked out, but generally i'm pretty excited. The father is very supportive and happy, which is the only way i would want to procreate, with someone thoughtful and committed. Some surprises have been how fast my belly is growing and how erratically my mood has fluctuated, but everything else is easy to deal with.

My pregnancy trails on the heels of my broken leg, so instead of trimming down and cross-training, i am beefing up for maximum baby and mom nutrition.

Although i may not be in the ideal position in life to procreate, that is to say, financially stable with employment prospects, with cushy possessions like a house or a car, i am happy. I am with the right people in the right place and i want for nothing. I feel like i can handle this new change, i am not panicked or worried, and i think that's all that really matters.

I want to revisit my original assertions about selective censorship within organizations. Maybe what bothers me even more than the inconsistent application of policy and the mismanagement of staff and time is the idea of the organization itself, or rather, adherence and allegiance to a thing which makes rules and governs people. Can it be realistic to expect an organization to function with no rules? Or for members to be allowed to break rules with no repercussion? Should i be able to criticize parts of an organization that has been beneficial to me and still remain loyal, or humble? Maybe my rebellious attitude is a product of growing up in a free society, and the criticism is me taking it for granted. Or maybe i do have a sense of entitlement and expect too much? Can't it also just be my critical, judgemental personality which naturally questions everything and puts trust and allegiance in very little outside myself?

It is difficult to isolate the variable i this case, because my reactions and opinions are a product of so many things: my family, culture, past and current experiences, neurons, all kinds of things. I am reminded of a recent blog post from my friend Becca who talks about the South African culture of ubuntu, which is essentially all about sharing. "Peopleare quietly loaning each othermoney, bringing food toneighbors, etc. People knowwhen their help is needed, andthey bring it. They aren't, like usAmericans, trumpeting what theyare doing for other people toeveryone they know. I think thathumility is a part of ubuntubecause you do what you dobecause of the way you areconnected to other people. Youdon't see it as a triumph but as apart of being a person."Part of some big life lessons i learned during my service in the peace corps was how to be more humble. It seems difficult to balance humility with opinion, freedom of speech, entitlement and purpose. If i express my honest (and critical) opinion, does that make me a traitor to my organization? If i see where improvements could be made, is it worth expressing, or does that just give it a more negative reputation? Why am i concerned with allegiance in the first place?

I feel a very strong sense of ubuntu between my fellow volunteers especially, because of the common bonds we have forged resulting from our experiences. We have had to battle "the man" (the organization) together, which makes our friendship stronger, but reinforces negative attitudes toward authority. This authority exists to facilitate our experience, to keep us relatively safe and healthy, and to work with existing structures. Unofficially, at times, it plays less supportive roles. Ideally, we could all work together, organization and members, as one organic, open ubuntu machine. That is a goal of a learning organization. Maybe if we possess a combination of criticism with humility, we can find a good balance.

A friend of mine was participating in some organizational training recently, was chosen, in fact, from a large group of applicants, to offer his assistance, expertise and support. After spending a goodly amount of time helping in a multitude of areas, even ones he did not agree or feel qualified to do, he wrote a thoughtful, but critical blog about his experience.

He was supposed to return a few weeks later, after a short hiatus, but was asked not to return and reprimanded by two separate individuals from said organization who read his post. This same organization requests all volunteers who keep a blog to post visibly that the opinions expressed are only those of the individual, and do not necessarily reflect those of the organization. This same organization also recently decided to send a volunteer home because of something posted by a fellow volunteer which put the person in a bad light, breaking a rule.

Last i checked, both blog posts are still available for viewing. But this volunteer who posted negative OPINIONS that he FEELS, was punished by being asked not to return to help with trainings. For how long, i do not know. The other volunteer, the one who ratted out the one who got ousted, was reprimanded in any way? Seemingly not. Censorship of the worst kind; selective and self-serving.

Why do all Peace Corps volunteers dress like they are homeless? I have been asked this question a few times; most recently by a middle class, white South African. At the time, i chuckled along with her, recognizing the comment to be based on truth, and then the conversation drifted elsewhere.

I suppose i forgot all about it until a few weeks ago, when i arrived once again in country. This time, however, i am not a volunteer and looked forward to wearing clothes that were a little more fashionable, maybe a little jewelry and occasional makeup. Well, it didn't take long for me to remember why i used to dress like i was a step above homeless- i received so much attention, especially from men. So much negative attention, in fact, that after the fourth day of enduring it, i decided then and there that it was back to frumpville for me. Unless i am to be in the company of a man the entire time i am in town, i now wear t-shirts and scrub pants, a headscarf and no makeup. So far, my plan has worked.

Especially when i first arrived at post, just by nature of my position, i attracted a lot of attention. Not all of it was negative, but coming from the States, i was used to privacy. People do not openly stare, make comments, ask questions or leer at you on a regular basis. Here, that is pretty normal, and could be very overwhelming, especially after a stressful week at school, language barriers or breakdowns in communication, donkeys eating your garden, or whatever the case may be.

Although South African society in general does value sharp dressing, those living in villages often cannot support this lifestyle and thus dress in torn, ripped and ill-fitting clothing. Peace Corps volunteers do not live far above this income bracket, either, on the measley stipend. So, dressing like this, some might say homeless, is a nice way to blend in with our neighbors. It also acts as a theft deterrent. Sort of. We are always targets wherever we go, no matter how we dress, what we have or don't have; firstly because we are white, and secondly because we are American. Truly, having white skin in this country means everyone else thinks you are rich. This is probably another reason for the unwanted sexual attention.

I don't flatter myself to think i am just that attractive that men swarm me like bees do a freshly blooming flower. They think i have money. And really, who doesn't want a sugar mama or daddy? Doing my best to stay under the proverbial radar makes my life, volunteer or civilian, so much easier.

One job i used to do but forgot about it until now, was writing love notes in english for young men whose first language is not english. This sounds really silly, but in reality, it is fun. The poems are short, things that translate well via sms and that aren't too deep or personal. It gives me a chance to make up simple rhymes, to play with stanzas and rhyme schemes, really simple literary poetic devices.

I like to write about things that inspire me, and mostly those things are found in nature: birdsong, rain, clouds, wind, you get the idea. Teasing with words stimulates the mind, which is the most erogenous zone, in my opinion. I wonder, though, why people aren't swooning over poets like the used to; or did they used to?

Biologically, i understand a woman choosing a strong, muscley mate so her offspring have a good chance of prospering. But how many of us, living in an enlightened society, are swayed that heavily by biology? I believe my choice was influenced somewhat biologically, but intellectually and emotionally, there is a stronger case. In the villages here among the baTswana, mates are often chosen solely for material possessions. If a man can give a lady money, clothes, airtime or food, he is the one. Bengalis hardly ever marry for love; their spouses are chosen by parents and horoscope chart readers. Among my American friends, however, mate selection is a much more complicated affair.

I know people who married young and either divorced or are still hashing it out. I know many single people, many of whom wish they were not. I also know some happy couples. It seems rare, though, for first marriages or serious relationships to be successful. People don't know what they don't want until they find it. For me, this is the interesting part of life, the trial and error, the why not adventures. They teach you a lot about yourself, as well as helping you figure out what kind of person works best with you. I am glad to come from a society that affords individuals this luxury, and even supports it. Otherwise, how would i have inspiration and experience to write my poems? ;-)

Back to africa! Last december, I didn't think this would ever happen. I was convinced that my next visit would be in several years, or only via blog posts and memories. Little did i know i would be headed back before the end of january. It couldn't have happened at a better time. Dead of winter, unemployed and recovering from injury, i need my sunshine and wacky taxis. I need peers, independence, and my sweetheart.

After almost two months back in the states, i had time to think, to process and let things come to light. Such as, absence makes the heart grow fonder, the grass is often greener on the other side, hindsight is 20/20, and i need to be productive in tasks that are fulfilling in order to be content. My family has not somehow morphed into these amazingly perfect characters, i have not changed into an amazingly tolerant and forgiving person to those closest to me. My life was never and has not been put on hold, and i cannot escape reality no matter how much i want to sometimes. Were my lessons learned and experiences gained during my time in the peace corps in vain? Can i take nothing away to interact with the people who mean the most to me? Will i let an amazingly negative string of circumstances get the best of me?

Yesterday, i commented to my family how full i was of piss and vinegar, when someone else described themselves as sweet. No one disagreed. Even though we laughed about it, it still made me think that i have A long way to go before i am again proud of my actions and deeds. Maybe this time, africa.

My first attempt at enjoying some local North Carolinian cuisine, called barbecue, was rather disappointing. From the parking lot, the place reminded me of a seedy strip club, or a sad cafe. Old Hickory did not let me down once I sat down to order, either. The atmosphere was as depressing as most of the diners; that is to say, middle aged, overweight and quiet. The server was friendly and helpful, but the food was lackluster. The fried food was too greasy and not fully cooked. The meat was not dry, but it was not very flavorful, either. A big BLAH. This event happened shortly after my arrival, where my expectations were not so high, but I was rather excited to be eating "American cuisine" again after 18 months of going without. Not to say that American cuisine is typically that amazing or healthy, but it is the food I grew up eating, for better or for worse, and I missed it. I knew that there had to be better barbecue out there, so I knew the search must continue.

Growing up in Oklahoma, which is kind of Southern, kind of Great Plains-ey and kind of something else, there was a lot of barbecue; both the event, which we used to describe cooking outside (interchangeably with the phrase "cookout") and the food that emerged from said events. As far as I knew, barbecue could describe baloney, beef, chicken, hamburgers, hot dogs, pork, sausages, or vegetables. My mom made "barbecue chicken" in the oven and smothered the meat with "barbecue sauce." Apparently, in North Carolina, barbecue has a much more serious and specific connotation.

So far, at both restaurants which I have eaten barbecue, the definition of and description of "barbecue" is printed at the front of the menu. It refers only to the meat, not the method, in which the beast (namely pork shoulder) is smoked slowly with local wood. The accompanying sauce is vinegar-based, which distinguishes it from other schools of barbecue, such as the Memphis or Kansas City varieties. Another commonality is that popular side dishes to accompany the meat are hush puppies, slaw, and something called "Brunswick Stew." I am a fan of hush puppies and vinegar slaw, as these are the usual side dishes at a fish fry, where the local lake catches (in Oklahoma these are usually bass, catfish or crappie) are gutted, filleted, and dredged in a cornmeal batter and deep fried. My grandma always included diced jalapenos in our hush puppies, so I prefer some heat with mine, whereas the North Carolina varieties seem to be a little sweeter. Nevertheless, I found a hushpuppy or two an adequate starch for a pile of smoked meat, instead of a large baked potato or gigantic white flour yeast roll, which I was expecting from my Oklahoma eating days. The cooling, crunchy vinegar slaw was a nice texture variant to the soft meat. Ah, yes, the meat!

R&R restaurant served up a very tender, subtly smoky barbecued pork shoulder that was chopped, but not to smithereenes. The two sauces, which the diner adds for herself, were a straight vinegar (at least I think so) and a vinegary sauce that reminded me very much of the Arby-Q, except not as thick. One could experiment and try the meat as is, with one sauce, or with both. I found both sauces were good, alternatively, and the meat was good just by itself. The tea was freshly brewed, and the sides were piping hot. Apparently the homemade banana pudding is "to die for," but if I am to try dessert it must be on a separate occasion with a cup of coffee, and not after enjoying a small pile of meat.

I don't feel I can begin to rate the barbecue on a scale, because I don't know how high or low the rabbit hole of the cuisine goes. But, based on what I know of good food, this place earns a 3.5 out of 5. So far, anyway.

I, for one, am glad this year is almost over. It's been a long December. I haven't been one for New Year's Resolutions for the last few years, but I am really looking forward to 2011. Each year has been getting better and better, minus a few road bumps (or parking humps, if you prefer), and I have no doubts about the following one as well.

Current plans: look into volunteering at the local library, vehicle hunt, take an art class, continue with copious medical appointments, and test as many North Carolina barbecue joints as possible. I've only been to one establishment and it was a total dud. Look forward for some food reviews coming soon...

Pity party pooper, that is. How good does it feel to finally be out of the pity party? I asked a friend of mine the same question just the other day, after she posted how she was finally happy, after 17 long months, just by changing her attitude.

For five long weeks, I saw myself in the likes of Frida Kahlo, Lieutenant Dan and Dr. House. In lots of pain, with a leg that doesn't work, embittered, jaded and unable to see any light at the end of the ever-lengthening tunnel. I was lugging myself around on crutches, and more recently, scooting up and down the stairs on my bum. Well, as of two days ago, I can use that bum leg. That has really helped to change my attitude about my leg, my health, my surroundings, and life in general. Instead of being pissed off about leaving South Africa earlier than I planned, I am now cherishing every moment I get to spend with my family, and the technology that allows me to talk to South Africa every day. Instead of missing my Northern Cape birds, desert landscape and heat, I am getting to know the North Carolina varieties and am happy for all the warm clothes my sister owns. I am no Pollyanna, but at least I am not Oscar the Grouch anymore.

Many people have commented that things happen for a reason. That's kind of a dumb platitude, but I tend to agree with it nonetheless. Or rather, I choose to agree with it. I'd like to think me breaking my leg has less to do with chance and more to do with the grand scheme of life. Perhaps karma caught up with me? Maybe there is a fabulous money making opportunity just kilometers away. Maybe my nephew was getting tired of Elmo and needed some Morrissey in his life? Who knows.

During my convalescence at the guest house in Pretoria, I met some amazing people; all fellow injured Peace Corps volunteers, but from other countries in Africa. There were a menagerie of injuries represented, from appendicitis to broken bones and even a mental meltdown. Between us all, we represented one whole person and could manage shopping, cooking, drinking and lots of talking. It was uplifting to be able to help other injured people, to hear their stories and even see some of their photos. When you realize you aren't the only person who has ever been hurt so far away from "home" and that "home" can be anywhere you make it, your pity part becomes less appealing.

Is it coincidental that the end of my volunteer service with the peace corps lines up with thanksgiving? I want to reflect on the things i am thankful for, highlight major lessons learned and things that happened. Maybe in the near future, i will be able to do this, but right now, i cannot. I can bend my knee 100 degrees, make my way to the kitchen and slowly prepare something to eat. I have to stop and rest after a few minutes. My days consist of blood testing, physio therapy, the odd paper gathering and question asking. Worries about a visa, short-term health and my future are looming. My family can't wait for me to return, but i am less than excited. It's not what i planned, to break my leg and leave south africa before my time. Why am i upset?

I am staying in a cozy guest house with running water, helpful staff, other injured volunteers and free breakfast every day. I have all my medical needs taken care of, and even transportation provided by my organization. But i would trade it in a heartbeat for my house in the Kalahari with the tin roof, resident bat, harsh sun and wind, and batswana neighbors. My language barriers, overworked and undermotivated colleagues, lazy municipalities, lack of funding and physical challenges seem like a dream compared to this current life, with television and air conditioning.

I miss my weekend visits from my sweetheart, my daily visits from kids in the village, going to school to face whatever new challenges arose that week. I miss my friend in my village, the one person i could share secrets and my lunch with, and she could appreciate both.

I miss being a helpful, valuable asset to my communities, and my fellow peace corps volunteers. I guess that's what is so upsetting. Now, instead of helping lots of people do lots of different things, i can barely even help myself. I've never been so helpless or hopeless. It's hard to imagine being able to walk again, to not be apart from my sweetie, or what will happen in the next few days, even. But i'm trying. Life threw me a big curveball, and even though i tripped and fell, i try not to stay down for too long at one time.

This is the first time, save when a broke my ankle at age 2, that i have been immobilized; this reason is the left tibia has two fractures, and i cannot bear any weight on the leg for 5 more weeks (total of 6 weeks of estimated healing time). There are metal pins and plates now inside, at knee and shin, keeping the bones level while they heal. Surgery was much less scary than i anticipated, but the pain is oh so much more. Not only do i feel the ache and throbbing at the site of said cutting and metal, but an almost constant cramping of the calf muscle. When i move from a horizontal t vertical position, there is several minutes of pain from rapid circulation, i guess.

Pain management was one of the two most difficult parts of my hospitalization. There were times i felt like Frida, waking from nightmares, screaming in pain, only to be stilled by in injection of strong analgesic. Never have i seen my body tremble so violently from a negative experience. The other terrible part was being alone. I never imagined i would come to need and enjoy the company of others, until this past 15 months of experiences in the peace corps. Especially in such a difficuly time, as being hospitalized, having surgery, and enduring so much pain. I did bond with the peace corps driver who picked me up from kuruman, took me and Jackei to our respective villages, then drove me to pretoria. He agreed to pick up a fellow volunteer so she could accompany me to the hospital. She also came to see me the next day, with another volunteer, and they brought me stuff to read, candy and a really nice card. The following day, a different volunteer came to see me. There aren't people i know all that well, or people i even see very often, but when you're in the peace corps, your bonds with fellow volunteers are very strong. You share this unique experience, and also don't know anybody else. Jackei couldn't leave work to come right away, and i was so grateful for the way these friends quickly accommodated time for me. Without them, i seriously don't think i would have been able to handle this situation. Last weekend, 5 or 6 of my friends were in town to celebrate their birthdays, and stopped by with mimosas to chat for awhile. People have been calling, texting and facebooking me every couple days. I am definately feeling the love.

Since i left the hospital, i have been staying in a private, en suite room with a double bed at this guest house in Pretoria. The peace corps uses this one for all africa volunteers who are in town for medical reasons. Currently, there are 4 other pcvs staying here. Having the company, albeit limited, is really great. One day, they helped me go grocery shopping. Let me describe that experience, just to give you an idea just how limited i really am.

Each morning, the peace corps sends a driver with a minivan (we call them kombis) to the guest house between half past 8 and 9. From here, people are taken to doctors appointments, the peace corps office, or on other errands. On this particular day, i went to the office for a check up with the peace corps doctor. I didn't have an appointed time, as things mostly organically evolve around here rather than adhering to a rigid schedule. I had time to use a computer for about half an hour before i checked in. Hobbled my way, on uneven cobblestones, and up four gigantic steps into the medical building. Up two more steps and down a hallway, to the exam room, and i am dripping with sweat and breathing heavily. By the time i fill out and file some paperwork and finish with my checkup, it is 11 and i am tired. A driver is available, and other volunteers are running errands, so i go so they can help me. The driver pulls right up to the entrance of the shopping plaza, but i must still walk a short distance to the grocery store. Mind you, one week out of surgery, on crutches, tendonitis in the left arm, i am moving at a turtle's pace and sweating again. Trying to remember what i need, my helpers pick and weigh my produce, accompany me to block other idiot shoppers from my hurt leg (people have come dangerously close!) And to make sure i don't fall. What normally takes 10 minutes took me (us) almost 45. I kid you not, i was so weak and shaky and positively soaked in sweat by the time it was over, that i wasn't sure i could make it.

Cooking regales a similar experience. Everything takes twice or 3 times as long, and i can't carry anything. I must put it in a backpack, or a bag that can hook on my crutches. I have carried beer in my pockets and pushed coffee on the tile floor with my crutches. I wash my hair in the sink with my drinking cup while i precariously balance on my good leg. My daily routine involves a distance of less than 1k, no doubt. I am doing seated and lying calisthenics for muscle strength, tone and rehab.

Mentally, it has been tough. Just knowing i can't go anywhere, run for stress relief, do my old yoga routine, almost anything i am used to, is tough. Not knowing if a can go back to my site while i recover or if i will get medically separated and be forced to recover in the states is kind of stressful. I am in the middle of visa applications, community projects, and leaving right now sort of mucks up all my plans. I am supposed to just concentrate on getting well, but when my near future fate is frightfully unknown, it is distracting. Almost as much as the constant charlie horses.

Wow, the last month has flown by and been quite eventful! I am writing this blog post from my phone in a hospital bed in pretoria. I tripped and fell while crossing the street in my shopping town, and manage to fracture my tibia in every way possible! Not even rescuing a child, running, or anything out of the ordinary. My peace corps doc says i should eat more calcium. I never thought about that until now. I don't drink milk, eat much cheese, spinach but i do eat yoghurt. Hmm...anyway, so this happened last friday night. Me and my fellow volunteers were staying together to celebrate halloween by making a braai and hanging out at a guesthouse. Showers, indoor plumbing, good company. So the electricity goes out during dinner, and a friend and i walk across the street to get my tobacco, next thing i know i'm on the ground and can't move. My friend says i grabbed his shoulder, so i didn't even fall with my whole body weight (of 68 kilos). The next morning, peace corps said to go to a local doctor and then phone from there. Alter the xrays, they plastered me to stabilize the knee/leg for the long trip to pretoria. My friends were so great, and Jackei, too. They carried me places, cooked my meat, got me beer, helped me find all my stuff, were just so helpful. Peace corps sent a driver to take me there, it's a solid 7 hour drive from my village. We had a great journey, had awesome conversations and he let me bring Jackei to help me pack and say goodbye, and pick up a friend who came to meet me in pretoria and came to the hospital with me.

Tonight at the hospital, i was fitted with a brace, given crutches, ct scanned, wheeled here and there, given a needle in my arm with sacs of fluid in them (HATE needles) and fed. Tomorrow afternoon, i will be having Orthopedic surgery involving plates and things. When i meet with the surgeon tomorrow, i can find out about healing time, recovery, what what. I just want to be able to run again. And wake up from the anasthesia.

Friday at school, my librarian and i prepared halloween craft masks for 50 kids to celebrate our american halloween. It was so awesome to see how excited they were, and how patient as we tied the string to secure each and every one! I just love working with my librarian, each time we bond a little more, share and grow together. I shared my lunch with her that day, too. What a wonderful thing, to share a meal with a friend! It always tastes better that way. I took my weekend bag, purse, and our projector to town on the bus. Another volunteer is borrowing it for a project at her school.

The day before that, i woke up at half past 5, walked to my far school, had coffee with Jackei and met his newly arrived brother and cousin from bangladesh, and went to a workshop for computer stuff for school. I am performing many duties of secretary there because they lost theirs, and the department is not replacing her. Why? Good question. Then i watched some john travolta terrorist movie with rahman bai over at Jackei's, walked back home, cooked black beans and sour porridge for dinner, and went to bed. Trained a new community volunteer on the computer at school the day before that. Started library planning, book cataloging, and did peace corps committee work before that. Busy busy! And now, everything is on hiatus again. What is the universe trying to tell me? I think i need to be still and listen to her direction.

I spent the last week with my group of volunteers at this gorgeous lodge near Pretoria. Soft, luxurious double beds, running water, swimming pool, warm tub, tons of rich, delicious food, and awesome company were the perks of the week that accompanied the mandatory conference. Despite this pocket of luxury, the company of my fellow volunteers and the smile on my face, I am really freaking depressed.

It has been over a year now that I have been volunteering in South Africa. During the last 14 months, I have seen a lot. I have pushed my body to limits I never thought were possible. I have seen the depths of my soul and not been able to run away. I have lived in poverty with no running water, and I have been fed some of the best meals I have ever eaten. I have fallen in and out of love. I have learned to like children. I have gardened in the desert. I could go on ad nauseum with a list of crazy, fucked up and wonderful things I've experienced here, but I think you get the idea. In short, I have been pushed to the limit in every way imaginable, some by external forces, mostly by myself. Living on the edge like this is a very dangerous thing, because if something big happens, something major, the person on the edge is the least stable and likely to fall.

As an education volunteer, I work mainly with schools. Last month, there was an almost month-long teachers' union strike. We are not to affiliate ourselves with anything political, so we were instructed to stay home, away from the schools and not to do any community activities. Coming from a country where unions are all but disbanded and powerless, this was a really upsetting, uncomfortable time. Everything was in upheaval. From one day to the next, we didn't know what to expect. Were the demands going to be met? Would there be picketing? Would there be rioting and looting? Intimidation from union reps? Parents and kids asking when can they go back to school? Dazed volunteers feeling useless, scared, depressed, and very confused about tons of conflicting information? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. All of these things happened, to smaller or greater degrees depending on what part of the country you were in. I personally witnessed demonstrations, speeches, walk outs, but no violence. That doesn't mean I still wasn't extremely uncomfortable, fearing for my already questionable safety and well-being.

The winter was still lingering in the Kalahari, and that meant super cold nights and mornings, me being less active due to the cold, waking up later, eating more (meat, rich curries), less sunshine, general glum ho-hums. I seem to be greatly affected by the weather, thriving in the hot sun and becoming quite blue with cold, wind and no sun. Perhaps I have always been this way, but living as an isolated foreigner has a way of bringing things like this to the spotlight where they cannot be ignored. I am also still dealing with the loss of a relationship, which has not been easy, to say the least. Mostly I wander around, only half-engaged with whatever I happen to be doing, only half-enjoying life and not caring about anything nearly as much. The strike rode winter's last wave, and left my already shaky psyche tumbling to the shore, choking up salt water and trying not to knock myself unconscious with that surfboard which slipped out from under me the second I got in the water.

The icing on the cake, the piece de resistance, was the very recent betrayal of a dear friend by another among our group of volunteers. The results of this situation are that I cannot trust one and will greatly miss the other because he is no longer allowed to remain as a volunteer. Instead of blaming or being angry, I am really, really sad. I am hurt, I am confused. I feel betrayed, and I feel the fool. One person's actions reverberated so strongly within our group, and I wonder how one person can hold so much power. Does this person know it? Was it planned or meditated, manipulated and forseen? Was it a simple mistake made out of anger, hurt, or revenge? I don't know. I don't know if I ever want to know. People do stupid shit all the time, myself included, for no good reason. The problem with doing anything is that you can never take it back, good, bad, or ugly. What's done is done. The end. Move on. Stew, reflect, learn something from it, but move on.

I'm hoping to do this very soon. I'm hoping to not let this crazy chain of events keep me down. I'm trying to take lessons from each situation and start again. The latest thing I have learned is how important it is to reach out and keep in touch with my fellow volunteers. I created a nice social circle of local friends in my village, and get busy doing "my own thing," not worrying about anybody else. If I didn't hear from someone, I just assumed they were okay and went on with my own business. Now, I am going to make the effort to be more available to more volunteers more often. We are the only support systems for each other, we are our surrogate family and friends, and damn it, it gets really hard sometimes. I think the peace corps says it's normal to be depressed at this time in our service, to be disillusioned, or to be really excited about the coming year. If we are neither and all the above, I think that's okay, too.

What qualities do you look for in a friend? What do you expect from someone who is a close friend? Or a best friend? Mutual respect, trust, comraderie, understanding, active listening and shared interests are qualities i enjoy in a friend. Between human imperfection and expectations, it is amazing when you find someone who can be a true friend, especially when times are tough,and when you can also hold up your end of the bargain.

When i was little, i was so envious of my younger sister; no matter where we were, she could make friends so easily. I was always so shy, too embarrassed or hesitant to ever initiate new friendships. As i got older, i emerged from my cocoon as a social butterfly of sorts. Beginning in high school and through all my higher ed years, i have made lots me friends and contacts of various varieties. I still keep in touch with many of them, no matter when or where i met these friends. However, i have noticed since joining the peace corps, i have again become shy.

Perhaps being a foreigner, a stranger in a strange land, or experiencing one of those nearing age thirty crisis moments, i can only speculate. For a while, i relished meeting new people, secure in myself and was not bothered much by all the social interaction. I enjoyed my new freedom and isolation, and did not really worry or miss people from "back home," save my best friend. We communicated regularly via email and weekly by telephone. He was the first to hear good news, and the first to talk me through and listen about the hard times. In some ways, it was funny because neither of us expected to have that kind of a connection while i was here, but we both enjoyed the journey. Our relationship shifted and we did our best to understand and cherish the process and each other, especially given the circumstances.

Recently, our friendship was put in jeopardy. I don't think it is fair to assign blame, but sometimes, very unexpected things happen. I feared that these changes would mean the dissolution of our friendship. I stopped communicating because i didn't know how to say things i needed to say. I do not like to hurt people, least of all my friends. Eventually, we found a way to talk and listen, to hurt and to laugh, because that is better than crying, and realize that we truly are great friends.

I am so grateful for good friends, for people who have the courage to share very intimate parts me themselves with me, and to appreciate me, for better and for worse. Here's to you, one of my best friends.

"you can like the life you're livin' - you can live the life - you can even marry harry and mess around with ike" -chicago

or something like that.

The lady in front of me shouts in delight for the taxi driver to turn up the music. She really likes the song, and is rockin' to the beats. She lifts her hands, bobs her head, clearly unconcerned what the rest of us passengers might be thinking. How unrepressed, how liberating, to witness such freedom of spirit!

To live the life you want tales a lot of courage. From a western perspective, a person who is a product of social and educational systems designed for conformity and oppression, doing things out of the ordinary seems out of reach, or a goal to accomplish "someday," after going to college, finding a job and filling your mortgaged home with stuff, as the systems demand.

"Freedom from stuff" as a topic alone could fill pages; how fulfilling it is to have little, less to clean, less to move, and less to worry about people stealing. What i really want to talk about, though, is discovering my passions and purpose. I finally think i've done it.

For as long as i can remember, i have enjoyed art: drawing, painting, colors, shapes, light, looking at and making it. Nature and i have always been close. I remember loving natural sciences and going to the zoo as a girl, and even entertained the idea of making a career as a marine biologist- that is, until i enrolled in my first biology course and quickly realized microsciences were not for me. Inheriting my mother's green thumb and joy for cultivating the earth, i guess i would consider myself more of a "naturalist" than a "scientist." In recent years, as an adult, i've developed a passion for food and cooking. Healthy, minimally processed, simple and delicious is the kind i love. There also exists my love for reading, quest for knowledge and understanding, and the career in library sciences. All there passions, so little time i have to pursue them; this was my dilemma before joining the peace corps.

The million dollar answer for the question, why did i not want to pursue a profession after earning the masters degree is because information science is not my sole passion. I do not desire to work in any library, no matter how great, for 40 hours of every precious week of my life. I have worked in kitchens, bakeries and restaurants and don't particularly want to do that again, either. Not all the time. I don't want to saint all the time and try to earn my living selling my artwork. So, because i didn't know what to do, joining the peace corps seemed like a good idea. It was a vehicle to allow me the time to figure all this out; bide some time, let me travel, meet new people, challenge me in new ways. Little did i know that this experience would lead to me discovering my true purpose.

Amid the sea of self-help books about purpose, habits, missions and the like, this one washed up on my shore last week. I checked it out from the kuruman public library after searching for books about business. I have been helping the youth in my village with their business ideas and was also considering learning more for my benefit. This little gem is called Authentic Business (2005), all about the integrity of purpose and passion with your business. Not just acting ethically or how to write a business plan, but a paradigmatic shift of looking at businesses. The author, Neil Crofts, had dyslexia and never learned to write for content until after he left high school, which is amazing because he is a great writer. The book reminds me of another inspiring book i read called The War of Art by Steven pressfield, talking about overcoming your creative battles. The similarities are that both authors have their priorities in line. Profit is not an authentic motivator for neither art nor business. Somewhat surprising to see printed in black and white on the page in front of me, but quite refreshing, nonetheless. One passage in particular had (still!) me grinning from ear to ear, ready to shout with joy: p 29-30 "What is your non-negotiable dream? So precious that, so far, you have told no one for fear of it being compromised. What is the purpose to which you would commit body and soul if only you were allowed? What is your purpose that is profound for you and positive for life on Earth?

Say it.

Write it down.

Discuss it with people. If your regular friends won't discuss it with you, find other friends to discuss it with you."

He has simply articulated, or more aptly, abstracted, what i have been unconsciously doing during the last year. Asking and mulling over these questions. After one year of new continent, new languages, places, faces, names, goals and dreams, i am ready to answer these questions!

When i am honest, as i must be, i do not want what i thought i did even 2 months ago, 6 months, or twelve. My life looks very different. I am excited to see where it leads.

I came to the realization yesterday that i might have a parasite. I knew something was not right, but thought it might be the cold and wind, or post vacation blues.

i was helping take care of a sick friend who doesn't boil water, so maybe i picked something up there. It's really something that divides the worlds-development and basic sanitation. Clean water is something most people around the world do not have and we americans take for granted. I have lamented in a previous post that a majority of my time revolves around water, but for good reason. One careless time of not boiling and one contracts cholera, parasites or who knows what.

i stayed with some fellow american friends who experienced the same thing before. The anecdotal evidence out here in volunteer land is priceless. Never before would i put so much stock into something so un-scientific, but changing with the times must happen for survival of the fittest. I truly feel like i have morphed into another species sometimes.

As a volunteer, i am frequently requested to help with a wide variety of tasks, about many of which i know little to nothing. When the opportunities arise for me to help in areas better aligned with my expertise, it has been a real joy. This past week, i was afforded several of these opportunities.

I was originally invited to serve as an information technology volunteer, and suppose that a good portion of my work does involve i.t., just not in the ways I expected. I assist another volunteer in making a monthly newsletter for all volunteers and staff in south africa, and the two of us, a few months ago, came us with the idea of having an i.t, workshop during the world cup school break (we get an extra week). Although the peace corps approved our idea, they said there was no money for food, lodging or travel, so we would have to arrange for these ourselves. Not to be dissuaded, my friend and drafted an itenerary of relevant topics, he wrote the proposal, found a venue, got some spouses to help with cooking, and away we went.

Three days were spent discussing best practices and advice for teaching computer literacy (that was me), cloning hard drives, virus and anti-virus, file sharing, among other things. I also helped cook on day 3, which was awesome. I adore cooking for people, and cooking WITH people is something i have learned to enjoy while i have been here. Taking it easy, better planning and timing, not taking it too seriously, and bonding time with different people was the highlight of the week.

The venue was the site where my friend and his wife stay during their service, and it happens to be at a catholic mission. The ladies stayed with the sisters in the convent, and they were super. Three of them come from ireland, and one is a local motswana. The fathers allowed us the use of the rectory for the kitchen space and utilities, and we had a great time there. It was so pleasant to be in an atmosphere of love and godliness all week. The grounds were full of flowers, trees, dogs and rabbits, and some lush mountains.

Wedged in a taxi like a tinned fish, i am now on my way home after a whirlwind three weeks of travel. It will be nice to be in one place for awhile, until the next time.

Four peace corps volunteers and one visiting american head off into the wild blue yonder. Various roles include mom, dad, twin sisters and the little cousin. Nobody made definite plans and only two of us can drive. We rented a car and are backpacking. In south africa, there are tons of places, like youth hostels, that are cheap and all around the country.

Our journey started in Pretoria, around 3 pm. When we finally converged and headed out, it was four or half four. We sat in bumper to bumper traffic for almost two hours in joburg. (Surprise) Our first destination was a little town nestled in the mountains just north of Lesotho called Clarens. We didn't arrive until half ten, and it was positively freezing. I think the temp, according to the thermometer in the car, was minus 7 c. Remember, nothing is insulated or heated in africa. Thank god i brought my sleeping bag. I also sleep fully clothed. So, i did not get frostbitten.

The next morning, i had the chance to view the gorgeous surrounds. Tall pine trees, even taller mountains, some teepees, it was like an american ski town without the snow or ski slopes. The town has art galleries, coffee shops and other specialty stores. The microbrewery was disappointing, but was a nice alternative to the (crappy) usual beer we drink.

I serve two villages, which are about 7 k apart from each other. I live in one and walk to the other. Although these communities are close to each other in distance, they might as well be worlds apart, in some ways.

One barrier that prevents collaboration is lack of transportation. Most people use donkey cart, bus or local taxi for travel, as owning a vehicle is too expensive. There is almost zero opportunity for employment in each place, and many are pensioners or young school children. For example, in the village where i live, there is one primary school, housing grades 1-7 with just over one hundred total learners, one bottle store (with a jukebox, which is technically not allowed, so don't tell) where beer is sold, one general store type shop run by bangladeshis, and one preschool. And houses, farm animals and some shrubby trees. Anything that happens takes place at the school. This leads to my next point, that none of the school teachers live in the communities where they teach. The government has set up the system in this way. Lack of integration between the major community centre and its leaders is built into the rural education system. Thirdly, the apathy that comes from a culture of poverty rears its ugly head around every turn. Lastly, one unique challenge is the rapidly approaching retirement of one of the school principals, from whom the tone of everything is set, and she is not ashamed nor quiet about her readiness to exit.

In a previous attempt to join these schoolteachers and principals (community leaders) together, i invited another volunteer to come and help me facilitate a workshop for the group. The workshop was great, but only the hosting school's teachers were in attendance. I can't remember the reason the others didn't come, but the following week, they asked me to give them the same workshop. I did not, and explained to them why. There were no hard feelings, and there are so many weekly fires to put out, the topic was quickly forgotten.

The second attempt occurred when we hosted a workshop for all interested volunteers, their principals and counterparts about libraries. That principal again had an excuse why she could not make it. Not to be deterred, i had the idea to host a party, in my home, for both schools, including non-teaching staff and the parents groups. Everybody loves food, and an excuse to have fun, right? The idea came to me after several months of feeling like i needed to do something about the situation, but not knowing exactly how to proceed. I pitched the idea to the reluctant principal first, to give her the opportunity to help me choose an appropriate date and time that would work for the end of the term. To my surprise, she was excited and did just that, help me plan.

With logistics taken care of, i started menu planning. There might be 25 people attending, so what could i make using my limited resources? This is one of my favorite parts of being a hostess. The more challenges, the better; stress brings creativity to a shiny apple glow. I utilized a recipe my sister loves but i have only used since coming to south africa, the no-bake cookies one from the peace corps cookbook. South africans have major sweet teeth, so i knew that would be a hit. I made one batch with cocoa and dessicated coconut, and the other with only peanut butter. For the savory treat, i made martha stewart's delicious egg salad recipe for tea sandwiches. The tea was inspired by something my mom used to drink called 'constant comment.' Water steeped with orange peel, clove and black tea. A friend of mine owns a shop and donated the bread, spices and cocoa for me. Menu planned, shopping done, house cleaned, party time!

At first, i was concerned that word of my party had spread throughout the land, and EVERYBODY and their grandmother and dog would come. What would i feed them, where would they sit? After half an hour after the designated party time had passed, i began to wonder if ANYBODY would come. True to south african form, one hour late, mostly everyone i invited arrived (except the other principal- she had an appointment with a doctor, no worries). I played johnny cash's greatest hits on my ipod docking station, and finished the sandwiches while everybody mingled and had tea and cookies. I was so happy to see both communities represented and enjoying themselves! My enlightened principal says, 'now that you have us here together, say something.' i love this part, because it is always inevitable. I never say very much, but always make it meaningful. "somebody asked me the other day if i was going home for the long school break. I looked at him and said. 'what do you mean? I am home!' i want to thank you for making me feel so welcome, for working together, sharing food, songs, and cultures. Here's to another year of working together!"

I recieved hugs, help with dishes, requests for the next party, songs of thanks and a really nice speech and prayer, led by my wonderful, enlightened principal. It was truly an event to remember.

Today, 5 June 2010, is World Environment Day but since I have such a forward-thinking principal, we celebrated it at school yesterday. This time of year is the end of a term, which means the learners are writing exams only, not attending class. They may write 2 exams per day, then can loiter around school or go home. Keeping that in mind, I thought to find some books in the library about energy, conservation, global warming, anything eco- or environmental, and make some lessons.

When I make lessons, they almost always involve drawing; both from me and the learners. They really enjoy it, and it's something I know how to do. So, I put together a short (20-25 minute) lesson on the environment for a smallish group on Thursday. We looked up definitions, including rubbish, littering, recycling, looked at photos of floods, polluting factories, oil spills in the ocean, all sorts of things. After we discussed the issue, I could see some lights coming on inside their heads. They were thinking, and realizing that every action causes a much bigger and pivotal reaction, especially concerning our natural world. It was super! We were lucky to have the available books in our library (Thanks, Northern Cape Provincial Library Services!) but could have done without them if needed. After our lesson, I charged them to make a drawing of something that inspired them about our lesson. There were a few trees, animal and drawings of the world.

The next day, I gave my lesson again to the whole school, and all the kids were really interested. My principal piggybacked off me and reiterated things in Setswana. The note of her lesson was putting ideas into action, not just talking about recycling and making a difference, but DOING. She brought garbage bags from home, and we split up into about 5 groups, and went forth to pick up rubbish from our village. Woo hoo! Talk about exciting. I used to do this in Stillwater, both with the City-wide initiatives and on my own, or with friends. I am very passionate about being a good steward of the environment and educating others to do the same, but the problem seemed so...insurmountable here that I put off dealing with it until now.

When I say insurmountable, I mean townships just covered in litter. There is no sanitation system here, people are burning their garbage and littering really badly, too. I should take some pictures to add to this blog, I think. I did take some photos of my group picking up rubbish yesterday. They were so good! The little girl was helping me pick up the small, hidden bits, and the boys enjoyed tackling the big junk.

I realize our village will probably be filled with rubbish by the end of the next term, but the point is to make a difference in the life of one person at a time. I know these kids will think twice about throwing their snack wrappers out the bus window now that they have hauled bags of litter back to the school. :)

When i was in high school, my youngest brother was not yet in kindergarten, and really liked for me to read his bedtime stories. Sometimes i would make them up, always on the fly, and they were inspired by whatever i had seen, read or experienced recently, or from distant recollections from my own childhood. Little did i know, i would be doing much the same thing here in south africa a decade later.

In the last two weeks, i have given at least four speeches, none of them prepared, about topics of varying interests; from Reading, librarianship, democratic elections and womens suffrage, the importance of community involvement in education, and probably more i cannot, at this time, recall. I have given loads of advice about health, exercise, budgeting, and listened to many a plight. Have i formal training in health or finance, or consider myself an expert in these fields? No sir/mam.

Being viewed as an expert at everything, which i am just for being an american, is flattering, sure, but it was stressful at first. My instincts were to conduct thorough research before offering tentative advice. Now, i realize playing this role is as complicated as reading a toddler a bedtime story; that is to say, not very. embracing my western education, creativity, wisdom and sense of humor have allowed for some really neat tales. No one need be aware that i am spinning them from yarn, barn twine and whatever else is lying around in my mental cobwebs- and by the way, my favorite book to read to my other brother is called, 'the stinky cheese man and other fairly stupid tales.'

other recent news is that i have taught several classes at both schools, including gardening, storytime, literacy, and math. I enjoyed bonding with the learners and keep a stress free attitude about it. I also made mexican cornbread for thirty peace corps volunteers and a few friends. It was such a big hit, i came home and taught my host sister how to make it using the steam method. No one here has ever heard of cornbread or tried it! And when i say no one, i mean all the non-americans that live in south africa. Our mealie pap works great for the cornmeal part.

The following day, we thought to head to the wine region, which is east of capetown. It being easter weekend, it seemed all the cars were rented out. So we left our backpackers not sure what we were doing the next couple days. If we couldn't get transport out of the city, we planned to attend the big jazz festival, with regina carter playing sunday. As it turns out, the lodge we were in contact with about doing an eco wine tour let us ride in the back of one of the employee's land rover's who was running errands in town at the same time we were waiting. The guy turned out to be the co-owner of the lodge and our tour guide the next day, and he comes into this internet cafe where we were waiting and booms, "is there a jenneffer in here?" that set the tone for our laid back, off-the-beaten-path weekend in elgin valley. We stayed in tented cabins, which are like wood cabins but with a canvas roof and in a sort of rustic setting. The staff were local kids and immigrants from zimbabwe, and were really invested and excited about their hospitality jobs. They treated us like royalty, and fed us even better. We toured local wine makers farms, tasted at more established wineries, saw the commercial flower industry up close, and got an ecological education in conservation and restoration of local flora. Plus had a lovely picnic in an apple orchard. Three nights there, and we returned to capetown on tuck's birthday, this time staying in green point, closer to the beach. And beach we did. We explored two days, finding the best one and our best meal on that second day. It took us over an hour, maybe almost two, to get to clifton beaches, but it was totally worth it. Walking uphill, rounding bends and getting to see the ocean the whole time was the experience there. Finally, we arrived and descended to the white sands and green blue waters of clifton. Once at the shore, you could turn your back on the ocean and see lion's head mountain like it was almost in your face. The water was ice ice cold, and my friend shirley is training in it to do this epic swim sans wet suit! I dipped in one toe and decided to make a sand bicycle, which tuck then proceeded to ride. Then i did some yoga while tuck electrified his persona with atlantic ocean. On our way back, we did a pint hop and eventually made it for dinner at doppio zero on main road, right across from the new stadium. I highly recommend it! Wonderful service, outside seating, great menu selection, and nice wine. We had mussels in white wine, chilies and garlic, gnocci with a roasted lamb sauce, brick oven pizza (which is all over south africa and actually really good) with gorgonzola, carmelized onions, pine nuts and honey. I had amarula creme brulee for dessert, and when i say i had dessert, that always means tuck says he doesn't want anything, but helps me eat mine. Which is a good thing. Next day, a little babbalas, we enjoyed a late breakfast at this place called miss k, which was like a fairy tale come true for a baker. In the center of the bistro were giant bowls of meringues, plates of little cakes and platters of muffins, which almost looked too good to eat. I enjoyed (immensely) scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and rocket, while tuck liked his poached eggs with spicy chili sauce with toasted ciabatta slices and rocket. I tried a lime pistachio mini cake, which reminded me too much of those sliced cakes they sell at wal mart, but they did have wonderful espresso, so i don't worry too much about the cake. Then we stocked up for another epic journey on the intercape bus.

The following day, we thought to head to the wine region, which is east of capetown. It being easter weekend, it seemed all the cars were rented out. So we left our backpackers not sure what we were doing the next couple days. If we couldn't get transport out of the city, we planned to attend the big jazz festival, with regina carter playing sunday. As it turns out, the lodge we were in contact with about doing an eco wine tour let us ride in the back of one of the employee's land rover's who was running errands in town at the same time we were waiting. The guy turned out to be the co-owner of the lodge and our tour guide the next day, and he comes into this internet cafe where we were waiting and booms, "is there a jenneffer in here?" that set the tone for our laid back, off-the-beaten-path weekend in elgin valley. We stayed in tented cabins, which are like wood cabins but with a canvas roof and in a sort of rustic setting. The staff were local kids and immigrants from zimbabwe, and were really invested and excited about their hospitality jobs. They treated us like royalty, and fed us even better. We toured local wine makers farms, tasted at more established wineries, saw the commercial flower industry up close, and got an ecological education in conservation and restoration of local flora. Plus had a lovely picnic in an apple orchard. Three nights there, and we returned to capetown on tuck's birthday, this time staying in green point, closer to the beach. And beach we did. We explored two days, finding the best one and our best meal on that second day. It took us over an hour, maybe almost two, to get to clifton beaches, but it was totally worth it. Walking uphill, rounding bends and getting to see the ocean the whole time was the experience there. Finally, we arrived and descended to the white sands and green blue waters of clifton. Once at the shore, you could turn your back on the ocean and see lion's head mountain like it was almost in your face. The water was ice ice cold, and my friend shirley is training in it to do this epic swim sans wet suit! I dipped in one toe and decided to make a sand bicycle, which tuck then proceeded to ride. Then i did some yoga while tuck electrified his persona with atlantic ocean. On our way back, we did a pint hop and eventually made it for dinner at doppio zero on main road, right across from the new stadium. I highly recommend it! Wonderful service, outside seating, great menu selection, and nice wine. We had mussels in white wine, chilies and garlic, gnocci with a roasted lamb sauce, brick oven pizza (which is all over south africa and actually really good) with gorgonzola, carmelized onions, pine nuts and honey. I had amarula creme brulee for dessert, and when i say i had dessert, that always means tuck says he doesn't want anything, but helps me eat mine. Which is a good thing. Next day, a little babbalas, we enjoyed a late breakfast at this place called miss k, which was like a fairy tale come true for a baker. In the center of the bistro were giant bowls of meringues, plates of little cakes and platters of muffins, which almost looked too good to eat. I enjoyed (immensely) scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and rocket, while tuck liked his poached eggs with spicy chili sauce with toasted ciabatta slices and rocket. I tried a lime pistachio mini cake, which reminded me too much of those sliced cakes they sell at wal mart, but they did have wonderful espresso, so i don't worry too much about the cake. Then we stocked up for another epic journey on the intercape bus.

This is a blog entry from my cell phone, so the formatting is bound to be horrific. This is my disclaimer. Tuck arrived to o r tambo airport, safe and sound on march 24th, with only a little harassment from airport security. We rested a bit before taking the intercape bus to nelspruit, the capital city of mmpumalanga province. They are growing avocados, mangoes and the like there. Then we took a local taxi up the mountain passes to sabie, where we left the next day to run the big marathon in longtom pass. I made a nice supper of pap with tomato, onion and pilchard gravy, then off to bed and up at four am to board the bus and travel to the starting line. On the bus, as we kept climbing higher and higher in the early morning fog, the bus was full of excited, chattering runners and a few supporters. Some stretched, some drank water, some continued chatting until the start of the race. Tuck somehow got to ride with a referee, because i was about 3-4 k into the race, getting into my groove, when all of the sudden i hear, "sixkiller!" and i turn to see a camera clicking pics. It was a nice, if funny, surprise. After about k 10, i am going up a really steep hill and think there is a rock in my shoe, so i stop to quickly dump it, only to discover it is instead a giant blister. I knew i should have gotten new shoes, but then it was too late. I press on. The mountain roads were majorly sloped, which was also difficult. I hobbled for about half a k, trying to find the inner strength to keep going, because by then i was really hurting. My foot was sprained from all the issues, and by then i could see a water station. Not sure how i did it, but i kept on and kept on and finished at 2:33:02 for 21k. Tuck was waiting at the finish line, snapping pics and with cold liquids. I've never experienced anything quite like it, pushing so hard through pain but knowing your greater goal is worth more than temporary feelings. I was elated, even though i was limping for about three days. Two days later, we boarded the intercape for capetown. We left nelspruit at ten am, and arrived capetown two pm the following day, non stop. It was epic. But i managed to book us a room at the backpackers, plan to meet my friend trevor, who lives there, and tuck and i got a ton of time to talk. We arrive capetown and the wind is blowing our hats and hair around like crazy. You can get four seasons in one day there! We stop for some spicy, healthy chow at nando's and check our map and hoof it to the backpackers. These are like hostels, but nicer, all over southern africa. I negotiated a peace corps discount, we got settled in, washed some clothes and i think we cooked there that night, just trying to get accustomed to the time. By the way, it is not advisable to eat a ripe camembert on a bus, as people complain and you can smell it for a long time after you finish eating. Next day we pack a picnic lunch and head to table mountain. The weather looked good and it is a capetown must-see. Myself, i have now seen it twice. About an hour after we arrived at the top via cable car, clouds began descending and it got very cold. The hooter sounded, to let us know to queue for descent. We must have stood in line for forty five minutes, positively shivering. It was beautiful, though. After hiking back down to town, we went for caipirhinia cocktail and a fabulous seafood dinner. Giant tiger prawns, langostinos, calamari and portuguese sardines, all grilled to perfection, accompanied by a chilly, local sauvignon blanc. Next day was find good espresso then picnic in the company gardens day. The national library is at one end, which we visited, and several museums on another. The squirrels were vying for our seeds, and the children for the squirrels. Then we hit the waterfront, which is on the northeast end of town. I was told we should rent a car to really enjoy capetown, but we decided to walk. That way, you don't miss anything and really get the feel for a place. So we did, discovering a brewery (not in our guidebook) and one that was. We marveled at the different boats and ships, and the beautiful atlantic ocean, as well as a slave of garlicky mussels. Our way back was around quittin time, so we dodged traffic and walked down long street. This is "the" happening place in capetown, tons of bars, lodging, travel companies and just about everything else you can imagine. A nice detour, but we had to look presentable for dinner with trevor, so we didn't dally too long. Trevor took us for asian fusion cuisine, which was nice. I was happy to order amarula for us, since tuck had not yet tried it. The morula trees grow only here in south africa, and when the fruits ripen and fall, the elephants like to eat them to get drunk. They look like litchis. Anyway, a liquor is made from them, and it is kind of like baileys irish creme. Nice for dessert, and in south african car bombs. As you can imagine :)

I intended my Jenneffer in Africa blog to be targeted to the non-library audience, i.e. general readership comprised of friends, family, lurkers, etc. However, I see that my work here is a lot of 'libraria miscellanea' now, so I may need to cross-list posts from time to time.

This Friday, I am hosting a workshop at my school in Logaganeng for all interested Peace Corps Volunteers serving in the Northern Cape, along with their principals and/or community counterparts. The workshop is inteded to let my librarian and principal tell the story of how they started their library. I also invited the librarian from Kuruman, the Northern Cape Provincial Library Services, and the Moshaweng Municipality; all were instrumental in helping start and keep running Logaganeng Library. Each should have a turn to describe how they operate, then I will fill in any gaps and be the ringleader of the show. For truly, all events in South Africa function much like a circus; this one should be no exception, and I don't mind at all to conduct such an event.

My lovely boyfriend [who is also a librarian] has been instrumental in assisting me with resources, as my access to the internet is very limited. We spend a lot of our time talking about library and information technology issues, and have generated some good ideas. All I can do is try, and do my best. Things fail here all the time, and as a result, I am trying to make any change a slow, sustainable one. Mostly I am joining people with other people, and showing people how and where to get resources. There isn't much of me doing anything for anybody, as I feel they ought to be in a place to do it for themselves. There are too many computer labs gathering dust because of lack of people and/or training to use them. Who needs a computer when a simple book will do? Or a simple way to organize what books you have? And a simple method in which to let other people borrow them? Welcome to good old-fashioned "library science."

Serves 2. 250 g whole wheat spaghetti, 4 tbsp crunchy peanut butter, few garlic cloves minced, half onion small dice, thumb size nug ginger minced, small glug oil, tbsp turmeric, one red chili minced, one and a half t curry powder or masala, salt, large pot of water, medium pot or pan. Boil water for pasta. Meanwhile, brown onion with oil, add all other ingedients except peanut butter and cook for a few minutes. Cook pasta al dente and save water. Add peanut butter to onion mix and up to a cup of the pasta water. You want a semi thin consistency. Add pasta and stir. If you can stand it, let stand and refrigerate to eat later. Yum! A nice addition would be bean sprouts and fresh coriander. A complete meal.

This weekend, several volunteers, including myself, got together for some r and r in a nearby town. As usual, talk is flying a mile a minute (should say kilometer) with people eager to catch up. It seems every time i share with other volunteers what i am doing in my village, i inspire them. This surprises me, but also really makes me happy. I apparently have made more headway in 6 months than many volunteers do in a year and a half. The match, me and my village and co-workers, is providentially great. I love the kalahari (if you had not figured that one out already). I like people, and they have accepted me with open arms. So is it luck, i don't know but i think not totally. Anyway so far, so good and i think i have been working too hard. My major challenge now is learning my limits and how to say no.

When i was growing up, my mom made sure each birthday was special for each of five kids by preparing our favorite meals. When it was my turn, my siblings would always complain at breakfast because i always chose the same dish, and they didn't like it: egg gravy. It is a cream gravy (bechamel sauce) with boiled eggs grated into it, eaten atop dry toast or saltine crackers. I had a workshop at school on friday and served curried egg salad sandwiches. There was some leftover filling, which i just ate for lunch, served atop a freshly made roti (indian whole wheat flatbread). It quite reminded me of said childhood food and was really nice. Aside: i use martha stewart's recipe for the sandwiches and everybody, even if they don't like boiled eggs, likes them.

I can't remember if I blogged about this or not, but my camera got stolen from my backpack by some sneaky Xhosa children at Coffee Bay. Mind you, I was doing yoga alone on top of a mountain, overlooking white sands and the Indian Ocean, so I wasn't exactly *alert* and aware of my surroundings. Talk about bliss... I guess I'm as cool as a cucumber, because when I discovered my camera was missing, I wasn't even that upset. It was actually sort of liberating; one less item to worry about. In the meantime, here are some pics of my artwork I made back in Oklahoma, and one here in SA. The SA painting is pretty crappy, but the view is from my front porch. We all have to start over somewhere...

So I'm running in a marathon next month. My physiotherapist is helping me get my hamstring and runners' leg all sorted out before then, and I'm working on trimming down after a meat and beer-filled holiday. Here is the e-mail I sent to friends and family, if you want to donate:

Hello friends and family,

Firstly, I am doing well! I enjoyed my Christmas in Africa more so than any I can remember. No Christmas carols blaring from shops beginning in October, no wrapping paper, no stuff. PCVs did hold a gift exchange on the beach, but we did "white elephant" style, where we re-gifted or gave stuff we already had. The entire backpackers shared a Christmas Eve meal, and I dined with a gentleman from Greece and some Afrikaaners on scrumptious salads, homemade Xhosa bread, slow-roasted ham and turkey, and fruit and pudding for dessert.

If you want to email me, please use my gmail address instead of this one. I can check my email on my mobile phone, and it is way easier to read than yahoo. That address is thesixkillerlibrarian@gmail.com.

I am writing to alert you of my latest adventure, participation in a half marathon. Two Peace Corps volunteers started the foundation over five years ago, which sends local SA (South African) kids to high school who would not otherwise have the opportunity. It is quite common for black children, especially those living in rural villages, to miss out on education for severalreasons. As in the case in my village, there is only a primary school. If parents cannot afford transport (bus/taxi fare, sometimes lodging as well) and school fees, the child's education ends at grade seven or six, in some cases. This foundation has sent quite a few kids to school and paid for lodging, uniforms, etc. Each runner (that's me!) must raise at least a hundred dollars (total)for the cause. Runners can choose to run five, 21k or 56 k; i chose the twenty one. Training in the Kalahari has been great. It is dry, flat and meditatively beautiful. I have lost 15 pounds since I arrived in SA, mostly by increasing running- and it has been one of thebest decisions I have made!

The race is March 28th so there is still time to donate. Go to www.klm-foundation.org/ and click the donate pic in the top right-hand corner. Make sure to put my name in the Longtom marathon runner field so they will know who to attribute the money to. When you click the donate pic, it opens up a secure https page so you know it is secure. If you want to see the peace corps side, go to www.klm-foundation.org/pcv. TO CLARIFY: YOU DO NOT HAVE TO DONATE $100. You can donate $1, $5, $10, however much you want. I must collect $100 TOTAL, at least, to participate in the marathon.

Tuck is coming to visit sa and support me and other volunteers at the race, maybe at the water station? (ha ha) Then our reward is a trip to Capetown. So, exciting times lie ahead! All my love to each of you! And if you don't want to donate, that is definitely okay. Pass the word along to anyone who you think would be interested, though.

-Jenneffer

In other news, I am glad to be back in the Kalahari after spending a week training in Mmpumalamga, where it is sticky, humid as hell, and full ok skeeters. Also Joburg, where it is already starting to become cool and people live like they do in America. Give me the hot, hot sun, the sweat, a bucket to haul my own water and the dry, desert air, baby!

this is me at the top of a viewing perch at this little resorty-lodge called Middlepos. It's about halfway between Kuruman and Kimberly in the Northern Cape. Our school went there last week to celebrate the end of the year. The learners were totally impressed that I could swim and were fascianated by my tattoos. I dress pretty conservatively at school, so I don't think they had seen my body art before. Also I taught them the principles of rowing a boat in the pond. You can tell they are from the desert because not even the teachers knew how it worked. It was really funny :)

It's beginning to look a lot like ... Christmas? No, SUMMERTIME. Mmm, I love it. The days are longer, hotter, sweatier, and I couldn't be happier. Even though there is *some* commercialism and Christmas stuff here, there is not NEARLY the amount here that exists in America. This makes me happy. I stopped giving gifts and doing Christmas cards a few years ago, and it made all the difference between me enjoying the holidays and not. (I enjoy them a lot more now, by the way.) In Africa, many people don't have anything to begin with, so there's not this pressure from around every corner to "buy your special someone that perfect gift," and we all know that special someone is multiplied times 20 at least, ranging from spouse, kids, grandkids, co-worker, secret santa, you name it.

So, I'm spending my Christmas holiday camping on the beach. My big goal for the 10 days is to cook homemade yeast bread on the braai, which is South African for barbecue. Like outside, on the beach, over firewood embers. And to maybe take a surfing lesson, because it only costs R40 where I'm going. That's practically free. It's technically the equivalent of $5.50. And I am also going to continue my fitness regime and run and do yoga on the beach. But that's it. I hope you're jealous, because so am I. Being a volunteer has it's perks too.

Just in case you think I haven't worked hard enough to deserve a vacation like this, you should think again. Having [sarcastically] said that, the work is fun, rewarding, and I try to make it my own. Sometimes it makes me so tired that I go home and do nothing for the rest of the day but stare at the wall, take a nap, or read a magazine article or two. But sometimes, it makes me really energized and glad I left my comfortable life back in Oklahoma. I have a whole new appreciation for clean water and men that don't ask me for my phone number now! I can only assume I'll come up with new appreciations as the months progress.

Happy Holidays from the Kalahari!

People have asked me what have I been eating. That's a great question! Some recipes I've made with local flavor:

tinned fish with tomato

2 servings

1 can pilchards (approx 6oz in size) [sardines, but they dont' call them that here]

1 onion, small dice

1 can tomato (approx 14 oz in size)

salt

olive oil

bread

brown onion in oil in pot. add tomato, simmer on medium heat until water cooks out (approx 20 min.). pull out bones from fish, flake and add to pan. serve with bread. yum

bogobe (pup)

1 serving

1/4-more maize meal (this is pretty much masa harina, or finely ground cornmeal)

1 c water

salt

boil water. add pinch salt. add maize meal slowly, stirring constantly to avoid lumps. stir in more meal if you like it thicker. turn down to simmer, cover. after 20 min or so, stir. cook a few more minutes, then take off the lid. eat with whatever you like, such as beans, vegetables, fish. i usually eat this with steamed green beans, the tinned fish or some lentils.

more later!

bogobe

Gardening Adventures in the Kalahari:

Okie gardener in South Africa

Among many other things, gardening in South Africa is a project I'm working on during my Peace Corps service. Last week, after a few days of rain (yeehaw!), my host family and I set to work turning over the earth, weeding and creating garden beds. Working in the sandy soil here in the Kalahari desert is MUCH easier than working in the clay of Oklahoma. The downside is that we have to water much more often, as the sandy soil drains much faster.

I purchased some seeds at a local ag store in Kuruman (my nearest shopping town), including two varieties of tomatoes, carrots, bush basil, mixed herbs, swiss chard, hot pepper (i think it's cayenne but we'll see) and green beans. They have also requested beets, onion, cabbage and spinach. These are the staple foods of the baTswana people, as well as mealies (corn), which they make into pup, which is a corn porridge. But, I am not equipped for growing corn, so we're going to stick with the more simple veggies.

I used the stake and weave method for my tomatoes, basil and green beans when I left Oklahoma in July, and have heard that it is the most beautiful site to see (I'm blushing), so I'll try to get my family to use that method here, too. They do things differently here, but the purpose of my service is not just to teach, but to also learn. I'm been an apt pupil, I'm happy to report.

I have been saving all my fruit and vegetable peelings, as well as egg shells and teabags to start a compost heap. We are going to dig a big hole in the shape of a garden bed about a foot deep and layer it with animal manure, food scraps and ash. We don't have any grass clippings in the desert, and any wood is used to burn for cooking, or to build fences and brush is used to deter the birds from eating the crops by piling it on top of newly planted beds. We will mix with a shovel periodically, and hopefully have some compost within a month or two, as it's now springtime and working into summer here.

I hope to get my primary schools composting as well, as they both have food gardens. Happy autumn gardening in Oklahoma!

September 17th I arrived at my site, which is a very small village about 20 miles from Kuruman in the Kalahari Desert. There was less than one week of school left before the spring break, so I most observed, then help the educators compile some final reports. I helped do some typing, and the librarian scheme about how to make good changes for the school library. But mostly lots of sitting and waiting. That has been the hardest part, not being busy or not knowing what to do. Just waiting.

The nights are cold but calm, the days get hot and windy, but usually dies down in the evening. Yesterday it rained, which was quite noisy under a tin roof, but pretty exciting. I felt, for the first time, like I was having a true "Peace Corps experience" sitting in my own little house drinking a glass of wine and smoking a cigarette, listening to the rain, snacking on some olives. I get home from school around 3pm, wash my dishes, rest for about an hour (that usually means reading) then do yoga for an hour, then run for an hour. It's really nice to be finished right as the sun is setting.

Sunday night I went with my school on a field trip to Capetown. Capetown, the magical place! It's amazingly beautiful and very different from any other place than South Africa. It was nice to bond with the learners (grade 6 and 7) and my educators. Good to see the bright spots and know that we will all gain from each other.

I just wrote a 4 page blog about my African experience, and the computer ate it. Yes, I saved every 10 minutes. Booooo!!!

Anyway, when I left Stillwater, I was exhausted from all the going away parties, goodbyes and emotional stress of leaving someone I love very much (person and pets). I hadn’t anticipated how much the separation would affect me, so it took me by surprise. It was really hard to leave and hold it together. I hadn’t really been nervous, just wiped out and looking forward to a good night’s sleep before flying to Washington, D.C. for staging. I arrived on a muggy, cloudy afternoon to check in to our hotel, and meet my new fellow trainees, soon-to-be volunteers.

I walked into the lobby, and already people acted as if they had known each other for years. I was nervous! As much as I love meeting new people and making new friends, I always get nervous. The first person I really talked to was Karen, a gardener from Kentucky. She reminds me so much of my mom; down to earth, beautiful but totally humble and modest. After an entire day of introductions, what to expect, and some paperwork, we were given money for our last American meal. I chose a sushi restaurant, thinking I might not get to eat it again until after my 2 year service. It proved to be delicious, I could not even finish my meal.

We packed up and left for the clinic the next morning to be vaccinated against yellow fever, then straight to the airport. We arrived about 6 hours early for our flight, so us smokers (myself, Tim a young physicist from Illinois and Anne, a young graphic designer from Minnesota) found coffee in Dulles airport and smoked outside until we boarded South African Airways. Some people scrambled around to change dollars to rand, the South African currency. I did not, I want to try to live and travel solely on my Peace Corps salary. There was an excited hubbub throughout our gigantic line of 43 volunteers. (We started with 45, but one couple woke up late in D.C. and decided not to go.) I thought I might be one of the oldest volunteers at my ripe old age of 27 (now 28!) but definitely am not. There are six married couples in our group, one of them in their early 70s. Two are under 21, and a good portion of us are in our late 20s-early 30s. Some are in their 50s. We come from all over the country, and strangely enough, 4 came from Oregon and had been student-teacher a few years previous. On the plane, I sat next to Kelsey, the 20 year old from New York who recently graduated with a BS in math and attended Obama’s inauguration. We both love baking and food, among other things. It was nice to sit next to someone and form a bond so early on.

After the 19 hour plane ride (one stop in Dakar, did not deboard) we got on a bus for a 2.5 hour ride to Marapyane, where we have been in training. Our new language and cultural teachers greeted us warmly and enthusiastically with traditional BaTswana songs and dancing, and we shared a meal before being assigned individual dorm rooms and a 7am breakfast the next day. I would have loved a shower and a fall into bed, but in the Peace Corps, one rarely gets to make these decisions for oneself. It was the dead of winter and very, very cold. Peace Corps bought everyone bedding, including a mink blanket, which was much needed. No one has indoor heating here.

I wasn’t used to getting up early, complaining if I was woken before 8am back in the States. Now, I wake at 6am everyday (sometimes earlier if traveling), run 10k before dinner, and try to get in some yoga. I am actually training for a marathon in April- it benefits local South African kids to go to college- and it’s a 21k. Well, the half marathon, the one that I’m training for, is 21k. The Ultra is 56k or some crazy thing like that. I never thought I would run in a marathon, but I’ve been doing a lot of things I never thought since I’ve been here.

I’ve stayed with a local family while training in Marapyane, they are an older couple who take care of two of their grandchildren. A boy, aged 7, and a very naughty girl, aged 4. They have all modern ammentities, like an oven, refrigerator, running water, electricity, fruit trees in their backyard, etc. It’s a bit different from my situation at my permanent site, a tiny village about 20k away from Kuruman in the Kalahari desert. I don’t have running water there, but I do have my own 4 room house! A living room with some furniture, a bedroom with big double bed, vanity, and lots of space, a kitchen with a hot plate and soon-to-be refrigerator, and an extra room with nothing in it (yet). I plan to draw and paint in that room, or maybe use it if someone wants to come visit me.

We have a lot of time off for traveling, and I plan to do as much as I can. One of our volunteers stays near Meerkat Manor, some kind of popular place on the Animal Planet channel. I believe we are going there for Thanksgiving this year, and I am supposed to go to Cape town later this month with my school for a field trip. Exciting!