Stateside

I arrived home early this morning. After a delayed, already long flight I was worried I might never make it back. My dad was waiting for me when I cleared customs. I was finally able to breathe a huge sigh of relief. I hate that my Peace Corps experience had to end that way. I cannot quite comprehend it's actually over, with each passing day the reality might hit me a little more. I am tear stricken and filled with a rush of emotions.

What's next? Enjoy the holidays and allow everything else to slowly fall into place.

Most important, though is that being home feels right. The ground is covered in snow, the house is decorated, ringing with Christmas carols, and the family is gathered together. I was able to peacefully get some sleep in a napping house this afternoon--more sleep than I ever consecutively got in Ghana. I bundled up and hit the streets for a blistery run with the youngest H. I have kept food in my stomach for more than six hours and am looking forward to a full meal this evening, at no other place than the local Moe's. More quality time spent with my now permit holding younger brother(!!!). Perhaps, we'll be totally American by wrapping up this lengthy day with Christmas movie, a warm fire, and hot chocolate.

It's not how I would have written my book of life. I'm 23--completely capable of reintegrating, redefining, and (re)becoming me in time. Land of electricity, I've landed.

Lasting Impressions

I arrive early stateside tomorrow. While most of Ghana has been trauma inducing there have been some really positive moments I would like to share:

• Briefly learning another African language and culture.
• Meeting new people, both Ghanaian and American.
• Drinking fresh coconut juice right out of the shell. Then watching machete man cut the fruit into thirds and using a scraper to eat the flesh.
• Fried ripe plantains and homemade spicy salsa!
• Watching my host family make soy milk from soy beans. What a process--all for a few cups of joy!
• Early morning runs on dusty, hilly, overgrown African roads with several children in tow shouting "obruni, obruni" (white person).
• Hours swinging under the shade tree.

• Teaching my host sister and friends how to play Yahtzee and Uno, followed by a countless number of games.
• Making country flags from Play-doh.

• A conversation with my host sister about the genetics behind her sickle cell anemia.
• Experiencing the hussle and bussle of market day in West Africa. Thousands of vendors selling trinkets and treasures--cloth, beads, wicker baskets.
• A terrific thunderstorm to entertain me on a sleepless night.
• Receiving two letters from the states.
  

Ghana, thank you for opening your arms and embracing me with lots of love in a time when I needed it most. It wasn't right for me at this point in my life, but with time I know I will crave the simplicity of your lifestyle. Your country is beautiful, your people friendly, and the atmosphere of Western African culture is indescribable--I will encourage everyone to experience in their lifetime.

Smiling Faces, Beautiful Places

There is no greater satisfaction in life than meeting new people; young or old, rich or poor, conservative or liberal, American or foreign. This past three plus months have been dark in so many ways--loosing a close friend and a dog, a dream and means to my future, overall feelings of loneliness and a general lack of understanding. Besides the tremendous amount of guilt I experience daily, there is a conflicting part of me that wants to know why me? I long for a "cure" in the sense of forward motion and the right to be happy all the time. I would not wish this on anyone.

When I look for the positive in all of this I think of all the tremendous people whom I have met along the way. The obvious: family and friends who supported and encouraged my Peace Corps vision. The volunteers coworkers I met on November 11, 2009 in Philadelphia where relationships immediately began to emerge. They served the people of Lesotho with me, we explored new places together, and eventually created the ultimate family team in what would unknowingly be my final days in Lesotho.

From September onwards there were all the medevacs I encountered in DC. New people with new stories: P from Rwanda, R from Ecuador, A from China, R from Ukraine, H from Honduras, and many more. Each person came with their own story. We could share and commiserate together; no one in Peace Corps wants their service interrupted with cancer, a broken leg, or irregular heart beats. Late nights, shared laughter, afternoon coffee all made the road to recovery less bumpy. Finally I would make my way to Ghana where I would meet 150 new faces with their own backgrounds. These would be the volunteers who would see me through my final Peace Corps days. The time spent in Ghana was much shorter than I ever could have anticipated. Even so I was able to meet several volunteers doing amazing work in Ghana, all who share an ideal for a peaceful world.

I will remember the Ghanaian people who are more hospitable than anyone group of people I have ever encountered. Their struggles and hardships in daily life will always be remembered. Even more so than that I will remember their smiling faces, loving demeanor, and ability to remain positive when everything around them might seem to be crumbling. In the words of the H family 2010 Christmas letter, it's all about your perspective.

New address

Samantha Hoehner, PCV

United States Peace Corps, Ghana

PO Box 5796

Accra-North

Ghana

Western Africa

Ghana are the days of Lesotho

I made it to Ghana! So far all my first impressions are positive. It's still Peace Corps, but it seems a tad more organized and stable. Heck, here they gave me a cell phone within minutes and access to free internet (at their office) on the second day. I also learned I can call America for a dollar per hour. That's incredible. With time send me your numbers because this go around, I'm certain I'll be phoning you. Yes, you heard correctly: the poor Peace Corps volunteer will be calling you.

It's lush, really lush and hot. Hooray! I had dinner with the acting country director, along with his wife and kids last night. Today, the doctor brought me fresh pineapple for breakfast so I could put something in my stomach and start taking malaria medications. I learned a lot about food in Lesotho, and the learning has begun here already. Pineapple is white, not yellow.

I should have the opportunity to meet some volunteers for dinner tonight. I am looking forward to that!

Peach Season

I'm having so much fun sharing memories from Lesotho with you, why stop now?

Seasonality of fruits and vegetable is something I already miss (and look forward to readjusting to in Ghana). Come March/April during the Lesotho peach season I'll probably be in tears. During this season there are peaches everywhere, except in the shops. There are so many, students would bring me peaches in class from their trees, my host family would leave (at least) two peaches on my step each morning, and friends would send me home with bags from their compounds where they were grown.

By volunteers they were turned into cobblers, pies, and turnovers. Lacking sufficient cooking skills I was satisfied with them as a healthy snack. The Basotho canned thousands of them and dried the remaining half. I learned real quick how much work this is. Washing peanut butter and mayonnaise remains out of glass jars without a dishwasher is not easy. Then peeling thousands of peaches for more than a month gets old. I would occasionally help after school, more as entertainment to my host family who were mesmerized by my unbelievably slow pace, oh and my ability to inhale peaches.

I was eating upwards of nine a day... until my body said no more. At one point my host mother gave me a lecture about food security. Laugh. Isn't that what I am here for? She told me I needed to remember when the only fresh food available was cabbage I would be thankful for the canned and dried peaches. Sigh. When I realized how accurate her statement was I vowed to work even harder the next spring.

As with everything else, nothing goes to waste. These were two of the perfectly edible peaches left on my door step one morning. In America there is no way I would have touched either of the above peaches. In Lesotho I learned to cut of the bad parts and compost or feed the pigs the bruised parts. In the words of middle sister, "feed the ground and the ground will feed you." Same can be said of the animals.

Twitter

While my friend was in town she confessed to being on Twitter. Ahh, what happened to you while I was away? Retract statement. She allowed me to play around for awhile to find out what this hoopla was all about. I found my new love: Funny One Liners. Whoever it is behind these short statements, lets meet immediately, if not sooner. I sat there hysterically laughing the way anyone would while reading Popsicle stick jokes.

I can't stop thinking about him/her and their funny one liners. Oh to be so clever and witty! Am I about to find myself on Twitter stalking Funny One Liner man/woman? This can't be happening. Lately, I have been going through what I'll refer to as an "I-hate-that-facebook-controls-my-life" phase, and now I am considering joining Twitter? And not to tweet, I do all that here, simply to follow a tweeter.

Last weekend I wondered what had come over my friend, now I think I'm ill.

I'm going public!

For those of you who don't know R.D.S., a fellow Clemson alumni and friend, she has been managing this blog while I have been away. I can't thank her enough for granting you guys access and troubleshooting when things went astray. She is now attends New York Law School, where she finds herself with less than an ounce of spare time. I won't make any promises I can't keep by saying she won't be needed (as a blog manager) in the future, especially since she is my only tech savvy girl friend. It's past time she moves on from this mundane, non paying job to all the greater opportunities in the Big Apple. Thank you for your time, patience, dedication, and friendship!

And readers, thanks for sticking with this private blog for so long. If you are half as sick and tired of following this private blog as I am maintaining it, I apologize. It's too much work for my dedicated readers and way too big a hassle for my sweet friend.

From this point forward it's only happy, people-sensitive stories. No more sarcasm to rescue myself from bad/angry/frustrating days. Those details will be kept in a locked journal wherever I end up. You will read only heart-warming stories, see only smiles, and hear only 'half-full' thoughts. It will be sappy and cheesy, music to the ears of those who live on the surface. The opinions and views will still be a reflection of me (and no reflection of Peace Corps or the United States Government), but I'll attempt to make them more subtle and fewer and farther between.

"A peaceful mind makes a peaceful person. A peaceful person makes a peaceful family. A peaceful family makes a peaceful village. A peaceful village makes a peaceful country. A peaceful country makes a peaceful world." Colin Beavan

Wish me luck. Read on password free readers, read on.

No Impact World

After reading No Impact Man by Colin Beavan and putting all my initial skepticism about how someone with family (including diaper wearing baby daughter), in the middle of New York City could actually live with no impact for a year aside -- I found myself remembering and reveling the simple life.

Dig a little deeper before totally writing him off. You know me, I've fallen head over heels admiring him for his one-person-can-save-the-world attempt. It's worthy of your time. The book is incredibly honest, light-hearted, and engaging. There is also a blog and documentary to complement the book.

He attacks his goal in phases: no trash, local eating, no transportation, no electricity, etc. When he turns off power I could relate while realizing doing this in NYC is much more extreme. He mentions, "1.6 billion people--a full quarter of the world's population--still have no access to electricity." That was me, not too long ago, and not even fully because sometimes when the power was reliable I had a light and a source to charge my computer. It opens a huge can of worms.

How do you keep the food cold or yourself cool on a stale hundred-degree day? What do you do when the sun goes down? How do you charge electronics to keep up with the rest of the world? How do you do laundry or dishes without any labor-saving device?

I can answer all of these questions for you. It's not fun as Beavan learns. At one point his daughter is ill and vomits on two sets of sheets and pajamas. He "cheats" because in the middle of the night with no lights, when there is a machine at the bottom of your building washing clothes by hand is not ideal. I appreciate his honesty. I would have done the same thing, however in dear ole Lesotho, along with the rest of the quarter of the world, that is not an option.

So I'll tell you a story about my experience with a similar situation. Middle (host) sister was at school one day when another student vomited in her backpack full of school supplies. She told me the story as though the student had no other options. I believed her because I worked at her school and knew in her class all 78 students were packed like sardines in their classroom, meaning they file out one-by-one at break and lunch. Though it was my nature to protect her and everyone I knew closely from problems ravishing their country, I wished it was a bully I could teach a valuable lesson.

Unlike in Beavan's case, there was no way to cheat in this story. I watched her scrub that backpack for hours and hours covering four straight days. If I failed to mention in previous posts, Basotho are very clean people. When she finished you couldn't detect crusty vomit in any crevice or a smell. There were several times where I wanted to run down to the local shop and buy her a new bag. I couldn't give in as I had so often before because that is not why I was there. How sustainable would that have been?

To disgust you or break your heart a little more, all her notebooks filled with notes were ruined. They weren't replaceable, even if money wasn't an object. She took all my scrap paper and stapled a book together for herself. Then she proceeded to copy the notes out of her ruined, horribly smelling notebooks for weeks. Not only are they very clean people, they're perfectionist. She took her time to make sure each word was copied in a legible format.

That wasn't exactly a story of the simple life I miss. Instead it was to open your eyes to the rest of the world where "cheating" isn't an option. I realize people in America aren't going to give up their washing machines, hot showers, or cars. We should shift our focus from reinventing the wheel to, as Beavan suggests, "figuring our how to deliver the same level of (reduced) resources, by Western standards, to everyone in a sustainable way."

And I can't go without mentioning throughout the book part of his honesty comes in the form of self consciousness and curiosity, how do other people see me? Don't we all wonder if what we are doing to carve our fossil is the right thing? I constantly wonder if my opinions and views are too extreme. This book put me in my place. All this time have I been too busy chiding others way of living that I somehow see myself as righteous? A little less chatter, a little more action is in order.

Lesotho: The Roof Over Africa

I've shared several memories through words, now I thought it would be fun to compile my favorite photographs into a movie of the life I left behind. The music doesn't flow, neither do my thoughts. The video takes a long time to load, a huge part of what I learned in Lesotho is patience. Smile. It's small (but blurry if you make it full screen), my experience was short.

It's not perfect, but my time away is well captured.

(I am not tech savvy. I tried to upload this same movie to YouTube for better viewing. Now I have more reason to dislike YouTube, my video surpasses the 10 minute time limit!)

2 months gone... and this time I'm counting!

I realize I just said I closed the Lesotho chapter of my life, but I'd hate to end on such a negative note so I am officially closing the chapter with a few positive thoughts. The 11 things I miss the most:

1. The smell of Sunlight detergent.
2. Spads, my dog.
3. Popcorn for breakfast, lunch, snack, and dinner.
4. The simplicity.
5. My walk to school.
6. Peach and orange season.
7. Being disconnected.
8. Learning how to garden.
9. Middle sister.
10. Wearing a blanket.
11. Conversations by candlelight.

One host country national's opinion.

If I have one regret of the first half of my Peace Corps experience it's not taking enough notes. It's impossible to remember the daily laughs in full. Here is a story I have shared with several since returning and one I still laugh about.

My host mother's grandson, Letlasa loved watching movies on my laptop. It didn't matter if he'd already watched the movie 100 times, if the plot moved to quickly, or if the power was going to stop and interrupt the movie multiple times in one showing. One of his favorites was Fantastic Mr. Fox. Not being a huge movie person, and already having seen this one, I was going about my daily chores when he stopped me in my tracks. "These foxes live better than us!" he exclaimed.

I couldn't help but laugh at the truth behind this statement.

Onwards

Today I find myself in an exceptionally fantastic mood. I am not sure if it's the gorgeous fall weather, spending time with a friend over the weekend, or a successful attempt to live a more Zen-like life. It doesn't matter. What matters is in the present moment I am happy and happy is where I'd prefer to stay.

I reached this place after having the Peace Corps Lesotho door slammed in my face. At first it was as though Peace Corps stood true to their words, making me a number one priority (both here in DC and in Lesotho). That wasn't a request, it was something I have been told countless times as I walk into Peace Corps Headquarters. The medevac phase of this process was handled beautifully. It wasn't the actual news I wouldn't be returning that felt as though it was the end, or maybe it was and it took me several weeks to process. Instead it was more the conversation I had with a close friend (in Lesotho) who seemed like I was holding him up. There were anger and tears, lots and lots of tears. The conversations with volunteers still in country seem to occur less frequently and be generally more distant. If our paths cross again, I know we will reunite. For now, I'm stepping back to take a break from all those ties.

All of this prepared me for today when I got the Khotso, the monthly Peace Corps Lesotho newsletter in my inbox. It always begins with a letter from the country director. In this one she mentions in October there were a lot of coming and goings. She mentions by names the four volunteers who closed their service (finished), the two who early terminated (quit), and the seven medevacs who returned to country. My name wasn't mentioned anywhere. This would have been heartbreaking if the door hadn't already been shut. Lesotho wasn't forever. Yes, it ended way sooner than I would have liked, but it was always temporary. Closing one chapter and preparing for the next is never fun, especially when it's not a fairy tale.

BUT I am excited for the next chapter, and every chapter after that.

Deep Survival

I recently finished reading the book Deep Survival: Who lives, Who dies, and Why. The author, Laurence Gonzales writes in reference to a plane accident that nearly took his father's life: "He was twenty-three years old and had to forge a strategy for surviving everything else."

This line struck me. The lesson of survival is not necessarily that I was lucky enough to escape murder after watching my close friend get killed. It is all about the strength required to go on and hopefully live sixty more years after losing a beloved friend.

The following passage found in the second half of the book is also powerful.

Plan the flight and fly the plan. But don't fall in love with the plan. Be open to a changing world and let go of the plan when necessary so that you can make a new plan. Then, as the world and the plan both go through their book of changes, you will always be ready to do the next right thing.

I aspire to be more open to change and accepting of the unexpected, especially things outside the realm of my control. If finishing Peace Corps or immediately heading to grad school doesn't seem like the 'next right thing' it will be okay.

A new beghaning

For the past two weeks I've had a mental debate going on about where to go from here. Do I continue my Peace Corps experience? If so, where? Or should I look into other options--say, grad school or a career? I was and still am near positive in that I want to finish. I'll spare you the details for reasons that would take a 1000 page novel to fully explain.

Now to Ghana, Namibia, or Tanzania? When I was applying to Peace Corps I thought it would be great to chose where you serve, instead of being 'called' to any one of the 77 Peace Corps countries. Carefully what you wish for. I ruled out Namibia for its almost identical characteristics to Lesotho, with the added bonus of the residual effects of the apartied and a huge descripency between rich and poor. I've been toying with Ghana and Tanzania for the past week. Tanzania this, Ghana that! A pro of Ghana, a con of Tanzania! Rich culture and music in Ghana, while Tanzania offers Mount Kilimanjaro and Zanzibar. Pros and Cons tells the story of S.M.H.'s time of decision making inbetween her two Peace Corps services.

I decided I was going to make a decision and stick with it. After all, there are pluses and minuses to life. I'm heading to Ghana with a clean slate, no regrets, and minimal comparisons to Lesotho! BUT, wait, don't get too excited because I have to go through ALL the medical and dental part of the application process. Yes, AGAIN!

If I don't make the cut I will begin the writing of a trilogy on my experience. Most. Boring. Story. Ever.

(The title is meant to sound cool, and is all the workings of the youngest H)

Same Perspective, New Attitude?

Considering today is Halloween and I am back/still in America, the only chance of a good day was Kansas City Chiefs pulling off a win. This is especially true after all four of our family teams lost yesterday, all but one in ugly fashion. It would be a waste of life spending time refreshing your memory, should you have forgotten my distaste for the nonsense of Halloween day-turned-month-long-holiday forced upon us by our consumeristic society.

Back to the importance of today: a Chiefs victory. I wasn't nervous, after all they were playing the Buffalo Bills, and M.L. was finally confident enough to pick them in his pool. The game came down to the final seconds of overtime, much to my chagrin. As a result of my geographic location the sole play witnessed from the game was a highlight of a touchdown by the Bills. My confidence has not been diminished. I am still holding to my 12-4 prediction for the Chiefs this year. A win is a win.

My spirits were so lifted by this overtime win I suggested the family carve our two pumpkins. Oh and after watching over three hours of the worst football of my life (Redskins/Lions anyone?) it was time to get off the couch. C.A.H. and I gutted, carved, and lit the candles.

We even posed for pictures with our finished products. Yesterday I made my mom's costume, today I painted C.A.H.'s face! Is this what they call the Halloween spirit? I even helped hand out the candy. Simply watching my mom panic about running out of candy was worth the hour of time I devoted. Who cares? Look at the childrens stuffed bags of candy they won't be allowed to consume as a result of the strict organic diet forced upon them by their parents and send them running to the next house. I'd make a good witch.

I must admit the children were pretty adorable and happy. The giggling, imitating witches, and all the smiles are contagious.

As I type I can smell the pumpkin seeds baking in the oven. Halloween, this year you were not all bad!

Skip Me

The guilt is already setting in for typing yet another depressing blog post and I haven't even really begun to type. I want to continue to write during this time of grieving because I hope to remember my Peace Corps service in full, and this is sadly a reality of my experience. The only expectations I had of my service were to experience my highest highs and lowest lows. Unfortunately, for me (and everyone involved) my lowest low came in the loss of a dear friend.

That being said I wish I could express to the world how much I miss my friend. The coversations, adventures, and everything else he brought into my life. I am not known for being particularly fond of the volunteers, but he was so incredibly different than all the rest. I admired the work he did, the confidence he carried himself with, and most of all his spirit. I knew he would be around in my life forever. That was one sappy sentence. He would want me to be happy. More so than ever I am envious of the lifestyle he pursued and as a person I want to embody those same ideas. If that is what I want, why can't I get there? Some days are good and I believe I am bouncing back, but even on my best days I still have no desire to do the simplest tasks. When I do pick up the phone to call my friends or touch base with anyone it seemingly fails. I just had one of the driest conversations with someone I would consider a close, if not my closest friend. We had NOTHING to talk about and eventually it got awkward enough I ended the conversation. Literally, no explanation. I don't even know what to say (to anyone, even my trusty computer). I have all these emotions of emptiness, lonliness, unhappiness running through my head... nothing is forming coherant thoughts.

A huge part of me must have been taken with the loss of T.C.M. and now it is as though NO ONE gets me. A lot of this is probably a figment of my imagination. There is a high chance my friend didn't think the conversation was dull at all. Well that is great minus the fact where it only makes me feel more insane.

What I want most is to get on with life--stop sitting around my parents house facebooking and acting worthless. At the same time I am scared about the new experiences both Ghana and Tanzania will provide, maybe not returning to Lesotho was a sign to 'give up' and find life fullfiling elsewhere. EXCEPT I have zero form of closure. T.C.M. and Lesotho are on my mind ALL the time. I don't want to be here, but I am not positive I want to be either of those places.

I am not sure what the leave date is for either country. To pass time I am considering taking a long weekend somewhere in the Northeast alone. A solo vacation has me a tad uneasy, but getting away to clear my thoughts could be healing in a different way. I remember all the time pre event I had in Lesotho to reflect on life. Too much, I'm sure. Here it's not like that, everyone thinks for me: my parents, my brothers, the counselor, PC staff, my friends. I know they want the best for me, though no one truly knows what that is.

I am sure the loss of T.C.M. is supposed to awaken some big self-discovery. How long till I find it? At the same time, believe me, I passed the phase of searching for answers. I'm sitting, waiting, wishing for forward motion to feel normal.

A few friends want me to come down to visit before I leave (again) and I think it would be healthy. I need to go, it's the right thing to do. I just don't want to go, only because I don't want to pretend! I literally have bounched from the couch to the computer all day. I did not even go outside to smell the crisp fall air. It's 11:09 PM and thinking about my hermit like behavior makes me a little nauseous... still even that does not bring enough motivation for tomorrow.

"In the book of life, the answers aren't always in the back" Charlie Brown

I have an amazing group of supporters. Everyone has stood by my side to teach, provide insight, inspiration, and impart wisdom. Friends and family have been patient and understanding. You have called to simply touch base, see if I need anything. Neighbors have brought an abundance of desserts. All the offers has been well intentioned and sadly exhausting. I haven't written (emailed) so many of you back because I can't muster up the courage, energy, or strength a half decent response would require. I am overwhelmed with your support and want you to know how much I am thankful for the wonderful people I have in my life. You have been over the top generous, please know how appreciative I am (though it may not seem that way). I know you don't know what to say, simply knowing you are there is perfect.

My least favorite statement throughout all of this has been, "Everything happens for a reason." I realize this statement probably brings so many comfort and comfort is what everyone is trying to provide. For me, it opens a huge can of worms... why? A question I will never know the answer too. You can wonder who played that role in a movie and quickly find your answer on the internet. Stomach aches can be pinned on something you ate for lunch, and headaches are often a result of stress. This is completely beyond that realm. As I try to ride this wave in order to move forward I continually endure the pain of an unanswered question, "Why, why, why... Him? Me? In Lesotho? On my dad's birthday?"

There are days where I am overcome with emotions, particularly when seeing the larger picture; I am alive. I have an amazing family, beautiful friends, and a strong family of Peace Corps friends who have stood behind me throughout this experience. I'm employed (with the best health care ever!!!) and have a shelter over my head no matter where I am (in Lesotho, a hotel in DC, and a house I am welcomed into by my parents in the suburbs). It is my job to get healthy, regardless of the amount of time this takes. This, I realize, is a tremendous luxury.

My thoughts aren't clear. I have memories I am prepared for and visions that totally throw me off, completely unexpected. When I do talk to friends, sometimes I feel like I talk incessantly about me, me, me. I hang up with disgust, feeling empty and lost. But you guys keep calling, regularly offering to visit or simply chat-it-up (as R.D.S. would say). Talk about a broken record, you guys are relentless. Your sympathy and support lifts my spirit. I will never be able to understand your tolerance. I am lagging in each conversation. My train of thought is up, down, all around.

I never wanted to experience the dark side of our society. The darkest part of society I knew was all those nonbelievers tossing recyclables into trash cans, allowing their children to fall to the waste side, and lacking compassion for a global world. I wish I knew what to say to all of you, nothing seems right. Thank you? I am sorry? You are my rocks. You have held me up, been fully behind me each step of the way. I'll get through this, and by that I mean we'll be back to saving the world when the time is right.

An extension of my emotions...

I can't pinpoint an emotion to describe the past couple of weeks. Relating to others pain, talking to my friends about life, having in depth converstaions with H.J.W. on where we go from here, and opening up to a complete stranger in counseling; it's all brand new. I can say everything else in life will probably seem like cake walk if I get through this, obviously I will... that goes without question. Time is working against me. I want to fast forward to a happier place, but I know if I do I won't ever truly heal. I need to go through this phase of bereavement in order to do basic tasks again: walk alone at night, not mistake loud noises for gunshots, feel comfortable being me.

The first phase of all of this was accepting T.C.M. is no longer here. I am still coping with that and imagine I will be for quite sometime. He will always be a part of my life, in a slightly different way than he was before. I prepared myself to hop on a plane this weekend bound for 16 more months in Lesotho when another curve ball was tossed my way. The heartbreaking news I am not returning and the fact it was not up for debate. Right when I was starting to feel more like myself, getting excited to call friends and bid them farewell (again), smiling about the simple pleasures in life, and ready to tackle to next challenge life had to offer. What is life without a few road blocks?

Instead of striking out and waiting for my next turn in the line-up I wanted to be benched. It would be easier to give up. I can make the best of the situation, but I'd rather throw a pity party for myself. My true character is/has been revealed in a mighty ugly way. I am beating myself up, yet see no other options.

The Verdict

Some lessons in life are harder than others. There are many reasons why I feel like I set my self up for failure in this one. My heart is in Lesotho. That might be hard to believe after reading some of the stories on my blog. I guarantee you, however, it's true. I made a promise to myself, the country and the people of Lesotho to dedicate 27 months of my life to creating what I hoped was a better future for the individuals of Lesotho. I was also encouraged by the sense of adventure and the numberous traits I learned about myself. In less than a minute all of that was taken away from me. In my 23 years on this planet I can honestly say it's been the hardest thing I have had to deal with. I don't feel like myself AT ALL. You can't put a timeline on the healing process, but geez after 40 plus days you think one would be up for a night on the town... or embracing all those American ways I claimed to miss so much. Each day gets easier with time. Right now, I really wish I could speed up time.

Yesterday I was medically cleared for Lesotho and was counting down my final three counseling sessions. I was feeling up to the challenge. I knew it wasn't going to be easy but I felt like Lesotho was where I belonged. My friends and family have been more supportive than I could have ever imagined. I never planned on coming home during my service. I thought it would make going back really difficult, but I consider myself a relatively strong person. I was forced to come home (and trust me, I do realize the importance of being at home) and still eager to go back, after all my fears I would never return.

Everything seemed to be lining up, no news seemed like good news. This morning I had a phonecall with the Country Director in Lesotho who broke the news to me, I would not be returning to Lesotho. Peace Corps does not feel confident in guaranteeing my safety during the remaining 16 months of service. I broke into tears. I sobbed like a basket case for the next two hours. I took a break in all the meetings and headed over to Starbucks for some coffee and alone time to process the news on this incredibly gloomy DC day... where I proceeded break down, again (in public, embarrassing story #904 since 09.03.10, especially for all of you who know how much I love emotions). I am heartbroken. I had plans with T.C.M. taken away. I coped (am coping), and now this is round two. The vacations I had planned (and deserve!!!) with my parents in November and friends in December are now simply dreams. I can't catch a break.

My counselor was right, I should have been more flexible. I put all my eggs in a basket; they all cracked. I felt like Lesotho was the right place for me at this time and now Lesotho is not even an option. Grad school doesn't sound right, looking for a job sounds terrible, going to a new country seems impossible. I am stuck in pause mode while watching all my friends and family live there lives. Obviously I want them to keep chugging along in the marathon on life, not being a part of it is what is killing me.

Music Heals

My friend made me a mix CD that was waiting for me when I walked in the door from Lesotho. Our taste in music is extremely different so I always looked forward to what her mix is composed of, typically it's happy girly music--exactly what the doctor ordered for this moment. Track number six is from the musical Next to Normal called "You Don't Know." The lyrics could not capture a better describition of my emotions.

Do you wake up in the morning and need help to lift your head?
Do you read obituaries and feel jealous of the dead?
It's like living on a cliffside not knowing when you'll dive.
Do you know, do you know what it's like to die alive?
When the world that once had color fades to white and gray and black.
When tomorrow terrifies you, but you'll die if you look back.

You don't know.
I know you don't know.
You say that you're hurting, it sure doesn't show.
You don't know.
You tell me let go.
And you may say so, but I say you don't know.

The sensation that you're screaming, but you never make a sound.
Or the feeling that you're falling, but you never hit the ground.
It just keeps on rushing at you day by day by day by day.
You don't know, you don't know what it's like to live that way.
Like a refugee, a fugitive, forever on the run.
If it gets me it will kill me, but I don't know what I've done.

Updated to add: A fellow PCV thinks these lyrics are horribly depressing, and reading over them I suppose they are. On the flip side the music to accompany these lyrics is incredibly upbeat. And they are heartbreakingly honest, real, uncoated, all ideas I am a huge fan of.

A question from the audience: What is Africa like? (Seventh & Eight Month Reflections)

Disclaimer: There is a high chance I have gone crazy and the weird has become normal.

The only epiphany I have had the past two months is I am going to have to devote my whole life to saving the world, not just 27 months.

I have lived in Africa for the past eight months and unlike Sarah Palin's knowledge base Africa is a continent, not a country, and therefore extremely diverse with culture, climate and just about everything imaginable. Africa is a place people call home. There are definitely vast differences from our home, thank goodness or I would be out of a job. In order to keep from getting too down I like to pretend the corruption, culture, disease, and inefficiency in Lesotho contributes to the continents diversity. While as an American it is easy for us to realize these variations should impede daily life, they do not. These problems exist and they are not going anywhere in my remaining 19 months. Heavier Sigh. The Basotho will figure it out when they want too.

My original point: It wasn’t until I got a letter from 15 year old B.X.W. inquiring what Africa is like that it dawned on me. Africa is simply another place on the earth where people live. I can tell you Africa, at least Lesotho, is not like it is portrayed in our imaginations. I like to dream somewhere in Africa there are places I will visit and experience rhinos, giraffes, and other wild animals running free. Maybe even places where I can run into Simba's lost relative sitting in the shade of those cool African trees. There will be warm weather year round, huge markets, people dressed in native gear with painted faces. However, that is not where I live. I am surrounded by the sounds, smells, and sight of farm animals (cows, dogs, donkeys, goats, horses, pigs, and sheep) and cornfields as far up the mountain as one can see. There are pests too, plenty of them: gigantic spiders, lizards, mice/rats, and silverfish. This place is definitely not picturesque; nevertheless it is beautiful to me because it is my (temporary) home.

Lesotho is a place rich in culture. A place people raise families, attend school, and work. It’s a culture before education, live-in-the-moment, slow moving, small details are important, take time for one another lifestyle. Babies are toted around with their mothers. Toddlers and children play outside using their imaginations to entertain themselves for hours. The teenage crowd behaves as if they are too cool for school. Some work while attending school, some play sports, others get into trouble drinking and using drugs (the majority can’t afford to smoke!!!). They have their own slang and use cuss words. Adult men who can find work spend their days working while women typically care for the children and tend to the household chores. Just like in a perfect world, the elderly live with and are cared for by their children.

There is some electricity and absolutely no running water where I am located. Regardless, the people are just as materialistic as we Americans are. They love cars, cell phones, clothes, jewelry, make-up, and televisions. The wealthier families have televisions and enjoy South African soaps or American movies. For the most part the days are still controlled by the sun despite the electricity. The food varies by the seasons. Business as a concept is still a work in progress. Basotho are resourceful and sustain themselves, growing or making almost anything they need. For example, my host family (like most) relies on the shops for four things: paraffin, salt, sugar, and sunflower oil. As a result the shops are quite small and all sell the same things.

It is an exceptionally unique place that few will ever see. It is a mountain kingdom, a home to the Basotho (and me).

Another Perspective

Closest girl is not a blogger by nature (but then again, who is?). She decided to be a guest blogger today and I do hope you will enjoy.

I like carrots, I don’t love them. I like maybe one/two per week. Unfortunately unlike all veggies that are scarce, in high demand, and therefore can be bought individually, carrots can only be bought in bulk. Like 25 carrots at a time in bulk. Okay this is an exaggeration, but to me it might as well be the truth. You’re probably saying, “But carrots last a long time so what’s the problem.” Ha! You made an assumption about a commonly eaten vegetable. Didn’t your teacher/mother/friend ever tell you not to ass-u-me? No worries, I did the same. I was silly (very useful Basotho word), bought a pack, saw them rot within a week and then proceed to purchase another one. After some time, I gave up and was preparing for a somewhat long life without carrots in my daily cooking repertoire. Fast forward to January 2011, S.M.H. enters the Thaba-Tseka district and brings her very distinct eating style. Viola, carrots were back!

S.M.H. is a believer that eating food doesn’t need to be proceeded by cooking of any means, unless it’s popcorn. There are exceptions to everything, don’t judge. As a result, she is a superb eater of fruits and vegetables by volumes. I thought I like apples and bananas, but since S.M.H.s arrival I’ve been reduced to an average eater-Phepi me. Same goes for hiking up hills-phepi me again. Now because of this ability to eat raw fruits and vegetables I’ve been able to secretly loot two to three carrots a week for my vegetables curries, soups and more importantly fake fried rice which I haven’t really cooked yet, but have put a lot of time thinking about cooking. Waiting on American teriyaki sauce-life is a drag sometimes. The best part is that S.M.H. hasn’t even noticed this stealing of vegetables since she consumes five bags a week. Ha! Not only do I get carrots, but I save a whopping two rand. That is four fat cakes, half a Basotho lunch. This also has caused problems for the general Thaba-Tseka carrot market (used very loosely here) since Basotho are now also having trouble finding carrots for their general consumption. Don’t even get me started on the S.M.H. effect on the apple and pear market, that’s a five page thesis. I’ve even started contemplating on leaving work early on delivery days just to beat her to the shops. My biggest hope from this carrot situation is that maybe they will start selling them individually like everything else. Double yes, since it would solve the overarching problem and the act of stealing does give me a little anxiety.

My little projects!

I’ve been told that back in the 1980’s WHITE Afrikaner Missionaries decided to have a parade and drive around Lesotho throwing tons (literately, not figuratively) of candy to the Basotho children just so that in the future every white person, trust me if you don’t think your white, your white here, afterwards would have to endure the following statement, “Give me sweets” as soon as they walk outside. Except it is not only the children, even the oldies ask because you guessed it, they still remember. Of course, I’ve might have embellished the above story, but deep down I think those Afrikaners knew what they were doing, since I’ve yet to see one in Lesotho unless they are locked in an overfilled land rover heading to the Dranskberg for holiday.

Some chose to ignore. I chose to stop and commence a small lecture. I’m going to attempt and in fact, as a Peace Corps secondary project, undo all the damage those Afrikaners have done and teach every young and old Basotho that white people are afraid of candy and therefore banned from all things sweet. Sooner or later they will cease to ask.

I am having much luck with my "white people don't have candy" project (note major sarcasm) that I have also decided to teach the Basotho that prior to noon is the only time we say "good morning!" It does not matter if it is morning, afternoon, or night the little ones (and uneducated elder ones) greet me with "good morning." During the winter holiday between the hours of noon and four I take Spads for walks simply to work on greetings. This project is having a much higher success rate. In all honestly it does not really matter to me that after five it is still considered morning but if they are as eager to learn English as I am Sesotho I figure they best learn correctly.

Fully Stocked

Oh. My. Goodness. You can stop sending packages!!! I can’t begin to thank all of you for the generous care packages I have received! You are all absolutely incredible, and I am so appreciative of the time you have taken to prepare such amazing packages. Old neighbors, friends in college with no money, parents of children I babysat for, parents of my youngest brothers friends, my sweet parents, my old grandparents, and so many more have all come together to send me love in a box. You have all gone overboard and my kitchen cabinet (and I imagine your wallet) shows it. I am bursting at the seams with black beans, chocolate, macaroni & cheese, muffin mixes, and taco seasoning! It’s a processed wonderland. You have not just filled my kitchen cabinet. I am also stocked on antibacterial handsoap, batteries, chapstick, crosswords, sudukos, paper, and sponges for the remainder of my service! Living thousands of miles away you have shown me an abundance of tangible love from back home.

Now do not get me wrong, I LOVE receiving packages but equally as much I adore your letters. Life is so much easier when I “hear” about your lives back home. It is nice to know what you are up to and to be reminded of the efficiency we call America. Save yourself a few bucks and pick up a pen!

If you still insist on sending packages here is an updated list:

• Almonds
• Dried Fruit
• Granola Bars
• Cheap Pens (for my students)
• Music (put your favorite new tunes on a CD/flashdrive and send it my way)
• Reading Material (sports articles, magazines, books)
• Starbucks VIA Ready Brew Coffee (I have a French Press so technically any coffee will do but these are easy, delicious, and portioned just right for a morning cup before school)
• Trail Mix
• Velvetta Cheese

Really, though you have gone above and beyond! Kea Leboha!

For the game. For the world.

You know those tickets N.X.B. purchased for us at the end of the post titled Ha Ke Nako for the 1D vs 2C match up, well you won’t be surprised to learn they never went through. Due to lack of internet we did not learn this until all the actual tickets were sold out. Determined to see a game seven of us departed for Bloemfontein, South Africa early Sunday morning. We got to the ticket office three hours before game time, no tickets. We walked the streets looking for scalpers, no luck. We scarfted down McDonalds like it was the best tasting food ever. I realize that is very unlike me and sounds disgusting to you, but it is amazing what eight months in isolation will do to your taste buds. Then there were three of us wallowing in the grass outside the Waterfront Mall, the other four had tickets to the game.

In a last minute attempt we sent J.P.B. off to try again for tickets praying he would not be arrested. He scored! For a bit over $100 each we had a ticket to see Germany play England. After all we had been through we were shocked when our tickets weren’t fake. It was so good to finally see a game (live) and fill my sports void. The game was awesome, the atmosphere unreal. The fans were alive and intense.

Following the game we raced to the last Kombi back to Maseru exchanging game stories the entire way. We all went to the same game but we were split off in four different sections of the stadium. Exhausted, the ride back was silent. Rejuvenated, we managed to make it to Maseru Sun for the last half of the Argentina/Mexico game.

The Dirty South

It’s finally time to socialize now that school has come to an end. Another lesson I have learned while teaching: teachers earn their breaks! To kick off the winter holiday my friend J.P.B. came to stay for a week. Next I was off to Quthing to spend time with two of my favorite volunteers! The two day trek for a three day stay was worth every second and penny. I made it just in time to catch the last USA game of the group rounds. We won in extra time in what might be described as one of the greatest sporting moments in my life. Then we (well they) cooked a hearty meal, we enjoyed terrible wine (not the taste, the effect, of course, kidding the company was the soul enjoyment on this bitter cold winter night), and chatted the night away. Thursday I got a tour of the school A.J.S. teaches at and a tour of another volunteers house nearby. It is amazing how different each volunteer house is (both of their houses have running water, one has a geyser). When they took me to the local scone shop I had to ask if I was in America. My question was answered when the “bakery” only had one of eight items on the menu.

In the afternoon K.A.B. and I headed to her place in Mohales Hoek. She is isolated. It is one thing for her to say and another thing to witness. No bar, neighbors (she is on a school compound), post office (although those are only in the camptowns, lucky me), soccer field, or shops. I like to pretend I would be able to handle that, instead I will admit I am much more of a city girl (or camptown girl in this instance). We relaxed at her site and continued to catch up on our three months apart. Friday night we taught her students how to make smores. They indulged in gooey goodness while I took advantage of the warmth of the fire. At one point I got a little too close managing to catch my shirt on fire.

On Saturday we were up early to head to Maseru to meet some friends for lunch. I felt so American, out to lunch with the girls. Then I took a warm shower. Normally the shower comes before the outing, in Peace Corps it comes whenever you find one. Afterwards, K.A.B. gave me my first hair cut since I left home. For having no experience she did a good job cutting my hair. The boys cooked us dinner and we headed to the Maseru Sun (a hotel) to watch the USA play what would ultimately be their last game. The capital is so different from village life. Picture big comfy couches, the game projected on to a big white wall, and a live band performing during half time. Every now and then it is nice to have a week away, more importantly to be American.

My grass is greener!

K.A.B. was one of the other three volunteers in my World Cup group. We have been refunded $10500 of the $13000, the remaining $2500 is on her credit card. A few weeks ago she was mugged in her camptown, all cash and Lesotho bank card stolen. New bank card, new week. When N.X.B. and her went to Bloemfontein to pick up our World Cup tickets (only to find out we have no tickets) she used an ATM and was scammed. Her Lesotho bank account was drained. She lives over a mountain in a valley where she has no access to anything, meaning she is able to save a lot of money for vacations. Peace Corps will only reimburse her for the amount of time remaining in the quarter, not the total amount in her bank account. Take that as a R7000 loss! They say bad things happen in three. Bad thing #3: She spilled boiling water on her leg, ended up with second degree burns, and as I write is in Maseru seeking treatment for her infected burns. Somebody cut this girl a break!

Ha Ke Nako

One of the many slogans for the World Cup is ‘Ke Nako’ meaning it’s time. And it was time, time for me to finish marking my exams, turn in my grades, pack my replaceable belongings, catch the opening match at the Katse Lodge, and then head to Johannesburg for four days and two games of World Cup action. The ticket process for the World Cup has been an emotional nightmare. I have kept you out of the World Cup drama loop for several reasons. Today I welcome you to the past six months of my life. Prepare yourself for the descent:

December 31, 2009: Volunteer R.X.P. gave a 30 minute presentation complete with visual aids on how to apply for World Cup tickets. We broke into groups of four and decided which matches we wanted to attend. FIFA instructed us to have ALL four people apply for tickets to seven different games, insuring you get tickets to at least one game.

January 7, 2010: This is the day we swore in as official PC volunteers and raced of to the Volunteer Resource Center (VRC) where we have access to four US Embassy computers. Once we become an official volunteer we can use the internet on these computers for free. It is also a lot safer to input credit card numbers on these computers than at the sketchy internet cafes used during training. They are rated up to “Sensitive, but Unclassified Information” Oh and the sessions last longer than 15 minutes.

February 14, 2010: Happy Valentines Day. Or not. Besides getting a phone call from A.L.R.L. I got a phone call (big sign something is terrible wrong as we can’t afford to make phone calls) from N.X.B. telling me we “won” 80 of the 84 tickets leaving us with a combined credit card bill of 13,000 US dollars.

Mid to Late February 2010: We spent at least 1000 Rand (approximately another 132 US dollars) calling and emailing FIFA to voice our concerns. How is it possible that we won 12 tickets to the same game? It’s 2010. One would assume FIFA’s lottery program would screen for that, after all our passport numbers were required for the ticket lottery. You know what they say when one assumes.

Late February 2010: After sitting with hefty credit card bills and new phone bills, thanks to the hard work of N.X.B. FIFA agreed to let us return 13 sets (four tickets per set) of tickets.

Late March: Living got slightly easier when the $10500 refunds appeared in our bank accounts. FIFA obviously took there sweet time with this. Still with six sets of tickets at a price tag of $2500 it was time to decide on what two games we were actually going to attend. We decided on Ghana vs. Germany and Brazil vs. Ivory Coast. Both of these games were being played at Soccer City in Johannesburg 3 days apart making logistics easy to work out.

Hostel Debacle: Due to the fact we waited so long to make reservations finding lodging in the city at an affordable rate was tough. We found a place where we were able to book a sweet B&B at a total of R7000 ($1750). It was more expensive than what we were looking for, but we were just happy to have a place to stay. As an added bonus, according to the website it was less than 9km from both stadiums in Jo’burg. It got even more exciting because another group of ED10 PCVs were also going to be staying at the same B&B for the second game. Making reservations at One Fontein B&B was not so simple, however. The total amount was supposed to be R7000 and the deposit 50% of the total for R3500. Due to some errors and dropped zeros by the secretary at the B&B, though, we only paid a deposit of R350. They later discovered their error and were ready to cancel our reservations unless we paid the outstanding R3150. Unfortunately, we were all on vacation in Durban when this part was working out so we didn’t know about it until very last minute and barely managed to save those reservations. We got lucky. For a little while.

At this point we thought we were all set and ready to go. Yes there was the issue of getting the FIFA refunds to go through and selling back the extra tickets. And the accommodations were pricier than expected, but we were getting to see two unbelievable games. Tragedy struck again early in May, however, when some clever sleuthing uncovered that our hostel was not actually in Johannesburg. Not even close. It was on the outskirts of Bloemfontein, in fact - a drive that would take a couple hours each way. This left us even closer to the games, still with nowhere to stay and having already shelled out R3500 deposit for a B&B in the wrong city. Desperate phone calls were made from both sides of the Atlantic looking for new places to stay. Finally, after a week or so of searching, we managed to find a specially built hostel for World Cup called Ball n’ Kicka. It was significantly lower class next to our gorgeous B&B, and significantly more expensive to boot with a 60% deposit of $850. But once again, we thought that was another bullet dodged and were just happy to be going. Our friends who were also homeless after the One Fontein B&B debacle even followed us to Ball n Kicka, so everything was working out all right. The only loose end to tie up was to get our deposit back from One Fontein.

April 11, 2010: We were able to put the four sets of tickets back into the lottery for resale. The only way to get rid of your tickets is to sell them back to FIFA and there was no guarantee they would actually sell. Oh AND once you agreed to sell the tickets you lost access to those tickets, even if they did not sell. Because that makes sense! We managed to sell the most expensive tickets to the worst games almost immediately so we felt like we were in the clear. For kicks, this is right when we found out about the hostel… there has not been a week of sanity since mid February.

June 12, 2010: K.A.B. and N.X.B. went to Bloemfontein to pick up the tickets because FIFA requires you to pick up your tickets in South Africa. Time and lines were not going to allow us to pick them up in Jo’burg the day of the games. Only when they showed up there were no tickets OR money. FIFA apparently resold all six sets of tickets, not just the four we returned. The money was apparently refunded in May, except there was no money in K.A.B.’s account to show for it. The best part is we were never informed about this decision FIFA made on our behalf.

Hostel Debacle Part 2: Conveniently, the 60% deposit on our hostel is unrefundable so we debated whether or not to still go to Jo’burg and bum around the fan parks. This is after looking into rebuying our tickets or simply finding other games to attend in the area. No such luck, all the tickets were sold out. We concluded hanging around would be super unsafe, a big waste of money (transport, food, and an additional $750 for lodging), and five vacation days swiped.

June 16, 2010: N.X.B. finds us tickets to the second round 1D vs 2C match in Bloemfontein. The price was way more than we wanted to pay for a game but at this point money seems obsolete. Right now, we are so deeply invested it would be ridiculous not to go to a game at all. Soccer may not be on the top of my list of sports to watch, but the World Cup is one of the biggest world sporting events (taking second to the Olympics I predict). And knowing how much I miss sports you can imagine how excited I was to be a part of this event. Now I will be part of the event and I have a good shot at seeing the USA play. With all that has gone wrong I am not crossing my fingers. Instead of living sports through the articles I receive via snail mail I am going to experience the action live. Sometimes life gives you lemons and you have to make lemonade, only life does not always teach you how to make the lemonade.

Katse Dam Tour

In the six months at my site I have already lost track of the number of times I have visited Katse,. This past weekend was the first time I got to take a tour of the Katse Dam. Finally, it’s something I have been dying to do since I learned I was coming to Lesotho! The tour requires a private vehicle and you will be shocked to learn Peace Corps does not provide each volunteer with their own car. That would certainly ruin the experience. During the tour I learned all about the positive and negative impacts of the dam, how a dam is built, and the next four phases of the Lesotho Highlands Water Project (LHWP). The entire hour and a half was informative and entertaining. We got to go inside (!!!) and on top of the dam as well. I was 100% in my element.

After further research on my next trip to Maseru I will make my ultimate decision on whether or not I feel the LHWP is actually a good thing for this country. Right now it seems like too many people where displaced (and will continue to be displaced with the next four phases) and the entire future of this country has been mortgaged to South Africa. But what do my opinions matter anyways?

It’s always fun to be a tourist in your hometown!

Puppyville

I returned home from a fabulous weekend in Katse to one skinny mama and nine adorable puppies. My family insists they are not going to make it through the winter but I am trying to stay optimistic, already having named four of the nine (Ace, Diego, Maluti, and Oz). It has been really hard not having my sick kick accompany me to school, the shop, and the homes of other volunteers. Harder than not having her company is convincing her to stay home and take care of her young. She’s a terrible mother as she is willing to leaving the yelping helpless fur balls for a walk to town! My commute has substantially increased in time to each destination; having to explain to each villager Spads is at home feeding her new puppies. I thought nine was a large litter until I realized that everyone in the camptown wants one. I mean who wouldn’t; they all know what an amazing dog she is! I am not parting with any (not that they are mine to part with), at least anytime soon.
After my weekend away there were also eight new piglets and one baby calf. Unfortunately all eight piglets died a few days later before I could photograph them.

*Updated June 21, 2010: Two weeks and two snowstorms later I am happy to report all nine puppies are still alive!

What did you learn in PC?

I think I might have a problem, but that is not what I learned. What I learned is how to play a mean game of pool. Lately I have been experiencing an unhealthy addiction to this particular table game. And of course, my over the top competitive spirit is not satisfied with simply playing pool; I must win. Translation: I must play a lot. There is something that feels good about winning. In my day-to-day life I do not feel like I am ever “winning” so I seek my fill in pool.

Back in high school I had the opportunity to occasionally play with J.L.W. on her table, but she was usually bored out of her mind seeing as she could skunk me with her eyes closed. Then we became fixated on ping-pong after we both got tables for Christmas. The pool sticks were laid to rest until recently, now they have been as busy as ever.

The best part about playing pool is I am completing one of the PC goals, yet I do not feel like I am working at all. I am breaking gender stereotypes by serving as the sole female at the bar. I am making new village friends, and I am mastering Sesotho.

My game still has a long way to go. The stereotypes and my Sesotho do as well. Forget putting my finishing stipend towards grad school, I need a pool table.

The Social Scene

A few weeks after my friend moved from her safe haven in South Carolina to the Wild West she called me to tell me she was lonely and I quote, “you have no idea how hard it is to make friends.” That comment was a direct stab, of course, in her defense I am sure it just came out, she probably did not think twice about it. Remember though, my parents dragged me half way across the country to Small Town, South Carolina when I was 15. It was at this exact moment in life I learned how thankful I was for all the friends I had and how difficult it was to make friends. I went from having a plethora of friends in a place where people understood me to a place I do not think I ever fit in or would ever fit in no matter how hard I tried. For the record, I tried pretty hard.

My life was not a pity party; I definitely found my nitch running and made a solid friend. All those relationships that were built over the course of the first 15 years of my life still existed, but everyone needs a social life that involves more than talking on the phone. In all honesty, almost eight years later as much as I still miss the Heartland I am happy my parents made the decision to move on behalf of the family. The move opened my eyes to a world of possibilities. I formed my own opinions and saw things in a completely new light when my homogenous group of friends was not around to influence my decisions.

Equally as unsatisfied with South Carolina (I like to pretend) my parents proceeded to relocate almost every year of my college career. Translation: On breaks when most of my friends went back home to catch up with old friends who attended various other colleges I was temporarily friendless. My social life was back to consisting of my family and cell phone. Bitter much? Trust me I know how hard it is to make friends.*

This same friend went on to tell me in the PC I was going to have built in friends. At the time I thought she was borderline insane. I envisioned myself with the farthest thing from an American social life as one can get. I chose this route so I was prepared for this. I was confident I would make friends with Basotho and partake in their form of social enjoyment for the time away. Turns out women in Lesotho do not have social lives. Their only form of social enjoyment is church, and I am not about to start going to church. Church that lasts over four hours, starts in the wee hours of my one off day, and mind you occurs in another language. That, to me, seems about as far from entertainment as can be. I have been to the bars a few times to bond with bo-ntate (adult males), unfortunately I can only do this in the company of other male volunteers for safety reasons. I have a ridiculously amazing host family and a cell phone. I have made family and a cell phone work before to fulfill my social needs. This is different though because they are not my family and the cell phone does not make outgoing calls.

There are only 80ish volunteers serving in the country at one time and seven in my district. Only once a year for three days are all 80 volunteers are gathered at the same location at the same time. In addition to this people are always leaving, and new volunteers arrive in June and November. When describing the strength of friendship with people I pull out my handy solar system analogy (copyrighted: me, 2004). There are three basic categories: planets, satellites, and debris. Planets are your close friends, the ones you confide in, the ones you look forward to spending time with, and the ones you can rely on for anything. Satellites are the people you get along with but do not necessarily someone you divulge your deep dark secrets to. You do not want to put yourself in a position where you would ever feel vulnerable around these people. When satellites come together everyone gets along and enjoys him or herself. Then there is debris, people you do not clique with. You deal with the debris in each situation as it arises. This analogy can be used under three circumstances: 1. You never for one second think your solar system is superior to any other solar system out there. It’s not and will never be. Stop trying. Be yourself and be unique. 2. You are the not center of your solar system. It is a circle of friends. 3. Labels are understood and do not need ever be discussed out loud.

This analogy works really well here. I am really pleased with where I was placed, and I despise traveling long distances for the weekend. This keeps me landlocked in my district most of the time and limits my social circle to about five friends. As a result of different interest and living far apart the majority of other volunteers are satellites. I am thrilled to inform you there is very little debris in country.

This weekend I am alone for the first time in more than two months, and here I am, six months later admitting defeat. Having built in friends is awesome; being alone is not quite so awesome. I could go on about each one of my built in friends individually and explain how each one of them is making this experience more enjoyable. As a result of this post being a marathon I will keep the details on my planets to a minimum. There is closest girl who had I come across in the states I would have dismissed her immediately. Thankfully that did not happen. We have a lot in common despite coming from extremely different backgrounds. She keeps me balanced, goes along with all my quirks, and lets me stay the night when I have a bad day. The rest of my friends are of the male species. They play pool with me, help me build shelves, talk sports with me, repair my bike, and cook for me. They treat me like their little sister. At first I was slightly annoyed by this (because I am not that much younger), now I embrace it. In view of the fact I miss my brothers more than words I am thankful for their brother-like companionship. Thou shall not lie, all my built in friends are pretty incredible. I do indeed have an American social life without the America setting. We work hard, but we play hard too.

Taking an awfully negative approach to demonstrate with every pro there are cons I could attempt to find the inadequacies in my built in friends. I won’t do that because I like to think I am a better person than that. My built in friends are fabulous, but they are not my friends from home. I do not need to put them down to tell you how much I miss each friend at home. As much as I love living on my own in the big wide world it has definitely been an adjustment to go from living with and amongst my best friends to isolation (or weekday isolation). Gossiping with girlfriends, intellectual conversations, and friends with common interest all seem to be a thing of the past (or at least limited to email, letters, and the occasional phone call for the present point in time). Soon but not too soon we will be reunited and it will be blissful.

No hard feelings friend. Now that you are thriving in Denver, time to pick it up an do it all again in the Big Apple. Best of luck to you!

*I am definitely not looking for any sympathy in my introduction. I am content with where my life has taken me. If you want to have sympathy for anyone, channel your compassion to the youngest member of the H clan. The original move might not have been nearly as devastating, but he is a freshman in high school and has been to eight schools (nine if you want to include preschool). This one could probably teach a brick wall how to make friends.

Food For Thought, Part Two

Over the course of 27 months I estimate I will eat 2,466 meals and consume over 1,644,000 calories. It’s about time to reiterate how much I loathe cooking. One hand tells me the limited food options are all part of the adventure (yesterdays post) while other hand is shouting go home and hire a chef, remember the multitude of options, home-cooked meals, processed food, and restaurants. Food could be the one thing that causes me to terminate my service early. That is a bit drastic (and lame), plus we all know I am far too stubborn for that. I am trying to make a point.

A point that I am sick and tired of fried rice, curried vegetables, and pasta with home-made tomato sauce (that although delicious, does not taste like either parents). Wow, you are all thinking to yourselves… the girl has learned how to cook. Do not be ridiculous! I am not cooking any of these things. These are the meals typically prepared in the company of other volunteers by other volunteers. I am not knocking their cooking at all; in fact, I am so thankful to have them around. My district is fully stocked with excellent chefs, meaning at least one cooked meal a week. When I’m alone I eat popcorn or raw vegetables. Surprisingly after consuming over 10 kg of popcorn in four months I still love it. I am not complaining about the raw vegetables because I ate tons of them even in America. I want new meals, a brand new variety of meals.

It’s clear I still do not know how to cook and will probably be the only PC volunteer to ever leave without this acquired skill. To be completely honest I have not really tried as I have decided it is something I do not take pleasure in whatsoever. That’s the understatement of the century; cooking is pure and evil torture. One, I am bored after five minutes of “sautéing” veggies. Two, creativity does not belong in the kitchen. A third disadvantage of cooking is learning how much oil, salt, badness it takes to make something delicious (a green pepper) taste even better. I prefer not knowing. Cooking would take far too much time out of my already short day, point four. Eating things raw is fast and some day might get old, but it will always be a possibility. You never have to worry about running out of ingredients when you eat your only ingredient. Convenient? I think so.

Sunday I was talking to E.J.R. on the phone and she mentioned the food I eat here is probably going to have more of an impact on me than I imagine, which is part of the reason I wrote yesterdays post first. I know she is right because it already has. Nevertheless with 21 months of service to go I already have an entire 30-day meal plan mapped out (of only my parents cooking), from fish tacos (goodbye vegetarianism, I just finished saving the world) to homemade macaroni and cheese to chicken-avocado-cheese burgers to waffles to salmon to spinach salad to blue cheese bacon filets to grilled cheese/tomato soup/milkshakes to ribs. Mom and Dad, prepared your kitchen! Then prepare your bank account because month two we are hitting up Moe’s, Panera, Fireworks, PF Changs, and Lightfoot.