I just took my mom to the airport and got teary after two amazing weeks of living like a boss (cue Lonely Island). The highlight reel:

Kiboko Town Hotel

The bwana ("boss" or "rich person") living started as soon as my mom stepped off the plane into Malawi. I had made reservations at Kiboko Town Hotel, a place I can't afford to stay at on my own. We lounged around in their gorgeous lounge, sipping on Carlsberg or, right before bed every night, Amarula, catching up and all that jazz. Well, the first thing we did was open her ginormous suitcase full of presents for me! A headlamp, batteries, flip flops, chocolate, magazines, books, Gatorade, school supplies, and on and on! I am definitely spoiled. My quality of life will go up 100-fold. The second night we went out to dinner with Dr. John. We smoked hookah and I ate a steak. Who knew this level of bliss was available in Malawi? Not on my salary, of course, but it was incredible to forget where I was for a hot second.

On Safari! (A.K.A. the Lion King live-action adventure)

So we drove over to Zambia for a few days (another country checked off the list, I think I'm up to 20 now, no big deal) to look at some animals. And look at some animals we did! We saw:

hippos

crocodiles

elephants

giraffes

zebras

lions!

leopards (yeah, 2!)

impala

buffalo

puku

bushbacks

waterbucks

a civet

a jenet (genet?)

violet-breasted rollers

African spoonbills

fish eagles

herons

mongoose

a porcupine

German tourists

and a whole lotta other stuff I'm forgetting right now

In a word: magical. We even saw an elephant about 50 feet away from our tent one night! We ate good food, ran up a bar tab, swam in a pool, gazed at African sunsets (which really are as red and dramatic as the Lion King makes them out to be); basically just woke up and showed up and were shuffled around. I never thought I'd appreciate transport in Malawi, but the road to South Luangwa National Park was under construction so it made for a pretty bumpy ride. Half-decent roads; say what you want about Malawi, but at least it's got those!Weekend at the lake(house!)

Arriving back in Lilongwe, we wished our two Dutch friends well on their journey to the north and rented a car. Silly mom, getting her license and passport out as if they actually wanted photocopies of these things! Have credit card, will travel, no questions asked. We then went to Game, Malawi's version of Wal-Mart, and loaded up. I felt like I was on a gameshow, running up and down the aisles, filling the cart with things I can usually only dream about. We couldn't pay with credit card (of course), so we walked across the parking lot to the ATM, where we took out so much kwach I felt like a drug dealer girl (cue Mike Posner). Then we went to Spar and it's not an exaggeration to say we bought approximately $100 worth of CHEESE! A bottle of Amarula and Captain Morgans, added to the three boxes of wine we'd gotten at Game, rounded out the smorgasbord. We drove to Salima where we picked up 4 of my closest friends (including Sally, Ellie & Esther) and crammed them and their bags in with us, our stuff, and the cheese, (did I mention our car was a tiny hatchback?), and proceeded the 20k to Senga Bay and the best weekend ever!!

We ate cheese, drank beer and wine, Amarula and rum, chatted, slept, lounged on the beach, bobbed in the lake, Allegra joined us on Saturday, we made spaghetti, gave the leftover spaghetti to some monkeys, lounged some more...it was paradise. We didn't ever want to leave, but work and real life were calling, which takes us to Act IV:

Village Living

Next we went to my town, where my mom got to meet my friends, neighbors and coworkers, and experience life as a celebrity for a few days. We were in Thavite for 3 days, which was 2 days too many, but she was a trooper and stuck it out with a smile on her face. She helped teach some of my classes and was the guest speaker at the first ever Girls Club meeting. [Sidebar: this has been driving me crazy: is it Girls Club, Girl's Club, or Girls' Club? Shawn? Grammar aficionados? A little help here?] 22 girls showed up!! I'm so excited, and I'm like "take that!" to the other teachers, who don't always see the value in, let's just say GC, or maybe they're just playing devil's advocate. Last year 12 students failed the JCE: 11 girls, 1 boy. Who do you think needs more help?

My mom politely ate nsima with my watchman and his family, sat on mats on the ground, and amid all that, drove me to Salima and helped me outfit my house. We picked up some furniture I had ordered (a wicker chair and loveseat and coffee table), bought some foodstuffs and sticky tack, more plates and buckets, cushions for my new seats, and more furniture: 2 corner shelves and 2 basket things. My house is so comfortable and bwana now! Bring it on, stack of exams a mile high I still need to mark: at least my ass will be comfortable, even if I will want to scoop my eyes out with spoons. The last night my mom was like "fuck this, we're bwana!" although not in those exact words, and she drove me to Salima where we took Sally out to dinner and drinks. She couldn't do nsima (or handle my over-helpful watchman) for one more minute. We had chambo (a fish). It was delish.

LLW, round 2

We finally escaped the village and came back to civilization, er, Lilongwe yesterday. We bought a few more things for me (wicks for my paraffin stove, a mug, lavender-scented candles, you know, essentials), and went out to dinner at Chili Pepper, the closest thing to Mexican food around. Let's just say the chicken enchilada was doing it for me, and our drinks tab added up to more than our food bill (hell YES margaritas!). Then a few rounds of Amarula with the fine and upstanding Chris & Erin Murphy was a lovely end to a pretty great day.

This morning of course was weird and sad, (cue cheesy yearbook quote: Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened. I'm fucking lucky-I have the best mom ever, coming out here to see me in the Africa at 60 years young!) This week is going to be rough, I can already tell everyone right now. No mom, no more bwana life (back to the Peace Corps salary), back to work, ugh. Zimachitika ("it happens"). At least I've got GC to look forward to, and my headteacher and I figured out that for the next month or so I'll be teaching literature to all the forms (1-4). This is actually GREAT news for me, because it means I won't have to deal with clauses or any of that grammar shit I don't seem to know much about. And I know Sally and some combination of awesome people and I will be meeting up at the lake sometime soon and often, as hot season is coming on stronger everyday. And in October I'm going to go count game in Liwonde National Park, so don't worry about me!

Just finished the second and last camp of the summer. It was exhausting and I think a few of us volunteers wanted to kill each other but it was also amazing, fun, and I know the students really enjoyed it. These camps are such a big deal for these kids, and so inspiring. We had a guest speaker who is a woman from Malawi with a Ph.D. in ethics who works for the Catholic Church in Geneva and was recently in the Dominican Republic talking about violence against women. DAMN! Talk about sexy.

Another highlight was field trip day! We went to the Lilongwe Wildlife Centre, a rehab for confiscated exotic pets. We saw a 1-eyed lady lion with rickets in her hind legs. Also bunches of baboons, including dominant males who let it all hang out(!). Then we went to the Parliament building, which was also pretty wild. Well, not really, it wasn't in session. I took my student, Josephy, on an elevator for the first time in his life. He was weirded out and surprised. He's still talking about it and I'm sure he will be for months (or years) to come. Isaac and I are going to start a Malawi Make-A-Wish Foundation. Primary activities: taking kids on elevator rides and feeding them ice cream sundaes. Oh yeah. Think I could raise some capital for that? :)

At camp I taught writing (the writing process! I'm bringing brainstorming webs back in a big way) and an afternoon activity: drama! It was good to get my toes back in the theatre waters, even if they were swampy backwaters. The first day of sign ups I was shocked that I wasn't swarmed: only 8 kids signed up for drama, and then only 7 showed up to the first meeting! Apparently they had all decided to be practical and go to CV writing instead. Pshaw! We had a good time. My kids were so good at acting bad (smoking and drinking and 'doing immorality') and I got to play Amayi Diston (Diston's mom) in our little skit. It was so fun. I love directing. Some of them want to start a drama club at their school. Rock rock on!

This weekend is chilling in Salima and at the lake with Sally, Esther, etc., then heading to MST (mid-service training) on Monday, for HIV/AIDS training and emotional support. Then, a week from tomorrow, MY MOM GETS HERE!! We're going to have so much fun I can't even believe. I'm really anxious right now because I'm just SO EXCITED!

I just finished one of the most exhausting and rewarding weeks of my service. At Camp GLOW I met some amazing girls and women who inspired me with their stories, whether they were professional women who have gone far in their careers (e.g. the Minister of Gender, Children and Community Development, Honourable Theresa Gloria Mwale M.P.), or were amazingly strong girls dealing with some shit (e.g. raped by boyfriends, pregnant in a country where abortion is illegal, treated like Cinderella by their moms and aunts, and one brave camper shared with everyone that she was HIV+ because she was born with it. Damn). These girls have everything going against them, and I am so impressed that they persevere so gracefully.

I was a co-counselor with Patricia, a Malawian woman who works for an NGO in Salima (and whose brother is currently making me some furniture). We had a great group of girls, who named themselves L.O.V.E., standing for: Ladies Of Various Ethnics. Some other Americans were laughing at this, as I was the only non-Malawian white person in the group, but I pointed out that the girls were from different tribes and areas of Malawi, so that counts as various 'ethnics,' sure.

As counselors we facilitated some of the sessions in our small groups. It was pretty fun, and come to find out, I'm a decent facilitator (I miss Team Lib!). I like getting the kiddies to think about goals, decision making, sex and gender, etc. etc. Thavite CDSS, get excited for the Girl's Club that'll be coming your way next school year!

My favorite guest speaker was Dr. Mary Shawa, the Principal Secretary for Nutrition and HIV/AIDS for the Ministry of Health. She was a snappy dresser (fitted pantsuit in the vein of Hillary Clinton except actually cute), cute and bubbly, with an inspirational life story and good advice. A favorite quote: "Make [good] decisions so that you can be the next future Dr. Mary Shawa." I mean, just listen to the title of her Ph.D. dissertation: Effect of economic improvement projects for women in Malawi on nutritional, economic and social status of household members. (2001). Damn, that's sexy! Although I did appreciate how Chimwemwe Banda, some director of somethingorother at MBC (Malawi Broadcasting Corporation) talked about herself in third person. "Who's behind all these news programs? Chimwemwe Banda is!" I was like: "Annette McFarland really likes what you have to say!"

Callista Mutharika, fabulous first lady, graced us with her presence on Saturday. First, a group of 40 people (her entourage) came to MEDI on Monday to make sure it was up to snuff. It wasn't. Water stains on the ceiling just won't do, so workers spent all week painting the ceiling and replacing the panels. That was the first clue that this lady was a serious diva, (or as she would say, a 'BIW'; 'Best In the World'). Luckily she didn't make any terribly outrageous gaffes; apparently earlier in the week she had made some comment about the shortage of fuel in the country, and how it shouldn't affect villagers because they don't have cars. What about ambulances? Allegra said she saw a woman at her site get on a bike taxi after she had been in labor for SIX HOURS because the ambulance didn't have any fuel. Bike taxis are an ordeal even when you're not in labor-that woman should get some sort of medal! At one point in Callista's narrative of her (pretty charmed) life, she appealed to the girls, and said something along the lines of: "I was nothing special, just like you!" Hmm. My advice to Callista: think, then speak. She also advised us all to be FMOBs: the First, the Most, the Only and the Best. Well, by the very definition of the word, we can't all be the first, Callista. We also can't all marry presidents. But overall, she wasn't terrible, and she was looking soooooooo good! Her jacket matched her skirt matched her shoes matched her purse: hot pink, yeah gurl!

I was pretty enraptured by what Lisa Vickers, Charge d'Affaires of the American Embassy, had to say. She talked about girls empowerment, and going after your dreams, etc. etc., (which, since she was speaking at a normal American pace, most of the girls probably didn't catch), but I was into it. I was just so turned on by the fact that it was part of her job to show up to such a function and say a few inspirational words to Malawian girls and hobnob with the first lady. Yeah, I think I could do that as a career! It was definitely hot.Now I need to rest. Wine, cookies, soaking my infected thumb and movies at John's are the perfect way to decompress. And I've got a whole bucket of banana wine waiting for me when I get back to site. Glow team glow, shine girls shine!

Two weeks ago I hiked Ruarwe. That involved meeting up with a handful of supreme beings, (fellow PCVs Sara & Garrett, or Sarrett, and Jay; Jay and the Gays!), and getting the best hitch ever in an American semi truck. The first time I've ever been in the cab of a semi-truck (or lorry, as they'd say in England or any former English colony), and it happened in Malawi. It was huge! (that's what she said) Sara and I squeezed onto the bottom bunk with one of the Malawians and Garrett sat up front. What a way to go down the escarpment: blue lake, green trees, baboons, a couple tons of pipes behind my head. At one point we went off the road a little bit and my heart skipped a beat imagining the fiery heap of unidentifiable metal and mush at the bottom of a cliff after careening down a cliff. We stayed the night in Mlowe at Renee's house, sans Renee. It's supposed to be a 3-day hike to Ruarwe from there, and our rough eye-ball estimates based on a map we saw on a boat suggest that in total the trek was around 50 kilometres. We were apparently extra ambitious because we did it in 2 days. I wanted to kill a bitch by the end. My feet are torn up (apparently the combination of old Nike trail runners and dirty Old Navy socks wasn't the ticket), but at least it was fucking beautiful the whole time, and there were monkeys! Then we got to the lodge (Zulunkhuni??), situated at the base of a waterfall. Para.Fucking.Dise.

I snorkeled, I jumped off a deck into the lake (≈8 meters, so, what, 24 feet?), I swam naked by the light of the full moon, I ate good food, I drank sachets (think: ketchup packet full of nasty 40% alcohol). By far the best way to drink sachets is to do slap shots: chasing them with getting a slap in the face. Apparently slapping bitches is a secret talent of mine, (just ask Garrett). We met a variety of interesting characters: a cute young British married couple, an American girl from Michigan who's been studying Hausa for 3 years (which begs the obvious question: Why? Followed by the next most obvious question: Ina kwana motherfucker?), and Charlie, the owner of the place who's been in Malawi for 13 years and is hoping to get a Malawian passport soon. We walked into the town of Ruarwe and bought masconeys (AKA big fat dinner rolls) every day, and on the last day took the only means of transport out of the place: a big boat called the Ilala that goes up and down the lake once a week. It was weird but good to be out of cell phone service for almost a week. And does that mean the kids who live in Ruarwe have never seen a car?

Last week I've been hanging out with Sally and Ellie in Salima for a Peer Educator/HIV/AIDS training Sally put together for the youth from 17 health centres in the area, including the one in my town. It was really excellent, and the youth from my area have some good sessions planned for when we get back (although I'm not so sure how the 'dangers of illegal abortions' session is going to go over at the local church). On the last day the training closed with everyone (even the girls!) demonstrating putting condoms on wooden penises (penii?).

Last Wednesday was July 20th. Big protests all over Malawi. Did it make it to American news outlets? Well, there's no petrol (oil) or Islamic militants here, so maybe not. (Although America did just pull out a bunch of aid and it was the 5th thing down on the Africa page on the CNN website…) Anyways, people have been rioting and looting, getting tear gassed and hacked with panga knives in the big cities. I'm having dreams about getting evacuated all over again. Ah! Bingu's blaming it all on the gays. Right: donors pulling out and an overvalued kwach are TOTALLY the fault of homosexuals (innuendos intended). Sheesh. It's shit like this that makes me appreciate my American upbringing, or rather, my liberal blue state Oregon upbringing. Even though blue isn’t a favorite color, (or favourite colour) in Malawi these days. DPP is the party they’re all demonstrating against, which, according to the minibus conductor yesterday stands for “diesel, petrol palibe” (no diesel or petrol). Scandalous! The opportunities and exposure to divergent viewpoints, the drag queens and the Planned Parenthood, the freedom of religion (and the freedom from religion) that makes America what it is-I had it pretty good growing up. Gays of America: fight for your rights and all that (yaay New York marriages! Yaay Obama appealing Don’t Ask Don’t Tell!), but be grateful that America’s as open-minded as it is. You could be in Malawi, where being gay is illegal, and where you’d be getting blamed for Bingu’s forex problems.

A few days ago I flossed a filling out. Today I went to a most terrifying dental appointment. It hurt. But it’s over now. A bouncing baby boy was finally born to Mrs. Banda! She’s the burser (AKA secretary) at my school and also my landlord, which makes the new little tyke my cousin, I’ve decided. His name is Bonface Banda (BB, just like older brothers Bright and Blessings), and he’s super cute! Mission while in Lilongwe: buy some bitchin’ baby clothes.

Two nights ago I had another tortilla party at my house. I invited only guys (because I’m about to go hang out with a bunch of girls and successful career women at Camp GLOW for a week). Some of my friends brought banana/orange wine made for them by a nun. It was delicious. Now I’m chilling in Lilongwe, waiting for GLOW to begin on Sunday. I can’t wait to get girls all empowered and shit!

That's the update here. It's not much, but it's what I've got. My cat is growing, tomatoes are cheap these days. Anati MicPhallan, over and out.

Or, in the vein of assignments I give my students: "Write a composition entitled 'My life is like Lady Gaga's because...'"

It's time for some juicy, sit-down-and-actually-spend-some-time-on-this-shit prose. Can you handle it?

I'm famous. It's awesome. If you've ever wondered what it's like to be screamed at, stared at, admired and adored, then maybe you should give Peace Corps, or any scheme in which you live in a place where you're the only azungu for miles around, a go. Shouts of 'Bo!' 'Madamu!' 'Muli bwa?' 'Annetti!' 'Anness!' accompany my every walk to my trading centre. At first it kind of bugged me, but I've got most of them trained now not to say 'Azungu!' and I've decided to be the gracious celeb who adores her fans. Admittedly, this is partly to impress some cute guys at my trading centre. How into it are they going to be if I'm a hater all the time? Although I do still make kids cry frequently. And it's not the: "Oh--my--god--I--love--you--sooooo--much!--You--are--brilliant--and--your--music--really--speaks--to--me!" kind of tears I'm sure people like Lady Gaga and the Biebs get all the time, it's the "Oh-shit-is-this-bitch-really-going-to-eat-me-like-she-just-said-and-why-the-hell-is-she-running-after-me,-I'm-2!" kind of tears. Yes, that really happened. Yes, I felt (a little) bad. I'm a monster. Just adds to my street cred, I guess. My facebook profile should read: Annette McFarland, Fucking Awesome. Got evacuated from Niger. Makes little kids cry. Shits in a hole. Doesn't give a shit.

So you'll forgive me for living in Africa, but the July 8-22, 2010 issue of Rolling Stone just got around to me, and of course I was all over the article about Lady G like a fat kid on chocolate cake (which reminds me, I just had some delicious chocolate cake at Elizabeth's the other day, mmmm). I cut out the pictures for a Lady G tribute collage I'm going to make on one of my walls. Yeah they're risque but this is my house, if you're going to come inside you're going to see some crazy American shit. Deal with it. Two quotes really resonated with me. The first:

"When I wake up in the morning, I feel just like any other insecure 24-year-old girl, then I say, 'Bitch, you're Lady Gaga, you get up and walk the walk today.'"

Translated to Africa, that's:

"When I wake up in the morning, sometimes I just don't want to deal with this shit, then I say, 'Bitch, you're an azungu, and will go home to flush toilets and celebrity gossip blogs and ice cream and electricity someday, but today, you get up and you walk the walk and be adored." It works-I haven't not gotten out of bed yet.

Tangentially, the other quote from the article I really liked:

"When she uses words like "fierce" or describes her sexual conquests of beautiful men, one sees why the hermaphrodite rumors about her have been so persistent: She seems, at times, like a gay man trapped in a woman's body."

My thoughts:

1. Is saying 'fierce' and sexually conquering beautiful men really all there is to being a gay man?

2. Bitch stole this shit from me! Haven't I been saying this about myself for years? It makes so much sense now why I can't get enough of her! I've got nothing but love, Lady G. Respect.

But I digress. Back to being a local celebrity. A (white) South African dude swung through my town last week laying fiberoptic cable or some such nonsense. Of course we started chatting when I walked by him working one day, because we're azungus, we gots to stick together. He told me that people had asked him if he knew Annette. I said "I'm Annette!" I also told him that of course we already knew each other--hell, we're cousins! (People here would actually believe that, no questions).

Another awesome moment in the life of me: yesterday I was typing exams for my school and everyone was impressed by how fast I type. I was like "Yeah, that's right. I can type. Been doing it since 4th grade. What?!" They were like: "Can you teach us? Someday we want to be experts like you!" Then I made this diagram (see Figure 1) in Paint and blew their minds!

Figure 1

They were freaking out at how fucking amazing I am (and let me just say, it's refreshing to have other people saying out loud what I'm thinking all the time). I was like: "Wow, that was easy."

But the day I knew I was famous, knew this was real Beyonce-and-Lady-Gaga-esque shit (...ok, ok, who's a lot less famous but still turns heads? A lot less classy and more skanky? Snooki?) was last Saturday at the Form 4 graduation (excuse me, "farewell party", because we didn't have enough ndalama for a legit bash). First I put on my Swear-In outfit from Niger, a sexy little number that fits pretty snugly after being laundered in Morocco (dryers?!? I had forgotten what they were and the effect they have on cotton for a hot second). So I was turning heads more than usual. Then there were a few photographers running around, and students I didn't know would come and stand next to me to have their picture taken with this hot piece of fierce. It got to the point where they weren't even asking me, just lining up, and as the gracious queen of Thavite, I politely obliged (and even informed the photog that he left the lens cap on, but only after he'd probably taken a whole roll of film...what an idiot!). To top it all off, I was asked to officially open the dance by dancing with the Guest of Honour at the end. We had invited the MP (Member of Parliament) of our area, but he had meetings in Lilongwe (actual work? running the country?(into the ground) and he couldn't blow it off for our awesome bash? sheesh!), so he sent some other dude. So yes, the event closed with me and him shimmying next to each other to some Malawian song for what seemed like hours in front of 80 people, who were sitting and cheering. After about 10 seconds I was like "Uh, c'mon guys, you aren't gonna hop up and dance too?" but I worked it out, as always. I wonder if they realize how unique I am. I mean, sure I'm the azungu, but not just any azungu would agree to get up and dance with some strange official dude in front of everyone. Luckily in our very thin budget we had allotted money for 2 cases of soft drinks and beer for the teachers and invited guests (MP rep, village headmen) to drink after the ceremony. My first thought had been: "Really guys? We have no money for decorations but we need a case of beer for ourselves after the students leave?" but after the whole day (and did I mention it started 3 hours late, in a particularly poignant demonstration of 'Malawian time'?), I was like: "Hells yes I need a beer right now!" As I always say, when it comes to getting special attention, or transport to the next town, "Rock the white privelege if you got it!"

So my kingdom is some backwater tiny town in a small, extremely geopolitically irrelevant country (is that why Bingu's going crazy lately--penis envy?), and not, like Lady G and the Biebs, the known universe. Ah well, play the hand you're dealt, right? I may not be making the pages of People and Us Weekly with my shenanigans, but all the same I run around Thavite being ridiculous and scandalous and shaking things up-teaching my kids about things they've never heard of (World Wars I and II, Glee, that Obama doesn't 'rule' North and South America, just part of it); wearing my tight yoga pants around my trading centre; alluding to the fact that gay marriages are okay; playing volleyball with the boys!

Gaga

I got some great news this week: 4 of my girls (of 7 who applied) are going to Camp GLOW (Girls Leading our World) this summer, a girls leadership and empowerment camp. And guess what? I am too, as a counselor! I'm super excited!

I'll also be helping out with Camp Sky, an education-oriented camp for the smarties (I've got my top 2 Form 3 students already picked out). I want to help with drama workshops (hey all you theater geeks, got any good games or activities you'd like to share?) and a writing workshop. Camp Sky still needs help funding, so if you've got a hankering to help out Malawi youth (and goodness knows they need it), follow this link.

https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=614-229

Remember, every little bit helps! I, fellow Peace Corps volunteers, and a bunch of awesome Malawian kids thank you in advance!

In other news I'm plugging along at site. Getting 'certificates of attendance' printed for our 'farewell party' (as opposed to diplomas for a graduation, which we can't afford). Account #1!!! Long story, short explanation: corruption. Oh Malawi! Oh post-colonial Africa!

I just had a most marvelous and unsettling weekend. I learned how to make chigumu, African cake, out of soy and corn flour. I hosted 3 volunteers for a sitemate party at my house. We made delicious tortillas ("Tortillas, #1! Nsima #4," says John, my watchman) and ogled People magazines (Lady Gaga wore a dress made of meat? Justin Beiber! Cher! Ah!). Good times. But the night before my next-door neighbor beat his wife. She and Bridget, her adorable 3-year old daughter, moved away. I'm still in shock, and feel really bad because she and I were on the outs (navigating the neighbor relationship, the "I'm not your store, you can't come around for cups of sugar and cooking oil every day" issue). I thought I'd have the next year to iron things out, but...I'm proud of her for leaving, and I know that these things happen, with or without my intervention. I just wish she had left with us being on better terms. Just another example of the lesson I keep learning: no day but today!

Last week at school was drama-filled. First the Form 3s refused to adopt the reforms I proposed in order to make the Prefect Elections free and fair. (Democracy, pah!) They prefer corrupt elections (where the results are generally disregarded by the teachers, and the teachers just pick their pets if they don't like who was democratically elected), because, in their own words: "But madam, what if someone wants a position and then doesn't get it?!? Other people will laugh at them!" THIS was their objection?!? They would get eaten alive in American high schools. "Fine, you want corruption? Just let me know what position you want and bring me 500 kwacha after class and it's yours." No takers. Sigh. On the other hand, my kickboxing lesson was very well received on Friday. Thanks, Billy Blanks' Tae Bo tapes! So, in Thavite, for those keeping track, that's

Billy Blanks (Chuck Norris, Jackie Chan, etc.) - 1

Democracy - O

That's my life of late. I started playing volleyball! I suck...nightmares of a horrific volleyball camp I went to in middle school coming back. I'm the only girl, so the 1/10 times I actually do something right I have to put up with very patronizing "Good job!"s, but it's fun and at the health center-potential for future projects/events/working together, woot! I'm nerding out with White Man's Burden (Easterly) right now, and thinking about how I'm going to change the world. The lake, me and my swimsuit were finally all in the same place last weekend, so I went swimming (or bobbing) in the lake for the first time. Sometimes the beauty of this place still blows me away.

Counting down the days 'til summer break...5 weeks, 2 of which are tests, 1 of which will be Jeopardy-style review, which means only 2 more weeks of teaching/lesson planning. Yeah!

School Break A few weeks ago we had a 2 week spring break between the terms at school. The first week I kept busy around my house, including going for a bike ride with my Deputy Head Teacher. The second week I traveled up north to visit Deborah for a night, one of my nearest neighbors, in Mwansambo, then continue on up to Mzuzu to see Esther! I also attended a Passover party which was fabulous. My first Passover, and it may be one of my favorite holidays yet. We ate a ton of good food, drank some delicious lemongrass-cinnamon and pineapple hooch, and learned a little bit about the history of the Jews in Egypt. There were about 20 volunteers and a bunch of Malawians hanging about. We sat on sleeping bags and mattresses, there were candles and songs...it felt like a cozy family affair. Parts of this country look like Hawaii. I saw baboons on the escarpment. I ate rice and beans at a rasta restaurant. I wondered where the hell I was every 5 seconds. Then Esther and I headed back to Mzuzu (and the Mzoozoozoo, a crazy hostel run by crusty old expats from Britain who remind me of my dad), and her site, which is beautiful. We're going to climb the big hill next to her site one day and camp on top. She had made banana hooch which was delicious. I need to get brewing! And then I headed home. It was a restful holiday, but that didn't mean I was ready for school to start again! And my school is getting all shaken up: my Deputy was promoted, so he's going to leave and be the Head teacher somewhere else. It's good for him, but I'm losing my bike ride buddy, my running partner (his son), and a handful of great girlfriends (his daughters). I'm a little bummed. We've gotten one new teacher and supposedly two more are on their way. Neighbors!

I have two new 'site mates' (in Niger we just said 'closest neighbor'): Ellie and Erin. Ellie's 6 miles south of me and Erin's about 20k north. Ellie was in Niger, in the group that had just sworn in, so even though I didn't know her at all then, it's nice to have someone so close with whom to reminisce about Niger (and Morocco). Erin's awesome too, and they're both health volunteers so I'm looking forward to collaborating with them on projects in the future. AIDS activities? Murals? Girls Club activities? Bring it on! AIDS!

A few weekends ago I biked 14k to Makioni (sounds like: macaroni) to see my friend Dave at work. He works for a faith-based HIV/AIDS consortium which does education outreach as well as helping HIV positive people (reminding them to take their meds, in-home care, teaching them skills and helping them get employment, etc. etc.). He and his youth were going to do an outreach at Makioni, but then it turned out nobody there had been told, and it hadn't been advertised, so they decided to bike back to Thavite and an impromptu program at my school. Dave had me get up in front of many of my students and 'say something about AIDS.' Put on the spot, I mumbled something about peer pressure and making your own decisions, and that it's good that we talk about this stuff. I was completely out of my element. Not very much was actually said about AIDS, but Dave did get a lot of hands raised when he asked who would get tested if he had a blood-testing event at the school. It got me really excited to collaborate with him somehow in the future, and serendipitously 2 days later I found myself at an HIV/AIDS training at Senga Bay (or 'Sengambe' as one of my students spelled it). The training turned out to be more of a feedback session for volunteers to voice what HIV/AIDS training and support we would like. The whole week was very inspiring to me: I want to start some sort of Girls Club at my school and start having conversations with my students and doing educational activities about HIV/AIDS, making good decisions, etc. etc. I even dreamed last night that I was educating my students about HIV/AIDS (the four fluids). Crazy. Senga Bay is unbelievable. Gazing out at the lake, (because one doesn't just look at these things, one gazes), drink in hand, friends at my side, and nothing but beach and water in sight (and other lodges, Indians and bwana Malawians on vacation), I thought: 'Where the hell am I?' and 'Niger was nowhere near as beautiful as this.' It's unbelievable how close such luxury is to my site (less than 2 hours), where I'm volunteering to make the world a better place. In Niger we were so far from anything superfluous that it seems strange to me that beachside lodges and near-starving rural people can exist in such proximity. A lot of things seem strange. Like Africans farming tobacco and cotton. I keep thinking of American slaves as I drive by men stuffing cotton into bags, but at least these guys are free, whatever that means. Most of my students, no matter how intelligent they are (and really I can count those on one hand), are never going to go anywhere. They'll probably stay in the same district, and hopefully be able to eke out a living for themselves and their children, probably farming, and hopefully not die of AIDS. I found out that John (my watchman) absorbed two nieces and a nephew into his family when both their parents died of AIDS. That's tragically pretty common here. And hearing about Malawi's funding problems for ARVs, (they're going to stop getting them in 2 years because they weren't giving them out correctly), it makes me give thanks that I'm an American, even with our shitty health care system. (Forgive me, I've been out of the country for awhile...is it getting any better?) I text my friends in Niger probably more than I should. I texted them the day we found out Osama Bin Laden had been killed, because I was curious what their reaction would be, and what the general sentiment would be in a Muslim nation. "Those who kill should be killed" my friend Sani said in a text. "Like all Americans the death of Bin Laden is a good thing for me because he killed a lot of people" said my friend Issa. I called Sani later, a few beers in, (3 minutes cost me 700 kwacha, but it was worth it), and maybe I shouldn't be clinging to these threads, texting and calling them, but the bonds I made, however brief, were special, and I'm going to go back to Matameye somehow, someday. Maybe I'll make up my own NGO, or just freelance develop, like Miriam does. I'll figure something out. Niger is just so wildly different from America, and Malawi...isn't. In Niger everyone was poor, everyone was in the same boat. Here there's a definite disconnect between the haves (still probably only 1% of the population) and the have-nots. I got a hitch from two bwana Malawians (air conditioning!?!), and I thought: 'you're as different from my villagers as I am.' People may have shirts now (before Malawi gained its independence they didn't, apparently), but they're not going to get much more than that any time soon, especially when British High Commissioners get kicked out. Kalulu

Thursday I bought a rabbit from my neighbor for 500 kwacha (<$4). I let it hop around my house all night (well, it just stayed under my bed, but I did give it some bean leaves), and gave it to John (my watchman) the next morning to take home. The next day, Saturday, I went to his house to visit and we killed and ate the poor little thing! Its skin was shockingly white. Once the fur was ripped off, its tail wasn't fat, like I'd expected, but long and skinny, like a dogs. Its meat and organs were delicious. It's amazing how removed we can be from our food in America, and how the people here don't have that luxury. Getting the rabbit from cute living being to relish was no easy task. They killed it, ripped its fur off (after boiling it, so it would come off easier, but it still took awhile), cut it up, cleaned out its organs, cooked it...it took all morning. I knew that rabbit, and then I ate it. "Zikomo kalulu" (thank you rabbit), I said, and it made sense to me. The Native Americans had it right: take only what you need, when you need it, and give thanks to the animal and the Creator for providing you with a few bites of protein.

Disco Two nights ago my school had a 'disco' (a dance). It was horrifying, which was to be expected. The boys were drinking sachets, which are shots of spirits in ketchup packets, basically. No joke. I heard they hit the states, and are being banned everywhere they turn up, of course. Can you imagine? Prom, college sporting events, concerts, political rallies, the nature of these events would change forever. These have the revolutionary potential of jello shots, or, or...bitch beer! Anyways, as you can imagine, the boys were out of control (and the ratio was about 4:1, by my hazy estimation, guys to girls). The generator wasn't working for a bit, but when it was I came to the conclusion (again) that Malawian music is shitty. Not as shitty as Hausa music, but shitty. Which is to say, there's a time and place for it (in a mini-bus, while you're waiting for a mini-bus at a trading centre, etc.), but it's never going to be my first choice when I want to get my groove on. Music is one of the clearest illustrations of cultural differences, in my experience. Play me some Chris Brown, Justin Bieber, Rihanna, Lil Wayne, Beyonce, Usher and I can't help myself: I have to dance. Play some Lucious Banda or Don Lu and I'm like huh? But they just went nuts. At first the little kids were kind of annoying (how scandalous could I get with them around?), but I soon saw their advantage. I kept Alan, my 5-year-old neighbor, close the whole night, and any time a creeper started creeping up on me, (the price was 50 kwacha for students and 60 kwacha for 'intruders' as they put it) I'd maneuver so Alan was between us. Shameless, I know, but at least Alan avoided being trampled out of the deal. Finally, I was tired, so Alan and I walked home in the moonlight, and thus ended my first and last Malawian disco. Teaching Teaching is...hard. To all the teachers out there, ntchito wabwino! Sannu da kokari! Good fucking work! Every so often I'll have a moment, or if I'm lucky, an entire 40-minute period where things just click and I feel inspired by what I'm teaching and somehow get the feeling that it's connecting to the students. Those moments are all too rare, however. Most of the time I'm frustrated: trying to think up ways other than straight lecturing to teach grammar, trying to get the students interested in the literature we're reading, whether it's decent (Looking for a Rain God) or so irrelevant, outdated and beyond their comprehension that it hardly seems worth it. In Form 1 we're reading An Introduction to English Literature, published in the '60's, with poems and excerpts from the likes of Dickens, Keats, Austen, Wordsworth...arguably great stuff, but come on! We're in Malawi here! I try not to get too discouraged by their writing and spelling. I started teaching them Hausa. This term I'm also teaching a period of PE. They kind of sucked at Capture the Flag (the concept of prison was lost on them). (Speaking of, any ideas for big group field games? I'm open). Education is where it's at, but if there aren't many universities, or the exams are arbitrary and inapplicable to real life, and the teachers are overworked and sometimes not even paid, then what chance do these kids really have? The Princess of Thavite

Last weekend I felt like the princess of Thavite. Our MP (Member of Parliament) is putting on a sports tournament for all the schools in the area, so of course it had to be officially launched. I show up at my trading centre at 10:00am, the advertised start time, my first mistake. We're on Africa time here, Annette, duh! Loitering around with nothing to do is harder than it looks. I was antsy and aimless, but forced myself to stick around. I ended up chatting with some of my students, confirming that the tailor had my measurements, chatting with my landlord, and buying some rape (Chinese rape? What is it called in English?). Just when I was giving up and heading home to fix myself lunch, the MP pulled up. It was noon. So I stuck around. I watched a mini game of netball (cousin to basketball, that only girls play) and a game of football (until the ball popped). I sat next to the MP and chatted about oxcarts ("You haven't had those in America for awhile, have you?" he said. "No," I replied) and other things. He told me that Malawi has too many MPs (190-odd), and should cut back. If so much of the government's budget comes from foreign aid, Malawi could save Britain and the US money, or at least put it to better use, by reducing the number of MPs. Interesting, coming from him. Then Sally said the MPs just gave themselves raises. Huh. At one point during the football game the TA (Traditional Authority) rolled up. TAs are chiefs, who have some responsibilities and powers (ruling on local disputes) but are completely separate from the government. Come to find out, the TA for my area is a woman! For a moment I was sitting between her and the MP while they chatted about who knows what. Between the MP and the TA! What does that make me? I felt like royalty, and compared myself to British royals sitting around watching polo or cricket or tennis or some such nonsense, drinking mint juleps, socializing and maybe even squeezing in some official state business. Minus the mint juleps in my case. The MP said he wants to bring some of my students to the Parliament in Lilongwe and that I could come too. That would be so awesome! ...But if I've learned anything in Africa, it's not to hold my breath.

From here

Ellie and I started finishing (paradox) a mural begun by Brittany, the volunteer Ellie replaced. We're painting the Periodic Table of Elements at a secondary school near her town. It's got me excited to paint a mural or two at my school ("We want you to paint something here to remember you by" the Headteacher said). If I can figure out funding, I'm hoping to work on that over the summer. I also want to help with the camps Peace Corps Malawi has been putting on for awhile, Glow and Sky. And get a Girls Club going. I'm also reading like a fiend and trying to run and yoga as much as I can. I also just heard about some hot springs that are apparently just a bikeride away from my site, so I'm hoping to check those out soon! Life is good. It's weird how normal bush living is for me.

That impossible future date that kept moving out further and further finally arrived; I have moved into my house. It's adorable, and I'm slowly making it livable. I now have curtains on all 4 windows, makeshift 'Esther' shelves in the pantry, kitchen, and bedroom to store things. They're called 'Esther' shelves because I got the idea to combine planks of wood and bricks into shelves from her. My Malawian acquaintances all think I'm so brilliant, which I can't figure out if I should take as a compliment or not. I mean, it's just planks of wood and bricks. Any yahoo could do it. So do they think it's so novel because they expected me to be incompetent when it comes to these things, or is it because they're surprised that I, one of the teacher caste, would do something for myself, rather than paying someone else to do it (although I did buy the planks from a carpenter who I also commissioned to make me a simple bookcase, so the love is being spread).

So, at night my guard John (AKA practically the only Malawian I've met who's taller than me) hangs out. He protects me from hyenas, students who want to chat too late into the evening, and enterprising old ladies. I wanted to be Malawian so I bought some chimanga (maize or corn as we'd say in the States) from my old neighbor 'Yaya' (that's what they call her). According to John, who got all 'mamma bulldog' on poor little old Yaya, she was waaaaaay overcharging me ('and she shouldn't, because you're Malawian, you're my sister!' he said to me, in Chichewa, rough translation). Mind you we're talking about the difference of 1USD, but that goes a long way in these parts. She gave me the maize, John marched it back to her. The head teacher got involved, and a few days later I went back to Yaya (some students to act as interpreters in tow) to tell her I'd take however much maize she'd let go for the money I gave her. I guess I'm chalking it up to a 1USD loss. From this episode, the take-home lessons are: 1. never purchase anything for myself ever again (or at least make sure I've got a Malawian on my side there to help negotiate) and 2. that John's got my back, even to an embarrasing extent. My house is almost entirely outfitted to a comfortable level. I've got a big bucket to hold water, which Tisunge fills for me. My headteacher helped me negotiate with her and her mother--I'm paying her 200MK a week to carry 1-2 buckets of water per day for me (500 meters is a much different animal than 50 when it comes to carrying water on your head). Apparently she had cerebral malaria and that's why she is the way she is ("like a child" Mr. Dzonzi put it so diplomatically; "a little slow" I described her to Esther). Many of the items I've purchased for my house are 'China,' the Chichewa word for cheap. In a sentence: 'my spoon broke because it was China' or 'my locks are so China I broke the handle off my front door' or 'I'm surprised my 500MK paraffin stove I bought in a Chinese shop hasn't blown me up yet.' I've also got a cutting board, peanut butter, scissors, a soap dish...all the necessities. I've even got nails, which I remembered I needed as I was sitting in the minibus in Salima waiting to come back to Thavite so I handed some random guy 40MK and told him to run and get me some nails and he did! The other day I bought a big bag of charcoal from the charcoal guy who came by my house and all I had was a 500MK bill (2 months worth of charcoal is 250MK, or less than $2). He rode his bike with another heavy bag of charcoal on it to the trading centre, a 2km roundtrip, and brought me back my change! It's not that I expect Malawians to be dishonest, it's just that I know (in an academic sense) what desperation can drive a person to. I've been pleasantly surprised time and time again by their honesty, generosity, and friendliness. So my house is looking good...we've even planted some plants some neighbors brought over. So my roof leaks when it rains (and my hand-made goat-leather purse from Niger that I left in a certain spot on the floor got soaked...twice), and my cat (I have a cat!) pees and sometimes poops inside-as Malawians would say, 'it's part of life!'

My cat is wonderful. I got her from an amazing Spanish woman I met through one of my students who lives a few towns over from me. She (the Spanish woman, not the cat) is basically a freelance development worker, using her mad skillz and contacts to get money to make projects happen to improve the town she lives in. She had two kittens and only wanted one so I left her house with a flour sack full of cat. I named her Zona (which come to find out is spelled 'zoona') which means 'true' or 'indeed!' in Chichewa. I like it because it rhymes with the Chichewa word for cat ('chona') and is similar to Zo! which means 'Come!' in Hausa. Does she know how international her name is? I guess the more pertinent question is: does she recognize her name yet? (Answer: no) I still need a fence and furniture for the front room, but those will come. Last Friday market we were like a little family doing our shopping: me, John, my neighbor Make Bridget ('mother of Bridget'...I'll never learn married women's first names here) and Bridget, who was carried home by John. I bought a kilo of pork and we made pork tacos last night. I rocked their world with tortillas ('in Malawi we call tortillas 'samoosas' ' -John explaining the history of Indians in Malawi to me) and who knew that all you need for a decent salsa fresca is tomatoes, onions, garlic salt and cumin? God bless garlic salt, is all I have to say (and Alexis, for wisely advising me to purchase it). School right now is hell. Literally. Well, figuratively, but still, 'marking' (grading) exams is a level of Hell, I have no doubt. And not just any marking of any exams, but marking essays, following some ass-backwards Malawian rubric that basically ensures that even the best students will get low marks. The highest a student can get is 10/15. Maybe this is just weird to me, coming from America as I do, where we're almost too eager to see everybody win (there were 12 valedictorians at my high school, after all). Maybe we grade too leniently, and Malawians are more on par...no, on second thought, they're just crazy. And 'invigilating' isn't much better. Sounds dirty, right? Apparently it's just the British word for 'proctor' which means I sit on my butt in the teacher room while the students are taking their end of term exams (because they're going to cheat anyways, so why make a show of actually being in the classroom?) and put out fires, like writing crucial paragraphs on the board in 4 classrooms because they didn't get photocopied correctly. Joy! Let's just say the school break will be enjoyed immensely after all this. A bikeride or two, traveling to Esther's site and Mzuzu and some sort of Passover party up north...time away from school and (well-meaning but) nosy neighbors will be ever so sweet.

News from Niger: https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=gmail&attid=0.1&thid=12f39fcc591d575c&mt=application/vnd.openxmlformats-officedocument.wordprocessingml.document&url=https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui%3D2%26ik%3Db4759e7878%26view%3Datt%26th%3D12f39fcc591d575c%26attid%3D0.1%26disp%3Dattd%26realattid%3Df_gmag9uhm0%26zw&sig=AHIEtbSEFad7mbIsfySBId6lP-geWj6Caw&pli=1

I get so many questions, some of which are hard to answer, like: "What's it like in Niger?" (to which I respond: "What's what like in Niger?") or "So which do you like better, Malawi or Niger?" (to which I have no response, because which do you like better, food or air?), and I'm sure people are wondering, so I whipped up:

Annette's Definitive 'So What's the Difference?' List

Enjoy. (It's a google doc)https://docs.google.com/document/d/1iu8XD21gfm3oeof9GIDcBJOY7Op_bq3NEy_Gz34s4cg/edit?hl=en#To sum up, I loved Niger, but, zimachitika (shit happens), so now I find myself in Malawi, making the most of things and growing to love it as well. I'm lucky to be surrounded by awesome Malawians and great Peace Corps people too. As Shakira says: "This time for Africa!"

So I've been living with the Dzonzis all this time, my headteacher ('principal') and his wife, Madame Dzonzi (I still have yet to hear her first name spoken...I like it...keeps her mysterious), and their son/grandson Chisomo (which means 'hope' in Chichewa). He's 11, and one of their daughters had him when she was 15. They've raised him like their son and now, even though that daughter is now married and has another kid and is living 6 hours away, he still lives with them. They have been wonderful. First of all, I'm getting 3 meals a day cooked for me (2 of which are nsima, but meh, I can't complain). Second of all their house is 2 steps away from the school, which is nice when school starts at 7:30am. But that's not that big of a deal when you don't have electricity. Once the sun goes down, there's not too much to do, and like an old lady, I'm usually in bed by 8-something, lights out by 9ish. Also, they're just plain awesome. Mr. Dzonzi and I discuss all sorts of things, like marriage and divorce, teen pregnancy and abortion (which is illegal here), the gays and lesbians, Malawi culture, etc. etc. etc. Mrs. Dzonzi taught me how to make 'snacks' (what we would call biscuits) in a pot over and under hot coals. I love that they just call them snacks, and I'm always singing to myself: 'Snacks!' But it doesn't sound right when it's not followed up with 'on the bus!' (or 'for the bus') She's also going to teach me how to cook goat meat, because either it's actually very delicious (which I highly doubt), or the combination of tomatoes + salt that she cooks it in + nostalgia for Niger = mouthwatering amazingness. I'm serious, I love goat meat here. It's weird.

I'm teaching Form 1 (9th grade) English and 1/2 of the Form 3 English class. There are 7 periods a week, so I'm teaching literature during 4 of the Form 3 English periods, and Mr. Dzonzi is teaching language (AKA grammer) during the other 3. That means I only have 11 periods a week right now, which is a pretty light load, but since I came in halfway through this term and I'm still getting my bearings, I think it's perfect. I'm having to readjust my expectations all the time here. Critical thinking is a foreign concept. Actually, sometimes I wonder if 'thinking for oneself' isn't a new idea for these kids either.

I've been running, and I've garnered a following. At first it was just young boys who would go with me, but now the high school boys are into it and I've got a few regulars now. We run to the next town and back, little kids screaming and laughing at us (well, me, the 'azungu') the whole way. Whatever, I've got thick skin. And if I didn't have thick skin before living in Africa I definitely do now! After we run we stretch, which means I lead about a dozen or so little kids in stretching and kickboxing moves. It's awesome! They love it, the moms love me for playing with the kids, it's win-win. Then I pump a bucket of water for my bath at the borehole. I am strong, I am awesome!

The big news last week: buying a 1/2 kilo of pork (for 175 kwacha, where 150 kwacha = 1 USD) and cooking and eating it! Well, to be fair, Mable cooked it, but still, pork! I never knew how much I loved it until I lived in a Muslim country for 6 months.

So next week's the week: I'll finally move into my house! It's adorable, but kind of off on it's own and doesn't currently have a fence so Mr. Dzonzi is being all mother hen about it and worried about me. They were also kind of surprised when I said I didn't want/need a girl to live with me to cook for me, but then I cooked them spaghetti. 'Oh, you can cook for yourself!' they condescend. I try not to be too offended, because, after all, I am soft and don't work as hard as these ladies do, pumping water, carrying water, cooking, cleaning, farming (Mrs. Dzonzi is going to teach me how to farm with a ho!), etc. etc. etc. Mr. Dzonzi liked the spaghetti, but Mrs. Dzonzi would barely try it: she literally ate one tiny piece of spaghetti. ('How many sticks do you cook at one time?' she asked as I was making it, and I was like: 'I don't know! I don't count them out individually!') Well, she was exposed to it, at least. To her a meal isn't a meal without nsima, the hard cornmeal porridge that's the staple food of Malawi. What's the staple food of America, besides McDonald's?

Last weekend I went for a bikeride with Mr. Tung'ande (pronounced 'tune-yong-day'), the deputy ('vice principal') of my school, to Makioni, a small town about 15k from Thavite. Malawi is gorgeous. Whenever I get sad thinking about Niger and my friends there, I just look around me. I could be doing a lot worse. We drank Cokes ('Do you have Coke in America?' he asked, and I had to laugh) and ate Obamas (bread rolls that for some reason are called Obamas...he said there are different, less popular rolls called 'Osama bin Ladens'...oh Malawi!). It was a good day.

By the numbers

Bike rides to date: 2

Dresses made at the local tailor to date: 2

My site is great. It's small (no electricity...we have solar panels at the school we use to charge our phones!), and beautiful. On a clear day, on a hill, I can see the lake! It's about a 10k bike-ride away...last weekend some of my little girlfriends and I rode to the lake, ate a picnic, bought fresh fish off a boat, and biked back and cooked them for dinner. Yum! Pigs wander around the school...pigs! They make me so happy, and people who didn't just spend the last 6 months in a Muslim country just think I'm weird.

Teaching is...interesting. I'm teaching Form 1 (AKA 9th grade) English and Form 3 Literature-yikes! We're starting with the basics, including obscure grammar rules that baffle me (indefinite articles with countable and uncountable nouns?). I'm lucky to be surrounded by a supportive staff (I'm the only lady!), and awesome kids (a 60-student classroom in America wouldn't be as well-behaved as these are, I'm sure). I'm still living with my head teacher and his wife and grandson, Chisomo, but it's actually been a nice transition. My meals are cooked for me and my Chichewa is slowly but surely coming along (favorite word: nyambi nyambi 'firefly'). Hopefully I'll be moving into my house next week or the next.

Today I went to the airport to welcome a new group of Environment and Health volunteers, including 3 girls from Niger (yeah Ellie, Shelly and Carolyn!!). Good to see familiar faces, and a reminder that life continues. I've been in Malawi for almost a month now. Weird!

I can't say thank you enough to all my supportive friends and family. If I didn't have such a solid homebase I wouldn't be able to do what I do. Yeah Malawi!

Leg 1: 26.01.11, 11:28AM. Casablanca MOROCCO to Lisbon SPAIN

We used our last dirham(s) to buy beers (at 10:45AM!) before getting on the plane, the first leg of this insane journey. Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans. Shit. I was supposed to do this and that in Matameye, live there for 21 more months, start projects, build a life there (and I was already getting surprisingly sucked in and considering extending). Now I've got to throw myself into Malawi, 100%, no holding back, my heart or anything. Where am I going, ultimately, career- and other-wise? Are there answers in Malawi?

"Everything happens for a reason," said Lisa.

"Yeah? Well I better find my fucking husband in Malawi, because this has been bullshit!" said I.

Fuck. Esther and I are going to win this shit!

Leg 3: 26.01.11, late that evening. Frankfurt GERMANY to Addis Ababa ETHIOPIA (waiting onboard for 3 hours at the gate before it took off because of "technical difficulties")

We're doing this! Two bottles of wine in Portugal and two glasses on the flight to Frankfurt mean I'm better than okay right now. Bring it on, Malawi! We ate hotdogs on moving sidewalks, rock rock on! Here's hoping that Malawi means all sorts of good shit. Not that I deserve it any more than the next, but c'mon! Niger I miss you but if I didn't believe that Malawi holds great things for me I'd be a broken-down mess, still needing to be mopped up in Rabat.

Niger, my love letter: your are in my heart for always, no one or nothing could remove you from that special place. So I'm moving on much sooner than either of us thought. Don't worry, I'll be back. I don't know when, but c'est la vie, and life's funny like that--I gotta believe it will work out well or else my heart would break right now. Niger you were amazing and I don't think I can know fully yet what effect you had on me. Here's to what Malawi will mean to me in the future. Moving forward, because we have to. MWAH!

Live 100%, all the way, because you may get evacuated tomorrow, someone may die, plans will change.

Layover the third: now 21.01.11. Addis Ababa Airport ETHIOPIA

I'm in Ethiopia right now, for crying out loud! They just served us drinks and cake, at the gate, which I think is a bad sign (addendum: we boarded our next and final flight just a few minutes later, leading me to conclude only that Ethiopians are extremely nice, but I could have told you that from knowing Biiftu and Sebia). At least we didn't miss this flight, and I'm running on reserves of irrational optimism that our bags will make it to Lilongwe with us, because there is no other option. For now I'm just trying to be: patient, calm, ready for the next step.

29.01.11. Lilongwe MALAWI

So far so good. Even though this whole thing has sucked I'm fairly certain I couldn't have asked for a better place to transfer to. I'm excited about the work possibilities. Also nervous. And the other volunteers have been so nice and welcoming. I teared up a little when I saw the welcome committee at the airport, waving American and Peace Corps flags. (Note: someone won a bet, and someone else lost, when all 4 of Esther and my checked bags showed up in Lilongwe. Yawwa!) I'm not so worried anymore--this is going to be great. Different, yes, and loving Malawi all the more doesn't take away the fact that my heart broke for Niger. Chichewa is hard but so was Hausa.

Mwadzuka bwanji? (Ina kwana?)

Ndadzuka bwino. (Lahiya lau.)

It will come slowly, and that's okay. Esther and I went for a run today. I need to get back into that. We ate Korean food tonight. (!!) Education volunteers here are the ones in the bush posts, but whatever. So I won't have the cushiest post with 2 showers and electricity (and will be lucky to have more than an open fire on which to cook), but that will just make this experience all the more different from Niger. Esther keeps exclaiming about the smell here: flowering plants. Is this paradise? Do people retire here? ...I have a feeling daily reality will be slightly different once out at site though. We'll see.

I'm grateful for everything here: delicious restaurants; nice PCVs; a friendly staff; green plants; an amazing partner-in-crime in Esther; this opportunity to continue my service and learn so much from everyone; my supportive family; my PC Niger friends, as scattered as we all are now; the time I had in Niger and the friends I made there. I learned a lot about my own strength and capabilities, about Niger, human relations, and I think I'm just beginning my journey in the development world.

We're in this thing to win it. This thing called life. (We're also in this thing to make sure Malawi PCVs know how good they have it and how lucky they are. Seriously, this place is awesome!)

30.01.11

We ran today. We 'sightsaw' (walked around the muddy streets and dirty market and Wal-Mart owned superstore of Lilongwe, gaping at the big screen TVs). We watched DVDs, lounged by the pool, and generally marveled at our situation here in 'the warm heart of Africa.'

31.01.11

Fuck January 2011. Seriously. Esther and I toasted it away as we drained two bottles of wine while watching Troy this evening. Good-bye worst month ever, and hello February, new site (whose name I still don't know), new country, new stuff (Wal-Mart?!? Really?!?), new possibilities for...anything, everything. Work, jobs, careers, friends, stories for the grandchildren, satisfaction, etc. etc. etc. Fuck this life, in every sense of the word: fuck it hard, fuck it good, may it be awesome, may it be delicious, may it be damned, may it peace out and not bother us anymore at some point. Where will we be then? Fuck if I know, and fuck if I'll be losing any sleep over that any time soon. Fuck. Here's to losing ourselves in Africa. Incha'allah. Al hamdillilaye.

So here's what's been going on: due to security concerns, all Peace Corps Volunteers were evacuated from Niger last week. 'Security concerns' mean that when two French guys were kidnapped from a bar in Niamey that was just a few hundred meters away from the president's house and our hostel (and one which volunteers have often frequented in the past), Washington (DC) decided it was time to get us out of there. I was at training in Hamdallaye when we were told, and thankfully we were allowed to go back to our villages to say good-bye. A few of us flew a plane to Zinder (2 hours vs. 14 hour bus ride) and headed out to our towns. It was one of the worst days of my life, saying good-bye to my new friends (who I'd become a lot closer to than I had realized) probably forever, though I've promised to visit when I can, somewhere 2-10 years from now. I realized It's more final than most good-byes because none of my Nigerien friends have facebook or email addresses, and calling them is about the only way I can contact most of them. For the past week we've been in a nice hotel in Morocco, and I wish I could say I've been sightseeing all over the place but I've been too sick and stressed to get out of the hotel much, not even to buy cute scarves, jeans and jackets like many of my friends (although I'm sure I'll get around to it in the next few days). We've been agonizing over the decisions we would have to make (stay in Peace Corps and transfer to another country immediately? Go home for 2-6 months while we waited to re-enroll in Peace Corps, in which case we would have preferential treatment? Etc.) and finally two days ago our options were laid out to us, and they were very limited. I was lucky to qualify for a position in Malawi teaching English in a high school and was even more lucky to be selected to go, along with my friend Esther. So far so good medically speaking: as of right now I'm cleared to go. This means that some time next week Esther and I will be boarding a plane for Malawi, which isn't French-speaking but is beautiful, according to a Google image search. It may not be my first choice but hell, neither would Niger have been, and I ended up falling hard for that place. I don't have details about how long I will serve in Malawi, but it will be closer to two years, which I'm happy about. Esther and I will have a 2-week or so training (where we will hopefully start learning one of the local languages...Chichewa??) before heading out to our posts. It's a whirlwind but I feel really lucky that the next step of my adventure is happening so soon (not everyone got this chance). I can't even begin to describe how emotionally wrenching the last two weeks have been (it has been a steady sustained awful). Not a day has gone by that I haven't cried or freaked out or both, and I have to thank my fellow volunteers and my mom for keeping me as sane and level as circumstances could permit. Another thank you to Aunt Beth, Miles and Sarah Krasnow, and the mom again, whose packages I picked up from the post office on my last day in my town and whose goodies I shared with friends to help make our parting of ways a little sweeter. Also thank you to everyone at home in America (Seattle, Santa Cruz, Kansas, San Juan Capistrano, I'm talking to you!) who offer their love and couches to me whenever I require...I've said it before and I'll say it again: I couldn't be such a globetrotter without such an amazing solid support team back at home. I will miss Niger so much, and my fellow volunteer-friends, many of whom left for America last night. I know I will get back to Niger, someday, though most likely not as a Peace Corps Volunteer. As John Lennon penned: "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." Or as they say in Niger, "Haka duniya take!" Get excited, Malawi!

The 12th

This morning I went to church with OZ (‘O-Zead’), which was a strange experience on many accounts. He gave me a Hausa bible, which is currently wedged into my bookshelf right next to the Quran/Koran in English and Arabic. There were only 5 adults, including me and the pastor, and as we sang in Hausa my mind wandered. Churchgoing is comforting, no matter what you believe. It’s nostalgic and I’ve kept away these past few years to avoid hypocrisy, because I’m not sure what I believe anymore, (typical 20-something I am), but even if it’s just going through the motions…

Most people here are fanatically fervent in their beliefs and expressions of faith (praying 5 times a day?! That takes dedication!), and I feel of late I’ve ascribed to the American disillusioned intelligentsia anti-religion school of thought, distancing myself from any sincere expression of faith. But some of those of the smart set go to church too. My whole life I’ve been thinking of religion and spirituality as an all-or-nothing deal: either you are or you aren’t, you buy the bullshit or you don’t. Of course people aren’t wired that way, and my own wavering middle ground refusal-to-commit-to-any-one-opinion ‘belief’ of sorts that I’ve held for the past few years (I can’t quite let go of the idea of a Creator, but I’m not about to assert that Jesus is the only way) is evidence of that. So…what? Is it okay to attend church without the 100% sincere trusting faith of a child? To go not because you believe but because of the comfort and community you find there? Does your motive (have to) really matter? Is there something these guys (Nigeriens) are getting right, God playing a larger, more consciously on-the-surface role in their lives? So where do I go now—what do I believe, and what do I do? Try to read some familiar Bible tales in Hausa and see where that gets me, I guess.

The 13th

Thrown like a bucket of chum to a school of sharks today at the private school in town, what the hell am I doing here? I have no great specific practical wisdom to impart.

Today at ‘wurin Sani’ (‘Sani’s place’ AKA hanging with my fada) the conversation turned to the worth of women (½ as much as men; “the Koran says so!” is the common refrain). “What if you get married and your husband wouldn’t let you come visit Niger?” they asked. “It’s not a question of him letting me—I would tell him what I was going to do and I would do it!” Apparently women have to ask their husbands for permission to do anything, and they don’t initiate divorces, ever. “Women aren’t as smart as men,” my friends said. “What?!?” “The Koran says so.” “Well Mohammed was a man—if he had been a woman it would have been the other way around!” They got a kick out of that. They continued—it wasn’t what Mohammed thought, he only wrote what God told him. “Well if God were a woman…” The conversation concluded when we all agreed that God is bigger than we mere humans are capable of understanding.

This conversation was easy and fun (I was laughing a lot) but had echoes of a scary time in my life. Yes they actually believe this, but I found myself thinking: ‘So what?’ I don’t really care if they think 2 women are equal to 1 man in value, IF they’re willing to respect their wives (treat them well, not beat them), send their daughters to school…I mean, I’m not here to convert them to my superior way of thinking. That’s pointless and would be frustrating: I know because I’ve been there. I remember when I was an überChristian with such strong convictions, willing to argue points of faith and bully people into believing my truth, which was the only one. I don’t ever want to go back to that mentality and besides that’s not why I’m here. If I can just be an example of a different way, and a voice that challenges them to think critically (whether or not they actually do), I’ll have done all I can do. Thanks be to Allah.

Slightly related note: tractors. Industrial advancement. Life here is so pastoral, and as a visitor I relish it as a return to a past—a simpler, purer, healthier way of life. Doing farm work by hand isn’t as efficient as modern technology has forced farming to be in places like America, but are huge monoculture factor farms really a ‘better’ way of doing things? I get to be as jaded and cynical and critical as a liberal education of Michael Pollen and issues of the New Yorker could allow—that’s a privilege. Who am I though, emissary of the 1st world, to tell Nigeriens to feel lucky and be grateful, that they are ‘better off’ without tractors? They (should) have the right to rape the land and destroy the environment as much as anybody. The problem, of course, is money.

I have nothing to give, everything to gain, and am as terrible a person as ever. Want to feel like a grade A jerk? Move to Niger.

The 15th

Last night I had the most terrifying dream—Tondi riding up on a horse, catching me fiddling with a radio, which I could not for the life of me figure out how to turn off. I had been told 2 or 3 times to turn it off, not to listen to it, but I was busy with some crafty task (carpentry?). It was so vivid—just as I remembered that I needed to turn it off, and couldn’t figure out how, and finally decided to pop the batteries out, Tondi was there, looming over me. He kicked me out of Peace Corps right there. I pleaded, I cried, I tried to repeal, I tried to explain. I was crushed. I woke up terrified, relieved, in awe that this apparently means so much to me. I really am loving it here, incomparably moreso than France (though that was good for what it was).

Today was a fabulous day: a ‘sunan’ (baptism) where Nasaifa peed on me and I ate chicken, planning English Club with Zabeiru…just walking through town is so fun. I’m finding a rhythm, as awkwardness gives way to knowledge of expectations and ease of person, language, etc. My friends, however I’ve found them, are fabulous, and even slight acquaintances are interesting, fun, caring, amazing. I’m getting excited about work possibilities and am getting into my groove. I would be devastated to be torn away right now.

The 21st

The last 3 days I spent visiting bush villages, the posts of the 3 volunteers coming to my department. Cindy and I ventured out into the unknown without advising the people of the towns beforehand (how could we?), trusting the incredible hospitality of Nigeriens to take care of us. And they did. The villages are small and picturesque, the people excited, friendly, helpful. We were provided with everything we needed—food, mats, a jerry-rigged light made out of a few batteries and a CD. I was amazed at our spirit (‘That town is 5k that way? Ok, see you in a few hours’), and also at how normal it all seemed. Even when we got almost lost for half a second, there was no space to be scared, as even in the open bush we were never far from signs of civilization—stored stacked millet stock, a shepherd, a small clump of houses. This place is beautiful, and the people all the more awe-inspiring for eking out a living here for generations. The landscape reminded me of northern California, near Paradise, near Chico. I felt like an incredibly capable explorer, and alternately like an inadequate human being, not as equal to the task of basic survival as the bush people here are. Trekking back to the road from the third village, I commented: “This is what humans were made for. Walking around Africa is what we evolved to do.” And here I was, doing it, even if in such a small capacity, my lazy American chub slowing me, my bright skin a constant worry, covered by a hat and sunscreen. These new volunteers will have a great time, I hope, and I can’t wait for them to come and for our experiences to commingle.

Also yesterday Souleymane asked me if I washed my clothes by hand or with a washing machine, which I brought from America on the plane, right? I found that too funny to laugh.

Christmas

Being in a mostly Muslim country for Christmas, you realize that, like most things, it’s mostly buildup. You’re reminded of the incongruity of Christmas’ origins, so radically religious, and its equally-as-legitimate bastard, commercial, completely cultural shadow, of shared music and films, similar (if personal and varied) memories. Such strong emotions are attached to this most random of dates (that’s not even determined by the moon!) that a random collection of Americans can come together in Zinder for a truly meaningful, delicious moment. For me, it’s about the family experiences that have been had, however nontraditional or small they’ve been. Spending Christmas away from family is nothing new, and even when it is with family, it’s nothing big, nothing movie- or J Crew catalog-worthy. Of course, as always, being away just makes me appreciate my people (“Greet your people for me!” –OZ), my foods (cranberry orange relish, cookie press cookies, lard-y shortbread, mashed sweet potatoes, lamb cake) and the times we are together so much more. I am so blessed with the fucked family I have, and the new friends I’ve made in Niger. Throwing another Mexican Christmas Eve eve feast for them (I invited a different set of friends than I invited for Thanksgiving—it seems even in Niger I am cursed/blessed with so many varied groups of friends that it’s impossible for them to all be together in one place at the same time) was fantastic.

Now

The new kids are almost here. It’s almost 2011. When did that happen? What will this next year bring? I can't be sure, but I'm hoping: camel rides, travel to other W. African countries, projects in my town (starting a radio station? I could be Niger's Ira Glass or Randi Rhodes!), new friends, a visit from my mom (and brother?!!!), etc. etc. etc.

November 26

Yesterday I invited about a dozen friends (Majabiya and her family and neighbors) over to my house for a Thanksgiving feast. I had obsessed over the menu for weeks, my criteria being: what could I cheaply make a lot of, fairly ‘easily’ that would be different and interesting to Nigeriens? Easy: Mexican food! Consulting the Peace Corps Niger cookbook, I made refried beans, which I cooked in two 2-hour batches the night before, saved the been goop drain-off, then refried them the day of in aforementioned bean goop and oil and onions (which I could have used more of) and added taco sauce mix my mom had sent me from the states. Rice with another taco sauce packet, flour tortillas and salsa (tomatoes, onions, salt, lime juice) rounded out the meal. Luckily an army of children had come over around noon to help sweep my concession, cook (and burn) the rice, wash dishes and ride my bike.

I showed them how to put the tacos together and I’m proud to say that it was a hit: “When are you going to teach us how to make this?” which I think means they liked it. They particularly liked the beans and tortillas, taking all the leftovers, presumably to show and share with family members at home. It was over and done with in less than 2 hours-I told them to come over at 5pm and they were all gone by 6:30. I had been cooking like a fiend for 4x that amount of time, but I loved doing it, especially for Majabiya, who cooks for me and welcomes me into her home all the time. It is such a labor of love to cook for family and friends, because they’re worth it. When I cook for myself I’m happy enough making the same thing every day: pasta and sautéed veggies, or some variation on the theme. Going to all the trouble of refrying beans is not something I’m going to do for myself. Majabiya thanked me for the food and party, and I thanked her: “Without you, I would have to celebrate alone” was the sentiment I attempted to communicate in Hausa.

Of course in the process of planning and throwing this party I thought of Thanksgivings past. This is my fourth one celebrated outside of the states and I always make it a to-do. It’s the perfect opportunity to share American culture with the rest of the world. I love that it’s not religious, it’s American, and I also love sharing the story of what we’re celebrating. As I tell it, the Amerindians shared their food with and saved the first Europeans to come to America, which was a bad move on their part, as the Europeans later proceeded to kill the Amerindians and steal their land. “What do you do for Thanksgiving?” people ask. We don’t exchange gifts, it’s a time for families to come together and eat lots of good food.

At least that’s how I explain it in my very basic Hausa. But reflecting on the Thanksgivings of my past, they’ve as often been spent with friends rather than family. We have celebrated with my mom’s best friend Nancy (who’s like an aunt) and her family; my godmother and her husband; “just us” (mom, brother, stepdad, me); and last year I spent it with my aunt, uncle, cousins, their friends and a coworker of mine I’d just met a few weeks before while my mom and stepdad were in California with other aunts, uncles and cousins. At least in my family it’s nothing like Tabaski in Niger, where people travel far to their hometowns to celebrate with brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, mothers, fathers. It got me missing my grandma for the second time this week. My family has been without a matriarch for almost half my life. She must have been a unifying force as we (her 5 children and their families) have rarely convened all together since. The first time I missed her was while reading the Jane Austen book. I know my grandma loved her and regret not having read the books while she was alive so we could have discussed them. I also know she’d be able to relate to my Thanksgiving and other cooking endeavors.

I will never take a home-cooked meal for granted again-it takes a lot to plan and execute a meal that doesn’t involve instant- or microwaveable- anything. My godmother sent me cookbooks from the 70’s and 80’s and the complicated recipes and obscure ingredients struck me as incongruous with the (too?) fast-paced jam-packed ‘scheduled’ lives Americans lead these days. ‘Scheduling’ isn’t a prominent part of life here in Niger, and while it’s taking some getting used to, I like it. Family and friends are important in a matter-of-fact, everyday kind of way. I’m learning the protocols of greeting and visiting (and fucking it up a lot in the process). I’m grateful for the friends who have welcomed me into their homes so quickly, so easily. Even though it was exhausting, I see many such feasts for my friends in my future.

A week later the Zinder volunteers convened at the hostel to celebrate Thanksgiving together. We had 3 ducks, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, squash bread, deviled eggs, squash casserole, green bean casserole, salad, and fruit salad, which I made. Bananas, oranges, apples, a papaya and shredded coconut. Mmmboy. We had wine, bissap, and mojitos. It was a good convivial time.

I’m grateful for anyone who has ever cooked for me, for current friends who are open and patient and generous to me, and friends and family back home whose letters and packages are so thoughtful and always welcome. Happy Thanksgiving! Barka da salla!

Today began like any other-rushing off to the middle/high school where I observed two of Zabeiru’s English classes. The students were some of the most cordial I’ve encountered and Zabeiru’s very excited about both of my projects on the horizon (English Club and a teacher training). Hurrying off to hopefully meet Abdou-Zakari I nearly trod on a brilliantly hued green chameleon, the first I’ve seen since being here in Niger! I know Nigeriens are scared of them but I took the meeting as an auspicious omen. I watched him for a few minutes before continuing on my way. Later all my friends laughed as I showed them how the chameleon walked and made up the ‘hawenya rawa’ (‘chameleon dance’).

Next stop: the Inspection, where the bitches had the nerve to berate me for not having visited any of them for Tabaski. I thought holidays were supposed to be relaxed and relaxing affairs with friends and family! As it was I stressed myself out and got myself sick trying to get everywhere I had promised. Now here were a bunch of harpies saying it would have been nice/good/better/proper of me to go to the Inspector’s house and all their houses too. Whatever-living in Niger is a permanent lesson in not taking things personally.

Well Abdou-Zakari wasn’t around and neither was the mayor, whom I’d decided to visit since I was out and about in the town at 11am. Things were looking grim again-it was hot and kids were screaming ‘Anasara!’ as old ladies were asking where my medicine was for them. I was walking home down streets I’d never been down before, a whole new section of ‘my’ town that I enjoyed meandering through in the generally correct direction of my house. Then I saw a goat and her tiny baby. A double take and I saw that the baby was all wet and getting placenta licked off of it by its mom. I had happened upon a 2-minute old baby goat! Indeed as I stopped to watch I noticed a girl headed into the nearest doorway to inform the owners of the birth, and soon the new arrival had a crowd around it. I was entranced, and kept exclaiming: “Barka da haihuwa! Sannu da kokari!” (‘Congratulations on the birth! Good effort!’) to the mom, and “Sannu da zuwa cikin duniya!” (‘Welcome in the world!’) to the baby. A girl was using a stick to wipe the placenta off the baby’s face, as it tried to wobble to its feet and toppled over, legs sprawled and shaking with every effort. Fascinating! Then what to our wondering eyes should appear but something slimy sticking out of momma’s butt: another one! I watched as she kicked some dirt, lay down and a second baby slid out! She bit off the umbilical cord and began licking (and eating) the placenta off noticeably smaller baby #2. ‘Life is pretty nasty, but amazing’ I thought, as the babies sneezed to clear their noses and I remembered my cousin Chad sticking his fingers up a newborn calf’s nose after my Uncle Mark had delivered it by Cesarean section, the only comparable experience I had to this miracle. Enchanted, I promised I’d be back to check on the babies. Two days later I came with camera and soap in hand (a traditional naming ceremony gift) and asked what their names were. The people thought I was crazy, as they don’t usually name their animals, but since they were both boys they said the baby goats’ names were Hassan and Ousseini, (what all twins are named in Niger).

I made my way back to familiar territory, where I sat with my fada for about an hour, and I started to learn the Arabic alphabet. After resting and reading, I headed back to the mayor’s office, via the fada to pick up my friend Souleymane and take him to visit the new babies! Then to the mayor’s, where after a long wait she said she’d introduce me on Wednesday to the leader of a Women’s Group, and then to Majabiya’s house, where it goes without saying that delicious food was eaten.

Then to my fada, where ‘stopping and saying hey’ on my way to bed turned into an hour of laughing about djinns, (who appear in the form of ‘waddas’, or dwarfs, or very tall people at 1am, but when am I ever out at that hour here?), mice (who are Issa’s friends, even though they bite him and he poisons them, which is taking a lot of liberties with the term ‘friend,’ I think), Project Runway (somehow I’ve got to arrange a screening of that for Sani the tailor) and Issa’s upcoming race for City Council (I can’t support him publicly, of course, but in my heart he’s my candidate, but if he tells anyone I’ll beat him) and Issa’s current work drama which plays like a telenovela (and who knows how much of it is true): he has the same girlfriend as the Human Resources dude at the Inspection, so he’s being exiled to a school in the bush 200 km away (he’s an Arabic teacher). No potable water, electricity or cell phone reception, the horror! First I suggested he send the man chocolate (this before I knew about the girlfriend bit). “CORRUPTION!” they all cried, asking me if I was advocating for Issa to bribe the guy. I laughed. “Chocolate isn’t money!” Which is one of those great true-but-not-exactly turns of phrase (chocolate isn’t money, but it could still be a bribe). When I discovered “love” (or at least one of the fairer sex) was involved in this tale, I encouraged Issa to challenge his foe to a duel instead. It only makes sense!

To a somewhat sour start, I couldn’t have crammed more treasured moments and laughs into a single day if I had tried. What a splendid way to start Thanksgiving Week!

Watching some dumb Nicolas Cage movie I had the following conversation in Hausa with Majabiya, in which I try to explain aliens:

MAJ: Who are they?

ME: Uh, they’re from the stars.

MAJ: There are people in the stars?

ME: Well, some people think, just like we have a world and people, there are worlds and people out there, in the stars.

MAJ: Oh.

ME: But, there are people who think ‘one Allah, one world, that’s it.’ So, I don’t know. A lot of movies are about people from the stars.

MAJ: Ok.

On Vegetarians, as informed by Michael Pollen’s Omnivore’s Dilemma:

ME: I have 3 friends here who don’t eat meat. What did they do during Tabaski?

MAJ: Oh right! (A beat, then: ) Why don’t they eat meat?

ME: Uh, well, in America, it’s not like here, where each family has one or two or three goats or cows. In America, one person can have lots of cows-thousands! And when there are a lot, they don’t have health. They give them medicine all the time.

MAJ: They don’t eat meat because the animals aren’t healthy like animals here.

ME: …Yeah sure. Also, there are people who love animals, so they don’t want to eat them. I don’t understand, because meat is so delicious!

MAJ: Does the meat taste better here or in America?

ME: I don’t know, because we don’t eat sheep much in America. Mostly cows, and chicken, and pork! (end of discussion)

While she walked me part of the way home one particularly moonlit night:

ME: The moon is beautiful tonight.

MAJ: Do you have a moon in the US?

ME: (scoffs) Yes! Of course! One world!

MAJ: (laughs) One world, different people.ME: Exactly!

Because so much happened this month, and shorter posts, like smaller bites, are easier to digest?

November 17

Tabaski has been more or less what I expected-stress, awkward moments, kids clamoring, screaming in my face for candy, a moment I almost almost wanted to start to cry when I was being ordered to take a picture of the kids because the last volunteer always took pictures of them. But when frustration is about to bubble over like that, I know I need to step back, rest and/or eat, and consider how lucky I am and how much I have. If I were in France or America right now I would certainly not be so effortlessly welcomed into people’s homes, meals and celebrations. And as I’ve been running around making promises to everyone and then trying to keep them and stressing out about it all, I think: ‘Really, what a wonderful, if still annoying and aggravating problem to have-too many friends and invitations.’ Abdou Zekeiou peed on me today, the first such christening since I’ve been in Niger. Really I’m shocked it hadn’t happened sooner. I watched Majabiya and Fatila and Farida braid intestines. I ate liver and other organs. I looked good. All in a day’s work, right?

Today threw into sharp relief a phenomenon I’ve been living here. 2 fadas, on 1 road, where I play 2 roles: at Majabiya’s I’m one of the women, which yes I am grateful for! They’ll be my in, helpful and insightful, my much appreciated window into women’s realities here. I’m pretty sure I’ll never drink that third cup of tea with Solo, Balla (pronounced ‘Blah’) and Twalé (the guys). But then at Sani’s I’m one of the guys: I eat with them, drink tea with them, chat with them about marriage, etc., and I haven’t even met most of the women in their lives (I did meet Issa and Souleymane’s older sister today). I love them-what I originally characterized as the ‘creepy’ fada has become my favorite group of friends so far, where I feel most comfortable and most welcomed (a commentary on my true creeper nature perhaps?). It’s just so interesting how different my experiences are in spending time in the two settings, so near each other.

November 18

Day 2 of the salla. I ate head mead. Twice. ‘Akwai dadi!’ (‘It’s delicious!’) I went to Hamissou’s house and saw Paddy: is it so wrong if I was just a little disappointed he hadn’t yet been served up to some Nigerians? I held a 6 day old baby (the naming ceremony is tomorrow). I saw a deformed girl (“her mother gave birth to her like that/she came out that way”). I talked about how men here like to marry girls 10 years their junior. I ragged on the French. I ate more than enough food, and didn’t see everyone but made a good showing. I’m trying (not always successfully) not to stress about pleasing everyone and running out of money (I’ve got 4 milles, ≈$8 to throw a Thanksgiving party and not starve over the next 2 weeks). I’m reminded of Irene’s mantra: “It all works out when you let it.”

November 21

Today was gloriously incongruent: I spent it resting and reading a book about Jane Austen, imagining carriage rides through the English countryside to stately manors and townhouses. I finally left my house shortly before 4pm to watch traditional Nigerien wrestling, which was exciting and sexy (ripped-as-hell wrestlers without shirts? Hell YES!). Hopefully I’m ready for the week.

November 27

Did I forget to mention that an old man gave me 50 F CFA yesterday for my dowry? “I thought I’d at least be worth a mille!” I said. (1000 F CFA≈$2) I bought some kossai (fried beans) which I gave to Hamissou and ‘Mistah’ with my ‘dowry.’ Today I made ‘yakua’ (‘hibiscus’) sauce that turned out very edible which I served with rice to my neighbors, Amadou-Mussa, Bashir, the friendly old smiler (I don’t know his name!), etc. It was nice and overdue, and I can see it becoming a tradition-every so often cooking for the guys. I really like it, cooking for people. Next up is fada Sani. I don’t know if I’m up for another Mexican feast quite yet though. Soon. Today we talked about mermaids, and debated if they existed or not, because if djinns exist…there’s a mermaid named ‘Mami Wata’ they all know about, and whom I had them draw for me. They were divided on whether or not she had arms. We also discussed marriage, as Moutare and Issa aren’t married yet but are looking, and a group of young girls came to pick up some gum to give out to their friends to invite them to the wedding in a week.

They keep asking me how long I’ll be here, and conjecturing that I’ll stay for years and years. I know I just got here, and I’ve got to get through these 2 years before the next step can be considered and determined, but this place is pretty special—who knows but Allah? Never say never. The fact is I have been immensely enjoying myself so far, even as I stress about navigating social obligations and protocols. It’s ridiculous how these guys compare to the people I met in L’Isle sur la Sorgue-there’s no comparison. Niger may be the poorest country in the world, but they have a different kind of wealth—community, family, caring. People still give a shit about each other here.

November 5

I left to Zinder for 5 days and the babies I know (Azizo and Abdou-Zekeiou) doubled in size in that time!

I found myself being so moved yesterday reading Jean-Paul Sartre in Abdullah’s Terminale class; yes, writers have a responsibility to their era, their society, to move when they are called to, to speak up and out, against the wicked, for the weak, to think about our common, immediate future, but not obsess about our own legacies. Don’t concern yourself with your work’s staying power, its universality; make sure it matters, here and now. That’s all. ‘Mille neuf cents ooh la la’ –Abdullah’s way of saying 1900-something. I like it.

Yesterday I was labeled a “freethinker” by Fadji, which is her ‘polite’ way of saying ‘infidel.’ “But she believes in a God” Abdullah stuck up for me, without knowing me (or that) for sure. It was an interesting exchange-a reminder that I should always be on my guard, though I did admit that wine tastes good.

For my birthday I took cookies and crackers, homemade cupcakes, salad fixin’s and a movie (Terminator 4 and Transformers 2, among other things), baby pictures of myself (courtesy of my godmother Irene), and music to my friend Majabiya’s house. Sometimes if you want a party you’ve got to throw it yourself!

November 10

Soaking my poor little cracked footsies while drinking some wine(!) and reading a New Yorker article about Steve Carell: I can’t think of a more fabulous way to celebrate the exit stage left of Paddy! I refuse to feel anything but joy in this moment-I’ll sleep outside! I’ll get a karhi (clay jar in which to keep cold water), and a mat, and landscape, and garden, and have people over! I’m elated right now.

At least one thing is crystallizing for me so far, career-wise: economics is hella important. The economics of development is what, according to Ibrahim, I should study next. He’s got a great point. Economics is everything, the confluence of all other fields, cultures, human relations; it’s the language in which we function. But reading the New Yorker article about lithium in Bolivia, and living here in Niger, I begin to question my desire to work for the Foreign Service. Would everything about it that I want be worth giving up my autonomy? How hard would it be to always be pushing and working within the confines of official US policy, as opposed to saying and acting however I felt? Politics is complicated. But working for the ‘right’ and ‘good’ is exhausting and riddled with its own contradictions and difficulties, I’m finding out.

November 13

My 18 year old friend Souleymane pointed to a cheesy postcard picture of Haystack Rock (famous Oregon Coast landmark) with a flock of birds flying up and asked if they were pigs. WHAT?!? Living in a 99.5% Muslim country will do that to you, I guess. I drew a cute little picture of a pig and showed it to him. I told them all (the guys in my ‘fada’ or ‘loose group of guys who hang out on the corner and drink tea’) how delicious pork is and how I feel bad for them that they have to miss out, but that’s religion. Sani or someone said something and Souleymane looked at me wide-eyed and asked: “Suna chin tutu?!?” (“They eat shit?!?”) For some reason this was the funniest thing I’d heard in awhile. If I accomplish nothing else over the next 2 years, I’ll at least have taught an 18 year old what a pig looks like. These are the moments I live for!

November 16

These have been 2 crazy days. Yesterday I got a fish as a present from Haoua, saw a shirt that said ‘Harley Davidson’ on the front and ‘Harry Potter’ on the back, and watched satellite TV with some pretty progressive NGO dudes. Then I hit my finger with my frying pan I was using as a hammer. Today I went for a great run, hung out at Majabiya’s, where I didn’t get henna done but where I did take a nap after watching her divide cookie crumbs into little plastic ‘bags’ (that she made by cutting small bags into 1/4s and tying them) that she will sell for 5 F CFA (≈1 cent). Or will all just be eaten by Zeinabou. COOKIE CRUMBS?!? Are you kidding me? Then I met up with Abdullah who took me to the bar in town (guess my rep was already shot the second I didn’t cover my head and wore pants, but still), where I had a Coke, thank you. We discussed religion, politics, the UN, life in my town; he’s legit. We ate dinner at his house and ‘hung out’ at a ‘party’ some of the high school students had invited him to. We sat off to the side, being the token adults while a handful of students wandered in and out, greeting us, and music was sometimes played. The least happenin’ party ever: even by Nigerien standards it was weak sauce. So tomorrow’s the big ‘salla’ (‘holiday’: Tabaski). I’m keeping my expectations low and will be happy if I can manage to walk around and bump into a significant majority of the people who have invited me to party with them. In any case I’m sure of one thing: that this ridiculousness that is life in Niger, [me-a mess of miscommunications, over-committing, stressing about stupid shit, a complete basketcase of emotions, pissed and awkward one minute, grateful and content the next; life-hours passed in workplaces, plans beginning to be made, a schedule being decided and not adhered to but (at least ½ the time) it all working out when I let it] will continue being as amazing and exasperating as ever!

I just finished reading Three Cups of Tea in my first month at post here in Niger and I was surprised at the similarities between Mortenson’s experiences in Pakistan and what I hope my work experiences will be here in Niger. While in Islamabad he’s oppressed by the heat (I feel ya’ there!), and being in a Muslim country, Islam is a part of every day of his life, from morning to night. Niger is a secular country, but 99.something% of the population is Muslim. Even though I live across the street from the big mosque in town, I only ever hear the early morning call to prayer (4:30-5am) if I’m already awake (which has happened a few times). Prayer rugs and prayer beads are everywhere, and people praying or washing themselves in preparation for prayer (ablutions!) is always going on. It threw me off when, while visiting a friend’s house, she excused herself to pray, right in front of me! I felt awkward and fell silent, but the kids around me kept babbling as usual. The people are friendly and welcoming, he drinks tea with them, he haggles and bargains and gets frustrated in the market, he goes to the tailor to have traditional clothing made, he stretches the local currency as far as it can go, girls are (supposed to be) really really sad on their wedding day…this is my life! Are we in Pakistan or Niger? There’s even Al-Queda here, present in the all-but-deserted borderlands, just like in Pakistan!

“I have seen,” she writes, “that community and a close relationship with the land can enrich human life beyond all comparison with material wealth or technological sophistication. I have learned that another way is possible.” – Helena Norberg-Hodge, Ancient Futures as quoted in Three Cups of Tea

“Haji Ali taught me to share three cups of tea, to slow down and make building relationships as important as building projects. He taught me that I had more to learn from the people I work with than I could ever hope to teach them.” – Greg Mortenson, Three Cups of Tea

The quotes above, especially the second one, are extremely applicable to my life. I’m learning so much from the Nigeriens I’ve met, about hospitality and what’s important in life, that I’m afraid at the end of 2 years when it’s added all up I’ll have gained and learned a lot more than I ever brought or imparted to them. We’ll see. If you’re wondering what my life is like, and these infrequent blog posts just aren’t doing it for you, pick up that book. I also just read Paul Theroux’s Dark Star Safari, in which he takes an overland trip from Cairo to Cape Town. There are some similarities (particularly when he’s in the hot dusty Muslim desert of Sudan, or scared for his life in a bush taxi), but all the countries he travels through are so different, it’s a reminder that Africa isn’t a country, it’s 54! He’s just a dirty old man sometimes, but some of the interactions he has with colorful people and the stories he hears are great. Potentially worth the read, if you’re into that kind of thing.

***

A few weeks ago a dude was giving one of my friends in town ‘Jolie’ (a nickname, I don’t know what his real name is) a pedicure, on a mat on the street. He asked me how much it would cost in the states. I said $8-$35, and even $8 (4,000 F CFA) is an inconceivable small fortune here (he probably paid 100 F CFA, or about 20 cents).

A few days ago I picked up a complet (shirt and skirt outfit) from the tailor and was horrified—the fabric has a print of little Africa shapes and the tailor had sewed the outfit with the Africas upside down! Other than that the outfit is gorgeous, and fits way better than I would have expected for him not measuring me at all.

Watching Planet Earth with Nigeriens and we see grizzly bears. “What’s that? A dog?” which sounds just ridiculous, but then I think: ‘There are no bears in Africa—these guys have no point of reference for bears.

“McThousand” – how Hamissou says ‘Mike Tyson’

“fragrant woman” – how Alassan says ‘pregnant women’

October 16

What the fuck?! Shock, numbness, gradual (attempt at) acceptance of the unacceptable, the unexplainable, the unreasonable. “Stephanie Chance passed away.” Two 15-hour bus rides and one memorial service later and Tondi’s words that night still haunt me. It still seems unreal that I will never see Steph or hear her ever again, because she’s dead. Who left who? Did she leave us or did we leave her? Did she transcend or ascend or cross over to a higher plane/the next step? Or did she stop, forever frozen in our memories and hearts at age 26, an incomplete life lived, as the rest of us live another day after another day, marching forward into a shared history that Steph is no longer a part of? I guess it depends on your outlook. What do I think? I don’t know. One day she’s just a text away, more of a potential relationship than anything, although common ground was there, looking forward to Halloween and other future shared experiences, and the next she’s completely, irrevocably unavailable. We were told to expect to confront death here in Niger, poor Niger where the dirty hungry masses get sick or starve to death all the time, where sanitation is sub-par and almost every family seems to have lost at least one kid. But how were we supposed to steel ourselves for THIS? A happy healthy one-of-us young American, with access to medicine and comprehensive health care that Nigeriens just don’t have—unforeseeable, unconceivable, unforgivable. We still don't know how she died, which is what it is. It seems to have been natural and hopefully painless. I miss her and think of her constantly. She will be an inspiration to me throughout my service here. I am not here just to ‘get through it,’ I’m here to do my best at making a difference, help as much as I can with my own two hands, passionately throw myself into the work, because why else would I bother? I need to take full advantage of every moment, every opportunity, live 100% at 100mph because if I’m not doing that, what’s the point? A life lived or a life wasted? All we have is here and now. Perspective. If I take anything away from Niger, it will be that. What’s important? What’s not? What can be lived without? (lots of things, even toilet paper) What can’t be lived without? (human connections, love, touch)

October 18

Living here is so humbling. People take joy in the simplest pleasures—being together, sweet little songs, inside jokes. They want to develop, and they deserve to, no more or less than we, and really what am I doing here? I don’t have tractors or printers and even though I know those aren’t sustainable solutions I’m wondering what I CAN do that will matter at all, and not just be for my own sake? They know their predicament, their situation, that their standard of living is low. I’m where I need to be for me right now, that much is clear. But am I where I need to be for others/people/the world? Solo said tonight that after 2 years here I’ll be able to run for mayor, I’ll be so popular. We’ll see! Seeing how people live here I feel like such a pig with all the electricity and water I suck up for only one person, and if I’m worried about my carbon footprint here…

I tasted PlumpyNut today. Not that bad. Kind of like peanut butter. I guess my friend Majabiya confused me for a malnourished African baby (how flattering!). I also ate 3 crickets. We don’t eat crickets in the US because we don’t have to: we’ve never needed to look away from our McDonald’s hamburgers for just any old source of protein that hopped by. When the cricket sellers come by the house and Majabiya buys some I wonder how much of the purchase is made because she’s legitimately hankering for some crickets and how much is because she wants to help someone who’s making a living selling crickets for crying out loud!

October 22

What were my crazy feverish dreams last night? One featured drag queens (Rocky, Dau, John Kim, heyyyyy-eeyyyyy!) and me at a Shari’s, glittered out at 6 in the morning after a wild night, ordering gooey greasy breakfast foods and drinking shots out of small tin cups—sour cream, salsa, cheese, Mexican spices, all the fixin’s, and vodka. Disgusting, or brilliant? It was basically all the things I miss most living in a Muslim country: out gays, pork products, alcohol, Mexican food, debauchery from the night before. Throw in Kucha, my mom, some close girlfriends (Alisha, Hannah, Megan, Mara hey hey!) and the scene of everything I miss from home would be complete! What a party that would be…let’s make this a reality sometime fall 2012! In the meantime, someone get on this ‘taco shot’ idea and let me know how it turns out!

Another dreamic episode played out like a movie: Sandra Bullock, on loan from the Monterey Bay Aquarium to some research station on the East Coast (let’s say Atlanta), making preparations for her next big experiment: to get impregnated by an octopus (how???? More to the point, why???). Tom Cruise goes the 20 feet from lab to tank to retrieve the octopus but loses it down a sewer drain on the way back, effectively ruining Sandy’s career (oh Tom!). She’s pissed of course, refuses to speak to him, and her girlfriends take her out for cocktails and ice cream to make her feel better. And probably pizza. This script NEEDS to be written immediately and sent to some Hollywood fatcat producers, no?

(later that day)

I’ve got Britney Spears’ “You want a piece of me?” running through my head right now. Emerging from my deathbed (okay, maybe that’s a little too diva dramatic, but still) to be berated left and right for not being around. It was great shopping with Hadiza in the market, and it’s great that I’m so welcomed at Majabiya’s, but am I a commodity to them, the oddity as friend? Life is work here and work is life. Especially in the first 3 month period everything I do, everyone I talk to is my work. When work and life are one and the same, how do you find balance? Is this what being famous is like? Cue the Britney…

October 24

Today was glorious. Emily, an RPCV back in Niger working for an NGO that builds pumps in towns and Windsong, an RPCV visiting Emily came to my town with the design of walking a few kilometers out to a little village where a PCV was posted in their day. They invited me along and I’m so glad I went. The walk out was hot but beautiful. The Lion King soundtrack was playing in my head as we walked through orchards and gardens that Emily said will be much prettier in a few months time, when it will be transformed into a Cabbage Kingdom. I can’t wait! I was enchanted. The little village was on a crest overlooking a valley. The family we were visiting (the host family of the volunteer who lived there a few years ago) was so nice and they served the best Nigerien meal I’ve eaten yet: corn tuwo with a to-die-for hibiscus sauce that I need to learn how to make (that and the peanut-buttery cucumber salad that Ousmane’s family served us have been my favorite dishes so far).

Halloween.

We made stew in a pumpkin!, (stew cooked and served in an actual pumpkin!), a recipe I got out of a cookbook my godmother Irene sent me. We also made Spicy Pineapple Zucchini Bread with pumpkin instead of zucchini. Delicious. A fall feast. I was Snooki from the Jersey Shore, and we had Daisy Duke, Elton John, a sexy gypsy, a sexy Indian princess, Lady Gaga, Prince of Persia and a chola. We danced our little hearts out. We ate a ‘proper’ French apple tart courtesy of Audrey. We celebrated the big important holiday of Halloween—my Nigerien friends are convinced it’s a big deal. My fault. Them: “Do you get the day off from work?” Me: “Uh, no. We give candy to kids.” Them: “That’s funny, because the Hausa word for candy is halawa. The fete de Halawa!” Me: “Huh.”

My birthday’s coming up in a few days. The big 2-5! A quarter of a century down, 3 more to go. My plan is to take cupcakes, cookies, and movies to Majabiya’s house—instant party! “Hey bitches, it’s my birthday! Let’s celebrate!” They will probably be a little confused, as birthdays aren't a big deal here ('I was born in '85 or '86, I'm not sure' they'll say), but it will be awesome!

It's been pretty crazy here in Niger the last couple weeks. Here are a few vignettes that stick out in my mind:

-the 7 of us new Zinder volunteers getting in after dark after a 15-hour bus ride, expecting to be met by a car to transport us and all our stuff to the hostel. Instead, current Team Z volunteers roll up on the backs of motorcycles, shove helmets into our hands and graciously take some of our things from us (Allah bless Alex for taking charge of my big too-heavy-to-lift bag and getting it to the hostel somehow).

-a book in the Zinder hostel about Park W (in SW Niger, so named because the Niger River curves around in a 'w' shape) informed me that there are MANATEES in Niger!! Finding this out made my week. Now whenever you think of Niger you can think of the desert, Al Queda, me and manatees! That sounds like an epic combination for either an awesomely bad reality TV show or perhaps an awesomely bad short story I'll write! Or maybe just a song...I've already got 3 tracks I'm going to write for my Niger-themed album I'll be putting out: 'Snacks for the Bus,''Snacks on the Bus,' and the sure-to-be #1 hit, 'COUCH STORE!' Get excited.

-my ville is BEAUTIFUL! There are tree-lined avenues and a road that goes off into the bush which I run on some mornings (and greet people as I go, who remark that I'm late if I don't go at the same time every day).

-meeting coworkers at the Inspection (think school district office), middle/high school, and youth center, and getting ideas for projects. One man with whom I hope to work was having a very open conversation with me about the crazy things he did back in college. He drank beer! He danced! He ate pork and thought it was delicious! But now he's an old man, so he doesn't do any of that anymore.

-i went walking on my own one day and met a 'fada' or group of guys who hang out at the same time every day and drink tea. They were really nice and the main dude invited me in to meet his wife, and I hung out with her for awhile. She offered me Plumpy Nut, which is basically a bag full of fat and good things for malnourished babies, which is given out by an NGO. An African offering me a nutrition supplement?!? ...I politely declined ('Bani bukata': 'I don't need').

-Paddy and Mickey, the dog and cat who live with me, are helpful and aggravating at the same time. They're cute, they kill rats and mice, but they also eat my sauce packets and get in the way. To keep or not to keep? That is the question...

-Taking a bush taxi in Niger is always a crowded adventure. Last Friday I took a bush taxi with a handful of nice Nigeriens and no less than 55 pumpkins! They fell on our heads so we put them under our feet and all I could do was make faces at the 7 year old girl to make her laugh. Scared 'Is-this-pumpkin-going-to-fall-on-my-head-again?' faces.

-Stephanie. We lost a bright spirit last week who will be deeply missed. Stephanie was loud, funny and loved Chili's, breakfast burritos and snacks on the bus! Team Z was going to make a Twilight parody and she had already cast herself as Bella, since she was from Arizona. It's been a surreal experience losing her so suddenly, dealing with the reality that we'll never see or laugh with her again. I'm so grateful we were allowed to come together in Niamey to support each other and celebrate her life. Our thoughts are with her family and friends back in the states now, and her energy will be an inspiration to me throughout my service here in Niger.

-Speaking of service, I talked to my brother for 2 minutes today and got some great news: he's not re-enlisting! I would have supported him in whatever he chose to do, but I think I'm allowed a sigh of relief that come next April he'll be back in Oregon!

I'm beginning the multi-day trek back to post tomorrow: 15-hour bus ride, rest day in Zinder, another probably-ridiculous bush taxi ride out to post. Life at post is full of awkward moments and miscommunications, but little by little ('sannu sannu!') it will get better, more comfortable, and become my home.

I swore in today, which means I'm officially a Peace Corps Volunteer in Niger! I gave a speech in Hausa in front of dignitaries, fellow Peace Corps Volunteers and TV cameras on the lawn of the Ambassador's residence (minus the Ambassador herself, who arrives early next month...I guess they had to wait awhile for the Senate to confirm Obama's pick, or something). I quoted Obama: "yes we can" in Hausa is "Ee, muna iyawa!" I also talked about camels and giraffes. A woman came up to me afterwards and asked if I'd studied Hausa before training. I basically laughed in her face and said: "Are you kidding? I had never even HEARD of Hausa before I got my invitation to come to Niger!" Later, in the taxi on the way to lunch, we heard excerpts from Lindsay's speech in French on the radio! We're practically famous, which is exactly why I came here! I also looked great: George the tailor did a stellar job on my purple and yellow sea anemone complet get-up...pictures will be posted eventually, I'm sure.

A few days ago we had a GAD (Gender and Development) auction, in which American foods and other various sundries were auctioned off to us and other guests to raise money for projects that address (shocker) gender and development! I went nuts, because they let us buy things on credit (the American way of life) that we'll get to pay off over the next 3 months. I bought various toiletries, (including a product that was invented by an OSU grad, Oregon represent!), various taco and BBQ spice packets (which I also received from my lovely mom in a package the VERY NEXT DAY, but oh well, it was for the women and children!), a beer opener in the shape of a giraffe, a hammock, and a weekend in another volunteer's town complete with fried cheese sticks and beer, for me and a friend (Will, not even a question). I also drank delicious but inexplicably bright blue margaritas and ate delicious enchiladas-overall it was an excellent evening at the American Rec Center (and we randomly caught episodes of Jeopardy and the Daily Show on the Armed Forces Network...SCORE)!

Tonight we're having a big feast (I hear there's going to be ice cream and cheese, among other rare delicacies) and then on Saturday I take the 12+ hour bus-ride to Zinder and then on to my post a few days later. It's been a fun last week, and the celebratory times aren't over yet, but I'm SOOOO excited to finally get out to my post and start doing all the things Valerie (Country Director) and Tondi (training manager) and the Deputy Chief of Mission of the US Embassy said we would do in their speeches today!

Other Fun Hausa Phrases:

Dommi ba haka ba? - 'Pourquoi pas?' or 'Why not?'

Haka duniya take (pronounced "tah-kay") - 'C'est la vie,' or 'That's Life'

I swear in later this week, so then I'll (finally!) be an official volunteer and headed out to my post. Until then I've got a speech in Hausa to write, an outfit to pick up at the tailor (I feel like I'm on an episode of Say Yes to the Dress, but I never got to try on, let alone see the floor model, I just drew a picture and explained what I wanted to him...there might be tears...), an Obama burger to eat at some restaurant in Niamey, and some heavy duty hanging out with my fellow trainees to do, before we separate and disperse across the country. So I've got a busy but exciting week ahead of me. I can't wait!

Since internet access is sporatic and fleeting, I've decided to copy some excerpts from my journal from over the past month or so. This is what I've been thinking, feeling and doing of late.

August 4th

I told Biiftu (my roommate in Hamdallaye) last night I'm having more downs here than I expected, but it's just the way it is. Nutrition is so fragile here, traditions are so different, I'm a fish out of water almost every second of every day.

August 5th

Heather is a godsend for her New Yorkers: they're like a Nalgene of water on a hot Nigerien day-a gulp of culture and civilization and an entirely different reality than what I'm living right now. Oh hell yeah. I'm going to ask Bawa tomorrow for a more 'liberal' post (relatively speaking), if possible, as the only consideration I'm concerned about. We'll see what happens.

August 11th

So much has happened, is happening. I just read an amazing article in the 'journeys' issue of The New Yorker about a National Geographic photographer in Algeria. The desert is a beautiful and poetic place, and I'm feeling so good about being here and going to my post. I'm so relieved! My placement sounds PERFECT for me, and I can't wait to get out there and see it and be in it! I'm sad that Will (my best friend in PST, pre-service training) is so far away, but it's hard to be sad when I'm so excited for my post. I'm riding a great high right now, but I know saying 'good-bye' or 'see you later' or 'a la prochaine' to him is going to be hard when it happens. It's another layer of challenge here. I've got two wonderful beautiful years here in this hot dusty edge-of-the-known, edge-of-the-cared-about wild and wooly place. Two years to continue Kira's projects, start my own, build relationships, see and do, struggle, learn about Islam, travel...

Hamdallaye (the training site) feels familiar, it's a different place to me than it was a few days ago, a few weeks ago. 'This Peace Corps thing' feels different than it did a few days or weeks ago. I'm reassured about my post and can't WAIT to see it, and Cindy. This is really real. Zinder region! It already feels like it's zooming by. A mosque at Ground Zero? What's the big deal? Who cares? Niger is going to change me. It already is. I push back, I resist. I give and accept. Hopefully I'll find a good balance. Between integration and individuality. Between men and women. Between Hausa and French. Between Kira's projects and my own. Between Nigeriens and PCVs and friends at home. Balance of life and work. Social, mental and physical health. Going and coming, being, doing, seeing, learning, sharing, reading, listening. This, Niger, my post, feels so good and right right now. I'm glad I went to France first. A baby step. I'm glad I've done and lived what I have up until now. I feel ready, excited, peaceful, smooth. I hope I feel like Kira does at the end-jealous of the next person...

The moon continues across the sky, waxing and waning, no matter how up or down, hot or cold, content or unsatisfied, anxious or at peace we are in our lives. That's a beautiful thing. Why do we (Americans) live so much of our lives inside? Disconnected from nature and the flow and rhythm of life. That is something I want to 'learn' or 'do' in Niger, if such things are possible.

August 13th (?)

We have an 'exciting' weekend at Bisa Doutchi (what we call the training site in Hamdallaye because it's on a hill and Bisa Doutchi literally means 'on top of the hill') ahead of us, as site visits have been postponed due to some sort of security issue in the Maradi region. I'm glad they're looking out for us, but sad it'll be that much longer until I get to see my village. Everything's attitude: if one were to look on this as a 2 year stretch of 'withouts' (e.g. without family and friends, internet access, comforts of home such as toilet paper, AC, etc. etc.) it could be a pretty long and trying experience. BUT, after reading that beautiful article in The New Yorker, I was reminded of how INCREDIBLE this is and can be. I'm in the desert, in nearly the middle of Africa, braving crazy weather and elements, conservative customs and even a strange language to help a little bit, learn a little bit, be a little bit. How many people get an opportunity like this, to explore the edge of 'civil'-ization, one's own limits in such an extreme environment, and maybe even the big questions of life in a simpler, pastoral, pittoresque setting? I could be even crazier, go even further, venture further off the beaten path...anything is possible. I dare myself to be more daring. I've been safe a lot in my life. Niger's pretty exciting, evidently, so I'll do this before I get to any of the next craziness.

August the next day

While frustrating to be at summer camp with other Americans and 'Friends' and 'Sex and the City' rather than at site (or en route), today has still managed to be excellent. Volleyball tournament, another New Yorker from Heather, food and pause snack all day long (we have a pause at 10:00am and 3:30 or 4:00pm where we get tea and food), and a truly impressive talent show, with some tea and cards inbetween made for a not-so-bad day at Bisa Doutchi. Lindsay and my rendition of 'Elephant Love Medley' earned us 'Most Hilarious' and Janice, Elise, Heather and Mariah were so sincere and sweet in sharing their talents. Tomorrow we've got a game of Capture the Flag planned, as well as running, boot camp a la Mason, and probably more yoga, possibly led by me. We're creatively filling our time and tonight at the dance party, (impromptu right after the talent show, of course) I really felt endeared and connected to this bunch of randos. Tondi thinks the talent show should be a mandatory scheduled activity for future stages, and I felt so impressed with those who shared of themselves so honestly, and like a cohesive group who was making the most of an unexpected standfast weekend at Bisa Doutchi. I thought about me as an individual, who signed up for this experience on my own, and now find myself with a hodgepodge group of people with different skills and talents, interests, hometowns, viewpoints and expectations for our time in Niger, but it works. The one main thing we all have in common is that we were crazy and masochistic enough to sign up for this and get on the plane. And soon it WILL be a largely individualistic endeavor (if we ever get out to our posts, that is!), so I'm working hard to downplay the disparities and glean as many good vibes, fun times, inspiration (Buddhist book and future discussion with Mackenzie!) and ridiculous memories (sitting on Mason while he recited a poem?!?) while this 'family' is stil all together.

August 16th

No site visit! A very hot day and stupid, practically pointless language activities are driving me to the edge. But, 'sai hankuri' ('have patience' in Hausa). This is a setback, the first big one, requiring patience and flexibility-a useful exercise in expecting the unexpected, in things not working out as planned. This is part of it, dirty clothes, lots of luggage, delays, dragging myself to language classes, working through difficult days. Life here is a balance, as I'm learning. I need to work on the cynicism/genuineness scale, as I tend too frequently to the former, as well as the pushing/pulling scale: when should I conform to cultural rules and when do I push back and stand my ground? Ramadan has been schooling me in this delicate dance. I'm so grateful for some of the other stagieres (trainees) with whom I can speak frankly, vent to, lean on, be snarky with and have inside jokes. It will be interesting to see the landscape of our stage by In-Service Training (in January)-if cliques still stand to some degree, if regions have gotten tight, if some friendships are as strong and special as ever...Erin and I are discussing fitness challenges (and other, e.g. cooking) that we can use to motivate us in our first 3 months alone at post. 'Alone'...I can't wait. But I won't really be: I'll have a whole town to get to know. As sexist, racist and xenophobic as the 60's Peace Corps book was, they had a genuine passion for their work and the people of Manta which resulted in a lot of concrete projects getting done during their service. Keeping the right scope and perspective will be a challenge-staying focused and realistic at post.

August 19th

Language Immersion is kicking our asses. Hmm, not true. Getting tossed out into Lisa's town without necessary equipment is throwing us for a loop. For the most part we're being good sports about it, looking on this as a really intense camping trip or just another test-are we really cut out for this? Can we really be here for the next 2 years? It's insane how fast I can go up and down here. Being mobbed by kids fighting over my hand as Lisa and I looked for Sprites in the heat of the day while on the verge of dehydration and didn't find them (Ramadannnn!!!!!) was definitely a low point. Going out later to buy rice, pasta, couscous and sugar and having exact change was so AWESOME! It sounds dumb but I was practically giddy. And then we made breakfast burritos for dinner. One tortilla vaguely looked like Africa and the 'insides' (onions, tomatos, hot peppers, tomato paste, eggs, 'cheese', various spices) looked like vomit but tasted so good! We all worked together and I felt so accomplished. Africa, throw your worst at me: bugs as big as my fist, no latrine for another day or so, going on my 3rd day without a shower, nosy kids, ridiculous heat, mosquito bites, no water filter, monsoon rains, puddles and mud and cars getting (almost) stuck, 12-hour cramped-as-hell busrides with hardly any stops and a woman sitting in the aisle next to me, across 'roads' which sometimes didn't merit that designation...BRING IT ON! We've decided on Madonna for our song competition entry and things are looking up. I wonder how everyone else is doing...all I know is that my Nigerien mantra stands: "If I can do this, I can do ANYTHING!" Stephanie pointed out today that it's been EXACTLY 6 weeks since we arrived in Niger and it's exactly 5 weeks until Swear In. Time is truly flying, so I must be having fun. But seriously, 6 weeks?!?!? The days are long but the weeks are blinks.

August 20th

We ate like kings today. Onions and garlic and tomatos and tomato paste and pasta for lunch; curry potatoes and squash and onion and coconut milk and couscous for dinner; coconut milk crepes and nutella and bananas for dessert! Lisa's lucky to have a cookbook handy, and I feel so competent and capable in the kitchen, though we did burn some of the couscous. I think I'll pull a Julie and Julia and get my grubby hands on a PCV Niger cookbook and work my way through all the recipes over the course of the next 2 years. WAY more hard core than Julie was! The heat is hard here: it's hard to concentrate in our Hausa classes but I need to. We just drank tea by the mosque with one of the Chef du Canton's 60 children...he's had maybe 8 wives in his life because when they die or get too old he gets another one, never having more than 4 at a time though, according to Islamic law. Amazing. I'm finding myself having a strange middle attitude when it comes to discussing the differences between Niger and America. FIrst of all it's difficult because America is never one thing: sure MOST families only have 2-3 kids, but there are always exceptions (the Duggars, for instance). Secondly, out of a tendency to avoid offending our hosts, and a tendency towards multicultural attitudes, I find myself agreeing with (at least outwardly) the 'Nigerien' way of life (e.g. multiple wives), and I'm shocked and appalled by Lisa's frankness (ha, Lisa Frank!) in regards to these things ("babu kyau" or "not cool!"). But I end up being shocked at my own complacency. Am I just a yes person? To what extent will I just go with the flow in order not to make waves? I guess that'll be teased out over the next 2 years...then I got all embarassed and demur when the mayor asked me whiy I didn't fast today...for some reason I didn't want to say the simplest answer, that I'm not Muslim. Probably because I didn't want to open a potentially hazardous conversation topic as a guest in Lisa's town and with so little Hausa under my belt. Hopefully I will become skilled in small talk and diffusing such situations. Cikin Hausa. Insha'Allah! I'm the dirtiest I've ever been in my life. Life is enhanced here. Emotions are magnified and I'm reminded every day in small ways that I'm alive, that I'm a human being on this planet. Sitting at tea, attempting to converse with Sani, Ilia, Konate, Lisa, Stephanie and Kimie I thought: I can do this. I can learn this language and have these conversations and forge these friendships and live this strange new communal life for the next 2 years. It's completely different than what I know-people don't retreat into their own homes, disparaging of human contact outside of work for an evening of mindnumbing television here. They sit together and talk together, about anything or nothing. They work hard as hell to accomplish basic daily tasks (like feeding, cleaning, caring for, washing, etc.) but look out for each other and get up in each others' business all the time. Every day is going to present new challenges but I'm still stoked on it all. I'm so privileged to have the time and knowhow and desire to write, this or anything, and I want to make sure I do. I wonder if there are any stories or writers in the Hausa language? I'm so fascinated by people I've met (the 93-year old Chef du Canton with 60 kids and 8 wives) or heard about (Konate's grandma lived to be 100) and I wonder if and how these stories are being told and/or shared. I wonder if there's some sort of project in this...

August 21st

The food we've been eating is so wonderful, and it's so wonderful to be preparing it for ourselves that I feel I need to chronicle all of our meals. This morning: oatmeal with peanuts, dried apricots, honey, cinnamon and dried cranberries. Lunch was just leftover snacks because it was too hot to move let alone cook. Dinner was prepared for us by Sani's wife and brought to our house: cornmeal and meat sauce. Little by little, this language will come. Discussions on development yield interesting results: is the work we'll do here futile? Peace Corps' been here for almost 50 years: has it done any good? Is 'sustainable' possible? What do I want to get out of this experience, and how can I make that happen? The weather is awe-inspiring, how insanely hot it can be in the afternoon and how gorgeous lightning in a cloud can be, and is. Captivating. I'm plugging into something real here, or I'm going to. Community, 'the simple life', humans' natural state, or closer to it than life in the United States. Is the crazy technologically advanced way of life in the US unnatural? Are humans living out our destiny, improving and evolving to a higher state, a better intimation of ourselves? Or are we foresaking some essential primal part of our being, becoming too comfortable and consequently losing out in some way? I can't think of a better way to meditate on this topic than to live in a hu in Africa for 2 years! And as hard as I push back against Islam (fasting? 4 wives?!?!?) I can't believe the mosque debate that's apparently raging at home. I would completely 100% be on the Islam side of that debate. Hello! I wonder how Nigeriens would react to the fact that this is an issue in the US.

August 22nd

This morning we went to a naming ceremony. I held the 1-week old doll-like baby and a woman offered me her baby (5 year old son, maybe it wasn't even hers) to take to America with me. I think. I barely understand any Hausa but it's getting better, little by little. It's hard to be motivated (the heat! the French!) here. But I feel great about being here. I was having good conversations with guys tonight while we drank tea. I'm reading a crazy book right now. That's all.

August 24th

Food! We had lentil 'burgers' with sweet potato fries tonight. Next time we need to let the lentils cook a little longer. Spaghetti and tomato sauce for lunch and falafel (!) last night in the most delicious (big and thick) tortillas I've made to date. Yesterday for lunch we had soup and bread (hot soup on a hot day = not my fave). The day before that we had the best egg sandwiches: egg, onion, Laughing Cow...mmm! Food is and will be a passion of mine here. Ironic because my choices are so limited here, and I just left the land o' plenty. If I can cook delicious meals here, I can cook anywhere!

August 25th

Weird things: arguably some of the poorest and hungriest people in the world fasting for a month to remember people who are poorer and hungrier than them, and to be grateful. WTF? Souley introducing Lisa and I to his 2 wives and multiple children. He grabbed what looked like a 9 year old girl by the shoulder and asked one of his wives: "Which one is this?" They've got a different relationship to death here. If you could have 2 wives, would you?

Today was hard. Tromping around the whole town in the heat of the day, getting dehydrated, I was in a bitter mood. I can get so ugly when I'm angry. It will pass, but today was hard, and helpful-but-in-the-way Nigeriens didn't help my mood. We made an AMAZING pizza for dinner though. I'm so impressed by myself in the kitchen, and I'm only going to get better. A life goal while I'm here. Get in shape, learn to cook, read a lot, fiction and non-fiction and periodicals-all these goals are so incongrous with my surroundings. It's hard to reconcile realities-that of Niger and that of the US, my reality and that of my neighbors' here in Niger-visiting the Chef du Canton's house (compound) today, it was so vivid how poor these people are, since his is probably the nicest house in the village and surrounding areas. He's local government yet his house is falling apart. And multiple wives-I really need to meditate on that. How do I respect my hosts and friends here while respecting/explaining my own point of view? What is my point of view, and why? Things get so topsy turvy turned around here. Two wives is bad. Because...do I have an answer for that? This is weird. It's a trip.

August 28th

Should I be more worried for the moment we're sent off to our posts? What will my daily activities be? Who will be my friends? Will I continue to think so much about what comes next (after Peace Corps)? I really need to just focus on being here, now. Learn and speak this crazy little language, in this dusty little country. I wonder what I will think about Niger and Nigeriens in...6 months. I'm walking the line between giving a shit and not being too hopeful about anything. We'll see how that changes as I get to know a town and the people who live in it. My post.

Sexy is dead here. I would LOVE to see an editorial fashion photo shoot done in Niger: slinky 'sexy' models dripping in haute couture surrounded by filth, poverty, children, cows, trash, mud,hard core Nigerien women pounding millet...like WTF? Such extremes, that some people have the money to go to the Louis Vuitton store on the Champs Elysee and drop a couple hundred euro for an unnecessary necessity like a wallet or a belt or a weekend bag, and some people want to have 20 kids because they plan on 10 dying. Fair? No. Fabulous? Fuck yes, grotesquely so.

September 1st

Yesterday everything became right again. Just sitting next to Will on the bus made me feel good. (Also he told me that the Irish Red Cross is in Zinder ville! I don't know how he found that out but I'm not questioning it)! So there's that. Then we watched a bunch of Glee and saw giraffes, the first ones I've seen here yet!!! They were so majestic and unexpected and unassuming and wild and so perfectly situated towards the end of a long day and a long journey (the whole of Language Immersion, really) that they portended nothing but good omens of good things to come. I'm still so blown away that last night we learned that Biiftu's post is our host family in Hamdallaye's hometown! Will and I will make it work, despite the distance.

September 3rd

We won the oreo cream pie that Jenelle made! I'll never be able to listen to Madonna's 'Holiday' in the same way again. For the next 2 years I'll never hear the end of 'Shakatawa! Babu layhee!' (roughly translates to 'Party! No problem!')

This is (sort of) a solo adventure. Meaning that I'm ready to get to my post and start figuring it out, no drama, no living on top of each other, no more LPIs (language proficiency tests) or mostly-stupid activities or sitting around watching movies because we don't know what else to do with ourselves. This was part of their plan: get us so sick of each other and being treated like we're 5 that we practically BOLT to our posts. Talking with Laouali (my supervisor) today I feel so excited and ready! I have project ideas and I'm ready to get out into the town and talk with people and have MY OWN TOWN! Does that sound selfish or lonesome or ridiculous? I think I'm exactly where they want me to be.

That's it for now. We Swear In (and become official volunteers) in less than 3 weeks!

I don't even know where to start! Life here is so different than the US, from what we eat (rice and sauce, mainly), to where we sleep (outside under bug nets and the most beautiful sky I've ever seen, unless it's raining), to where I poop (in a hole in the ground). I'm having a lot of fun, and the other trainees are very fun. I'm taking Hausa classes and trying to keep my level of French up. It's a lot to take in but I'm rocking it! Today I find out my post: where I'm going to live and work for the next 2 years! I'm nervous but very excited. We are training in a town called Hamdallaye (from the Arabic "thanks be to God"), outside of Niamey, the capital. We've gotten to go into Niamey a few times on the weekends to shop and/or eat and drink good food (I got a hamburger, milkshake, pizza, and fish here, but they were definitely special treats). I love getting mail, but don't need any packages yet. I'm reading a lot and thinking a lot, having ups and downs, but I've stayed pretty healthy. I go running sometimes in the early morning with some of the other trainees, and have even led a yoga session or two! I had bacteria in my intestines, but some antibiotics cleared it right up! I've seen a few camels, but no giraffes yet. This weekend we're going to visit our sites (alone, for 4 days) and then do a 10-day immersion in a Hausa-speaking town with 2 other volunteers and 1 of our language teachers. Should be exciting! Until the next time, sai hankuri (have patience)!

I'm off! 4.5 hours from now I'm going to wake up to phly to Philly and start this crazy Peace Corps adventure. I'm so grateful for the ones who helped fill my iPod with music (Hannah, Mara, Andrew, Charlie, Steve, Megan and Chelsea!), the ones who celebrated with me this next great step, the ones who support me through it all and have kept me present, living in the moment, in Oregon, up until the very last second! But most especially, I'm so grateful to my mom! I'd be lost and a million times less prepared without her. I owe her money when I get back and an island when I strike it rich (someday). I'm excited right now, and I'm excited that I'm still excited. Sure I'm a little nervous about bucket baths for the next 2.25 years, but for the most part I can't wait. It's been a long time coming, (at least it's felt like that), and I'm just glad the day is finally here! I'm sure I forgot to pack some essentials, but that's what I have you people for! Care packages!!

If you're reading this right now, thank you!! I'll post updates as often as I can, and keep in touch: even if I can't see you or hear from you every day, I'm still thinking about and loving on you!

Goodbye Portland, it's been real. MWAH!

I'm partying like a crazy person from now until 10 days from now. I've had a few parties at the floating home, I'm eating at food carts or Saturday Market or bars galore, picnics at Laurelhurst Park or birthday parties at Mara's...this is the good life. My last days in Portland are filled with: good weather, yummy beverages and food, great friends, fun strangers/new friends, world cup games, etc. Needless to say, adventures abound.

The weirdness of leaving for 2 years is beginning to set in. I've given myself free license to eat all the veggies, fruits, meat, junk food, and other delicious sundries I can get my hands on (guessing it's a pretty safe bet that I won't be able to find sushi in Niger). I'm starting to feel queasy at the thought of not seeing these people for a spell. I get all moody, but then I just grab a friend (and a drink) and keep on keepin' on! I'm filling my schedule for my last 8 days with: Doug's play, coworker happy hour, drinks and dinner with Bart, STEVE!!!, errands and shopping with my mom, filling my iPod with music from friends, world cup games, beer, wine, friends and coworkers, and sleep (but only if I can squeeze it in). :) And then there's Philadelphia with Tab and Michael Faris and Jenny Balisteri!

Images of the past few weeks that will stay with me for awhile (whether I'd like them to or not): running into a bachelorette party with Miles at Dixie Tavern (safe to say, the first and last time I'll ever frequent that joint). Strawberry daiquiris and yummy 'cuisine a la Dau' at the floating home. Drinking wine with Rachel watching my new favorite show, Noah's Arc.

I'm so excited, but worried, a little. Worried that Niger isn't ready for all this jelly! Hey-eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!

Camping with my brother and his friends in Cascadia: incredible.

The whole world (or even country) isn't a liberal-land-hipster-haven like Portland, Oregon. Duh, but, still, sometimes it's shocking to be reminded of this fact. For example: some people wouldn't hang out with openly gay members of the military (provided the Don't Ask Don't Tell repeal goes all the way through) outside of work because of what other people would say about them ("if he's hanging out with a f*****t, he MUST be gay!"). I started crying, but I'm sure the 1/2 a gallon of Carlo Rossi I'd drunk that night helped with that. But, are you kidding me?!?!?!?! If thinking that everyone deserves a fair break and friends no matter what their sexual orientation is makes me a bleeding heart liberal then I am a BLEEDING HEART MOTHERFUCKIN' LIBERAL!!! America is awesome, but also fucked up and slow-moving and backwards. Fuck it. I'm out. (2 weeks from today, like WHAT?!?!?!)

Party down.

The 4th of July is going to be EPIC this year, because I just scheduled my flight to Philadelphia for 8:40 am on July 5th!!! This is really happening!! I am going to be in Niger a month from today... :O

Let's see, I've ordered a few pairs of shoes online which are on their way to me (Chaco's and a pair of Keens, which is based in Portland, who knew?), and I really should get serious about packing. AH!!

Miles comes home on Thursday and then we're having a big kegger here at the house on Sunday. Aunt Robin and Madeleine and Reid are going to be here!! Wahoo! Get ready, No Po, for the craziest party you've ever seeeeen (I've got 2 outfits)!

I went to Goodfoot with Alisha last week, Momo's with Hannah, (we also drank some Rogue beer down at the Saturday Market, holla!), Yur's awhile back, some dive bar downtown with Charlie, Helser's again with Megan and Belinda, (who's not imaginary...she's real!)...sucking the marrow out of Portland up until the last minute (yum, foodcarts)!

Thursday would have been a perfect day except for the weather. Meh, it's Oregon in the springtime. Which, I've decided, is the perfect metaphor for life: it may be sunny for now, but 5 minutes later it will be pouring and you'll be soaked. Oregonians know this, so we're always prepared (or should be) and we don't hesitate to soak up every second of sunshine, because who knows how long it'll stay? I digress. I started at Tasty & Sons for brunch with Mara and Lauren. I can speak to the tasty (mmmmmboy! the pork cutlets melted in my mouth!), but where were the sons? Then on to a hair appointment with Chris which was like an interview for him at a new salon in the Pearl. He ROCKED it: I love my hair and he got the job! Awesomeness continued when I met up with Megan to hang out and we proceeded to cook, I mean uncook a raw food meal. WOW! A bunch of veggies and spices and herbs and sauces and lettuce, and it was actually pretty darn yummy. Following that, Chris and I headed over to the party of the century: Guidos (& guidettes) vs. Hipsters! Instant Jersey Shore recipe: hot new haircut + short shorts + gobs of bronzer + drawn-on Italia tattoo = one hot Snooki, if I do say so myself! ;)

Friday started out with Helser's on Alberta for breakfast with Mara and John (Mara's a huge breakfast/brunch fanatic). All I can remember is: crumpets!! But they were delicious! That night my mom, stepdad and I headed over to our favorite island happy hour spot, Shenanigan's (inside the Red Lion). If you're feeling sassy and classy...this isn't the place for you. If your mom is buying, it's barely acceptable. Ok ok, maybe if BOTH bridges collapse and you somehow find yourself stuck on Hayden Island (Jantzen Beach)...no, I'd still say: swim! I guess I felt I couldn't end the night there, so I forced my mom to drive us over to Backstage, (off of Hawthorne, behind the Bagdad), a gorgeous McMenamin's I've been hearing about for awhile but which was finally introduced to me by Hannah last week. Pool + guest appearance by Doug + most gorgeous mural in a bar EVER = WIN!

Saturday meant shopping! Hooray capitalism! My mom and I went to Bridgeport Village and the Woodburn Outlet Mall because we are classy like that! I got some shoes, some shirts, a raincoat, a headlamp, a radio, a waterbottle...did I mention I'm going to Africa in 43 days?!?! AH! I really need to read up more on Niger, as my current talking points (it's 80% desert! they're poor!) just aren't cutting it. As I was watching Sex and the City the movie with a big ol' glass of (boxed) wine that evening, I was summoned to Blow Pony, the big gay party at Rotture that I've never gotten around to getting to. So I got myself all dolled up in my drag queen/Katy Perry get-up and I'm so glad I went! Sophia, Sam, Eryn, Chris, Charlie, drag queens, dance music: hells yeah!

ANNOUNCEMENTS:

Welcome to the world, new little cousin Isabella Selah McFarland!

16 days until Miles gets here!

Whirlwind.

Thursday: GRE. I went into it cursing the day I signed up for it and feeling underprepared. I left pretty stoked that I got higher than the average (on the quantitative part) of the incoming 2009 class of the Georgetown University School of Foreign Service's Master of Science in Foreign Service program. Can you spot the nerd? I didn't do better on the verbal part (I'm the shame of English majors everywhere), but I think I did GOOD ENOUGH! Yaay!

Next up, Peace Corps potluck, where I met fellow invitees, nominees, and RPCVs (returned Peace Corps peeps). One of the gals was leaving for Kenya in 10 days! (So, I guess, in about a week now)! I learned about things I should definitely take (a French-press coffee maker, a headlamp, a shortwave radio, good-smelling candles, rechargeable batteries) and things I shouldn't (thousands of q-tips...I'll be able to get them there). I even saw two people I knew from a past life: Jon and Charlie, both from OSU, both from the residence halls (AKA "dorms" to laypeople). They (and everyone else I met) were so awesome!! I was definitely in good company, and got even more excited for this crazy adventure! The very next morning, I had a facebook message from a Peace Corps volunteer in Niger right now...OMG this is really happening!

That night, buzzing from all the excitement, I met up with some coworkers and friends for some much-needed beverage. Thank you, Kelly's and Shanghai Tunnels, for being EXACTLY what I needed (and friends, for being awesome and fun and supportive)!

Friday: drive to Russia! Yes that's right, my mom and I woke up and drove, first to Hood River where we stopped for a bite and a beer at the Full Sail Brewery, then on to Moscow, Idaho for my lovely little cousin Erin's graduation from college! It was the perfect weekend, full of great family and fun friends ("bienvenidas a la familia!" I would say, explaining our craziness to Erin's unsuspecting friends). I spent most of the drive back in Aunt Beth's Mustang. We had the top down and I got a tan! I also got $20 by spotting the longhorn sheep before she saw them. BooYAH!

It's smooth sailing from here. My job's going down to part-time, my brother's coming home sometime in June, and coordinating a Cali trip is my biggest 'worry' besides acquiring all the things I'll need for Niger. iPod, check, next big purchase: a pair of Chacos!

Life's been pretty surreal lately. I think and talk about Niger only in social situations when people pepper me with dozens of questions. Other than that, I'm trying to focus on more pressing matters. I'm taking the GRE later this week! I was nuts to sign up for this, and I'm just hoping to come out the other end with an average score, above-average seems too much to hope for at this point. I have to finish reading my book by the end of this week, and I've started thinking about packing (what shoes and clothes and things will I need? I just bought an Oregon t-shirt at the Saturday Market yesterday, on Sunday). And family, friends and Portland- and America-themed adventures are keeping me busy too!

Friday I hung out with cousins Kirk & Sue, Kate and Kyle in Salem. We went to the dump, Home Depot, and for lunch we went to a Mexican restaurant and then got a Belgian waffle and a cannoli for dessert (not at the Mexican restaurant). I need to start running. Next week. Saturday I went to a 'Mothers and Others' brunch and then hung out in SE. It was gorgeous! Mara and I met up with some of her friends on Mississippi for Amnesia Brewery fare, where I got a yummy pint and a spicy sausage with sauerkraut and spicy mustard. It was awesome! Then she and I volunteered as the concessions people for a play. Portland Playhouse's production of Radio Golf was incredible! The acting was good, the set design was cool ("you're such a theater nerd" said Mara), and the setting was intimate and awesome (in an old church, a thrust stage). I miss you, the theater! Then we met up with John and went out to the Aalto Lounge. Rock it, Portland!

To continue the Portland did-it list: last Tuesday I checked out the Rialto (nice old sports bar), the Tube (a classic-the yummiest cheap well drinks around), and the Boiler Room where we sang karaoke! Carly Simon's You're so vain is my go-to karaoke tune. Mara and I sang a duet, and apparently we don't know the lyrics to Telephone as well as we thought we did. Damn. And a sushi restaurant opened on the first floor of our building: Sushi Sakura is yummy, pretty cheap, and even cheaper for us since John now works there and gives us deals!

My job got extended, so after this week I'll be working part-time basically up until when I leave. Which has its pluses and minuses, but I think the good outweighs the bad: I'll stay busy, and as John says, "Beer don't buy itself!" Yesterday, Mother's Day, Alisha hosted a fabulous brunch (featuring 'Marc's Brunch Munch, a delicious new dish created by Marc-"you should open up a food cart!"), so I skipped part of work to hang with Aunt Beth, Barb & Nick, my mom, Alisha and Marc. It was excellent. Mimosas are the best invention ever. Now here I am at the beginning of another work week, so excited for my roadtrip to Moscow (Idaho) on Friday, and wondering where all the other Niger July 2010 Peace Corps Volunteers are! I guess they're not as obsessed as I am: I check facebook groups and the Peace Corps Wiki almost daily for news, even though I already got my Invitation, the biggest news of all. I'm not too worried: I'll meet them eventually. Just like how my mom's been checking out Niger on Google Earth. I haven't, because I figure: I'll be there! I'll get my fill soon enough!

Things to look forward to:

-Moscow (countdown: 5 days)

-Miles (probably coming around June 10th, so, countdown: 1 month)

-Niger (countdown: a shade less than 2 months)

I spent Christmas eve on an uncomfortable chair in the Dallas Ft. Worth airport, I didn't see my luggage until a few days later, and I ripped my favorite (read: practically only) pair of jeans in the crotch. But my alcoholic family just drank a lot (Bloody Marys, Crown & Amp, a Miles specialty, rum and cokes, fruity things, you name it one of us probably drank it) and ate well (Black Angus, Morocco in Epcot, Shogun) and got through it all somehow (Robot Chicken's Beast and the Beauties helped). We saw Avatar, Cirque du Soleil's La Nouba, and a manatee fart. Seriously, I saw a manatee fart, and Miles said he even smelled it. I even saw my ridiculous future.

I made my brother some pretty sweet 'mostly French music mixes' for Christmas. "Making a great mix is a great feeling" says Andrew. Here they are:

Les filles adorent -PZKFoux du fafa -Flight of the ConchordsCa m'enerve -Helmut FritzMeme pas fatigue -Magic System ft KhaledIbiza (Marchesini & Farina Remix) -Desaparecidos vs Walter Master J)Everytime we touch -David GuettaSens interdit -Ysa FerrerNo future in the past -Nadiya & Kelly RowlandInfinity 2008 (Klaas remix) -Guru Josh ProjectRelease me (Cahill club mix) -AgnesC'est beau la bourgeoisie -DiscobitchLove is gone -David Guetta ft Chris WillisCitoyen du monde -Tunisiano ft ZahoCelle qu'il te faut -Kenza Farah ft Nina SkyA la bien -SopranoJai ho (DJ Fisun remix) -The Pussycat DollsFlashback -Calvin HarrisEvacuate the dancefloor -CascadaReady for the floor -Hot ChipNo dice -BeirutWe are golden (Calvin Harris remix) -MikaAnimal (Punks jump up remix) -Miike SnowLex -RatatatSay what you want -Texas ft Wu Tang ClanUprising (Does it offend you, yeah? remix) -Muse1901 -PhoenixRomance (Max Moroldo and Paul and Luke reloaded mix) -Fluxx & LolaHow soon is now (extended version) -David Guetta ft Julie McKnight)

So yeah. Here's hoping 2010 is all sorts of awesome. Tomorrow I'm going to be a college student again!

I love it. I love everything about it. Getting out into 'the nature.' Having an adventure (adventure, I've figured out, is what I'm all about). Matching yourself up against complete strangers and seeing where the chips fall. Seeing if you've got what it takes to outwit the other players, outlast the elements, and be strong enough in yourself and who you are to not give up even when you're starving, even if it's monsoon-ing, even if you miss your friends, pillows, and other comforts from home SO MUCH! Also, it's always so interesting and controversial and usually full of hotties! Hopefully it will be still be going strong the day I've got an awesome-enough resume behind me to make it on the cast. Sigh. I mean, 'Hells yes! It's going to happen!'

It's interesting to see how alike and unlike Survivor is to 'real life' (whatever that is...the more I live it, the more I wonder what people exactly mean by that...it seems pretty boring sometimes)...for instance, did I 'like' Russell? Hell no! At first. But then I just HAD to respect his mad skillz (with a z), and was really rooting for him in the end. Should people like that really 'win' in real life? Hmm. I'm starting to think I have questionable morals...

I absolutely hate drama in my life...I try to avoid it, and I get all weird and pissy and bottled up when it comes my way. I'm a pretty relaxed and chill person, but I think drama is absolutely delicious on Survivor! I love watching complete strangers claw it out in some exotic locale, and I still think I could step up to that challenge and rock it. But it's not a true microcosm of society. It's all about the ratings, baby! Survivor is not real life. (Reality TV was never real) And real life is all about the Benjamins, I mean, sleeping at night. Right? I can't say. I'm young yet, I've got time to figure it out. That's another thing: there are many realities, many philosophies that people bring to the table, and to see them all clash and intermingle and coexist and eat or be eaten is awesome to watch, but how much does it really teach us about this 'real life' thing? I can't say. It'll be interesting to watch next season (the 20th...God I'm old), and see if a Villian or a Hero wins the whole thing. Based on how the last season went, I have no idea where to put my money.

In other news...well, I'm writing about Survivor here because 'real life' is too boring and complicated and aggravating and stressful and monotonous and blah to remark upon. So there. Orlando, here I come!

(That was for Jay from Kansas. ATL, LAX, PDX, I mean, come ON! We're kind of a big deal...aren't we?)

So I've been gallivanting about town having a lot of firsts lately, here's the report card:

Clyde Common - One of Andrew's faves, Thursday night a bunch of my workmates and I headed here for a goodbye happy hour for Dennis and Emily. TEAR! We ordered stiff drinks to stave off the sadness. I sampled a sour bourbon&cassis number, (cassis=blackcurrant liquor from France) a Christmas-y gin&tonic&then some, and something called Breakfast of Champions, with calvados (apple liquor from Normandy, where I lived last summer). All these familiar French liquors got me feeling nostalgic and thirsty...guess they're living up to their rep as a 'European-style tavern.' Yum!

Embers - After happy hour came happier hour! Some of us headed to the oldest gay bar in Portland...I can't believe I'd never been before! Cheap drinks, free drinks (!), dancing and oversharing with coworkers=a win!

Christmas Ships - OK, not a first, but a Portland Christmas classic! Friday night we hosted the first of 2 parties chez moi to watch the Christmas ships parade. If you've lived in Portland for awhile, you should know about these (even if you don't)! Lots of great drink and good food and a random smattering of my mom's, my stepdad's and my friends and coworkers made for a nice night. This Friday (December 18th) promises to be an even wilder and crazier time, with at least double the guests and double the awesome! Swing on by if you'll be in Portland!

Portland Christmas Revels - Saturday night Hannah and her fam invited me along to the Christmas revels, a very unique, really cool, and totally Portland celebration of the winter solstice! Singing, a famous fiddler, Irish dancing, stag's horns, sing-a-longs, mummers, oh boy! I saw a guy with a wizard's cloak.

Hotel DeLuxe - After the revels, Hannah, Mike, Tone, Tone's friends and I headed half a block up to this snazzy little hotel for after-revel drinks. The doorman was falling down on his job, so the door kept getting stuck open, which, on a freezing night, is kind of a big deal. I couldn't resist ordering a cocktail called the Tennessee Williams, with bourbon and sweet tea-flavoured vodka, among other things. Hello! It was amazing, even though, as Hannah pointed out, it tasted of bitterness and disappointment. [ :) Theater jokes.]

Virginia Cafe - One of the oldest bars in Portland, even though they recently had to change locations (93 years in one place, just moved to across the street from the library in 2008), this was one of John Sugie's first suggestions when I asked him about 'must-hits' around town. Doug and I went to lunch there today and I had delicious chili, salad and cheesy bread, and a $3 Bloody Mary because it was before 2:00pm! Spicy, tasty and strong...everything a BM should be! :) Now that's what I call a good deal!

My life is too boring to blog about. Yes I've been to the Teardrop (stiff drinks!), and gotten my life in order (consolidating my debt from 3 credit cards with high interest rates to 1 loan with a lower interest rate)...wait, I think that last point just made my point that my life is absolutely not noteworthy of late. I go to work, I come home. I sleep, I repeat. Even the book I'm reading is dry (granted, it's about US Foreign Policy...I can't say I didn't know what I was getting myself into).

Getting a library card was the high point of my week. Well, so was watching Glee with Hannah and talking about it with coworker Andrew. And I'm beginning to think I need an upgrade...my 'phone that's just a phone' is just not cutting it...I want to know when the next Max is coming, or orient myself in a way only google maps can do for me, or listen to music whenever and wherever I am. What's going on with me? There's more to life than the latest techy gadgets...isn't there? TV is taking its toll...

The passionate bones in my body are thinking more long term and not so on fire currently. Day-to-day survival (a weekly martini ritual soo counts as 'survival') is my focus. Gleaning knowledge from cool coworkers also keeps me sane. I just got a list of non-fiction books to read, and veganism, the Big Mac Index, Portland hot spots, and Lady Gaga's real name are topics that have all been broached recently. Also in the works: signing up for an online Econ course through PCC...seriously, can I see myself right now?? If my aim is mediocrity I'm definitely on track. 'Mediocrity,' 'settling into a routine and a semi-permanent location' ...necessarily one and the same? I guess having a job that's decent enough to pay the bills and allow you to sleep at night while not being overly stimulating is the reason people get hobbies. Make meaning in your life outside of work. So far mine's drinking. On my list of things to do: take yoga classes or join a gym. We'll see if that dream becomes reality or remains a fantasy...odds are 50/50 at this point.

Well, at least the spiced persimmon chutney was a hit! Nick and Barb inherited the persimmons (think: bastard child of a tomato and an apple) from a neighbor and passed them on to Aunt Beth because they didn't want to mess with them (who subsequently passed them on to me for the same reason). Always one to rise to a challenge, I found the recipe online, and with Alisha's help, a new Thanksgiving tradition was born? Perhaps.

That's about the only good news to report on the weekend, aside from the fact that I invited an out-of-towner coworker to partake in the festivities with my crazy family, and he, like the naive good sport that he was, humored me and came over. So that's the moral of the story: alcohol always makes things better!

I'm going to French-speaking Africa to teach English and ride a bike in July. Assuming I can get medically cleared. I began the medical adventure today...trying to land as many cheap or free doctor's appointments as I can (you hear that Keith Olbermann? you bringing your free clinics to Portland anytime soon?). So far, I've got a free dentist appointment out of this Peace Corps business. Wahoo! One down, a few more to go. I'm not giving up hope because I can't, being the Obama-loving yet un-insured cheap American bastard that I currently am.

Leaving for the Peace Corps so soon will be just the fire under my butt I need to get out there and discover Portland, pay off the bills, and have a good time with friends between now and then. Like last Thursday night, I went out with my cousin, some coworkers, and some old college friends. We hit up Scandals and CC Slaughter's (gay Portland, I love you so!), where I had a brush with celebrity: I was shimmying next to Beau Breedlove, the former lover of Sam Adams, mayor of Portland! Some (crazy?) lady on the Max tonight was asking if there were any Oregon voters afoot who wanted to recall Sam Adams. I didn't even look up from my Obama book. Politicians have been sleazing and sleeping around for hundreds of years, this is no reason to call for a resignation. In fact, we should be commending Sam Adams: Beau Breedlove's hot!

Happy Thanksgiving one and all. This weekend promises to be full of emotion and alcohol, hopefully mixing together into a balanced elixir of good and crazy times!

"...all generations were lost by something and always had been and always would be..." -Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

You can say that again! Hey, looks like someone already did (looks like Dan Schmitz is running with an awesome crowd: he can identify with the likes of Princeton the puppet and me!). I can name at least 6 friends who are A. college graduates, B. back living with 'the folks' (or 'grand-folks'), and C. currently looking for a job or are presently underemployed. We can spend our time getting angry at the economy for screwing us over (hello! we have degrees! shouldn't we be squeaking by the uneducated folk? or are our degrees our enemies right now: potential employers know we'll bolt as soon as things pick up and we can move on up?), or maybe we need to just grin and bear it and do the best we can. Perhaps that won't be in the US: this economy is driving a lot of people to look for gigs overseas. This in itself is a good thing; hey, is the crappy economy actually encouraging globalization? (Some economist somewhere should look into that...) I'm definitely a part of that exodus: I'm doing a phone interview for the Peace Corps next week!

Maybe I sound a little too sunny, but I've always been an optimist. And fortunately (read: miraculously), just when things were beginning to look really bleak, I got a job (and my first day of training was on Veteran's Day, no less...tying back into that lost generation thing...everything's connected...). Let me repeat that incredible news: I got a joerghb!! After only about a month of looking, and it's a great job too: I'm not flipping burgers, folding shirts, or dressed like an elf and to top it all off, it's actually a resume-builder--something that ties into my future career goals! Many have said that I'm lucky. I'm becoming more and more aware of that.

Meanwhile, I'm eating my way through the world, in a very Portland way: food carts!! I read about them last year in the New York Times article (here, if you insist, but I'm sure anyone who's anyone has already seen it, and I already linked to it on facebook), but had never eaten at them, until now! Yesterday it was a chicken schnitzelwich at a Czech cart, and today it was an old favorite: a lamb gyros at a Greek cart. I'm also 'eating' A Moveable Feast right now, and even though I'm slightly less than halfway done, it has already skyrocketed to '2nd-favorite-book-of-all-time' status. The title is perfect: it's chewy. Each chapter is a delicious morsel; a combination of romantic Parisian reminiscences and frank 'here's how I did it' advice on being a writer. Anyone who's been to Paris, is planning a trip there, or just loves the city of love needs to read this book! (I've especially been remembering lazy sunny days spent lounging next to the Rhone last year in good company with delicious wine and insanely incredible food...Steve, Zandra, Lauren, Zandra, Ruth, Becky, Cotes du Rhone, big fat cherries, goat cheese: you know who you are!)

Hemingway's famous admonition to "write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know" is contained therein, among others. That, in concert with the professions of Project Runway contestants, encourages me. Writing isn't my profession, but it's my passion, and I know I'll always be doing this, even after long days at work (couldn't resist mentioning my fabulous job! yet again!), in the middle of the night, and with no loftier goals than personal satisfaction.

I read on the bus and Max to work and home again. Talk about a typical Portland experience! Riding Trimet you see a true cross-section of society: poor people, environmentally-conscious people, (not mutually exclusive categories, btw), knitting people, reading people, people grooving to their iPods, smelly people, drunk people, commuters, high school kids, thugs, hipsters, bicyclists, their bikes, families. Working downtown, commuting on public transportation: I love feeling like a Portlander in a realer way than I ever have before!

Happy Guy Fawkes Day everybody in England. Happy Birthday, me!

Am I where I thought I would be at 24? When I graduated from high school 6 1/2 years ago, did I imagine I would be living with my mom, in a house on the Columbia in Portland, scrambling for a job (as opposed to starting a career), at this age? In a word, HELL NO!!! Honestly, I can't remember what I was thinking then...I was vaguely planning on going the Dolphin Trainer route, but I must have known that wasn't going to last because I don't remember having any real concrete forecasts of my early-mid 20's.

I remember figuring out years in advance how old I would be when 2000 hit...(14, woohoo!)..., but I haven't been so preoccupied about 2010 (apparently, I'll be 24). My biggest timeline-related goal has been to fill up my passport with visas and stamps before it expires in 2013 (assuming we all make it past 2012-were those loco Mayans right?). I've also spent much of the last 6 1/2 years obsessing about 'being successful' by my 10 year high school reunion, which I realize now is a pretty arbitrary benchmark. 10 years out from high school I have a feeling I'll just be getting started. 'Pretty arbitrary benchmark' and also: 'aiming low.' Compared to my high school peers, I'm already kicking ass. :) Time to aim higher...

I'm 24 years old and I've been to 16 countries (not including the US) on 5 continents (N. America included). I certainly hadn't foreseen that. President Barack Obama has been to 15 countries in his first year in office. Compared to the POTUS, I've got a long way to go. Australia and Antarctica, here I come! It's all about perspective. Hmm, new life goal: join this.

I'm not the only one of my friends who's back living with the 'rents post-college. We're redefining success. Successful in your 20-somethings is no longer working a crap entry-level job at your dream company with aims of clawing your way to the top. Success is bumming off your parents, working a crap entry-level job that has nothing to do with your degree or future aspirations, and enjoying every day for what is it. Rock, rock on.

I'm not Oliver Wilde, John Keats, Chris McCandless (thank goodness!), Rihanna, Mark Zuckerberg, or any other freakishly talented, freakishly awesome young person. But I AM Annette McAwesome: traveler extraordinaire, student of life, cool-ass bitch. I'm 1 in a million, er, 6 1/2 billion, if you will. :)

SO, to sum up? Jobless and looking, carless and (trying to be) content (the western US is not Western Europe, public transportation- or other-wise), planning my next adventure (possibly Vietnam for 5-7+ weeks next June-July-August, and then *hopefully* the Peace Corps sometime next fall). I'm giving myself a 12-month limit back in the states-by no later than September 22, 2010, I'm outta here. There's just too much to see and no babies, terminal diseases, or significant others to tie me down (knock on wood). :)

I don't want to be one of those people who says: "I always wish I had done X, Y and Z." I want to be one of those people who says: "Yeah, I did X, Y, and Z. No big deal. I also did A-W too! Tell you about it? I haven't the time. Read my book!"

Off to celebrate. Tonight was good: 2 new McMenamin's locations (Ringlers and the St. John's theater, if you insist) and Henry's, which I hadn't realized I had already been to with Megan and her hs friend. I hope at some point this weekend I have (another) occasion to say: "Another pitcher of Puby, Snakes! And make it snappy, it's my motherfuckin' birthday!"

As Courtney has predicted, 24 is going to be my action year! Bring. it. ON!

"So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future." -Chris McCandless, in Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild (emphasis mine)

Word. THAT'S why I don't have a job right now. I'm nurturing my adventurous spirit, thank you very much. (...This year is going to be very trying, I can tell...) Adventure here I come! Relatedly, working on the next step of the Peace Corps application at the moment. Work it out! In unrelated news: I went to yet another McMenamin's today - Oregon City, check!

I'm getting Oregon shit done! On Thursday cuzzie Alisha and I drove up to Hood River. We picked out lots of interesting types of apples (the 'hidden rose' is red inside!) with which to make apple sauce! Then we tasted some wine at Wy'East Vineyards...delicious, locally owned and operated, and I got to pretend like I know a thing or two about wine (and I learned a thing or two too...so that makes, a thing or four?). I love the NW! The next morning we made some awesome applesauce...only 10 quarts (my mom and aunt said their record from when they were kids is 120-odd quarts in one day), but we didn't have any cheap child labor handy.

Last night I went out downtown for Halloween with Alison and Hannah. We hit up some old favorite haunts (Portland City Grill, where I felt uncomfortable...a classy joint like that wasn't quite the place for this skanky pirate wench, and Kell's, a great but expensive place, where I got my Irish on to Amadan), and discovered a new place: Kelly's, right next to the giant purple octopus. Cheapish (in all senses of the word, so I felt right at home), with lots of 'interesting' characters. I liked the IT geek, which, as it turned out, wasn't a costume but his actual clothes! Oops! My bad!

In other news:

~I still haven't found a job. Not for lack of trying. But I've got a lead I'm going to check out tomorrow... Also, I've decided not to place my perceptions of self-worth on whether or not I have a job. I'm awesome, employed or otherwise!

~This is my 42nd blog post this year. In 2008 I only wrote 21 posts. So I've doubled my output. It seems vaguely important. Maybe next year I'll double it again. 84 posts! Here's hoping 84 interesting things happen to me in 2010. ...

~My birthday's coming up this week. I think I'm officially old...I don't care about birthdays anymore! Maybe it's just because it snuck up on me this year, and I don't feel like I deserve a good birthday. Maybe I'm just being ridiculous. Meh. C'est la vie.

Continuing to check off typical Portland experiences on my list (inherited tickets for August: Osage County, a play at Keller Auditorium, for which Alisha and I got all dolled up...thanks Nancy!), McMenamin's must be mentioned! This last week I went to 3 different Mac locations, none of which I'd been to before, all of which were in downtown! I started with the Ram's Head on 23rd with cuzzie Alisha on Wednesday, checked out the Market St. Pub with Hannah and Megan on Thursday night after we went to a grad school fair at PSU (it's SO happening for me...someday...), where we shamelessly flirted with 'Snakes' the server, and rounded off the week at the Mission Theater last night with my mom, part of the OSU marching band, and other Beaver fans and alum watching the dismal game v. USC on the big screen, and using the pounding as an excuse to drink more! I even gave my number to a girl who was acting on behalf of her really shy friend, who looked old enough to be my dad, but whatevs. My mom thinks she heard me gave the wrong number...well, I was drunk. So much the better. Sorry universe, I didn't purposely deceive!

Each time I went with 'buena gente' as Hannah says, or good people. Because that's what McMenamin's are all about. With Hannah and Megan, we even got a list of all locations and started checking them off...between the 3 of us, we want to hit them all up! We'll have to go as far north as Seattle, as far east as Bend, and as far south as Roseburg to do it, but we got this!

In other news, the job search continues. I've filled out more applications, and lost more self respect, with the end result of being employed hopefully coming soon! Next app: McMenamin's! :)

Ok, I just had a great weekend of typical Portland experiences: Powell's City of Books, where my mom and I sold some books back ($42 credit, woohoo!), and I applied for a seasonal job. We used the $ to buy 2 new releases/best sellers (I picked out Jon Krakauer's new book about Pat Tillman, and my mom bought Dan Brown's new rag). I also hung out in St. John's with Alison...a part of town I don't really know at all. Yesterday my friend Hannah and I went to a Portland Trailblazers (pre-season) game. There were some cute little kids about (I saw a 1' tall Greg Oden!) and, oh yeah, we won! Woohoo! The best part was we were smart enough to park on the street, where we serendipitously ran into Megan, (is Portland really that small?), and we weren't out $15, and we got out pretty quickly.

So, according to this, Portland is the 11th best city in the US to find the single guys (so jealous of Patrick in the ATL!). Awesome! Too bad I don't have a job or any money or success. How am I supposed to hook a catch? Maybe dressing up like a pirate for Halloween will be my ticket, though I fear they've been overdone. If the song by Norah Jones and freecreditreport.com commercials featuring pirates are any indication...

Portland's also one of the smartest cities around (9th most brilliant! Suck it Baltimore! Baltimore?). Hmm, is it wrong that I wish I were in a dumber city right now? Maybe I'd have a better time of finding a job! :)

Being back has been...interesting. Is there anything more deflating than being on the job market? I'm having trouble with the whole "I'm-looking-for-a-job-which-means-I-don't-currently-have-one-which-(in America at least)-means-I'm-a-sub-par-human-being" thing. I read the current copy of the Willamette Week in the MAX today and it told me that Oregon's unemployment (11.5%ish) is one of the highest around. But I still feel inadequate.

Also I'm living with my mom. The best part about that is drinking wine periodically, baking cookies, and watching Survivor together again (amazing how easily I can fall back into that, but it's a passion. Producers...you missed out!). The very best part is sleeping with Kucha. She's the cutest dog in the world, and I swear that being away from her for a whole year has exponentially increased my love for her. I've always been cautiously in love with her, but now it's all out-I hug her and kiss her (even though she licks my toes and various sundries off the ground), and don't even mind the dog smell anymore (much). The worst part is...I'm living 'at home' (even though I've never 'lived' here before, in this house, just visited), with all the nagging ('get a job!') and feelings of inadequacies that entails.

So even though I'm a complete pathetic loser, worthy of the 'pathetic loser' pants I almost didn't change out of at all yesterday, I'm still finding reasons to be optimistic, namely, the divine friends I've been reconnecting with, all across Portland. "I'm in Portland! Wow! I can't believe I'm in Portland!" I hear myself keep saying. A play at the Newmark Theater with Hannah (ok, ok, so The Laramie Project 10 years later isn't the happiest of pieces, but it was mindblowing, and amazing to be a part of something so big and cool and right), Rogue Brewery with Megan and Layna, and the Hawthorne district with Alisha, where I had very reactionary reactions against all the hipsters afoot. ENOUGH already with the vintage, the tight pants, the funky hair, the admittedly bitchin' tattoos, the macchiatos and the local pride! After thinking about why these harmless trendies were pissing me off so much, (-'really Annette, what's so wrong with local pride, when your local is Portland, OR??' -'true fact, inner reasonable self') I think it had something to do with all the Hindu- and Buddhism-inspired objets d'arts I kept seeing in the kooky little trinket stores, after just having been in the real deal in Cambodia. Over there, Buddhism is more than just a chintzy statue to stash on your sideboard, it's life, in a way I can't even speak to because I only really got a taste of it.

Enough already with the reverse culture shock! And can somebody tell me why Law & Order SVU is one of my current favorite pastimes, even with the preposterous plots of late?

So what did we do the first full day we were in Alabama? We proper hicked it up, heading out to a huge swath of land dedicated to ATVing. Acres of mud and trails through the woods, just for ATVs and dirtbikes. Miles was in Heaven, trying out his new purchase. I was sad because we didn't bring enough beer (9 beers for 5 people = bad math). The Boggdaddy (the place is called Boggs and Boulders) gave Phil, Cherie and I a personal tour on his mammoth ATV, because he felt bad that we were just sitting around waiting for our turn. He pointed out the new RV hook-ups, the swimming hole with rope swing (of course we hadn't thought to ask about this, so hadn't brought our swimsuits), the muddy hill a few dump trucks were keeping muddy. A veritable redneck's paradise. Well, Miles took me out on the big bear and I have to say it was a lot of fun. I don't think I'll ever buy one for myself, but I don't think he's completely crazy anymore. We saw 4 deer run by, and almost got stuck in the mud once. With a higher beer to person ratio, a tent for camping out in the back of the property, and a weekend of good weather, Boggs and Boulders wouldn't be half bad. I think Miles is camping there this weekend.

The next day, we woke up ridiculously early and raced Phil and Cherie to the Atlanta airport (code: ATL...I couldn't stop humming/singing Fergie). They missed their flight but caught another one that left 10 minutes later. Then Miles and I went to Marietta to visit Patrick Stromer, future chiropractor extraordinaire! We ate Chick-fil-A (I flipped out to try the sweet tea, and all the people working there thought I was crazy. They also thought it was crazy that I come from a land devoid of sweet tea, because, what would life be without it?), bought 6 6-packs (one for each hand) of microbrew beer from all over the country (GA, OR, CO), and then headed to the Braves game. The $1 tickets were sold out, and we were not about to pay $8 to get into a half-over game, (and the military discount tickets were $9...go figure), so we went to the bar across the street, where we could watch it on TV if we cared. We drank beer (and a Bloody Mary for me) and then ended up playing spades with some of the people who worked the game (concessions? ticket taking?). So fun! Then we hooked up with Miles' friend Treiz and his girlfriend Kristin and went to some bar and played pool. Then we ate at Steak and Shake. Yum.

Before driving home to Alabama the next day, Patrick told us we could check out the Coca-Cola museum or the Aquarium. Ho hum. OR, the CNN Center! Miles and I got to tour where the news is made, er, reported! It was pretty exciting.

The next couple of days are kind of a blur...we drank a lot of beer, (and a little wine, and a few mixed drinks), ate all sorts of wings, burgers and things, saw a mediocre movie, went to the aviation museum (we started at an aviation museum in Oregon and ended at one at Ft. Rucker, AL), and then the last day Miles took me shooting! (When in the South, right?) He's bought a lot of guns on his last few leaves (including a shotgun that was an impulse buy...that just seems wrong), so I got to test them out. I'd never shot a pistol before, and it was intense, especially since we weren't shooting bullseye targets, but vaguely human-shaped ones. I got a few head and chest shots at 25'. Hooray! (?) It was fun. Then he drove me to Montgomery, where we went out for an amazing steak dinner before he dropped me off at my hotel and drove home. I flew out the next day.

Now I'm back in Portland, half-heartedly looking for a job (I need money but who wants to work?), trying not to be too depressed about living back at home. Life is a journey, even if you're just at home. Miles loaned me a few books I probably never would have read otherwise (Greek war epics and alternative histories), and I'm resolved to re-discover Portland (there are tons of bars and restaurants I've heard about but never been to), all while deciding where I'm going next. I'm outta here by September 22, 2010. Here we go!

Less than 24 hours after arriving back in the US for the first time in a year, I set out on an amazing crazy road trip. What better way to acclimatize back to the US than drive across it into the heartland? So my brother Miles, his friend Phil, Phil's wife Cherie, and I set out from Jantzen Beach, OR; as north as you can get on I-5 and still be in Oregon (though since we had dinner in Vancouver, WA the night I got back, I think we're counting that as one of the states in our trip).

Day 1 - We drove by the Spruce Goose (the largest airplane ever built...out of wood no less) on our way to the coast and ran into our cousin Kirk! He volunteers at the Evergreen Aviation Museum on Thursdays, a fact I was completely ignorant of. It was SO COOL and random to see him and get some sweet VIP tours through a B-17 and the Spruce Goose's cockpit!

Night 1 - Camping just south of Crescent City, CA. Beer, beginning-of-the-trip-excitement, slideshow from Iraq. Good times.

Day 2 - We leisurely check out some redwoods, including driving through one of them. Gorgeous, gentle giants. Lunch with my friend Hillary in Arcata (mmm Divine Swine! In the plaza, near the middle of town...some of the most delicious pork and tea I've ever tasted).

Night 2 - Sleepover at Aunt Robin's! We got there at around 11pm but Aunt Robin was game to stay up and drink with us until 3am!

Day 3 - Brunch with Aunt Robin, Uncle Jeff, Reid, Madeleine, Howard and Michele (Howard and Miles were 'sampling' Red Breast whiskey even though it was morning...5pm somewhere, right?), and then we set off through the desert. We ate at In-N-Out, amazing good food, simple menu, and Cherie had never been.

Night 3, Day 4, Night 4 - Who needs a hotel room in Vegas? We didn't! We rolled in around 10pm, met up with our cousin Stephanie (who drove down from Cedar City, UT, her current hometown), and did Vegas right! (Or did it do us?) That night Steph and I rocked the slots (I won $20 which I promptly spent on overpriced alcohol in the Irish bar), the free drinks, and all. The next morning we were all a little worse for wear, but managed to get food into our bellies and wander around until the mid-afternoon when we could finally (like chumps) check into some hotel rooms...hey, YOU go 48 hrs in Vegas sans bed and shower! After a deep afternoon nap, we all woke up and did it again. Hooray for slots-I won more money! Boo for 3-card poker...I lost more money than I won in slots! But dang that Lucio, the dealer, was cute! Hooray for $19 foot-long rum drinks! And I finally got to dance...at some bar right on the strip that closed around 5 or 6am. With foreigners. I swear I met more Europeans in Vegas than other Americans. It's like I never left (Europe). Solid.

Day 5 - Stephanie and I parted ways somewhere early that morning (she woke me up to say goodbye), and the road-trippers and I finally hit the road around noon.

Night 5 - We made it to the Grand Canyon right around sunset (we bought the $25 entrance pass from the hottest park ranger any of us had ever seen...truth. Just ask my brother...), and then found a campsite in the park. I passed out at 9pm after 2 1/2 beers...let's just say I had a lot of fun in Vegas (note: not Las Vegas, just Vegas. Those of us in the know...know). So I missed the part where Miles, Phil and Cherie met Steve and Wendi, the just-married couple camping next door to us doing the reverse road trip as us (Texas - Grand Canyon - Vegas - the Redwoods). Whatever. I was refreshed to help drive the next morning.

Day 6, Night 6 - 22 straight hours of driving, 3 states (AZ, NM, and TX), and about 1,300 miles from the Grand Canyon to Kilgore, East TX. We arrived around 7am. Mmm breakfast burritos with the coppers. Which meant we went through most of Texas in the dark. Good riddance.

Day 7 - Kilgore and Longview TX. Miles bought an ATV. And a trailer to put it on. It was an all-day ordeal. Phil, Cherie and I were quite surly by the end of it. But he got a good deal from his buddy's father-in-law!

Night 7 - Hotel in Shreveport, Louisiana. A pool, a lukewarm hot tub, lots of beers, IHOP, and comfy beds. Surliness subsided.

Day 8 - After all that, knocking out the rest of Lousiana, all of Mississippi, and lots of Alabama (along seemingly uninhabited country roads) was no sweat. We ate at some Mexican restaurant whose menu misleadingly featured enticing photographs of delicious mixed drinks and beers, but which in actuality had no alcohol on the premises. Counties going dry? In this day and age? Guess that's the south for ya. We arrived at Ft. Rucker after dark, where Miles signed in before midnight and dropped off a few things before the whole crew made our way to a hotel in Daleville.

Notes:

-the Grand Canyon is truly as awesome as everything you've heard. And then some. The next time I get there, I want to actually get down inside the thing, really spend some time there. More than just a few quick pics, anyways.

-after peeing where I have (namely, Cambodia), I find toilet seat covers absolutely ridiculous. If it's really that bad, I'll just hover.

Adventure continued next post

Cambodia is a complete mindf*ck. Everything, from how poor the people are, to the beautiful countryside, to the crazy barangs (foreigners) you meet, (seriously, why and how do people find themselves in Cambodia, of all places? The stories are usually fairly interesting), to the extremely f*cked up history of the country, to my dad and his 'girlfriend' and I sharing a hotel here in Scenicville (that's how Shianoukville is pronounced)...collective shudder. 'He really loves you' My told me, in reference to my dad. What would she know, anyways? He seems a little lonely, although he's got a pretty sweet life out here in Cambodia, as far as fixed-income lifes can be. He does seem to want me to come live here, but a 2-bedroom apartment sounds a bit...crazy. I like Cambodia, and for as hard as it would be for a single barang lady to live here (as 2 English-speaking dudes at the Freebird were discussing the other night), I could totally rock it. I think. It's the most different place I've ever been in my traveling, and the people are so nice, and the countryside is so beautiful, and my dad's here (which I'm trying to convince myself is a point in it's favor...support network?), and it would be an adventure, and a challenge. It's already been very challenging, and I've been numb most of the time as a self-defence mechanism, but most of that was related to my dad and his dirty ol' lifestyle (but to be fair, he is a dirty ol' man, so it's not like it's anything out of character or unexpected or anything).

We got a flyer last night for a bar on the beach with sweet drink deals and a dancefloor (we didn't check it out...maybe tonight?), and on the back it said they're looking to hire Western staff...hey hey! And today I met a German guy and a French girl who are living the sweet life of Emma: divemastering it up in amazingly beautiful, tropical locales. The bitches. Note to self: get divemaster certification. First get SCUBA certified. But the point is, it's possible. It's possible to live the dream and lead a most amazing and adventurous life, out and about in the world.

So the body of water I was floating in earlier today is the Gulf of Thailand. Yesterday we took a bus from Phnom Penh to Shianoukville, a beach town in the SW of the country. I ate some BBQ squid today and it was good! I've been eating lots of good weird fruit ('greens' which are oranges but completely lime green on the outside, and my favorite so far has got to be the dragonfruit, pink on the outside and white with black spots on the inside), but trying to stay away from the street food (at one bus stop they had trays of cooked tarantulas, and buckets of live ones...no thanks). We've eaten a lot of Mexican food, but whatevs, it's good! Khmer food is pretty good...lots of rice, veggies, meat, coconut...once my meal even came in a coconut! Last night I drank beer, (sometimes as cheap as 25 cents!), a banana daquiri, a mango daquiri, a shot of tequila, a margarita...the good life. I got a ride on the back of a Khmai's scooter to a sweet club where they actually played good dance music (even if they weren't actually dancing to it as they should), but shortly after we arrived a live band started playing Cambodian music. Ugh. It's not that good. In fact, it's awful. 5 songs. 5 songs later, just as I was getting ready to dance some more, the dude had to take me home because he had had a total of TWO Heinekens and was drunk. Sigh, little Asians...

...And that isn't even the HALF of it!...

The day after I fly into Portland, I hit the road to California, Arizona, Texas, Alabama, Florida, and the places inbetween for what promises to be a truly awesome roadtrip with my brother and 2 of his good friends. Actually, I couldn't have planned a better way to come back to the US after a year abroad, the last few weeks of which were in Cambodia. Might as well hit the ground running into the Heartland...if I've learned anything it's that I am capable of anything. Bring. It. ON!