I knew that this day was coming. I didn’t actually know how I would go about it when it actually came about.
You see I woke up just like any other morning. Waiting for the call of nature to pull me out from under the little cube of safety that my mosquito net casts. I like to pretend it is like Harry Potters Invisibility Cloak, when I am safely tucked in nothing can get me, no bugs, no spiders, no mice and no snakes. I’m not even really there.
Anyway, before sitting down for my morning piss on my in hut pee bucket, (yes it is exactly what it sounds like, complete with a lid) I spotted it. The MIF kit. This cardboard cylinder that has all of the power in the world to completely suck you dry of any self: worth, respect and esteem you had going for you. Enclosed in this cardboard cylinder with a metal lid are two test tubes with a red “fill line” and formaldehyde within, a few popsicle sticks
Allow me to explain. While I don’t have a clue what the acronym MIF stands for I know enough to tell you all you need to know. The MIF kit, in short, requires you to peruse, so to speak, through your own shit. Three different shit samples, from three different days. You have to shit into/onto something. Some suggested surfaces and or containers were: a plastic bag, empty butter or margarine containers, a plastic bag, or just a piece of cardboard. The list was quite extensive actually. And if “perusing” didn’t knock you down enough notches you then have to use an enclosed popsicle stick, (in the medical world I am sure they are used for something more important, which means they have a much more intellectual title) or the spoon attacked to the lid of an also enclosed test tube to fill up the aforementioned test tube, to the fill line, with your own fecal matter.
Ah, but wait, I am getting ahead of myself. There are also instructions on how you need to, um, sort through, this fecal matter depending on the consistency of it, which is something you of course need to determine on your own. You do however have four choices: Solid, Soft, Loose, and Watery. All four of these words are placed in between a checkbox where you can tick it off your choice on one side, and a little picture on the other. The picture reminded me of the circles that used to be on the title page of standardized testing packets telling you how to properly fill in the circle.
You’re probably currently asking yourself why the hell I had to do this. Well, this is what you have to go through to properly exit Peace Corps and or extend for a third year. This is just one of the many medical checks you have to go through. They can’t send you back to country with some parasite that they missed that would kill you and then land them on some episode of Maury Povich. All of the other ones are what you would expect. Standard Blood work, STD/STI/HIV tests, eye exams, breast exams and the ever-anticipated pap smear.
So with the MIF kit staring at me I decided to leave my hut and go relieve myself. Number one. In my pit latrine, not a bucket. On my way back in my kids asked him they could play with the football that my brother brought with him on his visit. Then I emptied my pee bucket from the night before. And tipped it upside down to dry outside my house. The MIF kit very clearly states that NO URINE should mingle with your fecal matter. Then at 6:30, pretty much right on time, I felt it.
Don’t worry, I came to the realization that using the pee bucket would mean that I would have to clean it, so I opted for an empty plastic bag that I could easily dispose of. I won’t explain how it all happened, looking back on that first day it seems too intimate of a moment to share with the world now. Me fighting my dog off, before finally locking her out of the hut, and then yelling at my kids, in English so they wouldn’t understand, as they squealed in delight “You have no idea the shit I have to go through so you can play with that damn football.” They probably thought that I was “singing” along to Celine Dion again.
I had to do it two more times, only being comforted by the fact that at least I wasn’t the person that had to, er, process all of these samples from everyone in my intake, all 30 of us….times 3.
In the end, I’d probably have done it everyday for 2 years if I had to. But talk to me next year when I have to do it to leave the country, because even now the thought of going through all of that again is a bit exhausting.
February 20, 2012
September 25, 2011
Mind. Body. Soul.
At the beginning of this 2011th year I was not a happy girl. I know that there was a lot going on that was contributing to my unhappy mood. My body wasn't the body that I recognized from America. PC work wasn't moving at the pace at which I was trying to push it along at. I was living in a space the size of a shoebox with the walls closing in a little bit more everyday. All of these combined with the general woes of a first year Peace Corps Volunteer, like missing home were getting me pretty down. As a whole I was just pretty unimpressed with how far I hadn't come in the 11 months since I left home. I joined Peace Corps to get to know myself a little bit better and it seemed like I was becoming more and more of a stranger.
I don't really remember the exact moment where I remember snapping back into the Maggie that I know and love, but it happened, and it was beautiful. I've always been someone who made New Years Resolutions, and kept them. And though I didn't resolve to do this on New Years Day I did, at some point in the month of January, resolve to find happiness again, 'ya know, put myself back together.
Back together for me, apparently, means running. As I said, I don't really remember the exact date of this resolution, but I do know that I woke up the next morning and went for a run. I didn't plan it, but I think I knew that running makes me happiest fastest. I am sure that there are other avenues to happiness, but for me, running is the ticket.
Running gave me the calm to deal with procrastinating villagers and finally get me my new, bigger hut built. Actually, running gives me the calm to deal with all things relating to time in any way shape or form. I guess when you spend 30+ minutes in the morning trying to see how fast you can go, how far you can get, time the rest of the day is irrelevant. You learn to surrender to the clock. That is until the next morning, and then the race is back on.
Running gave me the body that I am familiar with back to me. Running also gave me the time I needed to think and reflect on family in friends that I had left back in America.
So, last month I ran my first marathon. That kind of running gave me 26.2 miles to ask myself exactly what the fuck it is that I am doing. I remember Body asking Mind at one point during the hilly race, "Hey!...Asshole! This was your fucking idea. Are you feeling this pain? I would just like you to know that I had nothing to do with this. This was all your grand idea. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you feel what you are doing to me. I hope that being able to say 'I'm a runner,' (she rattles in a snotty voice) is worth all of this for you, because this isn't even going to be the half of it. I am going to make sure that your next few days are complete and total hell. Every step is going to be a reminder of your brilliant fucking idea."
My Mind then stops and thinks to herself, without letting Body know that she is having second thoughts, "Nope...this is probably not worth it."
And then I started thinking to myself. “Mind, you decided to do this because you were not well, and you wanted to be. Body you carried her through all of the miles of training and never argued. Not once. Not with so much as a black and blue toenail. So we are doing this, we are finishing this and we will all be happy when this is all over.”
Since moving to my very Christian village, I’ve taken to telling people that running is my church. When I go on my longer more meditative runs on Sunday mornings. Running has always been my church. It is mindless and lovely for me. It makes me a better person. After a good long run the world always makes more sense. Through running I have learned that there are no problems that can’t be solved with a little bit of selfish love.
I have a lot of time, post race, to reflect on this mid race premonition. I have since realized that the pep talk came from somewhere deep within. As cheesy as it sounds I have decided that it was the more spiritual part of me finally speaking up during my longest session of “church” to date. Through trying to clean up Mind and Body, I found Spirit.
I have never believed in religion. When it comes up in conversation, at least in my Midwestern roots, it has always meant a Christian God, which I knew I didn’t believe in. The thought of Him never really did anything for me. I have however always believed in a Higher Power, and the power of just having some sort of faith. I have always believed in believing. I think, up until now that has been good enough for me. Just believe in something…anything, and you will get through.
So at the beginning of this month I made a second resolution. Believing in something isn’t good enough for me anymore. I want to know what I believe. Gratitude, the good in others, and knowing that you are happy and at peace with all of your decisions are all things that have me currently yearning to feel more aware.
I think that everyone has one part of the Mind, Body and Soul, trio that comes a little harder for him or her than the other two. Who knows how long this hunt will last. All I know is that one month in and it feels like I am just getting started.
“We run to undo the damage we’ve done to body and spirit. We run to find some part of ourselves yet undiscovered.” ~John “The Penguin” Bingham
“For me, running is a lifestyle and an art. I’m far more interested in the magic of it than the mechanics.” ~Lorraine Miller
I don't really remember the exact moment where I remember snapping back into the Maggie that I know and love, but it happened, and it was beautiful. I've always been someone who made New Years Resolutions, and kept them. And though I didn't resolve to do this on New Years Day I did, at some point in the month of January, resolve to find happiness again, 'ya know, put myself back together.
Back together for me, apparently, means running. As I said, I don't really remember the exact date of this resolution, but I do know that I woke up the next morning and went for a run. I didn't plan it, but I think I knew that running makes me happiest fastest. I am sure that there are other avenues to happiness, but for me, running is the ticket.
Running gave me the calm to deal with procrastinating villagers and finally get me my new, bigger hut built. Actually, running gives me the calm to deal with all things relating to time in any way shape or form. I guess when you spend 30+ minutes in the morning trying to see how fast you can go, how far you can get, time the rest of the day is irrelevant. You learn to surrender to the clock. That is until the next morning, and then the race is back on.
Running gave me the body that I am familiar with back to me. Running also gave me the time I needed to think and reflect on family in friends that I had left back in America.
So, last month I ran my first marathon. That kind of running gave me 26.2 miles to ask myself exactly what the fuck it is that I am doing. I remember Body asking Mind at one point during the hilly race, "Hey!...Asshole! This was your fucking idea. Are you feeling this pain? I would just like you to know that I had nothing to do with this. This was all your grand idea. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you feel what you are doing to me. I hope that being able to say 'I'm a runner,' (she rattles in a snotty voice) is worth all of this for you, because this isn't even going to be the half of it. I am going to make sure that your next few days are complete and total hell. Every step is going to be a reminder of your brilliant fucking idea."
My Mind then stops and thinks to herself, without letting Body know that she is having second thoughts, "Nope...this is probably not worth it."
And then I started thinking to myself. “Mind, you decided to do this because you were not well, and you wanted to be. Body you carried her through all of the miles of training and never argued. Not once. Not with so much as a black and blue toenail. So we are doing this, we are finishing this and we will all be happy when this is all over.”
Since moving to my very Christian village, I’ve taken to telling people that running is my church. When I go on my longer more meditative runs on Sunday mornings. Running has always been my church. It is mindless and lovely for me. It makes me a better person. After a good long run the world always makes more sense. Through running I have learned that there are no problems that can’t be solved with a little bit of selfish love.
I have a lot of time, post race, to reflect on this mid race premonition. I have since realized that the pep talk came from somewhere deep within. As cheesy as it sounds I have decided that it was the more spiritual part of me finally speaking up during my longest session of “church” to date. Through trying to clean up Mind and Body, I found Spirit.
I have never believed in religion. When it comes up in conversation, at least in my Midwestern roots, it has always meant a Christian God, which I knew I didn’t believe in. The thought of Him never really did anything for me. I have however always believed in a Higher Power, and the power of just having some sort of faith. I have always believed in believing. I think, up until now that has been good enough for me. Just believe in something…anything, and you will get through.
So at the beginning of this month I made a second resolution. Believing in something isn’t good enough for me anymore. I want to know what I believe. Gratitude, the good in others, and knowing that you are happy and at peace with all of your decisions are all things that have me currently yearning to feel more aware.
I think that everyone has one part of the Mind, Body and Soul, trio that comes a little harder for him or her than the other two. Who knows how long this hunt will last. All I know is that one month in and it feels like I am just getting started.
“We run to undo the damage we’ve done to body and spirit. We run to find some part of ourselves yet undiscovered.” ~John “The Penguin” Bingham
“For me, running is a lifestyle and an art. I’m far more interested in the magic of it than the mechanics.” ~Lorraine Miller
September 2, 2011
GLOWing
GLOWing
Two weeks ago we finally held our girls empowerment camp. Cleverly named GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). GLOW is a very amazing camp that is supposed to happen in every country Peace Corps occupies. Peace Corps Zambia strongly suggests each Province (a province is similar to states in America) try to put on.
The prep work for GLOW starts about 9 months before the actual camp. First with the writing of a grant that will help to fund it and everything after that is planning the logistical nightmare and soliciting donations from local shop owners because the grant money alone will not fully fund the event. Before any of that can even happen there of course has to be chairpersons to plan the event. We, at Eastern Province, decided to hold two one-week camps, so myself and three other PCVs decided to head this camp. Actually I should say five other PCVs decided to head GLOW, but due to medical reasons for one PCV and irreconcilable differences between Zambia and the second PCV we were stuck with four planning the event.
I will leave out all of the prep work boringness from this blog. It was hard work that obviously paid off in the end. When August 15th finally rolled around and it was time to start my week of the camp it was instant excitement. There were eight PCVs all working together to pull this off.
Each PCV brought two, grade 8, girls from their schools to participate in the week long girl power event, as well as a female community mentor who will help to bring all of the knowledge back to the schools and assist the PCV to implement a girls group back at the school. During the week we taught the girls their rights according to the national law and not their village traditional law, we played games with them, public speaking, sex ed, HIV/AIDS education. We stressed to the girls that every time they spoke or had an idea they needed to speak loud and clear and with assertion and confidence… say it like you mean it! Not in an attempt to change their cultural, but in an attempt to teach them to be confident in themselves. A point that was driven home by our loud and proud female community mentors.
If watching the girls change from shy timid individuals to an entire group of positive and confident women because of our sessions wasn’t enough all of us PCVs got to watch and laugh as the ladies showered three times a day…just because they could. Ran around topless…and sometimes completely without clothes…just because they could. Watching them pretend that there was only one person in their beds at night when we tucked them in so that they could stay up until all hours of the night braiding hair and talking about all things that teenage girls talk about regardless of culture. They also found endless amounts of pleasure in washing all of their clothes…daily…just because the phenomenon of running water was blowing their minds.
Of course there could be a lot said about taking these young girls outside of their beautifully simple village lifes and showing them some of the more modern wonders of the world and then sending them back to the village to tell all of their friends about things that they may never see again. But I choose to see the good in it. Being taken out of the village to learn these things gave them the opportunity to be 100% girl without the fear of village elder furrowed brows. This was an amazing experience and by far the most rewarding week of my service thus far!
As they say in Zambia “If you educate a girl you educate a nation.”
Two weeks ago we finally held our girls empowerment camp. Cleverly named GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). GLOW is a very amazing camp that is supposed to happen in every country Peace Corps occupies. Peace Corps Zambia strongly suggests each Province (a province is similar to states in America) try to put on.
The prep work for GLOW starts about 9 months before the actual camp. First with the writing of a grant that will help to fund it and everything after that is planning the logistical nightmare and soliciting donations from local shop owners because the grant money alone will not fully fund the event. Before any of that can even happen there of course has to be chairpersons to plan the event. We, at Eastern Province, decided to hold two one-week camps, so myself and three other PCVs decided to head this camp. Actually I should say five other PCVs decided to head GLOW, but due to medical reasons for one PCV and irreconcilable differences between Zambia and the second PCV we were stuck with four planning the event.
I will leave out all of the prep work boringness from this blog. It was hard work that obviously paid off in the end. When August 15th finally rolled around and it was time to start my week of the camp it was instant excitement. There were eight PCVs all working together to pull this off.
Each PCV brought two, grade 8, girls from their schools to participate in the week long girl power event, as well as a female community mentor who will help to bring all of the knowledge back to the schools and assist the PCV to implement a girls group back at the school. During the week we taught the girls their rights according to the national law and not their village traditional law, we played games with them, public speaking, sex ed, HIV/AIDS education. We stressed to the girls that every time they spoke or had an idea they needed to speak loud and clear and with assertion and confidence… say it like you mean it! Not in an attempt to change their cultural, but in an attempt to teach them to be confident in themselves. A point that was driven home by our loud and proud female community mentors.
If watching the girls change from shy timid individuals to an entire group of positive and confident women because of our sessions wasn’t enough all of us PCVs got to watch and laugh as the ladies showered three times a day…just because they could. Ran around topless…and sometimes completely without clothes…just because they could. Watching them pretend that there was only one person in their beds at night when we tucked them in so that they could stay up until all hours of the night braiding hair and talking about all things that teenage girls talk about regardless of culture. They also found endless amounts of pleasure in washing all of their clothes…daily…just because the phenomenon of running water was blowing their minds.
Of course there could be a lot said about taking these young girls outside of their beautifully simple village lifes and showing them some of the more modern wonders of the world and then sending them back to the village to tell all of their friends about things that they may never see again. But I choose to see the good in it. Being taken out of the village to learn these things gave them the opportunity to be 100% girl without the fear of village elder furrowed brows. This was an amazing experience and by far the most rewarding week of my service thus far!
As they say in Zambia “If you educate a girl you educate a nation.”
June 22, 2011
I No Longer Get Grumpy, Everything Is Just Silly Now
The above is a text message I recently sent to a friend when talking about my lack of patience and how it has changed in Zambia. I was on a hitch that took 8 hours to travel a distance that should only take 4 hours. There were many seemingly unnecessary stops along the way. For instance the time we stopped for 45 minutes so that he could get a 1/2 roasted chicken because he was "very hungry," only to stuff it in the cooler, untouched, and trade it two hours down the road for some frozen fish. Oh Zambia.
I didn't quite realize that my outlook was such until I found myself typing it out in T9. If Zambia has taught me nothing else, I have learned that there is no need to sweat the small stuff. It is just time...it grows from nothing in these parts, so what if it takes you all day to travel what should take only a morning. Since writing it out I have found myself in many situations that a year ago would have had me on the phone with my mother preparing bail money, but now I just sigh, let it roll of my back and continue on with my day.
The most recent example of such a situation happened just this week...
A while ago I had this "really good idea" (sarcasm implied) to hold a 7K fun run, because I missed racing so much, and then have a big HIV testing event held after the race. There were going to be PCVs every where so that Zambians could ask all sorts of questions concerning America or PC. There was going to be American music playing from loud speakers at an acceptable volume, we were going to play any given song only once, (Zambians LOVE loud music, and they can play the exact same song over and over again for 8 hours straight, trust me, I've lived it) it was basically going to be one big day of culture exchange in honor of PC's 50th year of existence. My idea was just the race, knowing that I couldn't tackle it alone I recruited a friend to help, and from there the idea grew into what was sure to be an amazing adventure. We spent many days wandering around making contact with NGOs all over Chipata, We walked all over handing out flyers and posting them to make people aware of our idea. We even applied for a grant so that all of our bases would be covered...and then something happened!
The second president of Zambia died, and a nationwide ban was put on celebrations and events until his burial...5 days before our race was supposed to happen. This man gets buried on Monday, so we missed the mark by about 72 hours. Well, no big deal Magz, just reschedule right? You would fucking think so wouldn't ya America?!? Well, shit is just not that easy here. I will have to find a time when all of the PCVs would be willing help again, which is no easy task.
American Maggie would have totally lost her shit and maybe shed a tear or two over this whole thing. (American Maggie wouldn't ever have to deal with this because this shit doesn't happen in America) I was devastated for all of 6 minutes, no tears, and then I took a deep breath and started trying to plan when it could work again.
This was the biggest example of how far I have come in the last 16 months. I haven't saved the world, or even changed it probably, when newer PCVs ask me what the biggest change I've seen in myself is I quickly say that I am more patient now. A fact that my dear friend Casey will be happy to know about. She used to hate how compulsive and impatient I could be. If I had an idea I needed it to happen NOW! That mentality is impossible here...straight impossible.
Climb up over the top survey the state of your soul, you've got to find out for yourself weather or not your truly trying. ~Jason Mraz Lyric
I didn't quite realize that my outlook was such until I found myself typing it out in T9. If Zambia has taught me nothing else, I have learned that there is no need to sweat the small stuff. It is just time...it grows from nothing in these parts, so what if it takes you all day to travel what should take only a morning. Since writing it out I have found myself in many situations that a year ago would have had me on the phone with my mother preparing bail money, but now I just sigh, let it roll of my back and continue on with my day.
The most recent example of such a situation happened just this week...
A while ago I had this "really good idea" (sarcasm implied) to hold a 7K fun run, because I missed racing so much, and then have a big HIV testing event held after the race. There were going to be PCVs every where so that Zambians could ask all sorts of questions concerning America or PC. There was going to be American music playing from loud speakers at an acceptable volume, we were going to play any given song only once, (Zambians LOVE loud music, and they can play the exact same song over and over again for 8 hours straight, trust me, I've lived it) it was basically going to be one big day of culture exchange in honor of PC's 50th year of existence. My idea was just the race, knowing that I couldn't tackle it alone I recruited a friend to help, and from there the idea grew into what was sure to be an amazing adventure. We spent many days wandering around making contact with NGOs all over Chipata, We walked all over handing out flyers and posting them to make people aware of our idea. We even applied for a grant so that all of our bases would be covered...and then something happened!
The second president of Zambia died, and a nationwide ban was put on celebrations and events until his burial...5 days before our race was supposed to happen. This man gets buried on Monday, so we missed the mark by about 72 hours. Well, no big deal Magz, just reschedule right? You would fucking think so wouldn't ya America?!? Well, shit is just not that easy here. I will have to find a time when all of the PCVs would be willing help again, which is no easy task.
American Maggie would have totally lost her shit and maybe shed a tear or two over this whole thing. (American Maggie wouldn't ever have to deal with this because this shit doesn't happen in America) I was devastated for all of 6 minutes, no tears, and then I took a deep breath and started trying to plan when it could work again.
This was the biggest example of how far I have come in the last 16 months. I haven't saved the world, or even changed it probably, when newer PCVs ask me what the biggest change I've seen in myself is I quickly say that I am more patient now. A fact that my dear friend Casey will be happy to know about. She used to hate how compulsive and impatient I could be. If I had an idea I needed it to happen NOW! That mentality is impossible here...straight impossible.
Climb up over the top survey the state of your soul, you've got to find out for yourself weather or not your truly trying. ~Jason Mraz Lyric
June 21, 2011
Visitors
Leaving my family was by far the hardest part of Peace Corps. I will never ever forget leaving the Kansas City airport that cold February day. I remember not sleeping the whole week leading up to it, just sitting up crying thinking about what the next two years would be like without them. I remember loading the car early that morning to depart and not being able to hold it together leaving them to do most of the work. I remember being crammed into the back of my mom's Malibu shoved up against my brother and not wanting to touch him because it was too hard. More than that I remember how he told me that it was okay if my arm rested against his leg, the look in his eye telling me he was trying to soak me in also. I love my brother more than anyone in the world, in fact, I can't fathom loving someone more than I do that kid.
On the other side of me in the backseat of that car was Matt. Matt is an amazing person. We have been friends and lovers off and on for close to forever now and he continues to be there when I need him. He is part of the family now so it was natural that he would be apart of the final send off. At the airport he was the optimistic one, buying funny trinkets to keep my spirits up. When it came time for the final send off he kept it together better than the rest of us.
My final memory of both Zach and Matt was watching tears stream down both of their faces through the tears on my own face as some airport worker told me that I would be okay as she shoved me through the metal detector. I still remember being so thankful for her, I am not sure I would have made it here without that last shove. The last thing I remember both of them saying was "I love you, and we will see you soon."
Well, two weeks ago all of those memories came flooding back! They came to visit. Our reunion was going to happen just like our depature...in an airport. In the days leading up to their arrival I had friends come and visit me in my village to help keep my mind off of how slow time is capable of moving. I thought I had gotten used to this fact being in Africa where time is SLOW when it wants to be, but when you are waiting to see two of your favorite people after 16 months of not seeing them, slow doesn't even begin to do time justice.
So there I am in the airport. I watched their plane land, sick to my stomach with excitement and hands shaking like crazy from nerves. I run down to customs so that I can greet them and hug them and somehow make them understand how much I have missed them both sooooooo much. With every person that clears customs before them I get more and more excited and the tears boil closer to the top, and then my brother comes to the door, and says in his brother voice, "I need your address now. They won't let us come through until they have an address." Asshole is business as usual and I love him more for that than if he had rushed to hug me also. "Well, how are you doing, I'm glad you're here." I say in an almost shrill voice. His response: "Well, I just sat on a plane for 13 hours, I am not great." For those of you that don't know Zach, you are thinking he is a complete dick. For those of you that do, you will understand why I love that asshole so much. 16 months and my greatest fear came to be realized as a waste of my time. I had been so worried that 16 months would change the amazing brother and sister relationship that the two of us have and so many others will never understand. The only thing that he didn't do was punch me, other than that, we were the same as always.
Then came my buddy Matt. Happy, smiling and ready for any adventure I could through at him. He gave me the hug that I have come to know so well in these past almost 7 years. Then to compensate for Zach he said something positive and along the lines of being happy to see me.
Just like that life was normal and more perfect than I had ever known before. We left the airport in a shuffle of bags, questions and haggling taxi drivers.
There are no words to express my happiness watching my brother and Matt play American football with my village kids. Or hearing my favorite kid Joanie saying "Get out my way, Imma gangsta," to Matt and Zach because all he knows is that it makes white people laugh when they hear him say it in his most adorable accent. There are also the memories of me laughing just like my villagers used to laugh at me when my visitors tried to talk Nyanja. I've always felt lucky to be able to experience life in an African village, but to be able to share such an incredible experience with two impressively open minded individuals who I happen to love very much...I'm just so lucky.
Being able to wake up at 5:00 in the morning and go on a freezing cold run with someone who was interested in my running and understood the runners lingo rolling off my tongue was such a breath of fresh air. I've always loved running with Matt. I love running with anyone who has run HCXC, but Matt and I have gone on many runs together. We've finished many runs together, some good and some bad. We ran almost every run at the same pace. That has never happened before. Matt is always much faster than me, or he has picked school or work over running and I can go longer than him. All of my PC friends smoke and think that I am some alien for wanting to take good care of my lungs so just having a running partner for a bit of a run would have been nice, but the fact that I had someone who could match me stride for stride was a really powerful boost in motivation at a pretty important part of a training program. Lucky again.
Going to a really fancy safari lodge as 3 mid-westerns who know absolutely nothing about being classy or how to really conduct ourselves in public without our mothers giving us "the look" from across the room gave me memories that still have me giggling out loud when I think about it. Seeing my brother so relaxed and in love with life that he is almost glowing was something that I never thought I would see. Watching him laugh until he cried because I stuck my finger in the butter because I am a moron is something I will never ever forget. Getting drunk with Matt in a pool at 1:00 in the afternoon from 1.5 beers while Zach is off getting vacation massages...awesome!
Getting soaked in the mist from Victoria Falls and then climbing into a taxi dripping wet talking about all of the things we are going to jump off of tomorrow with bungee cords affixed to our bodies is another memory I won't forget. Watching my brother taste Indian food for the first time with the grunted response being, "This is good shit," in the classy way that only Riley County Kansas can teach you. Or going on freezing cold 14 mile runs with Matt to Zimbabwe after scaring the shit out of him with my creepy hand at 5:30 in the morning crawling through his mosquito net. (I am laughing as I type out these memories.)
My last memory of them is still through streaming tears at an airport, but it is the memories in between those two that will keep me going for the next year until I see them again. I know I am consistently writing about how lucky I am, and you are all probably tired of reading about it, but I am so thankful for the this life. I am grateful for visitors, I am grateful that they could afford to come and I am insurmountably thankful 16 months did nothing to damage two of the relationships I value most.
Take care of all your memories, for you can not relive them. ~Bob Dylan
On the other side of me in the backseat of that car was Matt. Matt is an amazing person. We have been friends and lovers off and on for close to forever now and he continues to be there when I need him. He is part of the family now so it was natural that he would be apart of the final send off. At the airport he was the optimistic one, buying funny trinkets to keep my spirits up. When it came time for the final send off he kept it together better than the rest of us.
My final memory of both Zach and Matt was watching tears stream down both of their faces through the tears on my own face as some airport worker told me that I would be okay as she shoved me through the metal detector. I still remember being so thankful for her, I am not sure I would have made it here without that last shove. The last thing I remember both of them saying was "I love you, and we will see you soon."
Well, two weeks ago all of those memories came flooding back! They came to visit. Our reunion was going to happen just like our depature...in an airport. In the days leading up to their arrival I had friends come and visit me in my village to help keep my mind off of how slow time is capable of moving. I thought I had gotten used to this fact being in Africa where time is SLOW when it wants to be, but when you are waiting to see two of your favorite people after 16 months of not seeing them, slow doesn't even begin to do time justice.
So there I am in the airport. I watched their plane land, sick to my stomach with excitement and hands shaking like crazy from nerves. I run down to customs so that I can greet them and hug them and somehow make them understand how much I have missed them both sooooooo much. With every person that clears customs before them I get more and more excited and the tears boil closer to the top, and then my brother comes to the door, and says in his brother voice, "I need your address now. They won't let us come through until they have an address." Asshole is business as usual and I love him more for that than if he had rushed to hug me also. "Well, how are you doing, I'm glad you're here." I say in an almost shrill voice. His response: "Well, I just sat on a plane for 13 hours, I am not great." For those of you that don't know Zach, you are thinking he is a complete dick. For those of you that do, you will understand why I love that asshole so much. 16 months and my greatest fear came to be realized as a waste of my time. I had been so worried that 16 months would change the amazing brother and sister relationship that the two of us have and so many others will never understand. The only thing that he didn't do was punch me, other than that, we were the same as always.
Then came my buddy Matt. Happy, smiling and ready for any adventure I could through at him. He gave me the hug that I have come to know so well in these past almost 7 years. Then to compensate for Zach he said something positive and along the lines of being happy to see me.
Just like that life was normal and more perfect than I had ever known before. We left the airport in a shuffle of bags, questions and haggling taxi drivers.
There are no words to express my happiness watching my brother and Matt play American football with my village kids. Or hearing my favorite kid Joanie saying "Get out my way, Imma gangsta," to Matt and Zach because all he knows is that it makes white people laugh when they hear him say it in his most adorable accent. There are also the memories of me laughing just like my villagers used to laugh at me when my visitors tried to talk Nyanja. I've always felt lucky to be able to experience life in an African village, but to be able to share such an incredible experience with two impressively open minded individuals who I happen to love very much...I'm just so lucky.
Being able to wake up at 5:00 in the morning and go on a freezing cold run with someone who was interested in my running and understood the runners lingo rolling off my tongue was such a breath of fresh air. I've always loved running with Matt. I love running with anyone who has run HCXC, but Matt and I have gone on many runs together. We've finished many runs together, some good and some bad. We ran almost every run at the same pace. That has never happened before. Matt is always much faster than me, or he has picked school or work over running and I can go longer than him. All of my PC friends smoke and think that I am some alien for wanting to take good care of my lungs so just having a running partner for a bit of a run would have been nice, but the fact that I had someone who could match me stride for stride was a really powerful boost in motivation at a pretty important part of a training program. Lucky again.
Going to a really fancy safari lodge as 3 mid-westerns who know absolutely nothing about being classy or how to really conduct ourselves in public without our mothers giving us "the look" from across the room gave me memories that still have me giggling out loud when I think about it. Seeing my brother so relaxed and in love with life that he is almost glowing was something that I never thought I would see. Watching him laugh until he cried because I stuck my finger in the butter because I am a moron is something I will never ever forget. Getting drunk with Matt in a pool at 1:00 in the afternoon from 1.5 beers while Zach is off getting vacation massages...awesome!
Getting soaked in the mist from Victoria Falls and then climbing into a taxi dripping wet talking about all of the things we are going to jump off of tomorrow with bungee cords affixed to our bodies is another memory I won't forget. Watching my brother taste Indian food for the first time with the grunted response being, "This is good shit," in the classy way that only Riley County Kansas can teach you. Or going on freezing cold 14 mile runs with Matt to Zimbabwe after scaring the shit out of him with my creepy hand at 5:30 in the morning crawling through his mosquito net. (I am laughing as I type out these memories.)
My last memory of them is still through streaming tears at an airport, but it is the memories in between those two that will keep me going for the next year until I see them again. I know I am consistently writing about how lucky I am, and you are all probably tired of reading about it, but I am so thankful for the this life. I am grateful for visitors, I am grateful that they could afford to come and I am insurmountably thankful 16 months did nothing to damage two of the relationships I value most.
Take care of all your memories, for you can not relive them. ~Bob Dylan
June 19, 2011
Water and Sanitation Workshop
If you love having clean drinking water and a toilet very near your home please consider what it would be like if you didn't have those things. When you consider it and decide that it would really suck if you didn't have those things, then please consider donating to my cause. Thanks so much!
Click HERE
PEACE!
Click HERE
PEACE!
May 23, 2011
Would You Rather
Running cross country in college allowed me a lot of time around some really dirty boys. No dirty in the way of cleanliness, but dirty in the way of thinking. They were college boys and there is sometimes nothing you can do about that. Much of what I know today about sex I learned as a result of them. Please do not panic, I didn’t take anything that they said as truth, but they would tell me things and then I would do some research to see if these things were true or false. Sadly for the women in their lives most of what they spoke was complete bullshit so I took it upon myself to educate them on the ways of women. Weather or not they listened I have no idea, if they did I should have gotten more thank you cards from their one night stands and girlfriends.
The dirty boys in my life were also obsessed with a game called Would You Rather. I am sure that many people have heard of this game and probably even played it. “Would you rather have 6 toes or 6 fingers?” Then there is the at home version, “Would you rather have tacos for dinner or pot roast?” I am still pretty sure that no matter what version you have played, the version that took place among me and my guy friends will trump it by way of nastiness. “Would you rather drink of 5 gallon bucket of your own shit or eat barbequed dead baby?” “Would you rather be trapped in a room with an angry gorilla or an angry bull?” I could go on, but I’ll quit while I’m ahead, I could go on, but if I did it would make the dead baby question seem like no big deal. Sorry to you folks at home that have to read this, but this is the reality that was my life during college. Even after some of these fellas graduated from HC, I would still get random “WYR…” text messages. Of course many girls opted out of playing this game, but I am not a quitter and have always been the girl to run around with the boys and since you can’t let your friends down I had to answer…or they would yell and annoy me until I snapped out an answer, “I’D EAT MY OWN SHIT OKAY, I CAN’T EAT A DEAD BABY!” “Yeah, see Magz, was that so hard, all you have to do is answer the question” Stupid boys, but still I continued to play.
When I joined Peace Corps I didn’t know that the game would follow me here. I was so wrapped up in the nastiness of the HCXC version that I had totally forgotten that a milder version existed! The PC version. I would like to enlighten you all now on just a few options that sometimes come up when we are all sitting around chatting….
WYR a baby goat fall into your pit latrine or a crazy woman come into your hut late at night to sweep and pray?
My answer: I’d take the goat. This sounds awful, but they die and crazy women just keep coming.
WYR eat caterpillars, kapenta (dried little fish), or flying termites?
My Answer: While I am all for trying new things, my motto in this country is “If it could potentially fuck up an entire day I am not eating it!” All three of these things fall into that category for me. But if I had to…I’ve heard the termites taste like bacon.
WYR be constipated or constantly shitting?
My answer: Things are supposed to come out of your body, not just sit there. Let it flow.
WYR shit into a plastic bag or a bucket?
My Answer: Bucket. I do it almost every morning. Something about the change in food has me sprinting out of bed at 5:30 every morning and there is no way I could make it too much farther. The mind is a powerful thing, thankfully, because when there are visitors it wakes me up a bit earlier.
WYR shit your self on transport or in your own bed?
My Answer: Both sound MORTIFYING! But the rule here is do not fuck with my sleep. Based on the last answer, you all know that it has been close.
WYR have ants or termites invade your hut?
My Answer: Both have happened. Termites are nicer, they warn you a bit and they don’t bite.
WYR have no matches or no toilet paper?
My Answer: No matches. As you can tell by the questions, shitting is very common here in PC, I never leave home without a good stash of TP.
WYR drink shake shake (nasty chunky corn beer that smells like baby vomit) or officers packets (little plastic packets of liquor that offer good nights but horrible mornings)?
My Answer: I have lived the packets. Horrible mornings, but pretty fun evenings…from what I remember.
WYR live two years without running water or without electricity?
My Answer: After being here for a year now, I have learned to deal without most of the other American luxeries, but literally everyday I crave running water. I miss it so much. I miss hot showers at the turn of a dial and I miss watering things and washing dishes without having to plan for it hours in advance. Water is amazing. Kiss your faucets people. KISS THEM HARD!
In this world there is nothing more submissive and weak than water. Yet for attacking that which is hard and strong nothing can surpass it. ~Loa Tzu
The dirty boys in my life were also obsessed with a game called Would You Rather. I am sure that many people have heard of this game and probably even played it. “Would you rather have 6 toes or 6 fingers?” Then there is the at home version, “Would you rather have tacos for dinner or pot roast?” I am still pretty sure that no matter what version you have played, the version that took place among me and my guy friends will trump it by way of nastiness. “Would you rather drink of 5 gallon bucket of your own shit or eat barbequed dead baby?” “Would you rather be trapped in a room with an angry gorilla or an angry bull?” I could go on, but I’ll quit while I’m ahead, I could go on, but if I did it would make the dead baby question seem like no big deal. Sorry to you folks at home that have to read this, but this is the reality that was my life during college. Even after some of these fellas graduated from HC, I would still get random “WYR…” text messages. Of course many girls opted out of playing this game, but I am not a quitter and have always been the girl to run around with the boys and since you can’t let your friends down I had to answer…or they would yell and annoy me until I snapped out an answer, “I’D EAT MY OWN SHIT OKAY, I CAN’T EAT A DEAD BABY!” “Yeah, see Magz, was that so hard, all you have to do is answer the question” Stupid boys, but still I continued to play.
When I joined Peace Corps I didn’t know that the game would follow me here. I was so wrapped up in the nastiness of the HCXC version that I had totally forgotten that a milder version existed! The PC version. I would like to enlighten you all now on just a few options that sometimes come up when we are all sitting around chatting….
WYR a baby goat fall into your pit latrine or a crazy woman come into your hut late at night to sweep and pray?
My answer: I’d take the goat. This sounds awful, but they die and crazy women just keep coming.
WYR eat caterpillars, kapenta (dried little fish), or flying termites?
My Answer: While I am all for trying new things, my motto in this country is “If it could potentially fuck up an entire day I am not eating it!” All three of these things fall into that category for me. But if I had to…I’ve heard the termites taste like bacon.
WYR be constipated or constantly shitting?
My answer: Things are supposed to come out of your body, not just sit there. Let it flow.
WYR shit into a plastic bag or a bucket?
My Answer: Bucket. I do it almost every morning. Something about the change in food has me sprinting out of bed at 5:30 every morning and there is no way I could make it too much farther. The mind is a powerful thing, thankfully, because when there are visitors it wakes me up a bit earlier.
WYR shit your self on transport or in your own bed?
My Answer: Both sound MORTIFYING! But the rule here is do not fuck with my sleep. Based on the last answer, you all know that it has been close.
WYR have ants or termites invade your hut?
My Answer: Both have happened. Termites are nicer, they warn you a bit and they don’t bite.
WYR have no matches or no toilet paper?
My Answer: No matches. As you can tell by the questions, shitting is very common here in PC, I never leave home without a good stash of TP.
WYR drink shake shake (nasty chunky corn beer that smells like baby vomit) or officers packets (little plastic packets of liquor that offer good nights but horrible mornings)?
My Answer: I have lived the packets. Horrible mornings, but pretty fun evenings…from what I remember.
WYR live two years without running water or without electricity?
My Answer: After being here for a year now, I have learned to deal without most of the other American luxeries, but literally everyday I crave running water. I miss it so much. I miss hot showers at the turn of a dial and I miss watering things and washing dishes without having to plan for it hours in advance. Water is amazing. Kiss your faucets people. KISS THEM HARD!
In this world there is nothing more submissive and weak than water. Yet for attacking that which is hard and strong nothing can surpass it. ~Loa Tzu
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