Just Breath

Zambia is beautiful.  Well, I can’t say that for sure.  I think that Zambia is beautiful.  It could be an acquired taste though.  I can’t remember if I thought that it was beautiful when I first got here.  I can understand why people would think that it isn’t. 

Firstly it is the dust.  There is dust fucking everywhere.  No matter what you do, you will be covered in dust by the end of the day and there should be a national law against wearing white.  Because well it is white.  But second of all, certain Zambians go a little heavy on the foundation, and well, lets just say, you can tell the order of their morning routine.  Makeup first, clothing second.  Checking their clothes to see if they left half of their applied face on the collar of it is no where on the check list of morning routines.  

Make no mistake, I am not judging them.  My family would argue that the same could be said about the order in which I brush my teeth.  Checking to see if I have toothpaste all over my clothes doesn’t cross my mind until really attractive men point it out to me.  (I take it as proof that they were staring at my boobs. How else would they have noticed that huge white spot on my black shirt?  My idea of self validation works out well for me.) 

Anyway, back to Zambia.  So there is dust.  There are multiple shades of dust as well.  If you ever get the opportunity to stroll through a Zambian village you will be privilege to view the amazing spectrum of colors that make up our soil.  The woman search far and wide for a good grey, red, crimson, pink, orange or black to smear their huts with. 

It should be mentioned that there is so much dust because there are no trees.  They tell us that Zambia is the second most deforested country in the world.  Second to Brazil.  Ask a city dweller who branches out into the country for the first time how much a tree can play up the landscape.  Trees do a lot.  They are like the push up bra of mother nature.  A good bra can do a lot for a girl.  Trust me, my chest was, and still is as flat as my back…until I found the right bra that is.  

Then, there is trash.  A lot of trash.  Not all over, if the infastructure was there, Zambians could be the cleanest people on earth.  They sweep everything into neat little burn piles every morning.  Typically it seems like they only burn when the wind is blowing in your direction. Just walking to work I could get stoned on burning plastic fumes.  If it weren’t awful, it would be awesome, but alas climate change is no joke. 

Oh, the heat.  Hot season starts in mid September, peaks into the deep circles of hell in October, and should start to come down in November.  Usually the heat comes down when the rains come.  Usually there is a big rain, mid/late November and they just become more consistent until December when you can start to say you are in rainy season now and not hot season.  Usually.  But this year Zambia has decided to just be one big clit tease and not allow the rains to come.  Just dragging out hot season longer and longer.  The longer it goes without rains the hotter it gets, because the heat is what snaps the rain into falling.  It is like meeting the absolute man of your dreams.  I mean the dude is fucking perfect, you’ve already undressed him mentally with your tongue and then you find out he is gay.  This is the kind of break from the heat I am talking about needing right now people. 

This wasn’t a blog post to bitch about Zambia though.  This was supposed to be a post about breathing.  I love Zambia.  I stayed for a third year when I could have called it a day after two.  I love Zambia.  I think that Zambia is beautiful.  I have found great amounts of inner peace here.   Zambia is uncomfortable at times.  It can be hot and dirty and smelly.  And it can push you into your absolute worst. 

Except, you know what always happens to me?  The breeze will blow.  Or on a good day the wind.  I believe that the wind and the breeze are completely independent of Zambia.  They are sent to you from a higher power.  When you have been pushed to the end.  When you are as far outside of “comfortable” as you can be, the wind comes.  And when it comes it is such a relief that it forces you to inhale deep.  Take it all in and just breath.  I do this every. Single. Time.  I have found that no matter how upset, hot, uncomfortable, frustrated, or just ready to cry I am, after the wind blows I am ready to handle it all.

The Universe wants you to win.  Zambia taught me that.  Even when Zambia wants me to loose, the Universe wants me to win. Just take a breath.  Breath deep.  It will last you longer.  

Free At Last

I pulled my calf muscle at the end of September.  I feel like from time to time the Universe likes to remind me that I can invest too much of my “happiness stock” into running.  I am a stubborn bitch and the Universe knows this, so it can’t perform this reminder with small nagging injuries, it has to completely take me out of the game.  Get me off my feet completely.  Which is why in October I sprained my ankle, causing the whole of my left leg, calf down, to be purple and swollen and painful to look at and to touch.  I needed to slow down, take a load off and rest.  The Universe saw to it that I did. 

It was a nice little break I suppose, once I switched my perspective on the whole event.  I learned a lot about myself and about the experiences that life gives us. 

Since I couldn’t walk my dog and play with her as much as we would have both liked, I had to find new ways to shower her with the affection that she has come to understand is our daily walks.  We had a lot of problems at first.  She kept trying to get out.  She stopped listening to her commands.  She wouldn’t stay on her rug.  She was rebelling. 

She can’t actually flip me off like she would like, and I can’t actually explain to her why she doesn’t get to go on a walk every day like she would like.  Mesa had allowed me to wipe my tears on her fuzzy belly in the weeks before and now she couldn’t understand why I was punishing her.  I realized that I had to find new ways to show her I loved her still, that I was paying attention to her.  I now had to love on her extra in the mornings or at night when she was being good sitting on her rug.  Her daily brushings got extended and I confided even more with her during our daily talks.  She finally understood.  Circumstances change.  The way that you are able to love is not always consistent.  The people and the things that you love will not always understand the changes.  If you love well, and you love real, you will figure out a compromise.  Just like Mesa and I did.

A busted ankle required a lot of icing time.  More icing time that I expected.  Zambia is not like America.  I can’t find crutches.  I can’t just sit all day, my job and this lifestyle requires movement.  “A friend will help you…” doesn’t work here because friends are busy and have their own shit to do.  So if I was gonna move I needed to ice.  This was good for a few reasons.  One, while the rest of my body was sweating away my left foot, was icy!  Which was a very nice change compared to how the rest of my body was feeling during the sweltering months of October and November.  Two, icing was a nice way for me to catch up on all six seasons of Sex and the City that a fellow PCV gifted me from her hard drive.  In PC, when a friend can’t do something for you, you can guarantee that they can gift you something to help waste time.  There is nothing PCVs are better at than wasting time.  Lastly, it turns out, that my 20 minutes of icing is just about how long it takes my roommate Julie to smoke a cigarette.  I would come limping into our gate after a day at work, my ankle craving the relief ice would bring and Julie would be craving the relief nicotine would give her.  Together we coped and bonded.  J  Julie, if you’re reading this, I love sitting with you while you smoke “just one cigarette,” waiting for our conversation to turn it into three or four.  Sometime you just need to stop and smell the roses, or inhale some second hand smoke. 

Aside from the fact that I will not be able to run the Kilimanjaro Marathon that I was really looking forward to running this two-month break was not all bad.  But I have started running again.  I’ve only gone out twice, but my ankle seems to be cooperating and my spirit is soaring.  I will admit that I found happiness in this break, but it is quite astounding how much happier I am when I know that running can to incorporated into my routine.