And so the shortest (er, longest, as I'm in the southern hemisphere) day came, and the old year died. And what a year it was! Some of my more recent adventures include a train ride to Dar es Salaam (trains are the only way to travel), a week collecting shells off the beach in Zanzibar, and a new year's trip to Kundalila Falls-- a waterfall just 60 km from my village, where I spent the night in a tent. Thanksgiving featured real live turkeys, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie, while Christmas featured santa hats handed out at cement tuck shops in the boma and baby pine trees in little black planting bags. At the start of December I harvested my beehive for the very first time (with major assistance from my Zambian farmers, who thanks to the veils I sewed them sustained only 7 stings during the process-- an impressively small number for African bees), and dug and planted my own 1/4-lima field and garden. I had my last official workshop on December 9, where 30 farmers helped me plant soya in my field. I had wanted to have them plant tree seeds and transplant tree seedlings for me as well, both as a learning-by-doing teaching mechanism and to save me a great deal of time and labor, but there had not been rain in my village for two weeks and I worried the trees would not survive in the dry, unwaterable soil, so instead I drew a couple of flipcharts and gave a 2-hour lecture (at least it felt like 2 hours) on intercropping and agroforestry (intercropping with trees).

As predicted, the rains have been terribly poor and painfully disappointing this season, and I along with the farmers of my village have spent days staring at the clouds waiting for rain and then had to rush when the clouds burst to dig and plant and transplant before the soil dries up again, meaning the work of a week is compressed into a day or two on a regular basis. This is not a healthy way to farm, but we are at the mercy of the climate and the clouds. Maize wilts in the fields, but farmers who were lucky enough to be a part of the Zambian government's conservation farming program-- and smart enough to follow the directives of said program-- planted some of their maize early (end of November, as opposed to mid-December) and so at least some of the crop is enduring the drought with aplomb. However, these are only small plots for demonstration, and the majority of the maize is late-planted and a little sickly. I planted my maize early, conservation-farming-style, and it still doesn't look that great-- I tell the farmers to go easy on me, this is my first time ever planting a field of any kind, and just because I'm not having much luck doesn't mean my methods don't have merit. Luckily other farmers are having more luck and serving as role models where I cannot. Of course the other crops-- beans, soybeans, millet, sorgum, groundnuts, cassava, sweet potatoes-- seem to be doing fine, but they are not the moneymakers, they are not the chief source of food, and they are not the popular topic of conversation. Which is a shame, because African sweet potatoes may be the best thing ever, and nshima made from millet is waaaaay better than nshima made from maize. But that's just one muzungu's humble opinion and so is largely laughed at and ignored when expressed to Zambian villagers.

I have also planted trees in my field-- an old traditional practice revitalized by the conservation farming/sustainability/anti-slash-and-burn movement. These trees-- pidgeon pea, sesbania, tephrosia, luceana-- have nutrient-rich leaves and also have the capacity to fix nitrogen in the soil by hosting nitrogen-fixing bacteria in their roots. This is seen as an alternative to both fertilizer and compost manure, the latter being very labor-intensive and the former extremely costly. A few other farmers have caught on to the idea and agreed to try it in their own fields, and since they are eons more capable with a hoe than I am I imagine they will soon by practicing agroforestry better than I can teach it. My garden is coming along nicely-- I have lettuce, tomatoes, onions, pumpkins, green beans, and marigolds-- pretty, and a good pesticide-- and it is all run on natural organic manure. Since the minor December drought ruined my plans for my last workshop, I had to plant my trees and my garden pretty much by myself over the last month-- it was a lot of work, but I feel much stronger and my thumbs much greener on the other side of the experience.

And when I say last workshop, I do mean last-- it is January 2012 and we are now getting into the last 4 months of my Peace Corps service in an African village. It's hard to believe I've been in Africa 23 months already. Of course I'll still have meetings and visits with farmers and I'll still bring chitenges on my bicycle to my womens' group and make banana bread with my host family and talk to farmers about harvesting beehives without harvesting bee babies and digging fields without cutting down all the trees and planting gardens without fertilizer and all that good stuff. But for the next 4 months, my energy will be focused on packing up, wrapping up projects, saying good-bye. I've made a new year's resolution to sit by my host family's fire with my host-grandparents every night after dinner for the remainder of my stay in the village-- this is an old habit, one I relied on heavily for language and cultural training during those first crucial months in the village, but over the past year I've fallen out of the habit a little, and I want to get back into it. I want to savor every last moment I have with them.

While I will be saying good-bye to my village, I will not be saying good-bye to Zambia just yet. I was recently approved to stay for a 3rd year in PCZ as PCVL in Northern Province, Zambia, which means I'll be doing things like site prep and volunteer support for the 40 or so volunteers in that area for the next year. It will be exciting and challenging and very different from what I am doing now-- I will be in a city, for one thing. And I won't be living in a mudhut with no electricity or running water. I won't be cooking on an open fire or teaching a Zambian family how to make s'mores. I won't have a cat who pees on everything and constantly leaves ticks on my couch, and I won't be biking 20 km just to buy peanut butter. So these are the things I will have to say good-bye to in 2012. Thanks for all the memories 2011, it's been real.

For the past week we in Serenje district have experienced a strange anomaly: rain and cold weather in October. This is strange for two reasons: for one thing, when it rains in Zambia, it RAINS. We're talking torrential downpours, skies darkening and grumbling for hours if not days in advance, clouds billowing and lightening bolts flashing, rain so thick you could take a shower in it, the type of rain that brings a complete transformation of the landscape, leaves the ground itself in a different shape from how it found it. A teacher in my village the other day complained about this "London weather," which was completely and bizarrely accurate; the weather has been cold and damp, muggy and drizzly, like a petulant rainstorm that can't decide whether it wants to precipitate or not. The other day it drizzled. Drizzled. In Zambia. Weird. The other, more obvious reason this week's rainy-cold weather has been so strange is this: October is the peak of Zambia's hot-dry season. Let me say that again: we have been having rainy cold weather this week, in the peak month of our hot dry season. Sooooo, something is clearly wrong here. I mean, two weeks ago I was visiting a farmer to help him plant a tree nursery, and when I went to stand up from planting some seeds I found that I had to sit down again, the heat and sun had made me too dizzy to stand properly. Now don't worry, Mom, I've been drinking plenty of fluids and carrying extra water when I go biking (and trying to avoid biking in the middle of the day, but this is harder than you might think, assuming you plan to go anywhere at all), but nonetheless during last year's hot-dry season and this past September I have been surprised at how easily I get dehydrated, especially since I don't usually require that much water to begin with. Yet this past week none of this has been a problem; instead, I have been forcibly reminded of the cold-dry season of May-July, when the sky stays cloudy and gray as though it's going to rain (or as if it's mourning the end of the rainy season, as it never actually does rain), when the women wear blankets around their midsections as if they were citenges and the babies are all dressed in the best knit woolens their mothers can find. Where a week ago I was hiding from the heat in my hut, sweating night and day, this past week I had to drag back out the winter blankets and fleece jacket, freshly laundered and put into temporary storage on a shelf, and now I huddle around fires and under blankets. Cleary the world is confused about what month it is. The difference between this past week and the actual cold-dry season is that the weather this week has not actually been dry. It has been humid, thundrous, and occasionally drizzly. I have woken up each morning to a yard of wet sand, and each evening find watering my garden and tree nursery largely unnecessary, as the clouds have not cleared long enough for last night's shower to sun-dry away. Each afternoon this week I have had conversations with the strong African thunder, my side boiling down to such statements as "I hear ya, I hear ya" and "oh shut up." Yesterday I faced a dilemma I was not expecting to experience for another month: the old "is it raining where the meeting is being held, and thus should I bother going?" question. If it is raining, no one will show up, which means there's no sense in my going and getting drenched for nothing. However, depending on the size and direction of the storm, it may be raining where I am and not where the meeting is taking place, in which case I should ride through and away from the rain to reach my meeting. That is not, you understand, a question I would usually expect myself to need to answer during the dry season. Yet here we are. This early rain could, potentially, have more serious of an impact beyond simply freaking out the muzungus. Traditionally the early rains start in November and become well-established in December, eventually tapering off in early April. Farmers, then, are advised to start planting their fields in late November/early December, and some plant even later than that (because they don't start digging until the rain loosens the soil, and digging with hoes takes a looooong time). So if these early rains are a premature start to the rainy season, that means many Zambian farmers are already a month behind. If the rains start early, they could also end early, and that could mean a crop-killing drought in March or even February. On the other hand, if the farmers attempt to plant their crops early and this turns out to be just a temporary fluke in the weather patterns, their crops won't make it to January. It is too risky to change the planting schedule and therefore much smarter to keep to the regular planting schedule. So essentially we have no choice but to keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best. All this is a long-winded way of saying: global warming is bad. Whether it's a massive cataclysmic event like the tsunami that hit japan or tornadoes and floods sweeping America or a subtle but noticeable and potentially harmful change in the weather, like the more-massive-than-usual amount of snowfall faced by New England last winter (followed by an unusually intense heatwave) or this early rain that could, potentially (and I don't mean to be an alarmist) be a sign of a drought, the bottom line is that our climate is changing, and at a more rapid pace than usual. We see signs of it every day. And while we can escape the cold fronts and heat waves with air conditioning and heaters, the developing world-- who rely on the current weather patterns to survive, whose daily actions are determined by the weather (no, really, they do not leave the house during rainstorms, ever), who have shaped their lives, their clothing and shelter, their sources and methods of obtaining food around the weather-- may not be so lucky. Today dawned bright and sunny, still cold and crisp but holding the promise of a sky willing to hold its bounty off a little longer. Let's hope, for the sake of these people who have taken me in, fed me and shared with me what little they have, taught me and cared for me and encouraged me and loved me, that there are nothing but clear skies ahead.

People, both Zambians and Americans, often ask me what I do in the village, and it's a difficult question to answer. Not just because what I do, primarily, is LIVE in the village, which means the list of things I "do" in the village is very long and prominently features such incredible accomplishments as sleeping, reading, and cooking on an open fire, but also because my program within Peace Corps, aptly named the LIFE program, is multi-faceted and immensely broad. LIFE is an acronym for Linking Income, Food, and Environment, which is an umbrella that covers all topics from income generation to environmental education, from food security to reforestation, from organic farming to nutrition education, from beekeeping to tree nurseries to energy efficiency to animal husbandry and so on. On top of this, the Peace Corps Volunteer experience itself is very broad and open-ended. Volunteers essentially write their own programs, tailor-made to suit the needs and interests of the village and the interests and abilities of the volunteer. So it is easy for a LIFE volunteer to branch out from the already-broad guidelines of their program and work in programs like fish farming, sanitation and health education, youth development, womens' empowerment, schoolteaching, etc. And, of course, when you work in Africa, just about every development program, directly or indirectly, relates back to the epidemic of HIV/AIDS. But at its heart the LIFE program is about improved forestry practices. Zambia currently boasts one of the highest deforestation rates of all the countries in the world. The LIFE program was originally begun in conjunction with and to support Zambia's forestry department in reforestation and environmental preservation. We build fruit tree nurseries and woodlots for food and timber, teach farmers to plant nitrogen-fixing trees in their fields (agroforestry), discourage the slash-and-burn technique called chitimene and encourage "early burning" (burning in May-June before the tree seeds begin to germinate), teach in schools about the importance of forests and ecosystems, teach farmers to keep bees so they will have a vested interest in flowering trees to increase honey production, and explore alternative fuel sources to reduce the rate of deforestation caused by firewood-harvesting and charcoal-burning. Encouraging forest conservation through the promotion of alternative fuel sources is a topic I find greatly interesting because it relates to the field of "appropriate technology"-- the idea that people at the local level should be able to use local materials and their own skills and creativity to find inventive ways to improve their own lives, rather than sitting around waiting for aid agencies to come drop expensive machines and solutions in their laps. Of course appropriate technology is not applicable to every circumstance-- certainly there are situations where people are sick or hungry and simply need to be helped as quickly as possible-- but they are also a plethora of situations where the best way to help a group of people is to empower them to take control of their own lives and solve problems themselves. This concept has led to the invention of products such as locally-built handwashing stations, maize shellers, honey presses, and ways to preserve food through drying, smoking, and refrigeration. It has also led to the invention of two popular methods of using fuel without chopping down trees: corn cob charcoal and the fuel-efficient stove. These two inventions tie into my program-- the reforestation and environmental sustainability part-- perfectly, and they're a lot of fun. A fuel-efficient stove runs on the idea that a cooking fire in a tightly-enclosed, insulated space (as opposed to an open fire) creates a concentrated supply of heat, allowing a person to cook using only deadwood found around the yard. This not only saves trees but also significantly reduces time and labor spent searching for firewood-- an especially large problem for women and young ladies who should be in school. The stove is built from a brick-clay-mud-sand-ash-straw mixture (the proportions and ingredients vary based on what's available), leaving a hollow area inside for the fire and a hole in the top and one side for wind flow. After it's built you must wait 2 weeks for the mud to dry before you can use it for cooking; the fire and heat exits the top hole and heats the pot that you place over said hole. I built my first stove-- my own-- one year ago, about 3 months after I was posted at site. I built it on a platform so that I could stand while cooking, and I was really happy with the way it turned out. I built two more stoves with two different women in October, and then in January I built a stove with a women's group. Then this past Saturday I built a large two-burner stove on a raised platform with two young teachers in my age group. It was wonderful to work with someone who showed genuine interest in the work I was doing. They were very excited by the idea of having a stove to cook on. The building process took the entire day-- the platform took most of the morning, but the stove itself only took a little over an hour to make. Carrying soil and water and mixing the mortar took a large portion of our time and energy. We had to carry water in large buckets from a river nearby, carry bricks one by one, shovel sand into bags and carry it to the building site on my bicycle, and then use shovels and hoes to mix the ingredients as thoroughly as possible, or until our arms began to hurt from the weight of the water-logged soil, whatever came first. By the time we finished we were exhausted and sweating under the weight of mud and dust, and I had dirt all over my clothes, face, and arms, but it was the type of exhaustion that comes from a long day's work, so it didn't bother me. I took pictures and exchanged hugs and smiled all the way home. It was a good day. As a general rule it is wise to only initiate programs in your village if there is interest amongst your villagers; otherwise you are likely to be working alone. However, when I first read about corn cob charcoal in a training manual I was so enamored by the idea that I ran to one of my counterparts, Mr. Chola, and began talking so excitedly about the topic that he was inspired by my enthusiasm to try and make some with me, though he no doubt thought his volunteer had gone insane. It was very nice of him to humor me. Corn cob charcoal is usually made by cutting a hole in an oil drum, filling the drum with corn cobs, lighting a fire underneath the drum, and then, once the cobs are lit, sealing the drum tightly closed with soil to start the carbonization process. My counterpart, however, was only willing to indulge my insanity to a certain point; while he's not an avid drinker himself, people in my village are very fond of the cultural practice of brewing beer and wine in oil drums, and cutting a hole in the very expensive drum to light a fire underneath struck him as ridiculous. So I agreed to try it his way, or the Zambian way: arrange the cobs in a large mound, surround the cobs with thick, fibrous soil and grass, light the cobs and burn them a little, then cover them with fibrous lumps of soil to make a large soil kiln that traps the oxygen inside and allows the cobs to carbonize. This is how charcoal from trees is made in Zambia, and Mr. Chola saw no reason why it wouldn't work with corn cobs as well. So we tried it, and I was shocked to find that it worked quite effectively: within 30 hours we had a large pile of cob-shaped charcoal. All this took place one year ago, and then the maize-harvesting season ended and the supply of cobs fell, so we decided to wait until the next harvest season to start sharing the idea with others. Which leads us to this past Friday, when we called a workshop to show people our idea of an easy, cheap, environmentally friendly(er) source of fuel-- one that would not only save trees and money and labor but would also amend the soil (the carbonization process makes the soil fertile) and reduce the amount of harmful woodsmoke people are breathing, thereby improving the village's overall health. It sounded like a win-win situation, but unfortunately attendance at the workshop was frustratingly low-- of the dozen people in attendance, 7 were family members who already lived on the compound with me and were only present because I was holding the workshop in their front yard. Still, while this sort of low turnout is discouraging, it is also quite common. And as my mother keeps telling me, making a difference in just one person's life is more than enough. So I took a deep breath and held the workshop anyway-- we built a mound of soil, lit it, and sealed it so the cobs would carbonize. Then we took charcoal cobs from another pile we had prepared the week before and began the second part of the charcoal-making process: turning the cobs into charcoal briquettes. This is done so the charcoal will last longer-- cobs on their own burn very fast. What you do is pound the charcoal into small pieces, then mix it with a glue made by soaking cassava flour in hot water and then straining it. This creates a sort of black paste, which you then pack into tin cans with the bottoms missing and pound down with a hammer. This creates strong, tightly compressed briquettes which, after they dry for a couple of days, will burn about as long as regular wood charcoal. Everyone at the workshop got the chance to make a briquette, and then we got to burn some dry ones (we boiled some water, which I used to wash up later). So to sum up: you get to dig up a lot of earth and then light a pile of corn cobs on FIRE and then ATTACK the dirtkiln with hoes to get the charcoal out and then POUND the charcoal and get your hands all dirty mixing it and then HAMMER it into little briquettes for drying. Seriously, who wouldn't want to do this all day every day? My guests ultimately agreed that the entire process is a lot of fun. I'm tempted to say getting my hands covered in gross black stuff was the highlight of the experience for me. I personally can't fathom why I didn't have hundreds of people at my workshop; CLEARLY this is the coolest thing ever, right? They must not have fully understood the awesomeness of the process. And that's my week of adventures in alternative energy sources. Who knew saving trees could be so much fun? When I biked to Serenje on Sunday I was 3 times dirtier than normal-- as I showered I found dust and bits in my hair (my hair is like velcro, so I wasn't surprised). But it's fun to get your hands (and chitenge) dirty-- that's why I'm here in Peace Corps, to spend time with nature, and if I can help nature in the process, well that's just a bonus.

In Zambia,

independence day falls on a hot day in late October, and a random July date in

the middle of Zambia's southern-hemispheric winter doesn't have much meaning or

significance here, so I think the Zambian people can be excused for

accidentally celebrating America's independence on the wrong day. And to be

more fair, it wasn't even America's independence we were celebrating-- it was a

festival for Zambian commercial farmers, complete with booths and tractors and

cricket games, but there were burgers and fries and cotton candy and fireworks,

so in the name of self-centered American patriotism we Peace Corps Volunteers

just assumed the party was for us and our home across the sea. So happy 3rd of July, everyone! I guess Zambia

was so excited about America's independence, they just had to celebrate a day early-- understandable.

The fireworks were

not the most incredible I've ever seen, but they were certainly the most

exciting: several of them went sideways instead of up, and we were very lucky

the field didn't catch fire. We all had to stay alert, just in case. It was a

chilly night-- like I said, it's winter here in July, not frostbite-cold but

certainly uncomfortable, especially in a world of uninsulated houses with grass

roofs and ill-fitted doors, where 40 degrees can feel extremely unpleasant--

but the sun set at 6pm so we were done with the fireworks by 8 and able to

retreat to our sleeping bags. It was a nice party-- good food, sports to watch,

people to talk with, etc. It was nice to get out of the village for a little

while-- in Peace Corps we get the 4th, Thanksgiving, and all Zambian holidays

off, and since the 4th and 5th are both Zambian holidays I get to have a nice

long weekend, meet with Peace Corps friends, eat good food, etc.

I'll head back to the

village tomorrow-- I have a program each Wednesday at the school working with

the students during their "farming period" to teach them organic

gardening (and hypothetically I'm also working with the school's enivironmental

education and HIV/AIDS clubs, though in 2 terms the school clubs have yet to

have a single meeting), and then Thursday I'm making compost with a farmer on

the other side of my village. I feel like getting in and out of my village gets

easier the longer I'm here-- not just because I'm a better bike rider and in

better shape, but because I’m much more integrated in my community now. A year or even 6 months ago I’d leave my

village for a day and come back feeling like I’d missed something important,

like I was out of the loop again, a visitor in a strange land; now I know my

village well enough that I can go away for a week and I’ll still be a part of

the community when I get back. I’ll have

programs and projects and meetings, and time spent outside my village is not

the interruption it once was. Life in

the village is hard for a lot of reasons, but it gets progressively easier.

I’d like to wish you

all a very happy anniversary of our nation’s independence. If it weren’t for the US I wouldn’t be here,

in this amazing place having this life-changing experience. Thank you Peace Corps, and thank you USA.

Whatever your plans

for this holiday, I hope you’ll comment and share them with me—I love hearing

from all of you, in letters or online or however you prefer, and just because I’m

far away doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of my loved ones back home. I recently (thanks dad!) got a new laptop

with skyping abilities, so if you’re interested in chatting face-to-face my

brand new skype name is elise.j.simons and I’d love to catch up with you. I hope you had a memorable 4th of

July, and 3rd and 5th and all the rest.

And I hope your

fireworks didn’t set anything on fire.

I apologize for the length of time between blog postings-- my laptop caught a virus and imploded back in February, and using the one office computer for the length of time necessary to write a blog post is depressing (the computer is all by itself in a dark, tiny office at the end of the compound, far from the living room where the majority of the population dwell with their laptops), so I haven't been able to bring myself to write. However, thanks to a generous donation from the Simons foundation (my father), I now have a brand new laptop from which to check e-mails, write blog posts, and talk to all my friends on skype (so if you're looking for a face-to-face discussion, drop me a line), so hopefully I'll be posting on this blog more often now. If not, blame YouTube. I have not been in my village much this past month-- I was in Lusaka in mid-May with the other 40+ volunteers from my intake for a week-long midterm conference, where our Peace Corps bosses had several meetings with us in groups and individually to make sure we were all still happy and healthy after a year in rural Africa. There was a medical exam and a dental exam, and lots of sitting in the waiting room waiting for the dental exam. What I remember most from the experience was Lusaka food-- pizza, subway, chocolate milkshakes, cake, pumpkin ravioli, french fries, etc. Not that I don't love nshima in the village, but it was nice to indulge a little. One evening a bunch of us were on a bus heading toward a restaurant-- 20+ young foreigners on a nice, touristy-looking bus-- when one cab driver at a gas station shouted "WELCOME TO ZAMBIA" at us, which would have been a lovely welcome if it hadn't been 16 months late. We had a lot of fun. After a week in Lusaka, a bunch of us traveled to Central Province for a luncheon to celebrate Peace Corps' 50th anniversary. We invited volunteers, staff, and local Zambian officials and counterparts. It was a lot of work to put it all together but I think the end result was rather pleasing, though between that and the trip to Lusaka we were all exhausted. The food, again, was the best part. It's a good thing I have a 20km bike ride to my site or I'd gain 50 pounds. Next I got to take a 4-day detour to my village, make a beehive with my beekeeping group, get stung 3 times around the eyes, read a book, go to a meeting at school that turned out to be canceled, and then it was back to Serenje and then Lusaka again for a vacation with my mother and my sister. They arrived Saturday evening, jetlagged and sore and without their checked luggage, which luckily we were able to retrieve completely intact by Monday. We checked out the Sunday market at Arcades for some souveniers, visited my training host family in Chongwe on Monday, and drove up to see my village on Tuesday. We rented a car and driver from Benmak and I highly recommend it, the whole process was much less stressful with someone else in charge of transit. They really enjoyed meeting both my families-- my Chongwe family, whom I haven't seen since September, were overjoyed to see us, and I got to meet two young, adorable additions to the family (3 if you count the new dog, but he had fleas and wasn't very cute). At my site they got the tour of my house, garden, watering hole, kitchen, stove, dish-drying rack, outdoor shower, pit latrine, and cat (my grandmother brought him out like some sort of sacrificial offering to the muzungus, which terrified him so much that he ran off and didn't come back before we left). My grandmother also demonstrated nshima-cooking for my mom and sister, and then we all got to try local Zambian food. It was awesome, my families were wonderful hosts and guests respectively, and I was really happy with the whole experience. The second half of our vacation involved a trip to Livingstone to see Victoria Falls. The lodge where we stayed, Fawlty Towers, was really nice-- and cheap!-- and had a pool, good food, comfy beds, etc. They also offered free bus rides to the falls every morning, so we went to the falls our first day (Friday). I had been to the falls back in December and I wasn't expecting this visit to be much different, but boy was I wrong! The waterfall was engorged with the past 6 months of violent rain storms, and the mist was so high you could see it miles away. Walking inside the park felt like walking through a rainforest during a storm-- water from the falls dripped down on us through the trees, flooded the pathways and and obscured the waterfall itself with fog that occassionally parted to reveal glimpses of the water behind. We had to rent raincoats (a dollar each) from vendors at the park entrance, and even so we got pretty drenched. It was truly a memorable experience. Who knew there was a place in Zambia where it rained during the dry season? That afternoon we went on a game drive in Mosi-oa-tunya National Park. We saw giraffes, elephants, wildebeast, impala, waterbuck, warthogs, and several birds. The real highlight, however, was getting out of the vehicle and following one of the full-time "rhino guards" to see the oldest of the only 7 white rhinos remaining in Zambia. We got to stand pretty close to him-- he was busy eating and not much interested in us-- and I took lots of pictures (which were on Emily's camera, so I'll have to get the pictures back from her). He looked a bit like an elephant mated with a warthog. Really cool that we got to get so close to him! On Saturday Emily and I took a canoe trip on the Zambezi and saw some hippos, and then in the evening Mom joined us to watch the sunset on the water and we got to see some crocodiles, hippos, and birds. Sunday we had a quiet final day, walked around Livingstone, and bought a few souveniers. It was sad and painful to leave them yesterday morning-- and not just because I was looking at 12+ hours on a bus from Livingstone to Serenje. I already miss them both and I really enjoyed their visit. So that's May in a nutshell. Rainy season has ended, as I mentioned, and harvest season has begun. It is also "cold" season-- never lower than 40 degrees, but that feels pretty cold in an uninsulated house. This is not peak work-in-the-fields season, so hypothetically people will be more available to work with me, but of course they'll also be less interested in working because it's (relatively) cold and dark. So we'll see-- I'm heading back to the village now, ready to get back into the swing of things. I'll write again soon. Wish me luck!

A year and a week ago today, I was cold, stressed, and panicked. The cold was a normal consequence of living in New England in February; the panicked was because I couldn’t strike the right weight balance between my two checked bags and my carry-on and my stupid ipod wouldn’t load the two years worth of music and movies and tv shows I was attempting to bring with me; the stressed was because, well, what else would you feel when embarking on a two-year commitment to live in a foreign country?

Last weekend I talked to my mother on the one-year anniversary of speaking to her in person. On a Saturday afternoon one year ago she put me on a bus in Portland and stood outside the tinted windows waving and trying to guess what seat I was in (I eventually pushed my hand to the window to give her smile a general direction) until the bus pulled out of the station. A year ago Sunday I was eating Valentine’s Day brunch with my grandparents and extended family; a year ago Monday I was so nervous I lost my first breakfast and had to eat a second one (waffles. They were really good. Thanks, Dad). A year ago Tuesday I said good-bye to my college roommate (who just happens to live in Philly where we had staging), and with her the last familiar remnants of my American life, and gave her the winter jacket I had been wearing, as I wouldn’t be needing it where I was going.

A year ago Thursday I was exhausted, overheated, out-of-shape and carrying my weight in luggage, staring at the bright African sunlight outside the international airport in Lusaka, Zambia. I had been awake (mostly) since Tuesday morning. My arms were sore from the first round of vaccinations. My back was sore from the midnight bus ride to JFK, the hours-long wait in the terminal, and the excruciatingly long plane ride to South Africa (about 12 hours, but when you add in the time difference it’s nearly an entire day). That afternoon I had my first of many lessons in patience: due to a miscommunication, our welcoming committee was a few hours late, so we just sat, 48 young Americans not quite dressed for the climate surrounded by a ridiculously large amount of luggage, exhausted and still essentially strangers (we had only know each other a couple days, though it felt much longer), waiting. It was a beautiful sunny day; across from the shaded sidewalk where we stood, a large billboard loomed over a manicured lawn, announcing that Africa’s time was coming: “let’s show the world what we can do!”

Today, a year later, the weather is warm— these days I put on a fleece jacket in 50-degree weather and try to remember what real cold, what snow, feels like. Today if I had to pack a bag for a two-year adventure it would be half as heavy as the one I packed a year ago, and even if it wasn’t my bike-and-garden-worn body would be much more equipped to carry it. Today I am shocked at marvels such as being able to print a document from a computer in a different room (seriously, I just did this. The computer and the printer were on different sides of the compound. It’s amazing. Why didn’t I notice how cool this was when I did it all the time in college and high school?), and when my little laptop computer inexplicably stopped working yesterday it barely fazed me (I mean, it’s frustrating, but as we say in Zambia, “at least there’s still nshima”).

In the past year I have learned to speak a foreign language; I have learned to ride a bike (yes, I’m 24, shut up); I’ve planted and grown vegetables, cash crops, and trees; taught farmers to build a compost pile; opened a beehive without getting stung; ridden an elephant and pet a lion in the same day; walked on the rim of the biggest waterfall in the world; eaten a caterpillar; lost over 10 kilos; learned to use the metric system; learned to make a fire in a woodstove; and eaten mangoes and guavas fresh off of trees. It has been an absolutely awesome journey, full of adventure, self-discovery, frustration, challenges, and life lessons. If I could talk to my one-year-younger self, I’d tell her this: take a deep breath. Don’t worry about the packing or the ipod. This isn’t the end of the world; on the contrary, it’s the beginning.

Here’s to a second year in Zambia as crazy and surprising and difficult and wonderful as the first. Cheers!

Happy new year everyone! It’s been a great year for me, as I hope it has been for you. This past month I have been very busy-- so much to write about and so little time to write it.

The first half of the month planting season was in full swing, so I was busy in my village planting my garden and working with various farmers in their fields. I distributed legume seeds to help crops with varying levels of success; no one likes change, and it takes a very special type of farmer to try new things or accept strange ideas. The same can be said for the basin-digging method promoted by the Zambian government: it saves time and labor and increases yield, but many farmers find it stressful and challenging to use this new, more mathematical and methodical style of tilling. They aren’t used to having to measure their fields and basin spacings, they’re used to just digging the whole field in one fell swoop, which is a lot of labor for them and increases erosion and weed germination. Some farmers were so tired from over-digging their other fields that they didn’t want to spend much time practicing the simpler digging method with me. As for the legumes: intercropping legumes with cash crops like maize helps increase nitrogen levels in the soil and increase the overall health of the land and the plants, but very few people are familiar with these plants and trees and are reluctant to plant them in case they do so incorrectly and harm their cash crops, their livelihood, the thing on which their entire family depends. I did manage to get a few farmers on board, and I’ve made it a goal to spend this next year talking to more farmers to prepare for the next planting season.

Around mid-December I bid farewell to my village and traveled by bus (about 12-14 hours) to Chipata in Eastern Province to attend a workshop on appropriate technologies run by an MIT program called D-Lab. The workshop lasted only 4 days; I could have happily worked for longer, especially since the shortness of the workshop meant many of our projects were left unfinished. Some of our projects included maize shellers, fuel-efficient stoves, corn cob charcoal, hand washers, and mango pickers, juicers, and slicers. While the technology itself was cool-- effective but still simple enough to be easily accessible to villagers-- what was more important was the inventive mindset we were practicing. In a country where schools teach through route memorization and standardized tests, it’s great to give creative minds an opportunity to think outside the box, to encourage them to find solutions to problems and not wait for the solution to be dropped into their laps. By thinking creatively, our Zambian counterparts may invent even better contraptions than the ones that already exist. My own counterpart started out asking me what we were doing and how we were doing it, but by the end of the workshop he had stopped following my lead and he was bossing me around. ;-)

After Chipata I returned to Lusaka and then traveled south to spend the holidays in Livingstone. On Christmas Eve I crossed the border into Botswana and entered Chobe National Park, the Elephant Capital of the World. We went on a boat tour and saw elephants swimming right by us, which was pretty cool. We also saw a leopard out in broad daylight, surprisingly. We spent the night in the camp, sleeping in huge canvas tents and drinking wine at table-clothed tables. It was an interesting merger of English colonial influence and the African bush-- it was a very classy sort of camping experience. I just hoped Santa didn’t get mauled by lions on his way through our camp…

Christmas day was more elephants and some lions, plus Christmas brunch in the camp with mimosas. In the afternoon it rained so hard it hailed and I got soaked! Despite the soaking and the lack of wrapped gifts or snow or pine trees, it was still a really great way to spend Christmas.

Christmas day we returned to Livingstone and stayed through the new year. I got to ride an elephant and pet a lion-- that was quite an eventful day! The elephants were part of an elephant sanctuary; the lions were young cubs raised in captivity but taught to follow their instincts so they could one day be reintegrated into the wild. The lion program faces a strange paradox: funding for the program comes from tourists wanting to walk with and pet the lions, but the presence of the tourists must make the lions used to people and slightly more tame, which it against the intent of the program. So the tourist industry helps and hinders the program’s ambitions simultaneously.

On new years ever I visited Victoria Falls. It is truly a site to behold. A bunch of us walked along the top of the falls to a pool where we could look down over the edge to where the water fell into mist. It sounds dangerous but was actually pretty safe-- the current was not very strong, so it was a bit like wading through water back home, except if you fell and didn’t get back up right away you might be swept the 50 ft. downriver and over the edge. The pool itself was right at the edge of the falls, so that was quite a sight to see. Overall it was an invigorating experience; a great way to start the new year! That evening I went on a sunset cruise and watched the African sun set over the last day of the year. Good-bye 2010, it’s been real.

So that’s my very busy December in a nutshell. While I missed being in my village, it was nice to get out for awhile and see other things. I feel rejuvenated, energized, ready to go. Of course I also feel sick because I spent 10 days sharing a hostel room with 16 other germ-carrying people, one of whom stole my cell phone, but I’m not gonna let this cold bring me down. I think 2011 is going to be a very good year.

My wireless won’t hook up.

This is a familiar problem in an unfamiliar time and place. It’s something I came to expect in college, huddled in one of the campus’ brightly-colored common rooms, fighting over 2,000 other students for valuable airspace before the onset of exams (half of us trying to do actual last-minute work, the rest simply refreshing facebook for the gazillionth time in a rush of desperate escapism), and it’s a familiar sort of general technologically-induced frustration I learned to cope with at an early age, huddled around a massive beige desktop in a closet-turned-computer-room and begging the antiquated AOL phone line to open up and let me in. Despite the impressive and constant leaps and bounds of technological progress, we all still seem to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to get the stuff to actually work in the first place.

But this is a frustration I have been mostly liberated from these last 8 months. These days my biggest technological concerns involve finding enough dry wood (and it is raining nearly every day now) to light my woodstove and keeping my glass-coke-bottle-candle-holders from being knocked over by the cat. When I visited the Peace Corps Provincial House in Serenje in June, my first time there since being dropped off in front of a mudhut at the end of April, my fellow volunteers and I made a big joke of fawning over the oven and jumping in surprise at the brightening of a light bulb. Carrying nothing but a camera, ipod, flashlight, cell phone, and portable solar panel with me into the bush, I have been living relatively tech-free…by American standards, at least.

Don’t think this means I’ve been free from technical frustrations-- the cell phone, bought my first day in Lusaka, did not successfully connect to the internet like it was supposed to until nearly two months and thousands of failed attempts later (and unproductive phone calls to the Zambian network administrators), and while my ipod has been my saving grace, all the earphones I brought have broken, and I am currently reduced to holding a too-small plug at the right angle in the too-large socket so I can hear out of the left side of my last set of partially-working earphones that aren’t intended for an ipod at all-- but mostly my goal of freeing myself from my technological addiction has been successful.

Now, however, circumstances have changed. When my father and stepmother departed from Serenje in September, they left me a portable DVD player and very small, almost-no-memory e-series computer. And to make matters more bizarrely American, the provincial house finally (after a typical 6 month delay-- typical of Zambia, technological development in general, and technological development in Zambia) got a wireless internet satellite dish installed this week.

It couldn’t have arrived a moment too soon; this week is provincials, a Peace Corps general meeting that takes place twice per year. This is one of Central Province’s few opportunities to all be together at the same time, and it is also an opportunity to meet a fresh intake of new volunteers (“new” being relative-- they arrived in July and were posted in their villages in September). So, of course, being the 21st century Americans we are, we celebrated our newfound social opportunities by immediately staking out outlets and plugging in our computers. Oh the joys of wireless internet-- for a minute, sitting in a grungy room surrounded by unwashed 20-somethings and the sound of clacking keys, I felt like I was back in college. Then the power flickered off for 15 minutes and I remembered exactly where I was.

But while other people seem to have managed, despite the intermittent flickering of network power, to make some semblance of an internet connection, I am having some difficulty. One minute the little doo-hickey will say it’s working, and then the thingamajig won’t load and the whatsit says it can’t find the server. I suppose it’s partially due to the number of people trying to connect at once-- the line must be very busy right now-- and partially due to me not knowing this computer very well yet-- I did just get it two months ago, and haven’t had very many chances to use it since I don’t have electricity.

So I’m basically sitting at the dining room table fiddling around with my new computer-- turns out I have skype, which could be great if I can get enough internet connection to set it up and a strong enough connection to actually use it. Also, this computer has spider solitaire, which may be the only advantage of getting a PC instead of a Mac. I have a few more pictures from my safari trip, which I’ll post here eventually, though that means posting will take an eon. They’re very pretty-- South Luangwa is a beautiful place, beautiful animals, beautiful trees, beautiful skies. The sky everywhere in Zambia is amazing, actually, and if the moon is more than ¼ full it illuminates the entire landscape with silver light.

The week so far has been interesting-- in addition to the traditional meetings, we’ve also had a small appropriate technology workshop, where we’ve been finding creative (and cheap) ways to encourage health, fuel efficiency, and food security. We built a stove, the smoke from which feeds a meat smoker, and learned to make charcoal from corn cobs, which is a good idea because Zambians use a lot of corn to make nshima, their favorite staple food. But I think the real excitement will be Thanksgiving dinner-- we have two live turkeys, going to slaughter and cook them ourselves, good times. Peace Corps is hard core. We unfortunately could not find a pumpkin-- they’re out of season-- but I will be spending a good deal of quality time cutting apples for pies tonight!

Not much more to report-- I’m going to attempt a Zambian x-mas card this year, so if you think you’re entitled to one make sure I have your address right. One more good thing about Zambia: not too many x-mas carols on the radio starting this Friday. Not that I’ll notice, since my radio doesn’t get reception at my site…

UPDATE: Figured it out, I had accidentally mistyped the password when signing in, which begs the question of why the network claimed I had signed in correctly…anyway, good news, now I can post this!

Happy Zambian Independence Day!

Well, actually, the day itself was October 24, about 2 weeks ago, but unfortunately I was sick last week and wasn’t able to write about it until today. I celebrated my host nation’s 46th year of independence with a little trip to Northern Province.

In fact, I ended up seeing a little bit more of Northern Province than expected-- my friend Allison and I were traveling together, got a nice ride in a Tanzanian freight truck, but no one told us that we had to turn at Mpika to get to Kasama so we ended up going several hours in the wrong direction on a bumpy road full of car-sized potholes. Oops. We were eventually redirected by a lovely lady selling bananas at a police security checkpoint, and we managed to get a ride with a nice group coming from Tanzania…until they hit a pothole and busted two tires. Oops. Luckily we got another hitch relatively quickly, and this guy was going all the way to Kasama! Well, that was his original plan…until he got a call from a work colleague and discovered he was needed in Mpika for the night. By this time Allison and I were worried as well as exhausted and stressed-- was this guy going to abandon us in a strange city in Africa at night, just two little white girls? Nope-- he spent an hour in Mpika with us trying to get us a hitch (it was nighttime and most of the cars had left the area by this point) and then, when no alternative ride was forthcoming, he sighed, got back in his car, and drove us to Kasama. Because sometimes people really do come through for each other. Thank you Mr. Nice Guy, wherever you are.

The trip turned out to be worth the Ride Through Hell. The Peace Corps office in Northern Province is a cool place-- they have a bright yellow-orange kitchen, which I love, but apparently they’re planning to paint it a different color, which is too bad-- and it was great to see my Northern Peace Corps buddies again! We took a trip to Chishimba Falls-- there were more than 20 of us, don’t know how we all fit into that little bus but we managed it. The falls were absolutely beautiful, and I got right down on the rocks at the bottom of it-- really cool. It was nice to go swimming since it’s been so hot here, and the view was great.

From there we took a bus up north to Lang Tanganyika, which I believe is the longest and deepest lake in Africa, or something. We took a boat to a beach resort where we set up camp-- it was really beautiful, and the lake looked like a real ocean. I guess Zambia isn’t as landlocked as I thought it was. I may have to rethink the title of this blog. Here’s the link: http://www.isangabay.com/ anybody jealous? It was fun camping out on a beach. We took a really invigorating hike to Kalambo Falls, the second-tallest waterfall in Africa. It was quite a trek but I was surprised at my own endurance level-- Zambia has been good for me, I guess. And we’re entering mango season. Nothing like eating mangoes on the beach!

Got safely back to site with only a minor case of food poisoning. Ick. It was a great little vacation-- I loved seeing more of Zambia, it’s so beautiful and awesome here!

Last week on Tuesday it rained for the first time since April-- I’ve never gone so long without rain before, it was strange. It was a really great storm-- I’m sure I’ll get sick of rain quickly, but for now I’m enjoying it. It’s also nice because since the rains started it’s cooled off a little-- I can now actually leave my hut in the middle of the day, which is great. Unfortunately this also means all the wildlife is waking up-- the other night a tarantula waltzed in to my hut! Yikes! Rainy season here I come!

It’s always a bizarre experience to leave your village. First of all, in my case, the process begins with a grueling 2-3 hour bike ride through sand and over rivers and up mountains, so by the time I arrive in the relatively urban town of Serenje I am tired, dirty, and sweaty in addition to the culture shock of re-encountering electricity and indoor plumbing. In Serenje, which is the location of the Peace Corps Provincial Office in addition to being the market where I do all my grocery shopping, I find a very different world from the quiet peace of my village. Many more people speak much more English (and quite a few don’t speak much Bemba, having moved to Serenje from one of the other tribal regions of the country), it is possible to buy things like cornflakes, green beans, and cheese (and refrigerate it) whereas in the village you’re limited to oil and sugar (and occasionally bananas), and your bathroom experience involves sitting instead of squatting. But stranger than all of this is the experience of leaving Serenje for a larger city like Lusaka or a vacation resort like South Luangwa, especially when you are going there to meet family visiting from America.

It is 5 hours direct from Serenje to Lusaka, but of course the journey is made much longer by traffic, rest stops, government checkpoints, and the overall fluidic pace of public transportation. I left Serenje at 7:30am and walked to the Serenje Junction at the Great North Road, where for only $12USD I was able to pay for a ride on a little blue bus from point A to point B. Unfortunately it took some time to get started, and then we made several stops in the major towns on the way south, including a bus change in Kabwe (which actually involved several bus changes-- the drivers couldn’t decide who was going to Lusaka and who wasn’t, I guess-- so I arrived in Lusaka a little after 4pm, after 8+ hours on a bus. I spent most of the time writing letters and watching the purple-blossomed Jacaranda trees, which have just come in to bloom.

Lusaka is not by any means the tourist capital of Zambia. In fact, before this trip I didn’t know there were hotels in Lusaka outside the $20USD price range. The city is as loud and dirty as any other modern city, though it has a markedly large number of roundabouts, and its main draw to me is the shopping center complete with fast food, a grocery store, and a movie theater. The people are relatively friendly, and when they put an arm around your shoulder 9 times out of 10 they are actually not going for your purse (though I kept my hand on mine anyway, just in case). I felt overwhelmed by the noise and activity but didn’t feel out of my element until I arrived at the hotel my father and stepmother had reserved just after sunset. At this point I had been traveling the entire day and had biked from my village the day before, so I was dirty and sweaty and gross, and walking into this hotel was like entering a completely different universe. It was like a quiet oasis from the bustle of the city, but nothing like the quiet of my village. This was the quiet of cleanliness and organized luxury. Desperate to fit in, I pasted on the biggest, most Zambian smile I could muster, checked in while throwing around a couple of Bemba terms to distract from my rugged village appearance, and rushed upstairs where I spent over an hour in the shower-- most of that time was spent scrubbing just my feet. Turns out they aren’t as tan as I thought they were. When Dad and Laurie finally arrived, I was about as clean as I had been when I left them 7 months ago, or at least the cleanest I’d been since February.

The hotel was so luxurious it didn’t seem to know it was located in a “developing“ country-- the food was excellent, the beds were pristine and comfortable, the shower always had hot water and the toilet flushed with minimal fuss, all the staff were friendly and helpful, and there were real live miniature crocodiles in the pond by the restaurant, no joke. 4 of them and a little baby one, all sunning themselves like statues and moving only to go for a swim. My father was more interested in the vibrant yellow weavers in the process of building their nests in the tall grass, but either way it was quite a show at breakfast. It felt a bit ridiculous to be here after being in my village-- this sharp an economic imbalance within one country is almost painfully ludicrous, though unfortunately not at all uncommon. The good news is a place like this, and the tourist industry in general, creates jobs for Zambians and helps the economy of the entire country. So you can have a great vacation and donate money to a country that needs it at the same time (though I doubt that will fly on your tax forms). I personally must have looked a right fool saying things like “wow, placemats and cloth napkins, that’s so cute” and “look Dad, the water faucet works, isn’t that awesome?” I guess Zambia has made me easy to please, which must be a good thing.

Dad, Laurie, and I spent two full days in Lusaka. On Sunday we went to the Arcades Shopping Center where the weekly Sunday market was in full swing, selling overpriced but often lovely crafts to tourists. Again, it’s hard to feel bad about spending money when it goes directly to support a Zambian craftsman/woman and his/her family. I bought lots of stuff, mostly gifts for Dad and Laurie to carry home for me, but also a lovely stone-carved leopard for myself. Since I had just been in Lusaka in August for IST, I didn’t go crazy buying stuff as I normally would have-- in August I bought a stone open-mouthed hippo, a red tie-dye dress, and a patchwork purse for myself (the last was from a woman who calls me her daughter because she lives in Chongwe where I had my training back in March. Apparently that’s all it takes to be adopted in this country). In addition to the stuff I bought in Lusaka I also got a bunch of gifts Dad and Laurie brought me from various relatives, including books, games, stationary, wind-up flashlights (my old one got stolen back in July-- oops), bathing suits, DVDs and a player, and a very small laptop. It was a bit like Christmas.

But the best Christmas gift of all came on Monday, and you can’t put a price on it (well, the company we rented the car from did, but that’s a different thing). The three of us drove east to Chongwe, about 45 minutes outside of Lusaka, and visited my host family from training. I had not heard from them in months and had been trying to contact them to plan a visit, and right at noon on Monday they called me and told me to bring my family over! It was great to be back in my red-earthed home, to see my Bamaayo and Bataata and sisters (who all ran to hug me) and brothers, my old one-room hut which is now housing another Peace Corps Volunteer from the new intake, and then it was bizarre to turn around and see Dad and Laurie standing there with me. Worlds merging. They had their first taste of nshima, the cornmeal-based staple food of Zambia, and got to see their first Zambian village. I tried for the first of many times to teach them some Bemba, but without much luck-- Dad was just getting the hang of “good morning” on his last day here. Luckily my Chongwe family speaks mostly Nyanja anyway, so we were all in the same boat.Here is a picture of me, my American father, and my Zambian mother. Thanks for the laptop so I can upload pictures, Mom!

The majority of our vacation was spent in South Luangwa National Park in a place called Flatdogs (another word for crocodiles). We went on 8 4-hour safari drives-- perhaps more than was necessary since we were exhausted by the end, but I don’t know which ride I would take back as they were all fantastic. Flatdogs itself was lovely, with great people and beautiful chalets and tents and a pool and a restaurant with great food (and not just by my standards-- the parents approved as well, especially during dessert) and a place you could sit and watch hippos lounge in the water. We were so close to the park boundary we had night guards to make sure no animals caused trouble in camp (well actually it would be the people who caused the trouble, but they probably wouldn’t be considered the guilty party), and one day I was woken from a midday nap (it was too hot to do anything midday, so our drives were in the mornings and evenings) by a bunch of baboons and monkeys patrolling the grounds outside my window. Elephants, giraffes, and hippos were also known to wander through, and one herd of elephants spent the afternoon at the restaurant when their baby decided that would be a good time and place for a nap. Talk about non-interference parenting.

Our tour guide, a Zambian man named Malama, was also fantastic, informative and knowledgeable and unbelievably adept at finding animals-- in the evenings we went on night drives (which I think are only allowed in Zambian parks) and he could spot a crocodile hidden in the grass several meters away while driving on treacherous roads. We got within 15 ft. of a pack of napping lions, spent an entire evening hunting for leopards (picture safari of course, not armed safari), saw another lion climb a tree and nearly witnessed a stand-off between some lions and hyenas over a dead buffalo (it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as in The Lion King), got very close to several giraffes and zebras, spent 20 minutes waiting for a huge herd of buffalo to cross the road, and got so into the bird watching (and it isn’t even peak bird season yet) that Dad eventually caved and bought a Southern Africa Bird Book. We were joined on most of our drives by a lovely couple from California, and the five of us had great fun playing the best version of “I Spy” possible-- the constant, informal, exciting, rewarding, entertaining, educational kind. On our last morning we had a walking tour-- it’s actually easier to walk in the park than in my village because there are fewer tree roots and the hippos clear very good paths-- and we got very close to some birds, zebras, and ant lions (they build ant traps like craters in the sand). But far and away the best part about the safari was the elephants. I love elephants, love to spot them emerging from the brush, to sit and watch them eat or sleep or bathe or walk, to take pictures of them or just look at them. The worst thing is an angry elephant charging-- more destructive than just about anything, and elephants actually cause multiple deaths per year-- but an elephant at peace is more peaceful than any other animal except perhaps a giraffe. I may have to go on safari again just for the elephants.

Traveling from South Luangwa to Serenje and then to my village was a long, stressful, painful process. My becoming very nauseous on the small plane from South Luangwa to Lusaka didn’t help matters, and I very nearly lost my cool before we finally checked in at the Hotel Zen-- well, actually, it was a hotel in Kabwe called Tuskers, but it was very relaxing so I‘m renaming it. We proceeded to Serenje on Monday and visited my favorite lunch spot, the town market, and a few small stores. It was interesting to see these places-- the parts of Africa I know best-- through the eyes of newcomers. Things that never fazed me, like live goats or chickens tied to the back rack of a one-gear bicycle or bags of charcoal and piles upon piles of tomatoes being sold by brightly dressed women on the side of the road, were of great interest to them. We drove to my village (only got lost twice-- the car route is different from the bike route so I haven’t been on it much) but I didn’t really feel like I had returned home at all because I was seeing old familiar things for the first time. Even my own Bemba language skills and ability to banter with my neighbors seemed less like a familiar routine and more like a successful attempt to impress my guests.

My village family generously provided my parents with beer (which I had to pay for) and a live chicken-- which they somehow expected could be killed, dressed, cooked, and eaten on the road to Lusaka. Instead my grandmother cooked it with nshima for them. She also prepared a warm Zambian bucket bath for them (and for me-- yay!). We walked around, visited a few people, rested during the heat of the day, saw the school and the place where I go to get cell phone reception, and witnessed a great deal of bush burning-- it is much better for the environment (and safer) to do annual burning/land clearing early in the year, like in May/June, but to protect the July-harvested crops (and provide new fresh leaves to increase caterpillar growth for the caterpillar-harvesting season in October-November) most people here let their forests burn in September. It is beautiful during and devastating after, a black charred landscape full of dead leaves on blackened trees, though pink and purple flowers grow out of the ashes almost instantly. Though I would like them to see my village in greener seasons, I think they really enjoyed their stay.

Unfortunately they were only able to stay two nights and one day in my village before I helped them navigate the rental car back to Serenje. They left me here at the Central Province Peace Corps House/Office in Serenje and proceeded down the Great North Road to Lusaka. From there they will travel to Livingstone and Victoria Falls and then home. I will be here, slowly preparing myself to hop on my bike and return to my village, readjust to life there and become accustomed again to the pace of life and lack of electricity. It’s always a bizarre experience to return to your village

Last night I had a dream. I was sitting on my home-sewn-cushioned couch in my little red-brick mudhut, listening to the wind shift the black plastic lining of my thatched roof, when suddenly a big white Peace Corps cruiser pulls up, tells me to pack up my shit because my site has been deemed "innappropriate" and I have been reassigned. The cruiser drops me off in front of a concrete mansion, tin roof, polished cement floors, electricity, running water, and an indoor kitchen with a stove and refrigerator. The soil around my house is perfect, deep and black with plenty of water, and I already have a massive, well-tended garden in my backyard. All my neighbors have kitchen gardens, and not five minutes away is a wide, flat, well-paved road lined by large shops and houses. A few of my Peace Corps friends are there, working in the state-of-the-art, well-attended school or the fully-stocked clinic. My neighbors speak perfect English and know all there is to know about farming, beekeeping, animal husbandry, fish farming, and agroforestry. Everything looks perfect, and by the end of it all my dream-self is in tears.

Two weeks ago I left my village for a two-week In-Service Training Workshop in Lusaka, and I'll admit I was thrilled to get away for awhile. I spent time with American friends, ate out almost every night, saw my first movie in 6 months (Inception-- wow, now that's a movie. Unbelieveable), ate chocolate cake and drank cold beer. In spite of these luxuries I found that I missed my simple village life. Though I love my village 98% of the time, at the beginning of August the stress got so bad that I seriously considered going home for the first time since I arrived in February. For a brief period I wasn't sure I'd be able to bring myself to go back at all. After two weeks of getting as close to a taste of home as I could without leaving the country, I was not only relieved to return to Serenje but relieved to find that I was relieved. It feels good to once again have confidence in myself and what I am doing-- taking two weeks to recharge in Lusaka was, it turns out, exactly what I needed. I woke up from the above nightmare this morning with a renewed sense that I am, for now at least, exactly where I am supposed to be.

It isn't easy to live in a place and situation so different from the one I am used to. When I was sick at the end of July (and yes, I have lost a lot of weight, thank you) I couldn't even find the energy to feed myself because I didn't have the strength to fetch water or light my brazier, and when I needed to call the Peace Corps Medical Officer I practically had to crawl to cell phone service (I have found a second place in my village where I can access the network-- now I get to choose between walking half an hour to cross a huge river and climb a tiny hill or walking 15 minutes (and chatting with the neighbors for 10) to cross a small river and climb a very tall and steep hill). Luckily I had neighbors to help me cook, clean, etc.-- but even that lack of self-sufficiency is unfamiliar. (I am fully healed, btw-- have to be more careful what I eat!) For me, just surviving is a challenge most days.

At the same time, I can't help but be grateful to the US government for providing me with an opportunity to live so far outside my comfort zone. Life shouldn't always be easy. In the last three months I have learned to light a charcoal brazier, start a fire (ok, that one still gives me trouble, but I have had some successes!), wash laundry and dishes by hand, ask for directions in a foreign language, kill household pests (ding dong the rat is dead), and ride a bike. I taught a Zambian woman to bake a cake, learned from a Zambian woman how to crochet, worked with a farmer to build a beehive, and helped a teacher hold an HIV-education workshop at a school. This certainly isn't the most fun adventure I could be on, but I definitely think its the most interesting.

My two-week Lusaka workshop marked the end of my community entry period. From now on I'm expected to not just observe but participate in the world around me. I have learned more about beekeeping, animal husbandry, tree propogation, and gardening, and am returning to my village today with blisters on my hands, dirt on my clothes, and lots of ideas in my head. It's time for me to get to work. I think I'm ready.

Dear Everyone,

I am sorry to have neglected you so long. I have not had access to a computer since the end of April-- so much has happened since then! I was officially sworn-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer on the 23rd; I wore a Zambian-made dress suit, white and brown with drums and drummers on it, and I gave a small speech in Bemba. It was sad saying good-bye to my host family, they have been so good to me, but I was also excited to embark on this next adventure. From there it was several days of intense shopping-- I've never bought so much in such a short period, not even while I was packing to come here! It was a real whirlwind experience, but I arrived safely in my village the last Tuesday in April.

Since then I have had various small adventures, like learning to light a charcoal brazier, or biking 20k to meet the chief (who was not at home, so I biked another 20k back...), or trying to cook banana bread on a brazier (should have greased the pot...whoops...), or tearing apart my mattress (with a butcher's knife...oh boy) to make it fit the bed (my predecessor tore apart the bed to make it fit the bedroom). Last week was my village's annual agricultural show, there were about 6 stands each displaying various crops (and various varieties of maize), except for the student stall, where the school HIV coordinator and I put out some HIV-education pamphlets. There was much drinking and dancing and merrymaking-- it was a great party! And it's banana season, so I stocked up. Yum.

I don't have cell phone service at my site-- I have to walk 1/2 an hour and cross an intimidating bridge over a roaring river to get it-- and the Boma (marketplace) is a 2-hour bike ride away, so I am quite isolated here. I like it, though-- it is very peaceful. Each night I sit with my neighbors around their fire and practice talking to them in Bemba. I have visited many people and farms and am getting to know my community very well. So far things are going great.

I am sorry this post is rather short-- internet is as expensive as it is rare here-- but I'd be happy to send you more details of my life here in Zambia! You can write me at my new Serenje address:

Elise Simons/PCV

PO Box 850010

Serenje, Zambia

Signing off for now-- Mushale bwino! (Remain well!)

Hello everyone! I am writing you from an internet cafe in a brightly-colored restaurant in an urban shopping center in Lusaka. I came here today to buy enough food to survive the week in Central Province, where I will be visiting the site that I will call my home for the next two years. I am very, very excited! I will be in a village 20k from the Boma (town center), and apparently I will have a challenging bike ride because it's a hilly area. But that's all right, I haven't fallen off my bike lately (knock on wood) so I'm sure I'll be fine. I have just finished week 5 of my 9-week pre-service training period. Yesterday I had my second Bemba oral language test, and I didn't do too shabby on it (though I didn't do as well as the first one-- they're getting harder!). I really enjoy Bemba and am learning fast; I am also learning a lot about agroforestry, conservation farming, and environmental education, and I can't wait to get to my site and figure out what projects I will be working on. I am getting really excited to move in to my mud hut and start my life here, but I am also sad that pre-service training is going by so fast; I will really miss my fellow trainees, some of whom are going to the far reaches of the country and I will only see them a couple of times a year, and I am sad to leave my sweet little one-room house in the village with my host family. I have told my host mother I will visit her when I am a volunteer; I just hope I am given the opportunity to keep that promise.

I have had some requests to post pictures online for all of you; I hope to be able to share my experience with you visually soon, but right now it's not an option. I have internet access but would need a bigger, faster server to post pictures. But I am taking lots of pictures, so hopefully someday soon I will be able to post them!

I'm almost out of time here so I'm going to sign off. Wish me luck on my site visit! Thanks for all your support and encouragement and nice comments, they mean a lot to me!

Hello everyone! Mwashabukeni mukwai! I can't talk long, I am at an internet cafe and there is a long line of people waiting to take my spot. Just wanted you all to know that I'm alive! I've been spending my 9-week pre-service training period in a small village outside Lusaka-- I have my own one-room mud hut with a thatched roof, my own pit latrine, and my own bathing shelter. My host mother and my language trainer are both teaching me to speak Bemba, one of the 7 or so languages spoken in Zambia. It's hard work but I think I'm getting the hang of it! I finally got my phone hooked up with internet access today (so y'all can send e-mails if you want), and I went grocery shopping (and bought cookies and nutella and chocolate, the essentials of life), so I feel a little closer to home today, though to be honest I've really been enjoying the quiet life of a rural Zambian. I can see loads more stars at night (when it stops raining) including Orion, who is resting on his side down here in the southern hemisphere. I ride my bike to and from training every day, and fall off every other day (but luckily it's rude to show much leg in public in Zambia, so covering up the bruises isn't much of a problem). I really like Zambia, and my fellow trainees are awesome-- we have a lot of fun together. This experience is intense and life-changing already, and I've barely gotten started. Let the adventure begin!

Hope to write you all again soon!

In 24 hours (yikes!), assuming everything goes according to plan, I will have already checked into my hotel in Philadelphia and will probably be out and about, meeting other PC volunteers who are in my group (there are 53 of us. We'll all be at the same staging event, on the same looooooong flight, and in the same 9-week(ish) training class). I'm very excited to meet everyone in person (I've met a few online already-- ah, the miracle of the internet).

Yesterday I said good-bye to my mother, my stepfather, my cat, and my dog before boarding the bus from Portland, ME to Boston, MA (a bus I have taken many, many, many times before, so it was a familiar and comforting ride) with my rolling suitcase, frame backpack, and rolling carry-on suitcase (final weights: 44 lbs, 28 lbs, and 22 lbs. Score!). It was a bit emotional, but I felt better by the time I arrived in Boston-- there's nothing like 2 hours on a bus to calm your nerves. I'm glad I got those good-byes and the packing out of the way yesterday so I could have today to relax, prepare, and make absolutely certain that I have everything I need (passport, wallet, and Peace Corps paperwork-- everything else I can buy when I get there, though I'd rather just remember to bring it in the first place, obviously).

Today I had a brunch at my grandparents' house with my father, stepmother, aunt, uncle, and cousin. We had a great time, and not just because the food was awesome (which it was). Everyone had lots of questions, lots of suggestions, and lots of hugs. The big question that I was asked (and I've been getting this question a lot) was how regularly I'd be able to keep in touch with friends and family from Zambia, so I've decided to put that information here. Here are the ways in which you can reach me (or I can reach you) while I am in Zambia:

1) Snail Mail. Or as I like to call it, the Pony Express. This is a nice old-fashioned way to keep in touch, and I'd love to be your pen pal. However, keep in mind that the mail service in Africa is not as reliable as it is in the US. Mail often gets lost (especially if it's bulky or looks like it might contain valuables). Be sure to number your letters so I'll know if I've missed one you sent, and I'll do the same. Don't panic if you don't get a letter from me for awhile (Mom--this sentence is for you). It happens. Mail gets lost, mail sits in rooms for awhile before finally getting mailed, and mail might not get written at all for a time if I'm really busy with something (that last thing probably won't happen too often). I'm not dead and I'm not ignoring you. I promise.

My address in Lusaka during pre-service training (the next 2-3 months) will be:

Elise Simons/PCT

Peace Corps

P.O. Box 50707

Lusaka, Zambia

You should also write Air Mail and Par Avion on the envelope. Keep in mind that packages are even more likely to be misplaced than letters; think before you send.

2) E-mail. My computer access-- in fact, my access to any electricity at all-- will be extremely limited. I'm actually looking forward to learning to live without a laptop glued to my knees-- it could be a nice change in my day-to-day habits. There are internet cafes in Lusaka (where I will be during pre-service training), but I will only have limited access to e-mail. While I'm in the African bush I will have opportunities to visit a Peace Corps Station where there will be computers, probably about once a month. So feel free to send e-mails, just not urgent ones.

3) Cell Phone. I plan to buy a (cheap) cell phone when I arrive in Zambia. Phone calls between Zambia and the US are not cheap, not all of Zambia has reliable phone service, and I won't be able to take calls during pre-service training while I'm in class (8-5 on weekdays, plus keep in mind that I'll be 6-7 hours ahead of most of you), but the cell phone will still be a viable form of communication most of the time-- especially texting (I can think of only 3 people who may not have texting capabilities-- you can ask Laurie to send the texts for you). I'll send you all my new cell phone # once I have it.

Depending on what type of cell phone I get, I may be able to use it to send e-mails, so I may be online more often than expected. However, we should all expect that I won't be able to stay in touch all that reliably-- that way it will be a pleasant surprise if I am!

If you have any more questions about the Peace Corps, you should check out the book So You Want to Join the Peace Corps: What to Know Before You Go by Dillon Banerjee. It's likely to answer most of your questions. There are also plenty of books written by Peace Corps Volunteers-- I've read three of them so far. Try the travel section of most bookstores.

This will probably be the last time I write to you from the United States for quite some time; next time I post here, I'll be able to tell you all from experience a little bit about what Zambia is really like. Wish me luck!

So we are now down to ten days until I leave for Philadelphia; in two weeks I will be on Zambian soil. It's hard to believe. I don't feel nervous or anxious, but I know that I probably am: last night I had a dream that I was trying to get to Logan Airport, but the public transit system was down and I had to walk through Ted Williams Tunnel (super dangerous-- kids, don't try this at home) only to find when I arrived at check-in that I had bought a ticket for the wrong flight and completely forgotten all my luggage...so, yeah, I'd say my subconscious is having some issues.

But mostly I'm just excited for this huge adventure coming my way. Most of my time has been devoted to packing and paperwork. I've requested immunization records from both my primary care physician and my school clinic-- while I'm in Philly I am going to receive a bunch of immunizations, including most likely a yellow fever shot and my first dose of malaria pills, but with the immunization lists I can make sure I don't receive more shots than I need. As it is I'm going to be suffering the side-effects of several vaccinations during the long plane ride to South Africa and then the shorter plane ride to Zambia, not to mention the jetlag. Good to start this trip off with a bang.

Other paperwork includes: medical and tax POA forms, insurance forms, passport/visa forms (the Peace Corps distributes special passports to volunteers, which expire at the end of service), student loan deferment forms, and staging forms. Not only will I be on a different continent for two years, but I'll most likely be spending most of those two years in a hut in the African bush without electricity, so it's important to get a lot of stuff straightened now when it's more convenient.

So far the packing process has involved discount shoe shopping, internet shopping for tents and electronics, hanging out in the LL Bean Factory Store (their camping section really is the coolest thing ever), digging through closets for lost items, "borrowing" stuff from my parents, stocking up on toiletries, snacks, journals, books, and stamps, arranging all the luggage in the house by size, weight, and durability, and laying everything I own out in neat rows on the bed and floor, as well as a fashion show of nearly every article of clothing I own (except the winter clothes, I don't think I'll be needing those). In addition to this I am packing up the stuff I won't be bringing to put into storage in my Mom's basement-- no need to have all my college stuff sitting unused in my room for two years like some sort of bizarre shrine. I just finished unpacking most of this stuff after bringing it home from college; now it's all going back into boxes again.

We are permitted a total of 80 lbs of checked luggage spread over 2 bags, plus a carry-on. The two checked bags each have to be less than 60" total dimensions; 107" total is the limit. I always like to pack as light as possible, and I keep reminding myself that I can buy just about anything I need in Zambia in the very globalized and well-stocked capitol city, Lusaka. I'm sure I'll bring a couple of things I don't need and forget a couple of things I do, so I guess as long as I go into this expecting to get this packing business a little bit wrong on the first try I won't mind so much when it actually happens.

Here are just a few of the things I am bringing:

--A wind-up flashlight and wind-up torch which I bought in the UK

--A wind-up/solar-powered shortwave radio

--A solar charger; Solio makes one that is apparently compatible with Zambian cell phones (I'll be buying a cell phone when I get there)

--A digital camera. I'm taking an old one my mom gave me, but I can't find the software that goes with it, so I may have to buy one of those memory-card-reading jumpdrives so that I can upload my pictures and show you all

--A deck of cards and some travel games of checkers and chess

--An ipod

--A small photo album with pictures of friends/family and my hometown

--Several blank journals and a couple of pens

--LL Bean Hiking Boots-- it's very warm in Zambia, but it's also very rainy there this time of year, so some good waterproof mudboots seem like a good idea (don't worry, I'm bringing sandals too)

--A tent and sleeping bag; I wasn't going to bring these, but the Peace Corps recommended them, and I figure they'll provide a good excuse for me to go camping

--Gifts for my host family: I'm bringing them some hard maple candies, but I'm still on the lookout for a nice book about Maine that I can give them

Anyone have any suggestions on what books I should bring? I have lots of ideas, and I won't bring too many since there are libraries at the Peace Corps outposts in each region of the country, but I'd like to bring a couple books to keep me busy-- any suggestions are welcome!

I'm working on a much larger post going into detail about Zambia and what I'll be doing there, so stay tuned!

Yesterday I received a call from the Peace Corps Headquarters in Zambia. I had been expecting this call for a couple of weeks-- several people I've met on Facebook who are going to Zambia in the same group as me have mentioned getting calls-- but as the Day of Departure loomed nearer and nearer I gradually stopped anticipating the call and started focusing on other things, like fitting two years' worth of stuff into 107" and 80 lbs (plus a carry-on). I had thought of a a bunch of questions I could ask when they called, but I starting guessing at the answers so I could move on to the next thing, so by the time they called I didn't have anymore questions that I still needed to ask. Our conversation, while friendly, was short and a little awkward because a) the time it took for words to travel over the line meant a lot more pausing and waiting and accidentally talking over each other, b) as I said, I didn't have any questions left, so there wasn't much to talk about, and c) it was only nine in the morning, so I wasn't really mentally prepared to receive a phone call from anyone.

That said, it was really nice to receive a call from Zambia-- it made the whole thing feel a little more real, like I'm not just buying camping gear and getting my passport photos taken for kicks, because something is actually going to happen, I'm actually going to go somewhere. The concept of knowing there were people on the other end of the line waiting to meet me was really the greatest highlight of the experience. Here's what else I gleaned from the conversation:

1) bring sweaters/warm clothes, because it's cold there. I actually already knew this-- it says so in the Welcome Book that the Peace Corps e-mailed to me. Zambia is tropical, located just below the Democratic Republic of Congo, but it's relatively far away from the equator and on a plateau (hence the name of this blog), so during the dry season/winter (our summer, May to October) it can get down to the 50s during the day and the 30s at night. This is good news because I'm going to have to bring a couple of warm things (gloves, leg warmers, fleece jacket, sweater) just to survive the 2 days in Philadelphia, so this way the stuff I bring for the brief Staging period won't go to waste for the two years in Zambia. Right now it's summer in Zambia, a.k.a. the rainy season, and it is currently 72 degrees Fahrenheit with 100% humidity in Lusaka, Zambia's capital. It is also nighttime; during the day the temperature can get up to 80-90.

I've done some preemptive research on Zambia-- I've learned its location (landlocked, just south of the Democratic of Congo and north of Zimbabwe), its tourist attractions (Zambia shares the largest waterfall in the world, Victoria Falls, with it's neighbor Zimbabwe; it is also full of national parks used for safaris), and its health. What I know now is nothing compared to how much I'll know about Zambia in a month's time. It's so strange to think how different my life will be then.

2) bring a headlamp. I found a headlamp in my mother's desk a few days ago, and I sort of wish I wasn't bringing it because it's one of only two things I'm bringing that runs on batteries (the other thing is my travel alarm clock), and my battery charger is bulky, heavy, and annoying. All the other electronics I am bringing (flashlight, ipod, shortwave radio) are wind-up, solar-powered, or can plug in to my solar charger. Even my camera charges via USB port and can therefore be "plugged into the sun."

FYI, if you want to buy a camera that charges via USB, buy Kodak. I bought a small Fuji camera on Sunday because the sales clerk told me it was USB-chargeable; it wasn't. I took it back, and the Best Buy people very kindly exchanged it for a red Kodak (I was thrilled; red is a much cooler color than black) that I had admired back on Sunday before choosing the Fuji. According to Best Buy, Kodak is the only company that makes cameras that use only 1 cord for both charging and uploading images (it comes with an adapter plug so you can also charge it in the wall like any other camera if that's your preference).

3) They speak English in Zambia. Ok, this one I already knew, I was just looking for an excuse to bring it up. Some of you may remember that I studied French for awhile during my senior year of college. When I was first nominated to the Peace Corps, the plan was to send me to a French-speaking African country (there were no spaces open in English-speaking ones), and in September of last year I was invited to French-speaking Guinea. Unfortunately that didn't work out, and I ended up being invited to Zambia, formerly the British territory of Northern Rhodesia. So the bad news is that I wasted a good deal of time and money attempting to learn French (and mostly failing) for no reason; the good news is, I will be going to an English-speaking country so I can focus all my language-learning skills on learning a local Zambian language (there are several, but I will be studying either Bemba, Nyanja, or Kaonde).

After staging, which is next week in Philadelphia and will basically involve 48 hours of paperwork, immunization shots, and intense bonding with my fellow volunteers, I have a long trip to Lusaka (we leave the hotel by bus at 2am next Wednesday morning, then take a plane from New York to South Africa to Zambia), followed by two months of pre-service training. During this time I will be staying with a host family in Lusaka. My first two months in Zambia will go roughly something like this: each day I will wake up with my host family in Lusaka and commute by bike to Peace Corps Headquarters. There I will have training from 8am until 5pm-- language training in the mornings, and technical training in the evenings.

My "technical training," in addition to covering survival training (how to purify water, etc.) and a cultural education, will be focused on forestry, agriculture, and environmental education. I am going to be part of Zambia's LIFE program (Linking Income, Food, and Environment), which means I'll be working in a rural community to promote both profit and sustainable agriculture through environmental education. Though Zambia's cities, like Lusaka, are highly globalized and modernized, I will probably be spending the majority of the next two years in a mud hut in a rural community. To be perfectly honest, I am looking forward to living off-grid, using very little electricity or resources. I may change my mind very quickly once I arrive, but for now I am excited.

Excited and crazy-busy. Just when I think I've done everything I need to do, I remember a piece of paper I forgot to fill out or realize that I've packed an object in the wrong bag. And just when I was thinking I was almost done, I get an e-mail this morning telling me I need more passport photos for documentation in Zambia (my adventures in passport photo-hunting are numerous-- I had some trouble tracking down a place for my Guinea passport, then again in London for my Zambia visa, then the Peace Corps lost my application so I had to search London (at Christmas when everything was closed) for the right store (and most passport stations in England make 1.5" passports, and I needed a 2"er) until I finally found one tucked away in a corner somewhere). I wish I had gotten that e-mail a week ago when I had a little more time to spare.

But like I said, this is the Peace Corps. Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches.

Today is the first of February, 2010. A year ago today, I was logging in to my account on the Peace Corps website, checking anxiously to see if my recently-mailed medical evaluation had been approved (it hadn't, and wouldn't be until April). I had no idea at the time that I would be stepping on a plane bound for Philadelphia in 380 days, or that I would be departing from there for Zambia in 382. I had no idea that I would be going to an English-speaking country (I had just started an intense night course in French, having been nominated for placement in French West Africa), or that I would be spending Christmas with my cousin in London (my initial tentative departure date was set for September, so I was expecting to spend Christmas far away from cold, snow, and family), or that I would sleep in my own bed at home at all during 2010.

But this is the way of the Peace Corps; more than a sense of adventure, cultural sensitivity, or the right pair of shoes, the most important quality of a successful Peace Corps Volunteer is flexibility, followed closely by patience. There is no greater preparation for the stressful and frustrating twists and turns of the real world than the zen-inducing Peace Corps experience (if you can pee in a ditch for two years, you can do anything), and there is no greater preparation for the Peace Corps experience than the Peace Corps application process. At times it feels as though the folks in Washington turn the application process into an arduous task on purpose, and why shouldn't they? What better way to ensure that only the most committed volunteers arrive on foreign soil? What better way to minimize as much as possible the number of volunteers who, homesick and lonely and ill and depressed, decide to go home before the experience has ever even started? The Peace Corps demands commitment and loyalty from the very beginning, so there is never any doubt what you are getting yourself in for; those who wish to serve must be willing to stand and wait.

I started my Peace Corps application in October of 2008. I was nominated on November 5th, 2008, for a forestry project in sub-Saharan Africa. My dental evaluation was approved in late February, and my medical evaluation, after months and months of research, tests, blood samples, vaccinations, medical records requests, doctor's appointments, and bills, was approved in April. I was invited to Guinea in September, then dropped from that assignment due to "tensions and conflicts in the country" just before Halloween. I was re-invited to Zambia on December 3rd, 13 months after my initial nomination, and two weeks ago I finally began packing (again). During the past 15 months I also graduated from Smith College, went to Rome with my mother, took a solar power course online, visited my Dad's family on Cape Cod, dropped the online solar power course, re-learned to ride a bike, visited my two roommates in Indianapolis and Philadelphia, visited my friends at college (twice), read The Poisonwood Bible, crashed my bike into a bush, and spent the holidays in London with my cousins.

It has been a long year of waiting, preparing, and finding ways to occupy my time. I am proud and excited to be finished with this "waiting and hoping" stage. In fifteen days, I go.

Whether you're someone I know and love or someone who is thinking about the Peace Corps and just wants to lurk on current volunteers' blogs for awhile before making a decision, welcome! I promise to do my best not to bore you, and to provide as frequent updates as possible (traveling to places without electricity may make it difficult at times).