tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84470619248582877122024-03-04T20:54:33.778-08:00Peaceful Pathway☮I'm currently living in and loving Denver, Colorado. I'm a Returned Peace Corps volunteer from Botswana '12-'14 and a Returned Response volunteer from El Salvador '14-'15. I work in international development, designing and delivering trainings for organizations like the UN and USAID.
I hope you enjoy my story...Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-42219018787505926232019-02-28T04:21:00.001-08:002019-02-28T04:21:47.002-08:00New Blog...Who dis?Hello my friends.<br />
<br />So much has happened since my most recent blog post. If you'd like to keep up with me and my travels/adventures, please see my new blog and subscribe at: <a href="http://chasinghygge.com/">www.chasinghygge.com</a><br />
<br />
Wishing you happiness today and always!Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-14219085682746191622018-03-13T11:02:00.001-07:002018-03-13T11:02:41.824-07:002 Minute Lense<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/m5q8WlsdpZM" width="480"></iframe>Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-75731411289255267352015-09-29T07:18:00.002-07:002015-09-29T07:18:51.490-07:00Ke Teng<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In Setswana, there is a phrase: <i>Ke
teng.</i> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Literally, these two words simply mean
"I am here". When I first arrived to Botswana almost four years ago,
this was one of the first things I learned not only because it was relatively easy
to remember, but because it was used multiple times throughout the day. </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bush Fire, Gobojango, Botswana 2014</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">If someone asked "how are you?" you
could answer "ke teng". If they asked what you were up to,
where you were, etc. the answer was always the same. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Now, seemingly worlds apart and a plethora of
experiences later, I have had the opportunity to meditate a bit on this phrase
and its actual pertinence to everyday life. </span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset over the Chobe River, Zambia 2014</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I have learned that "I am here"
isn't as much of a physical state of being as it is a mental one. To be present,
one has to believe every aspect of their surrounding is their reality. In this
process, presence leads to self-realization and understanding and establishment
of personal norms. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Stability. Constance. Permanence. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">For the wanderlust-bitten traveler, this
realization is a tough pill to swallow (see last month’s post and my personal
apprehensions <a href="http://peacefulpathway.blogspot.com/2015/09/landing-for-moment.html">here</a>).
It’s much easier to live life to its fullest when you have no qualms or
reservations about making a lasting impression, because you can simply just
reload your pack and move on the following day. Never looking back, never
questioning "what if". </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Unfortunately, in that practice of constantly
looking to the horizon, it is much easier to stumble over your path of the
“now”. <i>Ke teng</i> has no meaning if you’re physically present but
mentally yearning for the next adventure. In my craving for exploration,
I have mistaken my recent move to D.C. as a daunting obstacle rather than an
opportunity to be <i>here</i>; to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">present</i>.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDGmlsdC3rlXVrkoI8-5EZbr2GqzZJx3IVCWheNCUP-gWcI2BQyPDaK5zBQwnDUdo_1uNymV_FPdkAqbawUKyNG0Zgkybkm7Wu6_ZLz_LyM-LfEeqXFQPMb3gwi4vrXe7K65GCwH0kEM/s1600/natl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDGmlsdC3rlXVrkoI8-5EZbr2GqzZJx3IVCWheNCUP-gWcI2BQyPDaK5zBQwnDUdo_1uNymV_FPdkAqbawUKyNG0Zgkybkm7Wu6_ZLz_LyM-LfEeqXFQPMb3gwi4vrXe7K65GCwH0kEM/s320/natl.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City street next to National Archives, Washington DC 2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Regardless of who you are, moving to a new
place is always off-setting. It ruins your routine, ruffles your expectations,
and injects your reality with dark, oozing anxiety. For me, my move to
D.C. has been a journey of realizations. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I have realized
that everything is a matter of perception. Paradigms control the shifting ebbs
and flows of change, and even the smallest glint of surprise can alter an
intended trajectory. </span></div>
<div style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I have realized that
patience is not just a virtue; it is a way of life. And in the toils and reverberations
of “big city living”, it is often more arduous to find a moment to oneself to reflect
in introspection than it is to bypass it and continue onward.</span></div>
<div style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I have realized
that my music is abounding to be sung.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
past week, in between the time that I was grueling over scholarly journals for
class, I happened upon an inspiring quote from a pundit whom I admire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through her musings, this spiritual leader
emphasized the phrase, “Don’t die with your music still inside of you”. </span></div>
<div style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">This quote resonated deeply within me; it vibrated
between my ribs and sank deeply into my core.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have met so many people thus far in my journey who wear their music on
their face, their smiles echo their inner peace and resonate their playfulness with
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oftentimes I’ve realized that
these individuals are the ones who have the least material connection to the
world: their routines depend on the rising and setting sun, on that year’s
harvest, and on the souls they surround themselves with. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigm6lp0OzxU6Kr2vYybklj75weENqWhz9sFI213x7NjhJcDt5rSUZkESiUAy3Y6hoG4jmxNHHoFkKk00hxJYAJFROyiCJoY_08Obq5fqB7ZEhDhsfyr4uw9WiwGROnUoMIkPqQwizxkqU/s1600/samma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigm6lp0OzxU6Kr2vYybklj75weENqWhz9sFI213x7NjhJcDt5rSUZkESiUAy3Y6hoG4jmxNHHoFkKk00hxJYAJFROyiCJoY_08Obq5fqB7ZEhDhsfyr4uw9WiwGROnUoMIkPqQwizxkqU/s320/samma.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My muse, Samantha Mmapetla, Gobojango, Botswana 2013</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Since my move to DC, I have met so many characters
who shove their songs so deeply within them that what remains is a shell of a
human being, a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">persona</i> if you
will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone is so focused upon
earning the roll of choral director that their actual music has been lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In the effort of being <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">present</i>, I fully intend to release my music, and to share it with
those who comprise my surroundings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After all, I’m beginning to <s>believe in</s>
enjoy this new reality. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFa3UJpFTf4ajFjoPzsLj9tYKG3-432XSQzCEjqGOAZl4iqwcItgzV_PbNjtDjCUlMjap0FfyBbif-47TvRzveL2UYldwD5tCCxL8BMn3zI8brFBAk9eMPfypq79uMtvbZXgeXTC7h5CY/s1600/cohi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFa3UJpFTf4ajFjoPzsLj9tYKG3-432XSQzCEjqGOAZl4iqwcItgzV_PbNjtDjCUlMjap0FfyBbif-47TvRzveL2UYldwD5tCCxL8BMn3zI8brFBAk9eMPfypq79uMtvbZXgeXTC7h5CY/s320/cohi.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Columbia Heights, Washington DC 2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Alongside the realizations and encounters
thus far, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ke teng</i> for the first time
in a while. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VJn3wG0nfFS7tnlIOs4B93QvjnDTYFBr4MiOVNx9rBeg3Opwk6La9yRUgmfaA8YBog-zFw1Nh7Y8evk_mJYCgARZv4jDysUDDDfH-gV16vo1h__6a93tpwoFOB_23cPsCgTOlXjs2NU/s1600/keteng.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VJn3wG0nfFS7tnlIOs4B93QvjnDTYFBr4MiOVNx9rBeg3Opwk6La9yRUgmfaA8YBog-zFw1Nh7Y8evk_mJYCgARZv4jDysUDDDfH-gV16vo1h__6a93tpwoFOB_23cPsCgTOlXjs2NU/s320/keteng.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Costa Rica, 2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<![endif]--><o:p></o:p>Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-2558202102723181552015-09-02T11:21:00.001-07:002015-09-02T11:21:51.109-07:00Landing for a moment<br />
I am always entranced by the fervidity of a hummingbird. These remarkable
creatures have the capacity to fly left, right, forward, backward, and even
upside down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their feet are made for
perching, and they spend the majority of their life hovering in flight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing one is always electrifying, because an
individual knows that in an instant the bird will be gone, just as quickly as he
came.<o:p></o:p><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="213" src="http://hawksaloft.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/543673319_20090522-_mg_0191-broad-tailed-hummingbird-crop.jpg" width="320" /></div>
<br />
I saw one once, with her long delicate beak, gulping down the nectar of a blossom
in the sticky rainforests of Costa Rica and I realized that my insides resonated
with this vibrant bird’s spirit. I have spent the past years of my life
flitting from continent to continent, gulping down the nectar of various
cultures that I haven’t had a moment to perch.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I've been vagrant for so long, my soul has adapted a bit of a gypsy-like
lust to explore and reconnoiter the quilts of land throughout the world.
I covet new places, new foods, new cultures to submerse myself in. I
crave the smells of a South American night by the ocean or the noises of an
African rainfall on a tin roof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I have currently reached a point in my life where it appears that the past
five years have to be tucked gently away in my bag, alongside my clothing, and I
must begin to settle…to perch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
next six days I will be moving my belongings from my parent’s home in Arizona to
Washington D.C. to begin graduate school and two jobs for which I fear I may
not be qualified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stress seeps her way
into my dreams, and worry tickles the back of my neck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if I am unhappy? What if this life that I
have forged for myself isn’t necessarily what I expected it to be? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://www.omm.com/files/Office/57f98aa3-ffad-4e3d-b785-6aad0634ff81/Presentation/OfficePhoto/DCoffice.jpg" /></div>
<br />
I have tried convincing myself these past couple days that a life in the
city will be inspiring, a new, dauntless adventure. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Why, then, does this move have me feeling more trepidation then when I relocated
my life to a tiny village in an entirely new continent, without knowing a
single soul? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I venture that the answer is the one thing I have been avoiding the majority
of my life: structure. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
During my four years in the Peace Corps, I followed a certain arrangement.
There were deadlines I had to abide by, and a mutual goal that was agreed
upon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in the wake of the daily
happenings, there was never a norm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
set my own schedule, planted seeds and ate the flesh of impulse. My mouth
salivated with the anticipation of the unknown. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Split-second decisions were my branches, and
the pack on my back became my home. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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" /></div>
<br />
Traveling has been my longest commitment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since we first met, I have grown internally, soulfully, and fear that
with this break, we may never be the same again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will always long for the butterflies he
gave me at daybreak, looking to the sunrise, and the satisfaction of knowing
that I lived every day to its fullest as the sun set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now must bid travel and that life of whim farewell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least for the next two years. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I surrender to the overwhelming standards set by expectation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But continue to ask <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why </i>and keep my love affair rife with adventure, with life. I know
the white knight of travel will always be waiting for me, gallivanting and
boasting his sword of voyage. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Onward and upward.</span>Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-69645424682716432372014-12-29T16:28:00.002-08:002014-12-29T16:52:33.138-08:00A letter to the universe<h3>
<span style="font-size: small;">Dear Universe,</span></h3>
I am writing to honor you for co-creating 2014 with me.<br />
<br />
So much has happened this past year, and I need to take this moment to pay tribute.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUX_Nq1VtANKCoKInJWC83pDdJe-yhJIZAp1s10jyFuXMue0MszMHWYHGdAXj5haYwkO_ngrjf6zp07A-fdrYqKqeRpFLpr86mx72mIoQdIrCxa1ITZrAmLJLnPhyphenhyphenzh9RfBmlGcrHa1n4/s1600/blog3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUX_Nq1VtANKCoKInJWC83pDdJe-yhJIZAp1s10jyFuXMue0MszMHWYHGdAXj5haYwkO_ngrjf6zp07A-fdrYqKqeRpFLpr86mx72mIoQdIrCxa1ITZrAmLJLnPhyphenhyphenzh9RfBmlGcrHa1n4/s1600/blog3.jpg" height="204" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Club Atami: La Libertad, El Salvador</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I also want to invite those who are reading this letter of gratitude to join me in this acknowledgement to our Dear Universe, as we reflect on the past year together.<br />
<br />
2014 has served as one of the most transformative years of my life, as I started it off discovering absolute strength, grace and stillness within myself while living in the chaotic wild land that is Botswana. I am ending my year having learned to accept, embrace and heal the inner turmoil that came about upon my brief return to the United States, facing some tragic realities that have served as my greatest gifts, and embracing an entirely new endeavor altogether by moving to El Salvador. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rGeyua0GepnGIQFNmoOo-A5lHg9T_nGC191_90zcAxTToAg5a2z2a1TenvkXP-SHP4_hpMX3A1cH5EheQoJ0SqltLRrHMSCjYpZF2mfF-CKnOLQXFl_gI4cUhwhIFyFsADdq5aEaZgI/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rGeyua0GepnGIQFNmoOo-A5lHg9T_nGC191_90zcAxTToAg5a2z2a1TenvkXP-SHP4_hpMX3A1cH5EheQoJ0SqltLRrHMSCjYpZF2mfF-CKnOLQXFl_gI4cUhwhIFyFsADdq5aEaZgI/s1600/me.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Learning to Laugh: Gobojango, Botswana</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It’s been a year of dissolving boundaries and confronting my every fear, standing amidst a burning flame and choosing <em>not</em> to shrink back; a year of consciously shedding layers of stories I believed, identities I was invested in, roles that defined me, and coming to celebrate who I am beyond the illusion in which I was living.<br />
<br />
It has been a year of breaking deeply-rooted patterns letting go of all attachments, graciously surrendering to hardship and supporting myself in times of grief; a year of finally learning to fully love all of myself, feel completely worthy, no longer stuck in a disempowered narrative that had me believing that I am not enough.<br />
<br />
You blessed me, Dear Universe, with a year of deep lessons and endless opportunities for massive growth, and I am here to thank you.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0lAWc2j9ZR1p070GBKPn1iHg8lR1TaRwaIwM4HKm_9uiTnn8JqAM-bbDeO2eGpr8O6sx14iplcXTICVOZPJUVtLvrJwrbOdwqjqNzgK0hIoz9Z1Rvz0sJS5Cq0CQa9C2pmvbGDTinys/s1600/IMG_2912.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0lAWc2j9ZR1p070GBKPn1iHg8lR1TaRwaIwM4HKm_9uiTnn8JqAM-bbDeO2eGpr8O6sx14iplcXTICVOZPJUVtLvrJwrbOdwqjqNzgK0hIoz9Z1Rvz0sJS5Cq0CQa9C2pmvbGDTinys/s1600/IMG_2912.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Farewell Party: Gobojango, Botswana</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222;"></span><br /></div>
I want to thank you for gifting me with the awareness of the extreme dualities of my life thus far, entrusting in me the ability to surrender fully and face each hardship with the utmost courage and grace. What a gift to discover strength and connect to my heart amidst the newfound reality of the highs and lows, the darks and lights. Thank you. <br />
<br />
I want to thank you for granting me permission to fall apart, give myself to the darkness, lose myself in the chaos, allow myself to get messy, be broken open, feel every ounce of my emotions. And all the while know that you are with me and that life is unfolding <em>for</em> me.<br />
<br />
I want to thank you for invoking in me the parts of my self that have remained dormant all my life, helping me reconnect to them, setting them free, allowing them to integrate, so that I could become the full expression of who I truly am. What an invocation it’s been. I am in awe of who I have become—powerful, strong and bold; yet, soft, feminine and vulnerable.<br />
<br />
I want to thank you for <a href="http://www.elephantjournal.com/2014/01/5-lessons-in-trusting-the-universe/" target="_blank" title="5 Lessons in Trusting the Universe. ">inspiring me to trust in you</a>, to jump headfirst into the unknown, to let go of all safety, see beyond the illusions, and connect to what is real. You are the inspiration, and I continue to open myself and embrace vulnerability, knowing that it is the only way to fully live.<br />
I want to thank you for providing me with silver linings in every break of the heart, every painful fall, every intense blunder, every shaken reality, allowing me to keep shouting <i>yes</i> at the top of my lungs to this life, even in the darkest, most frightening of times.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4L-zhx-AfQspvwdbuV39tBL4i22ZD4nAQEnguMJi74WidiRL9RS0bJxm_nQy4bP1Ib17zJAIp4-GzUpUZ4lGPunV44oIDvyXI5tpJUdZKUhpcAn_ubwnSNEmZ8hLF73KK9xXOe4-soUw/s1600/warrior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4L-zhx-AfQspvwdbuV39tBL4i22ZD4nAQEnguMJi74WidiRL9RS0bJxm_nQy4bP1Ib17zJAIp4-GzUpUZ4lGPunV44oIDvyXI5tpJUdZKUhpcAn_ubwnSNEmZ8hLF73KK9xXOe4-soUw/s1600/warrior.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Warrior III: La Libertad, El Salvador</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I want to thank you for supporting me in discovering my powerful voice, connecting me to my beautiful body upon which I was inflicting so much judgment and falling in love with all the textures, flavors and colors, that make me <em>me</em>. What freedom I feel, for the first time in my life.<br />
I want to thank you for showing up consistently, divinely orchestrating every synchronistic moment, from the major shit-storms to the highlights of my entire life. I see the divinity in it all.<br />
<br />
I see it in the slipping away of loved ones and the appreciation I have developed for the present moment; I see it in the appreciation I have developed for my neglected body; I see it within the evolution of my relationships, the letting go of some of the most profound loves in my life, embracing the breaking of the heart and all the beauty that is on the other side of this. I see you showing up, and it all being so divinely connected and in service to me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89pHNyL_g6WjffB2ltftTXs73s854bXVsTKwxkJ_32i9dXDbcvJtPYQf4igyl-Jw-IqpSBp5gmv9rW09PTOVJpTSgpOEf3NhabKb4TQCF1lSaNo8w1eYdbK470vSl4G4G3gV_2fsfF_0/s1600/botswana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89pHNyL_g6WjffB2ltftTXs73s854bXVsTKwxkJ_32i9dXDbcvJtPYQf4igyl-Jw-IqpSBp5gmv9rW09PTOVJpTSgpOEf3NhabKb4TQCF1lSaNo8w1eYdbK470vSl4G4G3gV_2fsfF_0/s1600/botswana.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Village sunset: Kang, Botswana </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(photo cred Adriana DeMarco)</span></td></tr>
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<br />
I want to thank you for guiding me toward every encounter of 2014, transforming my life from the smallest, most “insignificant” interactions with strangers, to introducing me to (the concept and experience of) my soul family, redefining my understanding of "true love". It could have been an afternoon spent in the presence of a stranger, and I walked away feeling more connected to that soul compared to some people I have known my whole life.<br />
<br />
Thank you for teaching me to show up authentically and connect from my heart.<br />
<br />
I want to thank you for bestowing upon me endless moments of being triggered, providing me with so many beautiful opportunities to fully feel the deep pain that has showed up as shame, anger, grief, loss, fear, sadness and heartbreak. And, in the feeling fully of it all, allowing me to heal it. What a gift to no longer be a victim, but to be taking full responsibility for everything that shows up in my reality. Thank you.<br />
<br />
I want to thank you for trusting me to fulfill my mission in this life: to let go of all that I was dependent on, attached to, and sourcing love and validation from (i.e., my poisonous relationships, my success, my career, my image, all of my identities) so that I could viscerally experience my worth independent of external variables and become the embodiment of Woman in all her glory. It is from this place that I am able to authentically assist in serving women, children, and men, guiding them to let go and trust in themselves, seeing them for their Divine Essence, and helping them heal and discover who they truly are. I vow to continue serving my purpose.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0su9xA6vOPBuNUgLwJj6TAnX70neZ2hlce8X5GC8Z-uKy_o3n8jCFCyOTH8jn7oFj7HfyCoFbaeNvz_csJzqOWyVSTVuOMkub8ULUMY-ejAcuLg62iWqTQFI11ARFHV3G7N47jtft8WU/s1600/perquin2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0su9xA6vOPBuNUgLwJj6TAnX70neZ2hlce8X5GC8Z-uKy_o3n8jCFCyOTH8jn7oFj7HfyCoFbaeNvz_csJzqOWyVSTVuOMkub8ULUMY-ejAcuLg62iWqTQFI11ARFHV3G7N47jtft8WU/s1600/perquin2.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Violin Camp: Perquin, El Salvador</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #38761d;">Yes, I am grateful, Dear Universe, for this transformative year.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;">And, I am so looking forward to all that we will manifest together in 2015.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;">Love always, </span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;">Your faithful co-creator</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: xx-small;"> Inspired by a piece by Jessica Winterstern</span><br />
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<br />Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-8172207106660276702014-11-10T07:29:00.002-08:002014-11-10T07:29:51.658-08:00Special Feature PostDuring mid-October I had the immense opportunity to play host to my parents who came to visit El Salvador for nine days. Although we endured a 7.3-scale earthquake, fear of a tsunami and evacuation from the beach, and my dad's broken back, we had a blast. I asked my dad to write an account of his experience here, so you may see this wonderful country in a different view and he graciously accepted. Below is his recollection of the trip: <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After months of having our daughter, Janina Victoria Yates, out
in the world on her next big adventure, her mom Maria and I, Bruce, wanted to see how life was in her current country of residence: El
Salvador.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My work gave me the "green
light" to travel to San Salvador, El Salvador, where we met Nina on October 10th,
2014 during a typical tropical, third-world country night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were exhausted from having three separate
flights and I had just broken my back at work a mere four days earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nina was very exited to see us but had a
slight look of worry on her face when we first met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Apparently the San Salvador Airport had just recovered from a power
outage due to heavy, torrential rains. I’m sure she was
thinking, “Oh crap, my parents are going land at an airport in the dark!”
However, customs for us was great and the people were very friendly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We kissed and hugged one another and rode the shuttle
straight to get our rental car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily
we did not get the Toyota Mini car that we had originally ordered, but a very nice
Nissan Standard four-door to hold all of our luggage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">First stop was a great hotel where all the Peace Corps
volunteers stay when they travel to and from San Salvador.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Short of an elevator, it was rather luxurious and spacious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have tons of pictures of this and many
other places we traveled to with Nina, but this short article would turn
into a novel if I include them all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of mainstream media in the United States, El Salvador may appear
rather scary to the American g<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ringos;</i>
however, Nina showed us many of the wonderful sites that the country has to offer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Our first destination was Concepcion de Ataco where typical life can be seen
within an artistic atmosphere. Ataco is a gorgeous colonial town which, in the native language Nahuatl, means "high place of springs" and is located on the highly-sought-after <em>Ruta de las Flores. </em>It's a very cheerful village, with lots of local and international tourists from around the world speckling the roads. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">One thing I noticed while our three days here were that the many scenes
sprinkled with poverty. One can encounter individuals of all social classes walking the streets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although there is relatively low health services due to a poor economy, the streets are clean and the food is well-prepared in restaurants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">Unemployment throughout the
country, according to Nina, is 28.9%, so the artisans do what they can
to live and as I saw that they were happy doing it. </span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A group of mariachis who serenaded us during lunch one day.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">Out next stop was the coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nina had a reservation at a beach hotel that
was obviously for the young-hearted surfing crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately it was not for us because the bed did not provide enough support for my back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> After settling for a bit, </span>Maria (Mer) and I drove around and found a
beautiful resort just down the coast called Atami Beach Club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had informed, excellent service.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our first lunch on the cliff of the resort
overlooking the North Pacific Ocean was fabulous!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
fell in love with the air, the sea breeze, and the nature surrounding us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mer loved the
clean rooms of the resort and I felt safe with the security at the entrance of the community and at the
resort complex itself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This place had
huge swimming pools, a putt-putt golf course (although unmaintained), and a
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrEzavSNgosqE-51n7gsTbDM9ZajZ4p3nrvQZaVdJ7dl6Vm8F7Y-001d5zSK-nw5jH_FgxqoOMgyPtcUXvboCjKKZw8Xh53-2knjrd75lA3MYSfX8xkyoumxnsoQGcQ49uldGEbWAOS6U/s1600/blog3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrEzavSNgosqE-51n7gsTbDM9ZajZ4p3nrvQZaVdJ7dl6Vm8F7Y-001d5zSK-nw5jH_FgxqoOMgyPtcUXvboCjKKZw8Xh53-2knjrd75lA3MYSfX8xkyoumxnsoQGcQ49uldGEbWAOS6U/s1600/blog3.jpg" height="204" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nina taking a much-needed break in one of the luxurious pools.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">In fact there was no problems at
all except the 7.3 earthquake just off the coast and tsunami warnings that ensued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We feared the threat of evacuation, but were happy to discover that it wasn't necessary. </span>Unfortunately, one woman died in the
country from having an electrical pole fall on her, but with such a large-scale event, the casualties could have been much higher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> F</span>or hours after, I monitored the
news through the excellent wi-fi the resort provided.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">Our next stop and the place where Mer
and I were most interested in discovering was where Nina lives: La
Palma.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1rkySLq-YJ9ICeBogrfx2IqonNlAqHNuDyDxgllOSQNTqeJxhh4emaguiQb_zSzv8AaT2qq0nJ0BFBPK0YUn7-aHqbsxjCtlL5zAfIr-A8COdZbF4r2AHHo5O1JwwdVUR9jvcUd5I2A/s1600/blog4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1rkySLq-YJ9ICeBogrfx2IqonNlAqHNuDyDxgllOSQNTqeJxhh4emaguiQb_zSzv8AaT2qq0nJ0BFBPK0YUn7-aHqbsxjCtlL5zAfIr-A8COdZbF4r2AHHo5O1JwwdVUR9jvcUd5I2A/s1600/blog4.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nina and Mer standing in front of a building with a passing "mototaxi"</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">The town is beautiful and
serene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone says hello and “have a
good meal” when you're eating at a restaurant, whether they know you or not. The buildings of the city are covered in paintings in the style of Fernando Llort (El Salvador's national artist). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">Nina took us on a wonderful tour
during our time here, and we met many friends, visited her many work sites, and encountered innumerous amounts of loveable people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_4"
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUUpASzaNwbXp0LDa1j-KEfyMG3JX1swc1Iq6IFXQ2f12vPuT7V3b_du_8hMT1dxTb_Cj6gW_m9G4M4e3eeDJblncG2f_q30aIf3sRq5zfXfpyX2fItPiGS3iaTVxZRPhXdprIPGqqj0U/s1600/blog5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUUpASzaNwbXp0LDa1j-KEfyMG3JX1swc1Iq6IFXQ2f12vPuT7V3b_du_8hMT1dxTb_Cj6gW_m9G4M4e3eeDJblncG2f_q30aIf3sRq5zfXfpyX2fItPiGS3iaTVxZRPhXdprIPGqqj0U/s1600/blog5.jpg" height="245" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The staff of La Palma's "Casa de Cultura"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">Nina's work in El Salvador is focused around music. She volunteers with music lessons
and mentoring at a community history and cultural center called Casa de la Cultura.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> For me, t</span>he most rewarding place she works at is the school where she teaches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Here, at CE 22 de Junio, Nina has a choir of 23 pupils who eagerly sing and absorb every word she says. The existence of the choir is vital, it not only offers the students a positive environment to remain at after school, but it also keeps them from getting involved in dangerous gang activity, which is common for out-of-school youth in this country. </span><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_11" o:spid="_x0000_i1027"
type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:3in;height:162pt;visibility:visible;
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8ToW7XD2AgZr2uyfc69TqaasFS3v7O0lloubPr84v4tfBS3-GK3g20V21q8rjUHwMtzbFYg5_xU7DlLUvVy3NdKHnM9cOQBugbIpbfMOJ88139R5QvDwxAQoxdHJfgZ3j-vfasqGtrw/s1600/blog6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8ToW7XD2AgZr2uyfc69TqaasFS3v7O0lloubPr84v4tfBS3-GK3g20V21q8rjUHwMtzbFYg5_xU7DlLUvVy3NdKHnM9cOQBugbIpbfMOJ88139R5QvDwxAQoxdHJfgZ3j-vfasqGtrw/s1600/blog6.jpg" height="194" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some students at CE 22 de Junio playing basketball during gym class</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">We met her counterpart Christi who
is wonderful and took us in as part of her family right from the get go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> <!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_7" o:spid="_x0000_i1026"
type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:3in;height:160.5pt;visibility:visible;
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9qlD7MIoIj_OudKf_CA9ga3LFyXQ6RVQPM1pYamn0Oi74sKl0Q4NoAbVD2W5QIm6q8k7lqv3-4Y7gqSm9AvnJRrHNNXefLArVTNa4Gvp7yEySe6G36lLKwYSvc57EvQTawxDlCvE6OA/s1600/blog7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9qlD7MIoIj_OudKf_CA9ga3LFyXQ6RVQPM1pYamn0Oi74sKl0Q4NoAbVD2W5QIm6q8k7lqv3-4Y7gqSm9AvnJRrHNNXefLArVTNa4Gvp7yEySe6G36lLKwYSvc57EvQTawxDlCvE6OA/s1600/blog7.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nina's counterpart Christina Gardu; a teacher, mother of five, entrepreneur, and overall wonderful person.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">I could see how Nina has already made her mark with the hugs from her students and observations during her choir practices.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVl14OuVX3Q-FRKCxdyhblhOV5uoVd7RWWujvbJZt-KrLUQfSirstn00Xb2npiiblx6tAoRMEOiqx8K9JLgVHrMQ8RYlWsoTyTiIO_Ssr-c7MWgz63joolGgoJr0_ZF88PJ975tKZl1Fw/s1600/blog8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVl14OuVX3Q-FRKCxdyhblhOV5uoVd7RWWujvbJZt-KrLUQfSirstn00Xb2npiiblx6tAoRMEOiqx8K9JLgVHrMQ8RYlWsoTyTiIO_Ssr-c7MWgz63joolGgoJr0_ZF88PJ975tKZl1Fw/s1600/blog8.jpg" height="237" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Janina speaking to one of her students.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">Mer and I stayed in a beautiful
hotel next to La Palma in San<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ignacio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was on over 100 acres in the mountainous
region of the North equipped with a gorgeous view of Guatemala, Nicaragua, and
El Salvador.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has an Olympic pool ,
tennis courts, and a gym where Nina often works out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">Mer and I were pleasantly honored
to meet Nina’s host family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were
one of the best things about our trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt as
though I had known them for years. <!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_8"
o:spid="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" style='width:3in;height:162pt;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
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o:title=""/>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdudRAOBqpOtndDXA9p4b1ZGUwXAdV93oYX-77zJJRnrqBy0dXwZyniTzLuxDEIDnl35Y85cDu0QGc-Sev4IGR9lrGkROJcXxfuIDlARbNwDAykXXpGfUbpQ1xHjAvQn38zmi9Ad_nw0/s1600/blog9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdudRAOBqpOtndDXA9p4b1ZGUwXAdV93oYX-77zJJRnrqBy0dXwZyniTzLuxDEIDnl35Y85cDu0QGc-Sev4IGR9lrGkROJcXxfuIDlARbNwDAykXXpGfUbpQ1xHjAvQn38zmi9Ad_nw0/s1600/blog9.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sofia, Margoth, Janina, Diego, Juan, and Alejandra</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">Nina lives with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They constantly watch over her and I could
tell she loves them as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;">Our trip back to the airport was
filled with excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drove though
some pretty shady areas and saw a glimpse of what the American news has portrayed regarding poverty El
Salvador.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, that was minimal and
we saw the city's Metrocentro shopping center where any American can get what
they want and although it doesn’t feel quite like home, it shows the people of El
Salvador and their culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>By asking
directions in a sports shop, we didn’t find how to get to the airport, but how
gracious and loving the people of El Salvador can be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>In fact our whole trip was getting acquainted with a
Peace Corps volunteer's life in a third-world country and how she lives and prospers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I know that Nina not only is living the
life of a Peace Cops voluteer, she is exemplifying the main themes of a
volunteer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through getting to know the
land and people, she helps where she can, and promotes
world peace and friendship by fulfilling the organization's three main goals: she helps the people of El Salvador in meeting their need for trained men and women, she promotes a better understanding of Americans on the part of the Salvadorans, and helps promote a better understanding of Salvadorans on the part of Americans. </div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-71748625946734358332014-10-01T20:24:00.003-07:002014-10-01T20:24:42.988-07:00Sing your Heart Out
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Music
can change the world, because it can change people” –Bono<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was a cloudy Monday, not unlike any other morning
in the mountainous town of La Palma, Chalatenango.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Students’ voices resonated from every corner
of the building, and the school pulsed with vivacity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the usual pupils from Centro Escolar 22 de
Junio stood in compliance in the great hall watching the Semana Civica
presentations, more children clad in varied school uniforms shuffled in, eager
with anticipation for the competition that was scheduled to take place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as if the crowd ebbed and flowed with its
own rhythm and repartee, and although the banter seemed to dull the nerves
within the participants of the Choir Genesis, their uneasy smiles told another
story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzm-1aA8LJLCp2E_Uyk_G12HTaKnR3O2Xn0srgAT0WRDqTGB_TsF-6zXg6LtsMrgF5WU6DnD-NPwH8doSSboYapqAd9IfwJzEsd_q6Ttxr4Xv1vH5QmRrHlJXqDWuQbGqps5f0GYUSUs/s1600/choir3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzm-1aA8LJLCp2E_Uyk_G12HTaKnR3O2Xn0srgAT0WRDqTGB_TsF-6zXg6LtsMrgF5WU6DnD-NPwH8doSSboYapqAd9IfwJzEsd_q6Ttxr4Xv1vH5QmRrHlJXqDWuQbGqps5f0GYUSUs/s1600/choir3.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Singing El Salvador's National Anthem in front of a packed auditorium</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For the previous two weeks, the members of the
newly-formed choir had been practicing daily for this competition and the moment
had finally arrived when they would perform El Salvador’s National Anthem (in
its entirety) in front of representatives from every school in the city. This
also meant that they would be competing for the opportunity to sing at the
Independence Day Ceremony the following week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, if you had told me a mere 3 months ago that I
would not only be witnessing but directing a choir of 30 students in El Salvador,
I probably would have scoffed in your face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>During that time, I was living in the Botswana bush, wrapping up my Peace
Corps service and scrambling to pick up the loose ends before my next big
adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thoughts of graduate school
and life in the U.S. swirled in my mind and the anticipation of what was to
come became an impending weight on my shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One afternoon, I scrolled listlessly through
the Response positions available throughout the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I wasn’t quite ready to commit myself to
facing the fast-paced life that awaited me in the U.S.) and I nearly collapsed
from my chair when I found a project for a Youth Outreach Music Coordinator in
Central America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turns out, the position
had been open for some time, and they needed me just as much as I needed
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The music vocational project was started as a means
to give children throughout the Northern catchment of Chalatenango, El Salvador
safe after-school activities to keep them out of mischief that could lead to delinquency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lack of access to quality education is a
critical challenge in the area, and as a result, the privation of job
opportunities also exists. Many bright young individuals leave the country to
increase their opportunities for personal development, yet fewer than 10%
successfully complete high school after settling in their destination country.
Those who choose to stay in El Salvador are faced with a number of
difficulties, including very little economic opportunities, and often end up
joining gangs, becoming involved in drug trafficking, or other criminal
activities as a matter of economic survival.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As a result, Peace Corps presence is prominent
throughout the area; the volunteers are well-recognized and are generally venerated
for assisting in projects focusing on</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> adolescents and youths. When I arrived to La Palma in July, the need for a
music program was evident. I was struck by the amount of talent that existed
throughout this town, and overjoyed at the sparked interest some students
showed. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Poco a poco</i>, and through
extreme moments of frustration, talk of a music program slowly transformed into
a choir consisting of 23 students ranging from ages 7 to 14. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After the participants of the choir sang their last
note of the Anthem during the September 8 competition, their faces lifted with
pride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weeks had passed of tedious
hour-long practices and finally they were able to feel the efforts of their
labors paying off. After some quick deliberation, and anxious anticipation, the
judges announced the winners and the crowd went wild to hear that the Choir
Genesis would be singing at the Independence Day Celebrations the following
Monday, September 15.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xsOoGwiz-IAyJvlgzOItLdkRoPQ5c-MTnTO22-08bt1yRo7nvUld4ThiHk8VUY4oIl8dxLEbj028UUS6-KLf9PwsNVeh4wJSynK9YR3WmqQAU0j8oLg15tOAUtK-qKxcYYoqCTJCF80/s1600/coro2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xsOoGwiz-IAyJvlgzOItLdkRoPQ5c-MTnTO22-08bt1yRo7nvUld4ThiHk8VUY4oIl8dxLEbj028UUS6-KLf9PwsNVeh4wJSynK9YR3WmqQAU0j8oLg15tOAUtK-qKxcYYoqCTJCF80/s1600/coro2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pride. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>The participants
leapt to their feet and embraced one another with elation as the more prominent
singers approached the stage and diffidently accepted the trophy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih29GEDsZCvoAwaWEW66B7Q91TsFJtUGwJhCuRFHLbvZr9VXlQfM13ip3aayDNiMwWyNu3JxP453kTJjD__GXZzuJYtMPQfjR_gtbYKYZHQdQBKfeeNRj-aHGvWmDEfUxxNX4iJiztWkQ/s1600/choir1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih29GEDsZCvoAwaWEW66B7Q91TsFJtUGwJhCuRFHLbvZr9VXlQfM13ip3aayDNiMwWyNu3JxP453kTJjD__GXZzuJYtMPQfjR_gtbYKYZHQdQBKfeeNRj-aHGvWmDEfUxxNX4iJiztWkQ/s1600/choir1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Accepting the trophy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">From that day on, more students showed interest in
joining the choir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their sparked
curiosity from the competition left them zealous and keen to begin
singing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day in the hallways, the
participants would bombard me with hugs and inquiries as to when the choir
would perform again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">September 15 marked the long-anticipated
Independence Day celebrations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Teachers
from all of the schools in La Palma arrived at the central park at 5:45 in the
morning to begin preparations for the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The clouds rested close to the ground, the sun hid deep in the dark sky,
and over my cup of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">atol chuco</i>, I
wondered if the weather was going to affect the singers’ moods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I arrived to the school a couple of hours
later, a horde of eager choral students awaited me like a pack of wolves preying
upon a fresh rabbit. Their enthusiasm was contagious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I herded them into a room and we began our
usual vocal warm-ups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As I took a deep breath, tried to refocus myself,
and blocked out the surmounting noise and stress that reverberated throughout
the cement classroom, I looked at a seventh-grade student braiding a third
grade student’s hair and was overcome by the giggles that escaped their
lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their resounding smiles struck a
chord deep within me and made me realize something: this choir meant more to
them than a simple organized club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being
in the group gave these children hope, unity, appreciation, and pride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a tumultuous world, being a part of a
choral team gave them a sense of belonging and comfort where they had probably
sought and been rejected before. It didn’t matter that the clouds were prophesying
rain outside or that we had not yet practiced how to march for the parade. What
mattered most was that they had finally found a niche where they could belong,
something that they could hold onto, call their own, and be proud of. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdwOTwpOjtYnP8TQOhVVmGIrPV_iCul9xW6JY4-D8uYbQYp64aiE-UXWwAWhmYe8dzxhTgQeA1GUSPRUeb_oFakix0rjQvkILpvZ0PUO8NDWGtOx4ETuoxXTntTFAxTwNxjR8KkeXcGBQ/s1600/choir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdwOTwpOjtYnP8TQOhVVmGIrPV_iCul9xW6JY4-D8uYbQYp64aiE-UXWwAWhmYe8dzxhTgQeA1GUSPRUeb_oFakix0rjQvkILpvZ0PUO8NDWGtOx4ETuoxXTntTFAxTwNxjR8KkeXcGBQ/s1600/choir.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marching in the Independence Day Parade</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The rest of the day passed quickly: the parade with
the cheering crowds, the parents that awaited with cameras, and the children crooning
the national anthem into microphones…but the faces that they wore throughout
the day will remain imprinted in my memory for the rest of my life. I had never
seen so much pride and unfettered excitement. The choir continues to gain more
students after every performance, and their presentations have now expanded to
encompass Día de los Niños as well as the nation-wide Concurso de las Bandas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2MR1UAwLt6G91bQAzjcjt7ALxepKdlhzQSC173Vde7rPoN7A30nomT9BkJGoLoMjEmXdhf5dt-trWxV04GkLJl2XwNNst_-_kdqJGXp_4USo6gDpxoDnRTv6yl34N-3HBfQwppEGbd9U/s1600/coro1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2MR1UAwLt6G91bQAzjcjt7ALxepKdlhzQSC173Vde7rPoN7A30nomT9BkJGoLoMjEmXdhf5dt-trWxV04GkLJl2XwNNst_-_kdqJGXp_4USo6gDpxoDnRTv6yl34N-3HBfQwppEGbd9U/s1600/coro1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The choir proudly showing off their first-place trophy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One thing that the children of the Choir Genesis
have taught me in these few short months is the value of music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Music transcends age, gender, and life
experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is encompassing enough
that it can touch any life, any subject, in any way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the children of La Palma, El Salvador,
music has become the haven and the community that they need to begin to change
their futures and the world.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-30955148164589348702014-08-21T13:54:00.000-07:002014-08-21T14:00:28.950-07:00Playas, Fiestas y Hospitales<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m currently sitting in a session put on by the
Fire Chief of La Palma about “Control and Circumvention of Fires”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He started with the history of fires.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In other words…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">yawn</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Today the students had the day off so that the
teachers could all attend this meeting. I’m grumpy and not wanting to be here,
so instead I’ll update my blog (after all, there’s no wifi, and nobody around
me can really read English to tell the difference between this and notes).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">These past two days have been the first practices of
the Choir Genesis. I have been so undoubtedly nervous that I haven’t really
realized how quickly they’ve gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
first day I had about 18 students show up, and yesterday there were 28! The
students are from 1<sup>st</sup> grade all the way up to 9<sup>th</sup> grade
and since I’ve never directed a choir before, my fear of inadequacies are
keeping me preoccupied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furthermore,
I’ve decided to register the students to sing in a competition on September 8
of El Salvador’s National Anthem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although we have little time to attend the competition, I’m trying to
meet with them for one hour every day to practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The past few weeks have been pretty up and
down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the beginning of the month of
August I had the opportunity to jump on another volunteers’ vacation
train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I followed a group of 6 other
volunteers to a beach called Playa Tunco.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, before I get into the festivities of the beach
weekend, allow me to interject here to discuss the downfalls of living in a
country with increased security risks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In Botswana, I was able to travel relatively safely every weekend,
hitchhike and take busses throughout the country and even see all of the other
7 SADC countries without much fear of direct violence. (I suppose it’s odd when
someone thinks of Africa they expect a number of reservations associated with
violence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thank you, media and pop culture</i>.) This isn’t necessarily to say
that it’s 100% safe in Botswana…because realistically speaking, we all know
it’s not…but generally I felt exceptionally safe when traveling throughout the country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Here in El Salvador, on the other hand, there are
common stories of bus drivers being shot, incidences of gang violence, and
other security risks that endanger volunteers’ everyday lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few years ago, a volunteer in Honduras was
the unfortunate recipient of a ricochet bullet on a bus (she lived, thank
goodness) and they had a complete revision of the Central American safety and
security policies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>El Salvador was
closed as a post and all of the volunteers were either relocated or sent
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A reassessment of the country
occurred two years back, and after discovering that it would be relatively
anodyne, it was reopened with increased mitigation policies and volunteers were
redistributed throughout towns and villages in the northern part of the country.
As a result, Peace Corps has placed a number of security mitigation rules on
our service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of these rules are as
follows: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There
are a number of “red zones” or restricted areas throughout the country where
we, as volunteers, are not allowed to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The capital, San Salvador (and location of Peace Corps Headquarters) are
one of these red zones and volunteers are not allowed, under any circumstance
to be found in these zones alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We
are not allowed to take busses across departments/municipalities. In my
opinion, this makes life a lot more difficult (and a lot more expensive…)
Rather than jumping on a direct bus from one department to another, I have to
wait for certain days that the Peace Corps shuttle is running (see number 3) or
pay for my own private transport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since
we are advised to take the taxi drivers suggested by Peace Corps, we oftentimes
pay well over what we would have been paying otherwise<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Peace
Corps provides a personal shuttle for volunteers on a rotating schedule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have to therefore take the local bus to a
pickup spot about an hour away (in the town Amayo) then take the shuttle from
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some weeks it runs Monday,
Tuesday, and Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other weeks, just
Monday and Friday, and other weeks, solely on Monday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unless we want to take it directly from La
Palma, the shuttle runs once a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
schedule has been distributed to all volunteers and we are to refer to it if we
ever want to go to another site.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I’m
still figuring it out…it sounds extremely complicated) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We
are only allowed to be outside of our site three days every month (as well as
our two vacation days per month). This is to say that we are only allowed one
weekend a month to visit another location.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We
are supposed to live with host families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This makes us less of a direct target to robberies, thefts, etc. and
also assists in the integration process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In conclusion, the sense of independence I once had
as a volunteer in Botswana has now been replaced by an overall dependency upon
outside forces. Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the
overall system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understand the need
for it, and would rather pay my entire monthly allowance than face any problem
of security (after all, there’s no price for a life)…but it does complicate
things quite a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Okay, to end my rant, let me continue with my
adventure to Playa Tunco.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Friday, I
left with three other volunteers from La Palma to San Salvador.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once settled at a café that not only offered
a yummy selection for lunch, but also free wifi, we awaited the other members
of our group to arrive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Around two
o’clock, we all departed in a privately-hired minibus to take us to the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ride was breath-taking and
beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Green surrounded us
everywhere. Palm trees cascaded the street view and vendors walked up and down
the road selling everything from fresh coconut milk to candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly, as we arrived closer and closer to
the beach towns, the air became thicker, heavier, and more humid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we pulled in front of the Tunco Lodge, we
were greeted with grass roofs, a shimmering blue pool, and hammocks stretching
lazily across the wooden verandas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
we migrated to the beach after settling in, I shocked my newly acquired friends
by prancing gleefully towards the water and submerging my entire body in the
crashing waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t even notice
that, rather than mounding sand, the beach was plaited with knolls of rocks the
size of my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so excited to
replace the sweat melting from my face with salt water from the ocean that I
splashed like a three-year-old in a baby pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Taking Janina to the ocean is like taking a puppy
to a park” I heard my colleague say behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I didn’t even care, I was so happy to be on the beach again, I
frolicked well into the sunset. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Although the beach itself is not beautiful, Tunco is
a well-known location for the best left-hand break in the Americas and
therefore recognized by surfers around the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During our four days there, we met people
from Australia, Brazil, Israel, Spain, and Italy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I practiced my Portuguese until I was blue in
the face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spent our days absorbing
the sun at the pool, only surfacing to eat some fresh fruit or seafood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turtles roamed freely around the Lodge, and
hammocks harnessed our hangovers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
nights were spent swaying on the bar swings, quenching our voracious thirst for
excitement, and dancing until our heartbeat pulsed through our thighs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdPmFdKT-BOq4ns052RM2Zso485ESjne8UeijMitESttHT5Y_m6R8mxNT_BimGshyGlLnW2T8LCe9JjJKEl6aSPUsAcbrP78ikU815iUBpw6wNxVr0gS8YwL9GpfXYiyWdfOJdO8FHZBA/s1600/IMG_0316%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdPmFdKT-BOq4ns052RM2Zso485ESjne8UeijMitESttHT5Y_m6R8mxNT_BimGshyGlLnW2T8LCe9JjJKEl6aSPUsAcbrP78ikU815iUBpw6wNxVr0gS8YwL9GpfXYiyWdfOJdO8FHZBA/s1600/IMG_0316%5B1%5D.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the wild turtles coming to attack my foot. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqOGpP-YnzPZRL6P7H2oDXStnJTj2RO0Kkp1js19wjCpwIo42DSuXqBsS8UW51fKyI5S8eweM5RHlM66flmyoRqwkhVsmT2m1pGVR_MmUxd9Fn3I_G4kNgDWgVqFvDX96AcSV_vMD3MA/s1600/IMG_0319%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqOGpP-YnzPZRL6P7H2oDXStnJTj2RO0Kkp1js19wjCpwIo42DSuXqBsS8UW51fKyI5S8eweM5RHlM66flmyoRqwkhVsmT2m1pGVR_MmUxd9Fn3I_G4kNgDWgVqFvDX96AcSV_vMD3MA/s1600/IMG_0319%5B1%5D.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the group on the beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the
whirlwind of arriving to site, breaking down the barriers of discomfort when
arriving to a new country, and breathing through varied adjustments, it was a
much-needed break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Although my entire body creaked with exhaustion my
first day back to La Palma, I awoke with a fright to my host sister banging on
my door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No quieres ir con nosotros as
Consuma?” (Would you like to come with us to Consuma?) escaped her mouth, each
word decreasing in volume in response to my scorching, peevish glare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, gracias,” I responded and rolled back
into my caressing sheets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thinking about
what I was going to be missing out on, I slowly picked myself out of the bed,
each joint castigating me for my decision, and began to dress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Though I had no idea what “Consuma” was, I swallowed
my sickness with every curve of the 2 hour car drive. Diego’s pressing
questions and the girls’ aimless banter crept under my skin and gnawed on my
last nerves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself regretting
my decision for agreeing to go when we pulled up to a huge festival in Sal
Salvador. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The rest of the day we spent immersed in crowds,
waiting in lines, and enjoying amusement park rides. Consuma turned out to be
the largest flea market I’ve ever been to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was jubilant to see the $1 bins spilling over with clothing and found
myself pulling out my wallet for things that I didn’t even need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I followed my host sisters onto the amusement
park rides and had to stabilize myself as the blood drained from my face due to
motion sickness. Any aches that I felt that morning quickly evaporated as I
caught myself laughing and enjoying with my host family. In the evening, as a
parade passed in front of us with masked performers and characters on stilts, I
thanked my inner conscience for forcing me out of the bed that morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The following week, the students were on vacation
from school, so I spent my days sleeping in and learning about life in El
Salvador. I went to a few more gatherings for the Fiestas Patronales in the neighboring
town of San Ignacio and relished at the comical costumes that pranced around
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I started a daily trip to Entrepinos Lodge to go to
the gym for one hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the process, I
met the owner and manager, Tito.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took
me to a wonderful spot where I could see bean farms, clouds blanketing the
mountains of Honduras, jutting rocks in the distance from Guatemala, and a tree
whose trunk was as large as a jeep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_DicDfY8wsjUQMrBSNjVrGbKeRCazi4CPnUCd9-SxWP1e2jMZTIYovkvhqvwBPRlgF1K3RADgCHam4VsHhudIqPgkOsLeYbsU9cFWSCe3ldAcDXGDb18aUY_ybeFeG2Q1TYAZ4dzUqQ/s1600/IMG_0370%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_DicDfY8wsjUQMrBSNjVrGbKeRCazi4CPnUCd9-SxWP1e2jMZTIYovkvhqvwBPRlgF1K3RADgCHam4VsHhudIqPgkOsLeYbsU9cFWSCe3ldAcDXGDb18aUY_ybeFeG2Q1TYAZ4dzUqQ/s1600/IMG_0370%5B1%5D.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Although I noticed an unsettling body ache
throughout the week, I ignored it and passed it off as soreness from the
gym.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t until that weekend that I
awoke with a sweltering fever that I realized that something was really
wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called the Peace Corps doctor
and went through all of the motions of traveling to the local laboratory to do
blood tests, reading the results to the doctor over the phone, and feeling
miserable all the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The worry in the
doctor’s voice became elevated as he heard my results and he told me to begin
packing my bags immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next
morning, he sent a driver to collect me from my house and take me to the
hospital in San Salvador.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It turns out, when I was in Tunco; I had been bitten
by a mosquito infected with Dengue Fever and was now in the worst stage of the
reaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivykJ6y4rr2mEGo8aqcAR7O8jUBqw5KMr1__AzJuJyRZuM1M25j2ylnbcKcz1QFVfN7ehtUwDJVhYPtOokefDxdtZDvXa9XOVS1vee959Mnui0yuFyAhbPuy4FxJddok_1aZhMYeXbo70/s1600/IMG_0388%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPLsoyLE-56oEeVQAG7y9SKRN-mTRI7KLANLFkvw1pb73e83Nm7idyhAG0JKUB8PDmdfhsL3EkbKkJSeVI3LR5NlxOntVa8G1Fjj1qFafQsc64fTSp2h0loaeUXQMRS8vY6DgbGCmzVgk/s1600/IMG_0381%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPLsoyLE-56oEeVQAG7y9SKRN-mTRI7KLANLFkvw1pb73e83Nm7idyhAG0JKUB8PDmdfhsL3EkbKkJSeVI3LR5NlxOntVa8G1Fjj1qFafQsc64fTSp2h0loaeUXQMRS8vY6DgbGCmzVgk/s1600/IMG_0381%5B1%5D.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boohoo, in pain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This was also the first time that I could remember
that I had been admitted to a hospital as an adult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivykJ6y4rr2mEGo8aqcAR7O8jUBqw5KMr1__AzJuJyRZuM1M25j2ylnbcKcz1QFVfN7ehtUwDJVhYPtOokefDxdtZDvXa9XOVS1vee959Mnui0yuFyAhbPuy4FxJddok_1aZhMYeXbo70/s1600/IMG_0388%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivykJ6y4rr2mEGo8aqcAR7O8jUBqw5KMr1__AzJuJyRZuM1M25j2ylnbcKcz1QFVfN7ehtUwDJVhYPtOokefDxdtZDvXa9XOVS1vee959Mnui0yuFyAhbPuy4FxJddok_1aZhMYeXbo70/s1600/IMG_0388%5B1%5D.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sad to be all alone</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Luckily for me, the hospital was EXTREMELY clean; we’re
talking U.S.A.-standards clean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
assigned my own room with a television, and there was free wifi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There wasn’t much to complain about
here…besides the fact that I was put inside of a mosquito net and felt as if I was
in quarantine and all alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nights
in the hospital were tumultuous, with nurses checking on me every hour, and I
pined to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Once the doctor verified that the worst of the Fever
was over, he released me to La Palma again and ordered me to sleep for the next
few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The following week, I returned to school and began
meeting the students for the choir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
that brings us up to today, where I’m STILL sitting in a classroom learning
about fire extinguishers and the difference between a gas fire and a wood fire…yes…four
hours later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The air is blowing directly on my left shoulder and
I am pausing every few minutes to warm my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I hadn’t worn a skirt today…I wish I
had stayed in bed today…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In lighter news, my parents have verified that
they’ll be visiting for 10 days in October!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What’s more, is that my good friend Annabelle from college is coming for
2 weeks in November! Although it has its own “catches”, it’s awfully nice
living in a country with a beach that’s relatively close to the States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Next week I’ll be heading to a town called Ataco
with the other Peace Corps Response volunteers from Monday-Wednesday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There we will learn about the beloved
Volunteer Report Form (good Lord…) and convene as a group for the first time
since the arrival of the 6 volunteers of my group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, it seems like I’m just rambling now, so
thanks for taking the time to read! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Enjoy the rest of your day, and enjoy every second
of sunshine! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Until next time, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">~Nina</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-3850380820986491902014-08-07T21:24:00.000-07:002014-08-07T21:24:02.278-07:00Central American Moments
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So…remember how I told you about my “African moments”…?
Those particular moments that slapped me upside the head on a random day and
reminded me that I was living in Africa? Yeah…well after today, I’ve learned
that there are “Central American moments” too…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This evening, as I was lounging on my bed, accessing
some of the Facebook, my host sister comes in my room and asks me, “Vienes con
nosotros, Janina?” (Are you coming with us, Janina?) I’ve learned that when anyone
asks me a question similar to this one, I always say yes, without any follow-up
queries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mantra of “don’t ask
questions” has led me to some very interesting places in my life…as was the
case with tonight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We sprinted to the car and the wiper blades were
turned to their fastest mode as the rain splashed unforgivingly on the windshield.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally asked, “</span><span lang="ES-SV" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: ES-SV;">Entonces…adónde vamos pues</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">?”
(so…where are we going?) and I was answered with “La Carmen”, as if it was
something I should have known. I nodded in blind agreement and drew a face with
the fog on the window, with the passing palm trees and bucketing rain outside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We made a few stops to pick up food, drove towards
the Honduras border, up, down, left, and right on curvy cobblestone roads, and
finally arrived at our final destination: a cement house wearing a tin roof
cap, and siring a mane of lush greenery in the middle of the “campo” (rural
village).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we entered the house,
hammocks hung like cobwebs around the room and we maneuvered our way to the
back patio where there was a brick oven and children running everywhere. Chickens,
turkeys, cats, and dogs waltzed their way in and out of conversations, and I was
offered a seat next to a woman with a baby. To the left of me stood rows and
rows of cornstalks for as far as the eye could see. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After some futile banter, the matriarch took me by
the wrist and guided me deeper and deeper into the corn jungle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We began picking lemons off the trees and she
showed me how to choose the ears of corn that were still “baby corn” (as I always
called them).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spent the evening
climbing our way through muddy passes, sheltered from the drizzle by towering
banana trees, and finally arrived to the house where the oven was warming the
faces and spaces of the patio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned
to take the freshly plucked chili peppers and combine them with garlic, onion,
loroco (a local flower), and water to make the most delicious chili sauce imaginable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, we kissed cheeks of everyone
farewell and departed with our arms encumbered by various fruits and
vegetables. As we walked the cobbled road to the car, the smell of fresh earth
and wet soil swarmed all around us and the aromas of the freshly picked goodies
filled the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We drove off, serene and smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though the moon was out now, the reflection
of the light still shimmered off the wet leaves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In an instance, the tranquility of the moment was abruptly
interrupted as a gobble erupted from the backseat of the car and a flash of
feathers encircled us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Juan, my host
father, nonchalantly asked me to put the turkey back in the bag and my host sister
Alejandra began yelping out of fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After multiple tries, I finally got the stupid
turkey (that I didn’t even know was there in the first place) back in the bag. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Margoth, my host mother, handed me the cup of
chilis that I had practically thrown at her as if nothing had happened and we
all settled into our seats. I kept looking around at them to see if there was
any reaction…nothing. This was a typical Thursday night…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Only in Central America. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Later in the evening, I was motivated to make a
chicken curry with yogurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I stood in
the kitchen, meticulously cutting the vegetables, screams began exploding from
the sitting room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I turned to see
what the hulabaloo was about, a rat the size of my foot drastically scampered
towards me with its eyes bugging out of its sockets in fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first reaction was to squeal out of
surprise, but then I reined it in and jumped towards it with my arms extended yelling,
“Wahh!” (Don’t ask me why, apparently I thought I was the boogeyrat or
something…)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We spent the next hour chasing this stupid rat in
and around the nooks and crevices of the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I assisted with everything I could until the
idea of a blowtorch was offered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Nahhh, I’m sorry, I think I’m out on this one…” was
followed by, “Yeah, you’re probably right. Burning it out isn’t such a great
idea”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When we had finally cornered the monstrosity behind
the refrigerator, I banged the side of the fridge and it flew for its life
towards Juan until it met its inevitable demise at the sole of his flip flop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was okay with the stupid rat until this part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cringed with the sounds that crept beneath
the flip flop and with my eyes squeezed tightly shut, I made a noise similar to
what the turkey made earlier in the car. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Within seconds, the dishes were finished, a cup of
chocolate milk was made, and I booked it to my bed for some mindless media to
get my mind off of the gruesome scene that had just taken place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And now I bid you adeu, dear reader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you sleep better than I!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-30613051189050222982014-08-07T15:49:00.000-07:002014-08-07T18:59:06.426-07:00Last Days in BotswanaI sat on the earth, now warmed by the sizzling fire, outside Lorato’s house.
I could sense my time in Botswana was coming to a close, but I still forbade
the thought to manifest itself in my mind. This had been my home for the past
two years, how could I simply pick up and leave? I turned to look at the kids
who were playing and screaming, the same kids who had approached me as children
with fervent curiosity 25 months earlier. I had watched them grow, we had
been there for one another during the extreme highs and the deep lows of life
and now it was as if I had to accept that I may never see them again. I
had said many goodbyes before, but there was a sense of permanence to this one
that it pierced my very soul. <br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixw_NBZ19cESzECh9s6ei3ecIGkRTvgHmuXg90dwck8d9pZGGV3sZ66d1CxRoFkzj7ARgFjq_Bicb4sm-gXbxuWeZciaHoH5tv8RWTdAe4FwwbCXr8E7F6tDFCDqmaY4A6l2-f6eDAhvc/s1600/IMG_2846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixw_NBZ19cESzECh9s6ei3ecIGkRTvgHmuXg90dwck8d9pZGGV3sZ66d1CxRoFkzj7ARgFjq_Bicb4sm-gXbxuWeZciaHoH5tv8RWTdAe4FwwbCXr8E7F6tDFCDqmaY4A6l2-f6eDAhvc/s1600/IMG_2846.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I fondly recollect my first few weeks at site and how I locked myself in the
house, praying for the days to pass more quickly. Everything had felt so
scary and new and each step outside my front door was the bravest thing I had
done that day. Feelings of self-doubt and misdirection established
themselves deep in my mind and I questioned my very decision to join the Peace
Corps. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<u1:p></u1:p>
It wasn’t until I slowly gained my footing that I began to fly. As the
previous entries in this blog entail, I had an inimitable experience and I
think it is still too new to process and explain its longevity in every aspect
of my life. I think as the newness of all of these changes wears off, I will
finally be able to reflect upon my time in Bots and all the people who impacted
my life; but for now, let’s fast forward.<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<u1:p></u1:p>
The thing I remember most about my last weeks in Botswana was how quickly
everything passed. On the third of May, my clinic organized a farewell
celebration. As a team, they all chipped in and bought me a gorgeous,
hand-made, traditional German-print dress. The night before, I was expecting my
friends Claire and Ketnie to come over so we could have a nice, calm
dinner. Before I knew it, my house was exploding with people bringing
cooler boxes with different types of alcohol, music was playing, and everyone
was dancing! It felt like the haphazardness of all the people in my house
resonated throughout the entire village and at long last, the crowd slowly
dissipated and the three of us filtered into our beds.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvbgKm010ZKLPlxaGlrSLs8lC-9Go74p5MwkMG4Er6W1LpSNwemMj2xNO7YsAlAodGQoIKO7VHUjhhJpV1SxQL3Acv7RTUrmhsSxe1WXi_jwjuf5uDedivl15pUGZiiedBHuG6aUiLJw/s1600/DSC08201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvbgKm010ZKLPlxaGlrSLs8lC-9Go74p5MwkMG4Er6W1LpSNwemMj2xNO7YsAlAodGQoIKO7VHUjhhJpV1SxQL3Acv7RTUrmhsSxe1WXi_jwjuf5uDedivl15pUGZiiedBHuG6aUiLJw/s1600/DSC08201.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of the hot mess that infested my house that night!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The
next day, we were up and about early enough to prepare ourselves and walk over
to the clinic, where the event was supposed to start at noon. 11:50am
struck and only one or two of the individuals responsible for setting up the
party had arrived. Since we were all feeling a bit sick to our stomachs,
we decided to go my coworker Thabang’s house and take cat naps. Around 2pm we
were informed that the party was ready to start. As we walked into the clinic
compound, Lentho (my friend and coworker) told me I could not sit down until
they "sang me in". I waited as my friends got settled and then the
entire Home Based Care staff as well as some women who worked for the Ipelegeng
government program all lined up behind me and started singing, "Kitso ya
rona, ngwana ya Gobase" (Our Kitso, child from Gobojango). As I tried to
swallow my surprise, I was then approached by Mma Lenatsho (the chi</span>ld
welfare nurse) who opened up a plaid blanket and fastened it across my
shoulders.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOZ5D5zKEnJcs2W-GtEHgQwGGFx-Im8JdP2-FUBjRBBQ4Cdr_NhIY65IWMjIegZkLCf1S5PsZs13VMBRL_tTmcEdTd51OYBcQ5BC7J4tZtMi7Rft9jNrgEuBzmg2ocdHDrAERYVSbI64/s1600/IMG_0131%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOZ5D5zKEnJcs2W-GtEHgQwGGFx-Im8JdP2-FUBjRBBQ4Cdr_NhIY65IWMjIegZkLCf1S5PsZs13VMBRL_tTmcEdTd51OYBcQ5BC7J4tZtMi7Rft9jNrgEuBzmg2ocdHDrAERYVSbI64/s1600/IMG_0131%255B1%255D.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The group of ladies singing me in</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</o:p><br />
This was quite the display of respect. Later, as we were all eating, Lentho
informed me that the blanket was to symbolize their constant embrace of me as I
have embraced their culture as my own. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqoG9hxddleiXTWKVku0NW3bOCwQL3Zb7GIq3B_I7-qtBMiLYD-AOzPmo4IW2623VMkeCBnPqRqqnbKpBI5Y9R_8tDnntoTv-dfQMCZ4zM2vQAY7HN4KVhZtEGNBk6hupx7qSsBmM9CFY/s1600/MAH08213.MP4" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqoG9hxddleiXTWKVku0NW3bOCwQL3Zb7GIq3B_I7-qtBMiLYD-AOzPmo4IW2623VMkeCBnPqRqqnbKpBI5Y9R_8tDnntoTv-dfQMCZ4zM2vQAY7HN4KVhZtEGNBk6hupx7qSsBmM9CFY/s1600/MAH08213.MP4" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I come!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKA6-T13SjLQnXgRy6GWwWrT37NMc8j-D5AEF4Ys4notKfWpVmU9fNZ1ptBDPRHweF92gup7YzmJGt82gSOtw_lrywMXcKhikFMtDjUYR9uY213VYe-ftbrOTUfbJ6OslWii5itvmCek/s1600/IMG_0138%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKA6-T13SjLQnXgRy6GWwWrT37NMc8j-D5AEF4Ys4notKfWpVmU9fNZ1ptBDPRHweF92gup7YzmJGt82gSOtw_lrywMXcKhikFMtDjUYR9uY213VYe-ftbrOTUfbJ6OslWii5itvmCek/s1600/IMG_0138%5B1%5D.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The blanket that was fastened over my shoulders as a sign of respect.<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The rest of the party consisted of dancing, speeches, and a delicious array
of traditional foods including goat meat, sorghum, thopi (bojobe jwa lerotse),
and the most delectable phane worms I've ever tasted. They even unveiled the
tree vase wearing "WE <3 KiTSO" painted on its face in white.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeKbHAtfW5Z5bJQj4Ly1G187rVYwYtcOpVdzaIYDsOJfC_9OHEYkWT8us_BHQgxMpj7RfGG1PyN67yCxdu1EkGhOjCI41ZDYBdnh2DTkK7wiW0BNvhfEs96qLkH8_OBXcol24e_3cRl8/s1600/IMG_0133%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeKbHAtfW5Z5bJQj4Ly1G187rVYwYtcOpVdzaIYDsOJfC_9OHEYkWT8us_BHQgxMpj7RfGG1PyN67yCxdu1EkGhOjCI41ZDYBdnh2DTkK7wiW0BNvhfEs96qLkH8_OBXcol24e_3cRl8/s1600/IMG_0133%255B1%255D.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The painted tree planter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Later that night, a handful of other volunteers came to celebrate and we ate
some more, played some drinking games, and danced to a local dj's rhythms. The
entire party was an all-around success and it would not have been possible
without the assistance of all of my colleagues as well as my amazing boyfriend
Duncan.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNnZ1a-JTM_Jsl3gR49m8LQZgQi4uUbPIx8CpwcWFozHYNNvdObGAJN29BGUMHM-A51FDUNTQD9cjMwU61gMNmI2AXgS2LU3l2CtP373V6Am-BW3QoPO_ku76w0AP0twwD3I8Bss-hVg/s1600/DSC08302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNnZ1a-JTM_Jsl3gR49m8LQZgQi4uUbPIx8CpwcWFozHYNNvdObGAJN29BGUMHM-A51FDUNTQD9cjMwU61gMNmI2AXgS2LU3l2CtP373V6Am-BW3QoPO_ku76w0AP0twwD3I8Bss-hVg/s1600/DSC08302.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only some of my amazing colleagues. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p><br />
I opened my eyes again and was brought back to the speckled stars overhead
and the smoke billowing into infinity from the fire. This time I was not in
Gobojango, but rather at Duncan's family home in Nlapkhwane. I looked around
reminiscing about how I spent my first Christmas on my own on this very
compound, biting back the swelling lump in my throat as everyone wiped the
sweat off their brows and sang the Carols I grew up with during my childhood;
the same ones my cousins were probably singing at that very moment. During that
time, I wanted nothing more than to be with my boisterous, rambunctious family
in the nipping cold of Colorado, but I now realized how fortunate I was to
spend the holiday and this time in Botswana. In Africa. On this compound I learned
how to plow and harvest peanuts with Duncan's mother. I hauled water and took
my first official bucket bath with the guidance of his sister, and I learned
yet another language (Kalanga) by playing with his nieces and nephews in the
soil. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVG-uoJJrS6b-10PstG3FcwuFZpdIYAiuvbsrMkFBIGd_9vEXp6DbqIAVaWj0GhKL83asn9OYGXC_hQP5Ro1bm8v815CkSgmPCQGo4rT6JouaZHRDC-MgYAeO3K2_saTne7qV7NtkpC4w/s1600/IMG_0034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVG-uoJJrS6b-10PstG3FcwuFZpdIYAiuvbsrMkFBIGd_9vEXp6DbqIAVaWj0GhKL83asn9OYGXC_hQP5Ro1bm8v815CkSgmPCQGo4rT6JouaZHRDC-MgYAeO3K2_saTne7qV7NtkpC4w/s1600/IMG_0034.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Duncan's niece and nephews in Nlapkhwane</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This isn't to say that the whole time I learned these things was sunshine
and roses. Just as I struggled to learn how to adjust to an ever changing,
constantly new environment, Duncan and I had to adjust and readjust ourselves
to make sense of what we had...and what we now have. In short, being with him
has not only brought out my strengths and confidences, but it has also dredged
out my fears and self-consciousness. I feel like it is rare in life to find
someone as patient and willing to learn so much about you, and we are still
discovering the balance. Just as I'm not quick to forget the feeling of
satisfaction after bathing with a bucket of fire-warmed water, I am in no place
ready to close my eyes to the effort we have put into this relationship, or to
the amount of love and support I feel, even after all this time and with all
this distance. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPdCiL2V2BHV4t4CTe5BL3GJLxstz0NPy9XcQAMLX4IRBBOVpmZwm5v9NPxZSDikBnJjIleLBRf0GoWcS2b5sNMTIMH-iLhL8jPY0LfrCOKqZ8Iakv9L9aGbUPQ77cAD9W28dyU-NN1U/s1600/us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPdCiL2V2BHV4t4CTe5BL3GJLxstz0NPy9XcQAMLX4IRBBOVpmZwm5v9NPxZSDikBnJjIleLBRf0GoWcS2b5sNMTIMH-iLhL8jPY0LfrCOKqZ8Iakv9L9aGbUPQ77cAD9W28dyU-NN1U/s1600/us.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've come too far to say goodbye</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</o:p><br />
Now, let's fast forward my second (yes, that's right, SECOND) farewell
party. I had never seen Lorato flustered before. In the two years that I had
known this admirable woman, she seemed to always keep her cool and act as
level-headed as a a buoey on water. However, the second we left the clinic
party, she angrily shook her head and told me, "Kitso, you deserve better.
You work with the schools and the community, not just the clinic. I am going to
throw a better party, and this time, EVERYONE is invited!"<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
And so it went, the following weeks I visited some other volunteers and
attended their farewell parties. It started to hit me that I wasn't only
bidding farewell to my Batswana colleagues and family but my Peace Corps family
as well. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5o-nfM68VZAU5XSwCbJsXECg3MvyZK2nl64_dh6qrBt5afNRIt4GJGgNPsnBJViZZkMzM5hvHe33YGXMef75vdGng5N3wobvflTqPD6sEVLyFJmtcP1eB58Qorws92WKLrHvUjF7z3Xs/s1600/IMG_2824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5o-nfM68VZAU5XSwCbJsXECg3MvyZK2nl64_dh6qrBt5afNRIt4GJGgNPsnBJViZZkMzM5hvHe33YGXMef75vdGng5N3wobvflTqPD6sEVLyFJmtcP1eB58Qorws92WKLrHvUjF7z3Xs/s1600/IMG_2824.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Though we're all so different, we have so much in common<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ZzDHvxeKSf8aclmzYrRlDS67Y8gO7Pn_kNH-c2WTrlP9pJmUqEOantakljyuEVs456UY0UPKpW9IR4G9AJ52nc38VGG5_LWJeJUroC0-iLuZ0Y8kDSSTuMHhvpvCrmlHtjgNThsxFIg/s1600/DSC08164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj6_Z6Wexem5l1uakdzxX3xGSDpIFXkCjnXltvJZqi5r9Ch4R2dy6f79SCVdKKEcNpYiAUeijVNObc9jJG9KmqjSSTd_-uUCpolanb8fNFDEoWCJ_GzTvJA6sQy366cptJgd6xQkjFwfs/s1600/DSC08170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivl3vOfSHiYfJEIrVdh6ifdswissQ8yQojFlTaXnol7aQnAEMT_nZV71f-KU3kKPV46UY41XXgAncjT9bXC5gxb98W5gB7VRHvncEfE7QH0gLRJieHRON_moG_Dv8-Qt2K4_n7Dv-Hn-A/s1600/DSC08308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
These same people who I had often leaned entirely upon for support and
had been uplifted by their patience and understanding. Although I attempted to
live every single moment to its fullest, I was shocked and overcome by defeat
when I watched the time dwindling from underneath me. <o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivjjZJc3TYcOugPqx3kyzL-7Bllti665W1Giy_nhOFfL7UTpBYSyNTFJVuovcnJyg1l-IUFHNf03AKuib1x16m01dQ4bYzmlXj7GEDD7Be_pDf7GoA1fFSfGeWReSkJj2oWi_FdGLiIpM/s1600/IMG_2732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivjjZJc3TYcOugPqx3kyzL-7Bllti665W1Giy_nhOFfL7UTpBYSyNTFJVuovcnJyg1l-IUFHNf03AKuib1x16m01dQ4bYzmlXj7GEDD7Be_pDf7GoA1fFSfGeWReSkJj2oWi_FdGLiIpM/s1600/IMG_2732.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peace Corps volunteers are some of the most fun-loving, open-minded people I've ever met</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p> </o:p><br />
In those last few weeks, my dog Cleo had five puppies and I witnessed in
horror as the slimy, breathing objects slid out from inside her. Lorato's
nephew Jonjo had told me that if the dogs are not ready to be parents then
they'll often eat their young, so I practically lunged at Cleo when she started
snacking on their umbillacle chords. (Gross, I know, I'm sorry for the visual).
The newborn stages weren't as fun, but the second the puppies became curious
and started walking around on their unsure legs, I loved that my house
transformed itself into a puppy hotel. When I was sick with pharyngitis, I only
opened my door and allowed the little buggers to snooze and cuddle me on my
floor mattress. Volunteers would come from kilometers away just to hug one of
the smoochy balls of fur. And, now I had five gifts for the people who had
impacted my life the most.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ZzDHvxeKSf8aclmzYrRlDS67Y8gO7Pn_kNH-c2WTrlP9pJmUqEOantakljyuEVs456UY0UPKpW9IR4G9AJ52nc38VGG5_LWJeJUroC0-iLuZ0Y8kDSSTuMHhvpvCrmlHtjgNThsxFIg/s1600/DSC08164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ZzDHvxeKSf8aclmzYrRlDS67Y8gO7Pn_kNH-c2WTrlP9pJmUqEOantakljyuEVs456UY0UPKpW9IR4G9AJ52nc38VGG5_LWJeJUroC0-iLuZ0Y8kDSSTuMHhvpvCrmlHtjgNThsxFIg/s1600/DSC08164.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj6_Z6Wexem5l1uakdzxX3xGSDpIFXkCjnXltvJZqi5r9Ch4R2dy6f79SCVdKKEcNpYiAUeijVNObc9jJG9KmqjSSTd_-uUCpolanb8fNFDEoWCJ_GzTvJA6sQy366cptJgd6xQkjFwfs/s1600/DSC08170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj6_Z6Wexem5l1uakdzxX3xGSDpIFXkCjnXltvJZqi5r9Ch4R2dy6f79SCVdKKEcNpYiAUeijVNObc9jJG9KmqjSSTd_-uUCpolanb8fNFDEoWCJ_GzTvJA6sQy366cptJgd6xQkjFwfs/s1600/DSC08170.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivl3vOfSHiYfJEIrVdh6ifdswissQ8yQojFlTaXnol7aQnAEMT_nZV71f-KU3kKPV46UY41XXgAncjT9bXC5gxb98W5gB7VRHvncEfE7QH0gLRJieHRON_moG_Dv8-Qt2K4_n7Dv-Hn-A/s1600/DSC08308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivl3vOfSHiYfJEIrVdh6ifdswissQ8yQojFlTaXnol7aQnAEMT_nZV71f-KU3kKPV46UY41XXgAncjT9bXC5gxb98W5gB7VRHvncEfE7QH0gLRJieHRON_moG_Dv8-Qt2K4_n7Dv-Hn-A/s1600/DSC08308.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</o:p>Almost as quickly as the first party came and went, the date for the second
party snuck up on us. My closest friends Stacey and Claire came all the way
from their villages to share the weekend with me. It was to be my last weekend
in Gobojango, so an overall sentiment of nostalgia and excitement swept the
compound. The morning of the party, I awoke with a start to hear a noise that i
had grown accustomed to over the past couple years: the screaming of a goat
being sacrificed for festivial purposes...only this time, the baying was right
outside my window. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I begrudgingly crawled out of bed and opened the back door of the house
where I found three friends of mine tying a bleeding goat to the tree. "O
tsogile jang, Kitso!?" (how are you this morning?). I lept for my camera
and began snapping the gruesome scene. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcpTqzR_K8B9XeSPwnZvaMco6JaiV2wrQK4U5xj8tpUO476whh5gYGmoVIEWfinUexzbczp-C1JO482yQifOYXwO6h55oq40_SMkDKe_oc_OMzFmJAsg_qvHJWGEiJ_XDr7fDta3LqEk/s1600/DSC08472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcpTqzR_K8B9XeSPwnZvaMco6JaiV2wrQK4U5xj8tpUO476whh5gYGmoVIEWfinUexzbczp-C1JO482yQifOYXwO6h55oq40_SMkDKe_oc_OMzFmJAsg_qvHJWGEiJ_XDr7fDta3LqEk/s1600/DSC08472.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
On the other side of my house I heard
laughter, as I turned the corner I was instantly surrounded by women clad in
blankets, either stoking the fire, drinking tea, or cutting some sort of
vegetable in preparation for the party. In the course of one night, my compound
grew a heartbeat and life pulsed through the veins of its entirety; it stayed
this way for the whole weekend. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUtY1gWe9eIB1zj65FQB8U4R3I6u9M3eHuqf_PNHMlJ3ImiBfPkK9h2r2NfL9Dz-lrlDUjf5Uv4zMUMDQnGB2vQzP5Pj_tKqguY_T861sEzF8mskVi27InVFV2tid7t_l-WBHGdTP_6W4/s1600/DSC08464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUtY1gWe9eIB1zj65FQB8U4R3I6u9M3eHuqf_PNHMlJ3ImiBfPkK9h2r2NfL9Dz-lrlDUjf5Uv4zMUMDQnGB2vQzP5Pj_tKqguY_T861sEzF8mskVi27InVFV2tid7t_l-WBHGdTP_6W4/s1600/DSC08464.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-OmnUgrnAybcjirNcDyaRzh6PM-E22xVM3e6zrVvPunaBp9rx_gtGHsfVN0VSy0MnCdAMrnnX2Q1AOeCBVEM3-2eHvO3iecNjOxyIyGhLpDlhBIpETX5r9zNvOAu96C3FTAx5aFeZWI/s1600/DSC08779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-OmnUgrnAybcjirNcDyaRzh6PM-E22xVM3e6zrVvPunaBp9rx_gtGHsfVN0VSy0MnCdAMrnnX2Q1AOeCBVEM3-2eHvO3iecNjOxyIyGhLpDlhBIpETX5r9zNvOAu96C3FTAx5aFeZWI/s1600/DSC08779.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The party was beautiful. The amount of people that attended was plentiful,
and the smiles that surrounded us were enough to make even the firmest face
melt. People from every aspect of my work in Botswana attended; there was a
speech by Lentho from the clinic, Claire gave a tearful account of our
friendship, Sheriff a teacher from the primary school spoke, police officers
and teachers from my shopping village of Bobonong stood in recognition, even
the owners of the compound where I lived gave a heartfelt speech. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnw02ZPqeferIskfBU4hdhzJcD3e3x7tYp6Lio2Sv1BR57GTNLNApbNpVA7tRMW2O4VrOudTYoHxBYnwM9WfAQ7DL-VTYQ6_cNLyzR5wQjEg98aTZFHb3whzTS1xLwMaQZxTsKL7lY8A/s1600/IMG_2879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnw02ZPqeferIskfBU4hdhzJcD3e3x7tYp6Lio2Sv1BR57GTNLNApbNpVA7tRMW2O4VrOudTYoHxBYnwM9WfAQ7DL-VTYQ6_cNLyzR5wQjEg98aTZFHb3whzTS1xLwMaQZxTsKL7lY8A/s1600/IMG_2879.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying not to cry during my speech</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After I was
awarded with beautiful clothes and gifts of money, it was then my turn to
speak. "How can I be excited to go home when I have to say goodbye to my
home in Botswana?" No words could encompass my solemnity at the thought of
leaving, and my gratitude for the grand show of appreciation they had put
on. <o:p></o:p><br />
They even hired a man from Semolale (the nearby village) to take us on a
horse-drawn donkey-cart parade around Gobas.<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgruAPnFee9onG59mM82oWI3laE_sFSEgrAOOboRt8WYrKa4JV4wduHPpcyXL86rKXk3tnX1jiSjtjI44gzF252uiIFOxFRFBQi6kGaN6KxOBqocb31nUC45mrJZonB1Dj0OF2YxspVPe4/s1600/IMG_2826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgruAPnFee9onG59mM82oWI3laE_sFSEgrAOOboRt8WYrKa4JV4wduHPpcyXL86rKXk3tnX1jiSjtjI44gzF252uiIFOxFRFBQi6kGaN6KxOBqocb31nUC45mrJZonB1Dj0OF2YxspVPe4/s1600/IMG_2826.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying the ride</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p> </o:p>When speeches had finished and the crowd started getting restless, Lorato
and all the kids began serving the meals. I was honored to find that each
server and usher was wearing a jersey that had been donated to the Gobas Big
Sisters Football Club the winter prior. My absolute favorite part of the party
was, as the sun set (and well into the night) we danced. Not just the adults,
and not just the children, but everyone. Together. We laughed and danced in the
cold moonlight and one by one people slowly filtered into their own homes as
the night stretched deep into midnight. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vccxoMDsfP0BAinGGFtkMEQsDF-pGZlR9g8T9XIFVKRVDazpKwwoPZW3nslhM7Qc8OKkDw9MF4asWu5CEsvbI1GaoPHxGM2HL4tdlg7QoLUJPYDwFGW03Q5_oSkBRMhyr7TzVQ2dNdo/s1600/MAH08507.MP4" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vccxoMDsfP0BAinGGFtkMEQsDF-pGZlR9g8T9XIFVKRVDazpKwwoPZW3nslhM7Qc8OKkDw9MF4asWu5CEsvbI1GaoPHxGM2HL4tdlg7QoLUJPYDwFGW03Q5_oSkBRMhyr7TzVQ2dNdo/s1600/MAH08507.MP4" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We danced. And it was glorious.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgas1zkzEGd5xkDWxVtx6cwG88f9U9gTIZNKLgcM4MamA3fzI8wLhawcTG7iTplX0gf7i-CVx_osVx3DWEk5CDF0G13_htwRnm0y8W4xDDFNe__PAM3C1uoapHR6TzWdaYmofZZtzrpJgY/s1600/DSC08641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgas1zkzEGd5xkDWxVtx6cwG88f9U9gTIZNKLgcM4MamA3fzI8wLhawcTG7iTplX0gf7i-CVx_osVx3DWEk5CDF0G13_htwRnm0y8W4xDDFNe__PAM3C1uoapHR6TzWdaYmofZZtzrpJgY/s1600/DSC08641.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even Lorato got down and boogeyed!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Stacey and I humored a group of
neighbors by drinking the traditional beer straight out of the bucket, and made
another group double over with fits of giggles after showing them (and eating)
the phane worms that I harvested myself.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2uI5_oy1KzG0eBajcOvPblDVZZ4gkXV-zbgdyBnw8xCSl5jg7Gm5fFz73MRmXvLBVRZ4CDHvxES9hgqKcpL23eijNOYnAZHedEdjR4gKWACoI4TcPG-1g_WjuyCBUW4OdgnQjd1XiM4/s1600/DSC08735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2uI5_oy1KzG0eBajcOvPblDVZZ4gkXV-zbgdyBnw8xCSl5jg7Gm5fFz73MRmXvLBVRZ4CDHvxES9hgqKcpL23eijNOYnAZHedEdjR4gKWACoI4TcPG-1g_WjuyCBUW4OdgnQjd1XiM4/s1600/DSC08735.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
It was a night that has permanently imprinted itself in my heart.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
The following morning, the heartbeat pulsated again outside my window as the
family and neighbors came from all over for tea and to help clean up. I walked
into the sunlight and the smell of the fire boiling the bush tea filled my nose
and I escorted Claire, Stacey, and Lissa to say their goodbyes. I stifled the
swelling tears behind my eyes and watched them embark a minibus to Bobonong. It
wasn't until I saw the bus get smaller in the distance that I really lost it. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr3bi5qni-joTUy681gZ1Wg3GcdnAuVu-zxipUgoAFHzSyNW38Geet7sRD7Gp6bNueQiWHRnuC5WnguP7aM4Gs61KuFwXxBRbJKbIyFpnjtfXtxSqmlYMuWLYa0Vg0tN9eRjXNQsVsaJc/s1600/IMG_2728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr3bi5qni-joTUy681gZ1Wg3GcdnAuVu-zxipUgoAFHzSyNW38Geet7sRD7Gp6bNueQiWHRnuC5WnguP7aM4Gs61KuFwXxBRbJKbIyFpnjtfXtxSqmlYMuWLYa0Vg0tN9eRjXNQsVsaJc/s1600/IMG_2728.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stacey, one of the most open-minded, joyful persons I've ever met</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I
arrived to the hustle of my home again, heaving with sobs and wanting nothing
more than to crawl into bed and sleep the day away. Samantha, Jonjo, and all
the kids weren't going to let that happen. They spent the day lounging around
my house, watching movies, asking me questions...as if it were any other day.
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImHpAP4U4BQlImTMAn8TT-waB1SFMUclc-dmVCPUS30ZgnOuPv9CxdlWycGCsQPcMjUd48iCR3MorKcB54KgoWah2ZJLdCWvCDgJFtHYMZJRz8E4CqiVO7K7ZEe723kqyzR3IB_Yezqo/s1600/DSC08830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImHpAP4U4BQlImTMAn8TT-waB1SFMUclc-dmVCPUS30ZgnOuPv9CxdlWycGCsQPcMjUd48iCR3MorKcB54KgoWah2ZJLdCWvCDgJFtHYMZJRz8E4CqiVO7K7ZEe723kqyzR3IB_Yezqo/s1600/DSC08830.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
After the party that they threw me the night prior, I didn't have the heart to
ask them to leave...and thank goodness for that. My last full day in Gobojango
was spent with the people I love the most, and I couldn't have imagined a better
way to spend it.<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcW_m0e5x3h7YeMRCi0pD5TiNN5vPEXVjyE3XBK84LZGLjtYRHnO_hD2_qqP9YgFtmXH31Lhr8Q-ho00Gc90uRTaPHKjqy_RGpkpGtNnG4YHG4FIIRYTiRrY-zshnAUOTazzfxuU24cZI/s1600/DSC08859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcW_m0e5x3h7YeMRCi0pD5TiNN5vPEXVjyE3XBK84LZGLjtYRHnO_hD2_qqP9YgFtmXH31Lhr8Q-ho00Gc90uRTaPHKjqy_RGpkpGtNnG4YHG4FIIRYTiRrY-zshnAUOTazzfxuU24cZI/s1600/DSC08859.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvO_qWAkXoUrnf_xDHaZunabeQUlqUl6LKiHJG0dtX5wBS70WFZz8pYT3fITFkhdl62YYkTYcS8Qr2eDXetbS6v0xdetJIZvQvYxL-3_kv84U8tzIDLvzzpzCQkOtsEbBLPdsM171Pr4U/s1600/DSC08847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvO_qWAkXoUrnf_xDHaZunabeQUlqUl6LKiHJG0dtX5wBS70WFZz8pYT3fITFkhdl62YYkTYcS8Qr2eDXetbS6v0xdetJIZvQvYxL-3_kv84U8tzIDLvzzpzCQkOtsEbBLPdsM171Pr4U/s1600/DSC08847.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our final "fashion show"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kesa (Loratos niece) walked me around the village so I could say my final
goodbyes to shop owners and friends as the day yawned to a close. We couldn't
look at each other once we realized that this was going to be my last official
night in Gobojango. I hadn't even packed my clothes. My procrastination now
meant that I was to get no sleep that night. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
I closed my eyes again. The heartbeat that once pulsated outside my bedroom
window now lay as flat as an unmoving heart monitor. I looked around my empty
house, the one that only hours ago was filled with curiosity and laughter. It
now looked like a skeleton picked over by vultures. There was no longer any
sign of Kitso in the house, just nameless furniture and characterless, eggshell
walls. The day that I had dreaded was finally here and I didn't think I could
manage to even stand, let alone to bring myself to say goodbye to Lorato and
the kids. I had said many goodbyes before, but there was a sense of
permanence to this one that it pierced my very soul. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
The day passed as if in a mirage. Opaque smiles and splashing tears filled
my eyesight and I loaded my two bags onto the ambulance.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
"So Kitso," the driver asked me after we had taken off, "are
you going to miss living in this tiny village?" <o:p></o:p><br />
"Absolutely. I'm going to miss Africa. And the brief but constant
reminders that I'm living here." I replied, looking out the window and
biting my lip to keep from bursting into tears again.<o:p></o:p><br />
"What do you mean?" <o:p></o:p><br />
"I can't explain it," I paused, "Africa moments". <o:p></o:p><br />
At the sight of me getting upset again the driver uncomfortably turned on
the radio and shrugged me off, still not understanding what I meant by 'Africa
moments'.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
Literally moments later...(and I kid you not)...a black monkey with a white
face jumped from an overhanging tree onto the hood of the ambulance, stared at
us with wide eyes as if we had startled his afternoon, and sprung off
disparingly into the bush again.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
I managed a hysterical laugh through my sobs and exclaimed, "This! Like
this! Africa moments!"<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrF8q_1hBULCkNp_-3jFExolbtydXh32gHrMtnVD1Nfcu1iZb570TWCZoD9qg8HIc6vJ_ZsT1kKMSRruZJRRHIiQbT5Ab98IvpxnN9E60J8A4ddJlo8MJXqsfWNICoF423eI5wAxQpSvs/s1600/IMG_2493.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrF8q_1hBULCkNp_-3jFExolbtydXh32gHrMtnVD1Nfcu1iZb570TWCZoD9qg8HIc6vJ_ZsT1kKMSRruZJRRHIiQbT5Ab98IvpxnN9E60J8A4ddJlo8MJXqsfWNICoF423eI5wAxQpSvs/s1600/IMG_2493.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The perpetrator of my last African moment!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now that I've been gone for over 7 weeks, my whole time in Botswana feels
like a very vivid dream. During that time I learned more about myself and the
world than I have in my whole 25 years on this earth. I have met people who
would offer me their shoes even if they had no clothes on their back, and I
have fallen love with the diversity and lessons this life offers if one is
willing to open their mind and be patient to learn them. I know there were days
where I literally felt so lonesome I wanted nothing more than to be back in the
United States, with all of her amenities and privileges...but those days in
particular, where I struggled to learn to bake my own bread and roll my own
pasta noodles, were what made this journey so unique. So significant. <o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirN-AAGGp4jMaE5r8cyYp8WglgFDMagOO8urN7ZavwAvzRuo_1UeiUvG-upGqboCRNky5BHGjFywHzwhBv0kLmbkzctEj5CGcg4gL6nbG_CG2k4pK2eZT4j6bBqE72tIEJ6fjM4hbRmfg/s1600/DSC08447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirN-AAGGp4jMaE5r8cyYp8WglgFDMagOO8urN7ZavwAvzRuo_1UeiUvG-upGqboCRNky5BHGjFywHzwhBv0kLmbkzctEj5CGcg4gL6nbG_CG2k4pK2eZT4j6bBqE72tIEJ6fjM4hbRmfg/s1600/DSC08447.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lorato helping me clear my yard for the farewell party</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p> </o:p><br />
Although I still feel the pang of permanence over those goodbyes I'm
clutching onto the small shreds of hope that I will return. I still maintain
contact with Lorato who tells me that many children, including Samantha (my
adoptive "daughter") continue to visit my house with hopes that one
day I'll answer their knocks. <o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn_21Ci1JBOFJ31nvIBbEoHOZHY8VkcSJLmwjARJJKkn5kwiknHd57D9VXuPyFhY06HI2dDlkURr41TQrZhqVzC0xHHcD4RuveEbDoNZGVErvn37QRNj8uT2lZ0gbyVVd9KO0KPlj56SM/s1600/IMG_2907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn_21Ci1JBOFJ31nvIBbEoHOZHY8VkcSJLmwjARJJKkn5kwiknHd57D9VXuPyFhY06HI2dDlkURr41TQrZhqVzC0xHHcD4RuveEbDoNZGVErvn37QRNj8uT2lZ0gbyVVd9KO0KPlj56SM/s1600/IMG_2907.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha and Kamogelo at my farewell party</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<b>Home</b>. This is the notion that I've been struggling with ever since
that very first farewell party. Where is my home? Was I leaving or coming home?
What does this simple word, that encompasses so much, even mean? <o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QHg9xFUR9IJ_OTbRPsjUd6MbKfuquolu0bVUIiKuyNvBb8CucQV69IMZbvQb1pv9JZL9JbjdqBxZJx8-xa7kPvL033cIZ0ak95SMT43JzsA6rsR-7n5fXwQhXE6vPnj5CjYmpu2TgHI/s1600/IMG_2805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QHg9xFUR9IJ_OTbRPsjUd6MbKfuquolu0bVUIiKuyNvBb8CucQV69IMZbvQb1pv9JZL9JbjdqBxZJx8-xa7kPvL033cIZ0ak95SMT43JzsA6rsR-7n5fXwQhXE6vPnj5CjYmpu2TgHI/s1600/IMG_2805.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p> </o:p><b>Home</b> is not where my heart is, because I feel as if I leave bits of
my heart scattered around the world, with every human who opens their soul to
me and who I trust enough to do the same <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<b>Home</b> is not where I rest my feet because I'm in a constant state of
motion.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<b>Home</b> I've concluded is everywhere that I am able to feel
welcomed and at peace. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
Forever will I find solace in front if Loratos house, by the fire in Gobas.
Or listening to the chatter and banter outside my bedroom window. Chasing
after donkeys after ploughing corn in Nlapkhwane or simply listening to the
cicadas in the Botswana bush. <o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0ZbIQhptJEbgk8AStPHLW5QvTtH6AMnu1RX69Zlouc6cf9Y6Emp_Nz4wpeTRWstBNcmsbDNJqsRFutf3m7LsacdCxPS5rA7cPCrLsiHVkoqlZwymffIPGNLUzMHxdPjsTpNlzEdE2no/s1600/DSC08426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0ZbIQhptJEbgk8AStPHLW5QvTtH6AMnu1RX69Zlouc6cf9Y6Emp_Nz4wpeTRWstBNcmsbDNJqsRFutf3m7LsacdCxPS5rA7cPCrLsiHVkoqlZwymffIPGNLUzMHxdPjsTpNlzEdE2no/s1600/DSC08426.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My home away from home: the Mmapetla household</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p> </o:p> <b>Home</b> is my Africa moments.<o:p></o:p><o:p> </o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHoHwnbeNE18X7W6BpTaeY6HN_hNSBjXQlvWxN4L4sDbWuNAM7mccOMTBjaWmvN0Fw7Xg-VZZO5bjJ53DR1fVOfNgS-HOgCth7WiH4O7cLLuAmlpnNtEjPH89P6BmiHNz-E413LxnsTM/s1600/DSC07062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHoHwnbeNE18X7W6BpTaeY6HN_hNSBjXQlvWxN4L4sDbWuNAM7mccOMTBjaWmvN0Fw7Xg-VZZO5bjJ53DR1fVOfNgS-HOgCth7WiH4O7cLLuAmlpnNtEjPH89P6BmiHNz-E413LxnsTM/s1600/DSC07062.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Until next time. <o:p></o:p>Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-8822773730228292342014-07-27T14:07:00.002-07:002014-07-27T14:07:59.614-07:00I milked a cow!
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Today marks my official second weekend in La Palma,
Chalatenango, El Salvador.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only 10 days
in and I’ve already experienced a tumultuous series of highs and lows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">To begin with, let me tell you a bit about our
swearing in ceremony as Peace Corps Response volunteers. Now, with regular
Peace Corps, there is an extensive three-month training in which volunteers are
introduced to rigorous shocks of culture, language, job assignment, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With Response, everything passes with barely
enough time to breathe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was whisked
away on an airplane, trained for two (that’s right just two) days in San
Salvador, and then taken straight to La Palma to begin my assignment with no
phone, no internet, and a plethora of questions. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsIy-_dGpto1Bs5gZtm-6vlFRpwWKlW3B8XWMNhHNFMD-Sbnw8RFIrkF4l4aQSyyo_rqd8qLYMM0CMZR8xgrzfXCDgubcPVIhMDisyxUenBECC2sB5sBKfDnGhkXM9ULvziZ5rLGL2n8/s1600/DSCN1183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsIy-_dGpto1Bs5gZtm-6vlFRpwWKlW3B8XWMNhHNFMD-Sbnw8RFIrkF4l4aQSyyo_rqd8qLYMM0CMZR8xgrzfXCDgubcPVIhMDisyxUenBECC2sB5sBKfDnGhkXM9ULvziZ5rLGL2n8/s1600/DSCN1183.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is the group (missing one) of Response volunteers (and the El Salvador Country Director Jaime) signing our commitment to service.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJEYAOZkgaJauHXA-DGtM_4d1HgODyuowwDiIQJaiLRiobjAhEE1mA7f38xB_wcvjhlJUKlF0uJ5F7xIhdSOvI19pEMknqeGk_wb49p3XERs5ZitSFy54BnAZNxxqJbL1XgP7TvkFuVU/s1600/DSCN1188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJEYAOZkgaJauHXA-DGtM_4d1HgODyuowwDiIQJaiLRiobjAhEE1mA7f38xB_wcvjhlJUKlF0uJ5F7xIhdSOvI19pEMknqeGk_wb49p3XERs5ZitSFy54BnAZNxxqJbL1XgP7TvkFuVU/s1600/DSCN1188.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking an oath to serve to our country</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span> </div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, when I say taken <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">straight</i> to La Palma, I mean it figuratively speaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>La Palma is in the mountainous region of
Northern El Salvador, about 13kms from El Pital (the highest point of elevation
in the country).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the drive from </span><span lang="ES-SV" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: ES-SV;">Metapan</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">, Santa Ana to La
Palma, Chalatenango was anything BUT straight. We arrived and butterflies
swarmed in my stomach like molten lava; I was not only going to bid farewell to
my newly acquainted Peace Corps Response cohorts, but I was going to be left all
alone in a family’s house to fend for myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Luckily for me, my new family had three children that helped the
adjustment process run a bit more smoothly. Since that day, the family has taken
me under their wing and cared for me as if I was their own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">My first weekend, I spent my entire Sunday at the
hotel in nearby San Ignacio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Quick side
note: although my project assignment is to work in La Palma, the family that I live
with actually lives in “la Laguna” which is directly on the border between La
Palma and San Ignacio.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoyed the
free wifi, the home-made nachos and the views of the pool outside (as per my
last post).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was working in the
restaurant, a mother peacock and her two chicks came waltzing in the room! I
was the only one who was beside myself with excitement while everyone continued
to either eat or shoo the majestic creatures out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sP66eY70KdyMBDpQCJJDB743rOeRHOGrF-mZ0r44ENK_OEE6md4n3uep3TS5iETirvzqxQhBTKajTWypqw_LAN2y7qRnlOgD6oUXb4j_RHCyodAI1-UjyNKDBRpqv4BYhfDemvyxWzY/s1600/DSCN1205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sP66eY70KdyMBDpQCJJDB743rOeRHOGrF-mZ0r44ENK_OEE6md4n3uep3TS5iETirvzqxQhBTKajTWypqw_LAN2y7qRnlOgD6oUXb4j_RHCyodAI1-UjyNKDBRpqv4BYhfDemvyxWzY/s1600/DSCN1205.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mama peacock and one of her chickadees</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaA3t03BrUN-krTJoGBkP5tuTjrO06vzu_1sB1GPEsyy1T3fACYtrisre4QGYjv0FSxWQX-9wSQGoQdU9fyEB1C-FlaXPVScmWBJYOuHlurtYVM-e9x65IUrc-oH5SLFuI1MK5IIX5BEM/s1600/DSCN1206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaA3t03BrUN-krTJoGBkP5tuTjrO06vzu_1sB1GPEsyy1T3fACYtrisre4QGYjv0FSxWQX-9wSQGoQdU9fyEB1C-FlaXPVScmWBJYOuHlurtYVM-e9x65IUrc-oH5SLFuI1MK5IIX5BEM/s1600/DSCN1206.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hammocks around the compound of Hotel Entrepinos</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The following Monday marked the beginning of my official
job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYR-wnfQMrvUNydKVEKpauSgNPrXb-JPp71LYQDbpyyIwehYFbloogud3jPJz-lGuuPoXg4KHEYcvWLbAsxHQiiabS1EoHfeCuVokuOSrmacEx9SM2h0O0uDdHrrshkL9nGlCIMiJRrcQ/s1600/DSCN1220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYR-wnfQMrvUNydKVEKpauSgNPrXb-JPp71LYQDbpyyIwehYFbloogud3jPJz-lGuuPoXg4KHEYcvWLbAsxHQiiabS1EoHfeCuVokuOSrmacEx9SM2h0O0uDdHrrshkL9nGlCIMiJRrcQ/s1600/DSCN1220.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The restaurant of Hotel La Palma where we ate lunch after our meetings with community leaders</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I left early Monday morning to the school with my
host parents (who are both teachers), after greeting all of the students and
teachers in their classrooms I departed the meet John (the other Peace Corps
Response Volunteer [PCRV] ) and together we visited the community leader (El
Alcalde) as well as the head police officer. Everyone seemed so happy to have
us, and even in such a formal setting, began joking around with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The following two days we had meetings with
community leaders throughout Chalatenango and I got to see a bit more of the
beautiful city that I’m living in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTtTE_3Io9quiFa-OvPNJDhnrbNfBL5SdrRalIhyrcKSNKhFRy8MH6djfqGsD-Dol4E6EmVSOrLxedTcrSXQXn527R-oqszpCLYguFwScSK-xbVzJaBQpCTECdYX3V5b1yl6QkSHtRtLc/s1600/DSCN1222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTtTE_3Io9quiFa-OvPNJDhnrbNfBL5SdrRalIhyrcKSNKhFRy8MH6djfqGsD-Dol4E6EmVSOrLxedTcrSXQXn527R-oqszpCLYguFwScSK-xbVzJaBQpCTECdYX3V5b1yl6QkSHtRtLc/s1600/DSCN1222.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This type of art surrounds the entire city of La Palma</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">On Thursday morning, as I nestled comfortably in my
sheets and dreamt about sweet things, I was startled by a loud, explosive
banging sound from far away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart
began racing as I looked at the clock and realized it was only 4:30 in the
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun hadn’t even woken up
yet…what on earth could be causing such a ruckus!? My mind started racing with
all of the things that could possibly be so loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A car backfiring? A car crash? A gunshot? A firework?
But then three more bangs followed to lead me to the conclusion of the latter
two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laid still, clutching the
blankets between my fingers (as if that would have saved me from whatever it
was) and slowly eased back into a tormented sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I woke the next morning, my family had
informed me that the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ferias Patronales </i>(festivals)
had begun in San Salvador and not only do they set fireworks off from
4:30am-10:00pm every day, but that it goes on for TWO weeks. 0_o….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFjMIHvcWMLJ4SRyaoc6nWtGLVyGHbBFAsARySAiyPPCpVBhPShkC9-HbqBbEhyCVGyA0-9cdziaDWNdAU9Das12DcrLHLP-aM8iIkx135ZgzXFU2olaMbU5QAGFURB1vlBxFNW49YpY/s1600/DSCN1244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFjMIHvcWMLJ4SRyaoc6nWtGLVyGHbBFAsARySAiyPPCpVBhPShkC9-HbqBbEhyCVGyA0-9cdziaDWNdAU9Das12DcrLHLP-aM8iIkx135ZgzXFU2olaMbU5QAGFURB1vlBxFNW49YpY/s1600/DSCN1244.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lead singer of the fusion band</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">After swallowing that tough dose of reality, I decided
to take part and see a little bit of what the festivals were about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first night we went to a huge beauty
competition where people gathered from all around San Ignacio to spectate at
the lavish evening gowns and batting eyelashes behind them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another night we went to listen to a fusion
band that played everything from Santana to bachata.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was overcome by the sights, sounds, smells,
and smiles that were surrounding me. My host brother, Juan Diego, rode the Ferris
wheel while my father and sister bought sweets for everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hWyoOxzkXC6rJf9XOt4SW2Y_HAUxon50Upqmd-hAG3YB_jHkAQyIXzy1GBzy2hZm_bgURw7DIXvOD_70wLZ-U57LRXpT8wWM-7xABx5cP4u0YexzRO4fvNGgZXmS8dlhuSaHIrEpwxA/s1600/DSCN1250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hWyoOxzkXC6rJf9XOt4SW2Y_HAUxon50Upqmd-hAG3YB_jHkAQyIXzy1GBzy2hZm_bgURw7DIXvOD_70wLZ-U57LRXpT8wWM-7xABx5cP4u0YexzRO4fvNGgZXmS8dlhuSaHIrEpwxA/s1600/DSCN1250.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juan Diego is at the tippy top of the ferris wheel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOhgwQkuDQqQhjk3_WfOd4e-WPXUabsleSZwQmxiC2nhyDFeUdeOuEMwZsnkG3uvgjxW8gshZHJmEDM8i1jBmBsTG4sef4U1TZW3CD6KNjNNITLGFgHq8ZGzbax4cd3a7g-GrsyHOtNs/s1600/DSCN1258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOhgwQkuDQqQhjk3_WfOd4e-WPXUabsleSZwQmxiC2nhyDFeUdeOuEMwZsnkG3uvgjxW8gshZHJmEDM8i1jBmBsTG4sef4U1TZW3CD6KNjNNITLGFgHq8ZGzbax4cd3a7g-GrsyHOtNs/s1600/DSCN1258.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cornucopia of sweets that were available to us that night</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">On Friday, I was asked to act as a judge for a
celebration at the elementary/primary school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was “Student’s Day” (</span><span lang="ES-SV" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: ES-SV;">Día</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
del </span><span lang="ES-SV" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: ES-SV;">Aluno</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">)
and there were to be a series of presentations that took place in honor of the pupils.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was delighted to see groups of children of
all ages partake in various types of dances. I judged both the morning classes
and the afternoon classes and was overcome with elation that this is where I am
right now in life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMwa3rpCc7gnn7p0TR2F4qKzNcIhG1PPFKrE4Oknf4Co8Vlb1xrqbpxk5O3NS-GvvcM8IzVwyAd4xnU_hrGcWvLaLNhMXsKOU8pC9x1PF1sfSEfOlYWxyPBBwGqjOX9-Hbi6tqYJCSOY/s1600/DSCN1269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMwa3rpCc7gnn7p0TR2F4qKzNcIhG1PPFKrE4Oknf4Co8Vlb1xrqbpxk5O3NS-GvvcM8IzVwyAd4xnU_hrGcWvLaLNhMXsKOU8pC9x1PF1sfSEfOlYWxyPBBwGqjOX9-Hbi6tqYJCSOY/s1600/DSCN1269.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kindergardeners preparing for their "Jailhouse Rock" performance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ABut64fXLYTGk98FS84s82xailNF0RR1InSBHyCNrcBIbJ-YWviAI0bF43EOzMQRCPCMg9QZGJA9esYcpgla4dmj6VFadVpYy23pSZrTs5yXet_EQl_9CRGl3uHL_gh8VGnH9x_AW7c/s1600/DSCN1278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ABut64fXLYTGk98FS84s82xailNF0RR1InSBHyCNrcBIbJ-YWviAI0bF43EOzMQRCPCMg9QZGJA9esYcpgla4dmj6VFadVpYy23pSZrTs5yXet_EQl_9CRGl3uHL_gh8VGnH9x_AW7c/s1600/DSCN1278.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the 4th grade girls were having entirely too much fun!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGriHIEa0HHZJ9ZbI-MrpFpJbRC1Nn0YH_0B7gcUMKaY1LqeNq6deNTAZ9FKDhG2X2rq65G83lQkYDYqSPEPf3neyj3Z7jxf-Fr2jftzSKlD6tuFYK14Ov3C_xxKuFvGYiIhCHOcKVX9U/s1600/DSCN1286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGriHIEa0HHZJ9ZbI-MrpFpJbRC1Nn0YH_0B7gcUMKaY1LqeNq6deNTAZ9FKDhG2X2rq65G83lQkYDYqSPEPf3neyj3Z7jxf-Fr2jftzSKlD6tuFYK14Ov3C_xxKuFvGYiIhCHOcKVX9U/s1600/DSCN1286.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Couple's dancing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Usually when people hear that I’m here for music
they will begin to demonstrate for me their musical talents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take Don Edgar, for example. Although he is a
deputy headmaster at the primary school, he is completely devoted to singing
and playing the guitar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hopes are to
make him the director of the choir further down the line when it is
established. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihddkOjkZA-NiY7ndVL43CWs-uJChQLlHfMLv6Ww9Wkd_byCNsBV0YuYF0zaQaPtTEGmkKDlr9pbwgAvEd8MmSHwIJBy5x1Ky9kARj50d5VAKiwsKaS3Kisg3Tn9Lqlc4vXz3gQmhZaJM/s1600/DSCN1262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihddkOjkZA-NiY7ndVL43CWs-uJChQLlHfMLv6Ww9Wkd_byCNsBV0YuYF0zaQaPtTEGmkKDlr9pbwgAvEd8MmSHwIJBy5x1Ky9kARj50d5VAKiwsKaS3Kisg3Tn9Lqlc4vXz3gQmhZaJM/s1600/DSCN1262.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don Edgar serenading me before classes start</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Let me tell you a little bit about my house
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I said before, I’m living with a
host family that consists of a mother, father, two sisters (ages 17 and 14),
and one brother (who just turned 9). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, for someone who has been living on her
own for the past two years, the idea of living in another family’s home had
gotten me a bit nervous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And although we
have all adjusted pretty well, there have been a few hiccups here and
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you know me well, you know
that I love to cook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It brings me peace
to be able to see the ingredients, plan a meal, cook, and enjoy my masterpiece.
The difficult part for me now is that the family with which I live doesn’t really
do meals together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjnp0cop6K3SlKOTmDw-NMq29aMSYp58vNd7v0nzvvIWfoCEB_MGGoDjOCavFI6AM12lpKZqZaTt5TlYMmxsjwec2wyIeyYc7unm-X0tHC01ikXx8041dO2r9S98IuQyIo0Xy7JA9OFU/s1600/DSCN1211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjnp0cop6K3SlKOTmDw-NMq29aMSYp58vNd7v0nzvvIWfoCEB_MGGoDjOCavFI6AM12lpKZqZaTt5TlYMmxsjwec2wyIeyYc7unm-X0tHC01ikXx8041dO2r9S98IuQyIo0Xy7JA9OFU/s1600/DSCN1211.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the house in which I live in. The mountain you see in the distance of my back yard is El Pital, the most elevated point of El Salvador</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibc1Iwzjg3VWVKvxxtpYdOdloUP2MjK9y5jlaK_my35IpdmXwjnhNe7AVhIiSB_0I2OzsPFe3QGTEDFXy1oPtiD2O41fPK955fawYeKCURL_s7JXnEPBjHm-wEMcFZUeOF1UMHpzCeuAI/s1600/DSCN1213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibc1Iwzjg3VWVKvxxtpYdOdloUP2MjK9y5jlaK_my35IpdmXwjnhNe7AVhIiSB_0I2OzsPFe3QGTEDFXy1oPtiD2O41fPK955fawYeKCURL_s7JXnEPBjHm-wEMcFZUeOF1UMHpzCeuAI/s1600/DSCN1213.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our backyard with a cascading El Pital </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I have cooked a few dishes in which everyone has sat
around the table and given me their honest feedback.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pizza, spaghetti with vegetable marinara, and
battered tilapia are the only few dishes that I’ve prepared so far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Generally the overall consensus is that the food,
although different, is well-liked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
biggest concern now (which, I would NEVER find myself saying in Botswana) is that
this culture has a very bread-and-cheese centered cuisine. Breakfast is usually
French bread with requesón, lunch and dinner always served with tortillas and
queso cojido, and snack is more tortillas or bread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My body craves vegetables. And fruit. We’ll
see if I can’t get my hands on them soon at the markets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">So today was actually kind of a fun day </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
I woke up early, heard everyone rustling and bustling outside then heard the
neighbor’s cows moo-ing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got up, threw
on a change of clothes and treaded out to ask Juan Diego (my host brother) to
teach me to milk a cow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJZju6gklQj8QStjA-qSjuRz9weo-I7vdVy6mDIHfBmEgk23RiRU4CjJjvxH-m08kEyDaS54tE54b8IscNbVAtJoR6Joy1jAcukmEVK2UELv-Zpvk8l2TWY_K00ioCdjqvQbwYueiI7w/s1600/DSCN1302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJZju6gklQj8QStjA-qSjuRz9weo-I7vdVy6mDIHfBmEgk23RiRU4CjJjvxH-m08kEyDaS54tE54b8IscNbVAtJoR6Joy1jAcukmEVK2UELv-Zpvk8l2TWY_K00ioCdjqvQbwYueiI7w/s1600/DSCN1302.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You wanna do WHAT?!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">So that’s precisely what we did. It felt nice to be
able to milk a cow, bring the milk home, and drink it with my morning tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4djHOjWxlIbfLTsTgm93P7yPAoew_7oq13Wsqcqw556Q565fAJPJ233RQc0Ly9kDmaR0g_W6CDonNQDitkRrG-Y_GOmqH16H1oslGg_ViM6P0aPCXYubcIWs_yI73LipNVbL-glGfdWw/s1600/DSCN1314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4djHOjWxlIbfLTsTgm93P7yPAoew_7oq13Wsqcqw556Q565fAJPJ233RQc0Ly9kDmaR0g_W6CDonNQDitkRrG-Y_GOmqH16H1oslGg_ViM6P0aPCXYubcIWs_yI73LipNVbL-glGfdWw/s1600/DSCN1314.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got it on the first try!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1dRRHxax9m6HeQPbWLtM9ho-MzR-M2a2fUGou7eL4_QzrlsaSha62XVa4s1CLhVaW0SIpwntmc-34Y9fsbDsJ9RCUiifZU5vPaiZvB3bYf3Reg5m-4Qo-YCGaxIjitgpgOpoZsqcFoWE/s1600/DSCN1317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1dRRHxax9m6HeQPbWLtM9ho-MzR-M2a2fUGou7eL4_QzrlsaSha62XVa4s1CLhVaW0SIpwntmc-34Y9fsbDsJ9RCUiifZU5vPaiZvB3bYf3Reg5m-4Qo-YCGaxIjitgpgOpoZsqcFoWE/s1600/DSCN1317.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It felt really slippery and awkward</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0A2SDYNQeyef544BAKHz11SPeaJpXlQbd5-2nBUGXwFoj7NaSzZk2z3UwXsdAM52o46DCz_PbuA-2ydI741danBvL06kJfZ4BYrjKpqdt6GU4oREiW2GAvrLd-hGIB-AJLJpVvhnx7Q/s1600/DSCN1322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0A2SDYNQeyef544BAKHz11SPeaJpXlQbd5-2nBUGXwFoj7NaSzZk2z3UwXsdAM52o46DCz_PbuA-2ydI741danBvL06kJfZ4BYrjKpqdt6GU4oREiW2GAvrLd-hGIB-AJLJpVvhnx7Q/s1600/DSCN1322.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The final product, boiled fresh milk with cinnamon. YUM!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">After a long day of milking I got dressed, spoke
with my family back in America and made my way to Entrepinos Hotel, where I currently
write by the shade of the tree, and hanging from a hammock. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxcHqpDDeVurk4EUByakTjbQIqjjc7mfAWU4jiVhmkAyaOO7Nl_BOTjdZfQdzitfDSlozs1qKwxRM34sWJrHePNe9XHroypqGwqlRhDcXUHjLNqumV6zjMpN5uNm6iC5w4r3QcUx5z6yI/s1600/DSCN1323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxcHqpDDeVurk4EUByakTjbQIqjjc7mfAWU4jiVhmkAyaOO7Nl_BOTjdZfQdzitfDSlozs1qKwxRM34sWJrHePNe9XHroypqGwqlRhDcXUHjLNqumV6zjMpN5uNm6iC5w4r3QcUx5z6yI/s1600/DSCN1323.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">la la la la la la life is wonderful. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">So far, life is good. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Can’t wait to keep you posted about the upcoming
choir meeting! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Love and good wishes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-88597901016423474512014-07-20T08:53:00.001-07:002014-07-21T16:51:18.475-07:00Quick Update<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here I sit, writing you from Hotel Entrepinos in San
Ignacio, El Salvador.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>High ceilings with
cascading windows and a hand-painted wall entailing a scene with a white
Central American cathedral surround me while the sound of a Spanish newscast
echoes throughout the hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bright
blue pool sits outside the open veranda and a wall of green vines crawl the
fence as if trying to edge their way inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At long last I have arrived not only at this physical place but at this
point in my life where I have begun youth development in Latin America,
something I have dreamed of doing for so many years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCGEqREosQw9nuRRX2xXLjDggmubN9reJQ673VzMPVnTISeFqQBXQTfJVYtvl3DnrKEQvdykwCPb-EfQNfn-Ed9d6ECebyLYWU7U1oHTOEBLm9eXA-kWt5AGHKsm1eAXfiNlkCLDDkas/s1600/DSCN1202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCGEqREosQw9nuRRX2xXLjDggmubN9reJQ673VzMPVnTISeFqQBXQTfJVYtvl3DnrKEQvdykwCPb-EfQNfn-Ed9d6ECebyLYWU7U1oHTOEBLm9eXA-kWt5AGHKsm1eAXfiNlkCLDDkas/s1600/DSCN1202.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The floor-to-ceiling painting reminiscent of an old time in El Salvador</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A number of events have led to today; and while they all
feel like just moments ago, they have passed as if in a whirlwind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, I began the close of my service in
Botswana, was the guest of honor at not one, not two, but THREE farewell
parties, I took a trip to the Indian Ocean, and then flew to the United States
where I was fortunate enough to spend time with friends and family both in
Colorado and in Arizona.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After only a
few short weeks, I was whisked away again on a plane and set foot in the
humidity of San Salvador, El Salvador. Two speedy days of training, a
Salvadorian Smashburger, and a bus ride later, I arrived at the lush,
mountainous town of La Palma to meet my host family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8tX3lk-rcl5bpNn5EEr93srL3QfXpo3VEn3zFeforCAXV_dd7NHbvxxYC5s2qU69BG0O0Sd2zHeQbmdjNIAFIv5g6QwSkgFPJH_9i6tzbU5YD9Tq14MGmlCUBmtZzmwTU6ygS1k_uY0/s1600/DSCN1193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8tX3lk-rcl5bpNn5EEr93srL3QfXpo3VEn3zFeforCAXV_dd7NHbvxxYC5s2qU69BG0O0Sd2zHeQbmdjNIAFIv5g6QwSkgFPJH_9i6tzbU5YD9Tq14MGmlCUBmtZzmwTU6ygS1k_uY0/s1600/DSCN1193.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new group of 5 Response volunteers and our country director, Jaime, sworn in on July 16, 2014</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And from here, I will begin to
tell you the details of the previous events as close to my memory as possible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-Euso5iBkXHlbxMssAPiKD4v4Nk1ny4LBvldOrBnxX-W8uqSDI9O18yOw4SKM5L4zRPwMo0u1sC674MSw1h8JB6qrYvwAG3me4M3QI02tLMl4xi_-uX0t3LtlfE7ktq3t6ugT_uHB4o/s1600/DSCN1195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-Euso5iBkXHlbxMssAPiKD4v4Nk1ny4LBvldOrBnxX-W8uqSDI9O18yOw4SKM5L4zRPwMo0u1sC674MSw1h8JB6qrYvwAG3me4M3QI02tLMl4xi_-uX0t3LtlfE7ktq3t6ugT_uHB4o/s1600/DSCN1195.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new site in La Palma, Chalatenango as well as my new site mate Jonas.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Please check in the next few
days as I slowly update! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
. <br />
<br />
More news and pictures to come!<br />
<br />
<br />Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-16352637201566561802014-03-31T23:52:00.000-07:002014-03-31T23:52:11.904-07:00Charlotte's Web (?)<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The other day, as I was settling back in at home
after weeks of traveling, my small friend Samantha came to visit me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can always tell when she’s been missing me;
she finds reasons to simply sit in my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since I wanted nothing more than to bathe, I asked her to leave and that
I would see her later in the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
she walked out of the house, she casually mentioned that there was a spider on
my wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">When I walked outside to look at what she was
referring to, I was panged with a sudden jolt of fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was no ordinary spider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This thing was about the size of my
hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its colors shimmered in the
setting sunlight: a brilliant orange and a black so dark that it appeared
purple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I instinctively put my arm
between Samantha and the spider (even though the thing’s web was stretched
across the span of my roof, and nowhere close to us), and she started giggling
and asking if I was scared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To try and
appear brave I flexed my eyebrows together, pursed my lips, and jut my chin
into the air as I shook my head “no”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This only made Samantha’s giggles turn into a fit of laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUyWsYgTP0dmf6fwruuU8CBdaCLW3VIONzGTLw6OEztnBZ2yw96o0OKdO3o-7ISfs1hB0aiwpgFAzOI20A2Hrhls10wiowNdLHAfebc3eK-b7xPCgkpryWqzZENHcicYAH2JujLRwDr4M/s1600/spider.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUyWsYgTP0dmf6fwruuU8CBdaCLW3VIONzGTLw6OEztnBZ2yw96o0OKdO3o-7ISfs1hB0aiwpgFAzOI20A2Hrhls10wiowNdLHAfebc3eK-b7xPCgkpryWqzZENHcicYAH2JujLRwDr4M/s1600/spider.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The maniacal spider outside my house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I grabbed the rake that was leaning next to the
house and tried to slam it against the spider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The second the rake made contact with the beast, its pulsating fangs
attacked the rake in a way that I’ve never witnessed before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this
was a creature sent from the underworld to bid me my last farewell. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">What ensued must have been the most hilarious set of
events that has happened to me in a while: picture Kitso, frazzled and wearing
basketball shorts jumping, yelping, and swatting a metal rake at the side of my
house while Samantha applauded in encouragement behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I nearly broke a window, I decided to
set the rake down and wipe the sweat off my forehead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The second the rake was on the ground, the
monstrous crawler jumped from its web to the ground and began dashing towards
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">At this point, Samantha’s smile quickly dissipated
into a frantic grimace, she climbed my legs like a tree trunk and leapt into my
arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together, we sprinted across the yard
and arrived at her aunt’s house where we were able to take a deep breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">To this day, the spider still sits proudly on her
web eating all of the valiant moths that dare fly close to my house. Yesterday
I asked my counterpart, Topo, to please help me. He took one look at the
spider, assured me it was poisonous and told me to ask the old man across the
way to help me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDuLGBNdMoxkML9kdaXV4Z4jw9l4rq72DbrvizMmN6yICBM3bsz-rl6H4Bk5WBFiow2PuKc-Yh9_O385eKcnb_2vdZ7wrGnL9tSqmWwoANiUFqNySQ11UtNygDV_jTzkbQVmDNoTtl8k/s1600/wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDuLGBNdMoxkML9kdaXV4Z4jw9l4rq72DbrvizMmN6yICBM3bsz-rl6H4Bk5WBFiow2PuKc-Yh9_O385eKcnb_2vdZ7wrGnL9tSqmWwoANiUFqNySQ11UtNygDV_jTzkbQVmDNoTtl8k/s1600/wall.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The web shimmering brightly in the sunshine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m surprised at how, even after two years; I can
still encounter things that are shocking to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have started a collection of the dead creepy crawlies that I encounter
on my tile floors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The majority of them
are baby camel spiders, and their crumpled corpses serve as a reminder to me
that I can overcome any fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all,
when I first came to Gobojango, the only thing that petrified me was the
scampering of these treacherous creatures. Proudly, I show my visitors the
carton of insects and bask in their reactions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFZW3n_BSmGaHIECuSX8FRZORJTpZ6o2kRvNNwbLEAW1p1LHudrRiBlJiYgOTGTqS3LF2qUmRP44C47y1suTny9aZ5rBHz5dAwOcjKgyljXRgiLQsAld7vtDyOYjgcFohLqJ_705_MQQ/s1600/bugs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFZW3n_BSmGaHIECuSX8FRZORJTpZ6o2kRvNNwbLEAW1p1LHudrRiBlJiYgOTGTqS3LF2qUmRP44C47y1suTny9aZ5rBHz5dAwOcjKgyljXRgiLQsAld7vtDyOYjgcFohLqJ_705_MQQ/s1600/bugs.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My carton of insects</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">It serves as proof that no matter how large or small
the fear may be, rather than dreading and avoiding it, life is better spent
staring at it in the face and challenging yourself to overcome it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">At the end of the day, what do you have to lose? If
anything it’ll make a great story…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
UPDATE: Yesterday as I was preparing myself to throw boiling water on the spider, I was startled to find that the web and its maker were gone from its perk on the side of my house. The fear that was inspired within me at this point was even greater than before when a couple of primary school students walked over to me and declared that they had seen the stress it was causing me and killed it for me. <br />
<br />Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-79148232352296324792014-03-26T04:53:00.000-07:002014-03-26T04:53:21.229-07:00I'm moving to El Salvador
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I just received notification that I have been accepted to
serve as a Peace Corps Response volunteer in La Palma, Chalatenango El
Salvador!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My official title is “Youth Outreach Music
Coordinator”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My assignment will be to
work with local stakeholders and citizens within the community to strengthen a
music program that keeps youth from delinquency and gangs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am so delighted that I can hardly contain myself! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So basically what this means for my near future is that I
will have the opportunity to finish Peace Corps Botswana as a Community
Capacity Builder on June 10<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m hoping to fit one last adventure in with Duncan to Cape Town for a
few days, and then I’ll fly back to the United States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once in Tucson, I’ll have an opportunity to
quickly readjust to the fast-paced life in America: visit my little brother’s
graduation from the Air Force Academy, spend some much-needed time with friends
and family, etc. Then, just when I’ll have caught my breath, I’ll be flying out
to San Salvador, El Salvador for a 2 week introductory training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This assignment is scheduled to last 8 months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m so propitious to have been selected for
this opportunity! The fact that they only select one PCR volunteer per opening
strengthens my personal confidence and makes me feel like I must have done
something right! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, the plan is that once I finish my service in El
Salvador in March, I’ll have five months to re-establish myself in America,
move to Washington D.C., and settle in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ll then begin studying to earn my Masters Degree in International
Peace and Conflict Resolution from American University’s School of
International Service (one of the top five best schools for international
development) utilizing my Paul D. Coverdell Fellowship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think that my time in Botswana has been an indispensable
step in my life to reflect and grow as an individual. I know that all of the
obstacles and frustrations over the past two years have been the rainstorms
that have provided this seed to grow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
feel like I’m slowly blooming into the individual I want to one day become: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">someone who benefits the world, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">someone who lives life with a purpose, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">someone who can share happiness and wisdom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A good friend, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">a good listener, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">a positive role
model.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here’s to hoping that the oncoming years bring more life
lessons, more moments to conquer struggles, more smiles, more tears, more
laughter, and more moments to feel<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">
alive.</b> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjV-J4XpZvx96OmEXaGcoQ6ks5oUo2DQ2eWd_qPo8fLYtKV52fOf7hrxvrw5yPpY4dR6FsppUTcrDNlHGsDFFwiVszo8Cdl8COgUKILWEJ-Vfif2JyDxboF1WOZczLFNEJmRYF_OU1ds/s1600/sal.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjV-J4XpZvx96OmEXaGcoQ6ks5oUo2DQ2eWd_qPo8fLYtKV52fOf7hrxvrw5yPpY4dR6FsppUTcrDNlHGsDFFwiVszo8Cdl8COgUKILWEJ-Vfif2JyDxboF1WOZczLFNEJmRYF_OU1ds/s1600/sal.png" /></a></div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-88042153981377350162014-03-24T12:44:00.000-07:002014-03-26T08:47:29.059-07:00New Year, New Beginnings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have been extremely negligent in keeping up with
the blog…so I apologize first for the length of the following post, but also
for the amount of information I’m about to dispense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In order for me to be able to successfully
portray the past few months to you, I’ve decided to provide a photo diary of
major events that have occurred. I’ll elaborate when needed, but bear with
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Alrighty so in October of last year, a close friend
of ours (Cassie) completed her full two year Peace Corps service and so we had
about a week-long celebration to bid her farewell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First we went camping in the nearby village
of Lepokole and enjoyed the ancient, secret cave paintings, baboon sightings,
delicious bar-b-que, and each other’s company. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RozQwVqoswFgJopwjvckecDdhXZXyJJYFV9ZdcaHfXF41BqmPHa4RSErXbc6rO9cXw2OGjYTKmZmihYIKqUianmVUj8ZLPaIesC5GyWebEpMuCx2SZ-zgL3epLwzIlfh3SsUcgmfLtQ/s1600/blogger9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RozQwVqoswFgJopwjvckecDdhXZXyJJYFV9ZdcaHfXF41BqmPHa4RSErXbc6rO9cXw2OGjYTKmZmihYIKqUianmVUj8ZLPaIesC5GyWebEpMuCx2SZ-zgL3epLwzIlfh3SsUcgmfLtQ/s1600/blogger9.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0wYBB91aTjHdwP2NdYP2g4F2XOjwU37UUepsxeLhaj5Vx9dxQqSjDQvLceKgiwo0D7xfDqNx1qrOD_AkMrQAs4brUDnPUTboSwSX6wRg3M30X5UzqT02yTUDJtcC7Il6lH8DUIS-L7s/s1600/blogger7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0wYBB91aTjHdwP2NdYP2g4F2XOjwU37UUepsxeLhaj5Vx9dxQqSjDQvLceKgiwo0D7xfDqNx1qrOD_AkMrQAs4brUDnPUTboSwSX6wRg3M30X5UzqT02yTUDJtcC7Il6lH8DUIS-L7s/s1600/blogger7.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This moment struck me as being particularly
significant because not only was it overwhelmingly exciting for Cassie but it
was the first time I officially started visualizing what it would mean to
leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Next, I was fortunate enough to have some of my best
friends visit me in Gobojango.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stacey,
Hollis, Claire, and I hitched a ride in the back of the ambulance; we joined
the other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) in the area and ventured off towards
the newly-built Thuni Dam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here, our
friend Jaiwan showed us the ins and outs of building a dam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That night, we ate delicious, authentic
Chinese food, drank Chinese rice wine, and were merry. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47mtGaVuP4Zh9Jv5VABeF8lFpSHyz_Sg9YlyZ5I4BAUJJwDQtxsSCsMHUC7Tixj9kJelADYSbc0YKmKSG4jDsgTc4lr9Qmmjmjo49zExFooIFdjXVfSt6aTP0JB_oQ2tsNiasYUPpRKE/s1600/blogger4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47mtGaVuP4Zh9Jv5VABeF8lFpSHyz_Sg9YlyZ5I4BAUJJwDQtxsSCsMHUC7Tixj9kJelADYSbc0YKmKSG4jDsgTc4lr9Qmmjmjo49zExFooIFdjXVfSt6aTP0JB_oQ2tsNiasYUPpRKE/s1600/blogger4.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know Hollis looks like she's in pain...but that's her "yummy food" face XD</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2TDKR1oKKkdtLzyfnYtCcqTJioEmVIxQNKlCB2FymQFc_Jv9Jz_LA09aKGf4FeawSFrfjxLlx2I3u81eH1n0k2erelVSZ55h3XcnpG6seue6Z2Uaw_HBexlc-62jpG-3-ZVn8d8olUhI/s1600/blogger6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2TDKR1oKKkdtLzyfnYtCcqTJioEmVIxQNKlCB2FymQFc_Jv9Jz_LA09aKGf4FeawSFrfjxLlx2I3u81eH1n0k2erelVSZ55h3XcnpG6seue6Z2Uaw_HBexlc-62jpG-3-ZVn8d8olUhI/s1600/blogger6.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Next, we have our sporadic adventure to Windhoek,
Namibia for Oktoberfest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, in
October, 2012 a large group of my Bots12 cohorts took a trip that I was unable
to join.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, Lindsay, Hollis and I
decided that we needed our own Oktoberfest experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We jumped on a bus headed towards Windhoek,
crashed in a hostel, and enjoyed the splendid experience. To our surprise, we
met a slew of our comrades at the festival; I jumped on the back of a bucking
bull, and we partied until the following morning when we missed our bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">That day was exhausting…we hadn’t slept for more
than 30 minutes and ended up having to hitchhike from Windhoek to Gobabis,
Gobabis to the Marumo border, and then from there to Gaborone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had already bought our tickets on the bus
for our return trip so we had no money left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A gentleman who pitied us gave us a ride from Marumo border to Gaborone
(over 600 kilometers) for free, simply because he didn’t want us stranded in
the blistering heat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Quick sidenote: I have encountered moments like these
numerous times in Botswana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right when I
feel as if I’m low on my luck, I encounter an individual who restores my faith
in humanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether it’s a single
mother with five children who takes me by the hand to the right bus so I do not
get lost or a Zimbabwean man willing to drive three lost Americans over 600
kilometers for free, individuals like these keep my positive thoughts
afloat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These individuals are constant
reminders that kindness repays kindness and a smile can do countless good. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Okay back on track now…I was asked to perform in a
wedding after my trip to Namibia, however, I tore a tendon in my left hand and
was rendered useless in the ukulele department.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So I simply attended the wedding, danced with women from the “Baherero”
Tribe, and enjoyed the local traditions associated with weddings in Botswana. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In the interim, I spent as much time I could with my
family in Gobojango: the dogs, my “daughter” Samma, and Lorato.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even knitted Samantha a hat! I walked from
the clinic to the primary school in the afternoons and encountered all of the
children either waving at me or rushing towards me to hi-five me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One evening I was lucky enough to come across
a sporadic dance party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat and
watched the elementary school-age children competing for the applause of their
peers, and the second I took out the camera the focus went from the dance floor
to the lens and we spend the rest of the sunlight taking pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the evenings, I sharpened my cooking
skills, trained Cleo and Sisero, and awe-d and oo-ed at the sunsets. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Near the end of November, the primary school
formally invited me to speak at the handing over ceremony of the Playground Shade
Project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That morning, I rehearsed my
speech in Setswana and English to myself through the mirror, perfecting my
stray hairs that seemed to stand erect out of defiance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I got a knock at my door, I was
delighted to find that my Peace Corps program director arrived to support me
and he had brought two of my peers alongside him (Hollis and Lissa).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their presence helped my nerves to subside,
and we attended the ceremony with smiling faces. After the handing over, the
Botswana Defense Force challenged the local Gobojango soccer team to a match
and we all huddled in masses and migrated to the football playground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was elated when the Gobojango team started
putting on the jerseys that we had gotten donated from England.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">At this point in time, I had been having so much fun
and no work so I gruelingly began weeks of youth camps around the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first one I attended was located on the
outskirts of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve in a tiny village called Salajwe
and titled “Gender and Wellness Camp”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This village is so tucked away in the sand that public transport is
nonexistent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hired a private vehicle
to take us there and to collect us. I was given the task of conducting condom
demonstrations and discussing sexual and reproductive health as well as sexual
decision-making.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the age groups we
were working with were 15-18, my class was detrimental to the success of the
camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In between the awkward moments of some
children opening their first condoms and the stimulating spontaneous dance
parties, every child left wearing a smile and feeling more empowered about
overall gender and wellness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The ride from Salajwe to the capital remains in my
memory as one of the most traumatic…yet hilarious episodes of travel that I’ve
experienced in Botswana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We congregated
our belongings in Salajwe and awaited the arrival of our driver,
Sylvester.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he finally came, we
piled our bags into the car and took off only to get stuck in the sand a few
meters away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We unloaded our
possessions, pushed the sinking vehicle, and reloaded to take off again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we were driving down the sandy
thoroughfare, I was yacking to my friend Stacey when the car began swerving and
we grabbed each other out of fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
thought one of the tires had been punctured only to realize that the suspension
had broken clean through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So picture this….there we were, 6 Peace Corps
volunteers and our driver, stranded in the middle of the Kalahari Desert with
nothing to do but shrug and try to laugh it off. We slathered on sunscreen and
pushed the car to the side of the road when Sylvester turns to me and says,
“Nina, help me to find a stick”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
looked at him out of the corners of my eyelids and asked him what he planned to
do with a stick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We can put the stick
in the broken suspension to hold us off until we reach Lethlakeng [45
kilometers away]”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I busted out
laughing, called him crazy, took shelter in the shade of the car and prayed for
a truck to drive by to pick us up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alas,
the only answer I got from up above was a bit of cloud cover and the first
rainfall in the area for over 4 months! Thank goodness I was with my fellow
PCVs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think anyone else can find
the humor in a situation such as this other than Peace Corps volunteers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, we hitchhiked on the back of a semi-truck
and arrived to the capital safely that night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The next camp I attended was two bus-rides away in a
village called Mmankgodi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, I was
asked to speak about Assertiveness and Active Listening. The children were
younger here, so I had to alter my teaching methods a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, I had to arrive a day late to
this camp, so I wasn’t able to participate in the bonding process from the
beginning with the children, however, it was also a stupendous success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorite aspect of this camp was the
opportunity to liaise with some Peace Corps Volunteers from the Southeastern
District. I was overjoyed to learn their teaching methods and even more
interested to hear their stories of success and challenges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I waved farewell to the children on the
last day of the camp, I was overwhelmed with a sensation of
accomplishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Oftentimes it feels
like the work we do as Peace Corps volunteers is meaningless and
unrecognized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re always told to
verify the sustainability of each of our projects and that we will never see
the fruits of our labors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
disappointing as this may sound, countless individuals still strive to make
positive changes and act as constructive role models in their communities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my opinion, these youth camps are a great
way to generate progressive, encouraging change in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Working with the children in any community is
the best way to inspire change. Not only are they the most open-minded
population that you will encounter, but they are the ones most willing and
passionate to accept change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of
the work I’ve done with the youth in Botswana, I’ve decided to devote the rest
of my life working with youth development and promoting better lives for the
world’s children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Unfortunately, for Christmas last year, I was unable
to afford another trip home (both financially and time-wise), so my parents
helped me to pay for a trip throughout Southern Africa! Before I departed on
this whirlwind of a trip, I traveled to the capitol to take my GRE for grad
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Which I passed, with flying
colors </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">).
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then, I jumped on a bus with my two colleagues, Leia
and Chad, due straight for Johannesburg, South Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we got closer and closer to the capitol,
we began sweating realizing that we weren’t going to make our connection to
Swaziland if the bus continued it slow-moving pace so instead we jumped on the
subway in Pretoria (called the Gau-train [pronounced “How train”]) and sat with
ease as it zipped past traffic on the highway. Since Nelson Mandela had passed
away that morning, everyone was buzzing about it in the corners of our
ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I discovered that the reason the
traffic was so overwhelmingly heavy was because Madiba’s body was being taken
through Pretoria at that very moment. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We arrived to the airport with seconds to spare,
called the Trans-Magnifique bus and requested that they wait for us just a
little bit longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we walked onto the
platform, we watched the red and white sprinter pull out of its parking spot
and begin to turn to drive away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
three of us began tearing down the people-infested walkway, elbowing anyone who
got in our way, and screaming and whistling for it to stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, we hailed it just in the
nick of time, nestled in our seats on the bus, and traveled for 5 hours to
Swaziland. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Swaziland. Is. Beautiful!! Imagine rolling green
hills, blue cloudy skies, tropical plants, and cactus in the same frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While in Swaziland, we visited a fellow
Bots12 volunteer Maureen (who now works for the Clinton Health
Initiative).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She took us everywhere from
the glass factory to local markets to a park where people can walk alongside
zebras and other African antelope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
then drove to a game park for the last couple nights, went on a game drive, and
slept in a beautiful cottage. Since the park could also be navigated as a
self-drive route, we drove out into the wildlife area and became trapped in by
a family of elephants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our last morning
there, I went downstairs, poured myself a cup of tea and looked out the window
only to find an assembly of white rhinoceros rolling in the dirt and
hippopotamus splashing around in the lake. We left with memories and photos to
last a lifetime. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We got on the Trans-Magnifique yet again and
ventured back into South Africa, scuttled to the correct combi rank in
Johannesburg and squelched into a tiny minibus to Lesotho.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">LESOTHO. IS. GORGEOUS!!! Since I’ve arrived to
Africa, nothing has reminded me of Colorado as much as the patched green and towering
mountains of Lesotho.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh wait, I forgot to tell you about our adventure
arriving to the country!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sat on the
minibus well into the nighttime and snacked along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, around 8pm the combi pulled to a
stop and a woman who was sitting next to me took me by the hand and walked us
through the chicken wire lines to the immigration checkpoint at the border. For
some reason, she had convinced herself that we were in need of dire
assistance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although we had planned to
simply take a taxi to the hostel where we were going to stay for the night, she
made me second-guess our plan by refusing us to take any taxi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With eyes wide, she recommended I go speak to
a customs officer to verify the phone number of the hostel and have them send
us transport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, nobody knew
of where we were going, people were yelling at each of us to take their taxi,
the woman kept yanking me by the arm to go different places, and the phone
wasn’t working.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, imagine all of this
in the spectrum of a poorly-lit international border at night with police
officers walking around in their military boots, and the feeling of rising
anxiety around every turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition,
right as I yelled at everyone to leave us alone, I placed my foot in a gap in
the pavement, was taken down by the weight of my heavy backpack, and swallowed
a mouthful of Lesotho dirt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Needless to say, we arrived at our hostel safe and
sound and slept like babies that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
next day, we walked to the combi rank, and were pleased to find that the
language in Lesotho (Sesotho) is Setswana’s cousin, and we could navigate with
ease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took a combi to a village
called Malealea where we would spend the next four days. Malealea was a
breath-taking location for a lodge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Imagine a splashed green landscape cascaded by crystal blue skies and puzzle-pieced
cloud shadows overhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent hours
hanging in a hammock and enjoyed listening to the birds fleeting overhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">That afternoon, we decided to take a hike down into
the gorge that bellowed deep into the earth in the village below us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we walked, we encountered children who
were asking for sweets and offering to show us the way. We walked deeper and
deeper into the canyon until a rock face acted as a cave overhang and we paused
to take in the beauty of the ravine. A river flowed at the bottom and whispered
its rushing waters so that it echoed off the cave walls. We found “bushman”
cave paintings along the route and looked on in awe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we decided it was finally time to
return, the puzzle-piece clouds joined forces and began spewing rain at us. By
the time we reached the cave at the top of the valley, an effervescent rainbow
splayed the length of the canyon. We sought refuge from the rain in the cave
and encountered a rambunctious flock of sheep and goats. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The next morning, we awoke with the sunrise and
literally “saddled up” for a two-day horse ride into the mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, although I’ve ridden horses for a good
part of my life, we followed some trails with the horses that were
treacherously horrifying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I clutched
onto my horse’s mane as she climbed stone-strewn mountain hairpin turns and
slid down uneven rock faces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the
way, we passed villages that had never seen cars and children who didn’t know
the meaning of a computer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People herded
livestock around us and harvested their fields, while Aloe Vera plants marked properties
and windows of the huts stared down at us from the tops of the mountains.
Finally, we arrived to the farm compound where we were to stay for the
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We dismounted our horses,
unloaded our bags into a rondoval, and began hiking, on foot, towards the
waterfall at the mouth of the green valley that we had just arrived to. As we
walked, we passed patches of wild callalilies and minded our steps carefully as
rocks crumbled beneath us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dove into
the freezing pond water, splashed around for a bit and asked our guide why he
wasn’t swimming with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Because of all
of the snakes in the water” was his response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And that was the end of my swim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The hike back was reverberated by the most exquisite
sunset I had ever witnessed over the unscathed, natural valley, and we returned
to our farmhouse rondoval too fatigued to even speak to one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day, we awoke early and packed our
bags to head back to Malealea. After we arrived to the lodge again, we relaxed,
and watched the local band perform their traditional dances on home-made
instruments. I even got to try to play a traditional Lesotho violin!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When we returned to Botswana, I went straight to the
northern district to meet my boyfriend Duncan for his cousin’s wedding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily for me, his nephew was driving up
from the capital so I caught a lift with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The wedding was lovely, and we stayed to celebrate Christmas with his
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, this is the first Christmas
I’ve ever celebrated so far from home and without any family close by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a rollercoaster of emotions, trust me.
And to add to everything, we stayed in his parents’ compound with no
electricity, no running water, and far from any nearby town. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This in it of itself had its benefits: I learned how
to collect clean water from the nearby riverbed; I herded donkeys with Duncan’s
sister Daisy, plowed barefoot with his mother, learned new games from the
children, and even harvested honey from underground! Everything was fine until
Christmas eve, I found myself sitting in a circle of people speaking their
tribal language (Kalanga) listening to one of the kids singing “Oh Christmas
Tree”…tears welled in my eyes and my tongue seemed to triple in size in my
throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I excused myself and wallowed in
the bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that very moment, I
turned my laptop on, praying that there was enough juice to connect and was
overwhelmed with happiness to Skype with my ENTIRE family back home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heads popped in at every corner of the screen
with people telling me that they loved and missed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart began pumping warm blood back into
my fingertips again and I began to cherish the opportunity to spend Christmas
in Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day, Duncan and I traveled down to the nearby
town (Francistown) to celebrate Christmas with my cohort of PCVs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We literally celebrated it “American style”:
potluck buffet, presents, alcohol, and goofy company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We even did a Secret Santa gift exchange
where I acted as “African Santa”. After our giggles were out and the wrapping
paper smothered the ground, we went outside, lit sparklers, and danced our
butts off. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Duncan and I spent New
Year’s in the Private Tuli Safari Block with a few of my colleagues and
friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the stroke of midnight, we
sat around the fire and shared with everyone what we were grateful for in
2013.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I was stuck pondering, lips
pursed and brows furrowed, Duncan announced that he was grateful for me and the
opportunities he’s had ever since March of that year when we met (aww, right?).
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The beginning of January passed quickly, with
projects resuming their same status as before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I went with some local friends of mine to a lodge in the southern Tuli
Safari Block past Zanzibar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saw a
plethora of animals, including a wild rhino, and I encouraged an entire group
of professionals to jump in the Limpopo River with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I spent more time with my family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Watching how quickly the kids grow, and
spending the hot afternoons in the shade of their mud house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then, in February, I treated myself to a trip to
Mozambique with some of my favorite people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The “getting there” and “coming back” aspects were too treacherous and
traumatic to rewrite on here (don’t worry, everyone is safe and well)…but I can
tell you that the first night we arrived to Xai Xai, rather than sleeping, we
pitched our tents and ran straight to the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We swam until the sun came up and as we began
swimming towards shore, I felt a strident pain pierce my ankles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I splashed my way to the beach only to find
blue bottle jellyfish tentacles wrapped around my legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stacey had also been stung; since she had
lived in California (and we were all fans of the hit tv show “Friends”) we knew
what to do to subdue the throbbing pain from the stings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>…that was an adventure in it of itself!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We spent two nights in the beautiful serenity of Xai
Xai beach. Since it wasn’t high season for tourists we were the only ones in
the entire spans of beach and we woke and slept to the sound of the waves. Finally,
when it came time, we piled back in the car and traveled north, past Inhambane
towards a sleepy beach town called Tofu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Here, we ate freshly picked and roasted cashew nuts, enjoyed the most
succulent fruit, drank milk directly from the coconut, and ate fish straight
from the ocean. Mignon, a friend and travel companion, had arranged for us to
stay in a dazzling beachside house just a walk away from Tofu beach and along
the shore of Tofinho beach. To save on costs, we would buy the “catch of the
day” from the fishermen in the neighborhood and cook it for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Another great thing about traveling with
fellow PCVs is that they love food just as much as I do, cooking AND eating it
as well). We went on an ocean safari to see whale sharks, and dove into a cove
of blue bottle jellyfish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tofu was so
tropical and exotic, I was deeply saddened to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Eish. I can’t even begin to explain the perturbing
trip back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> For this story, I'll refer you to Mignon's blog, please click <a href="http://botswanapeacebypeace.blogspot.com/2014/03/a-wild-streak-in-mozambique.html" target="_blank">HERE.</a></span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We made it back to Botswana in one piece! Thank
goodness! Then, as I wanted nothing more than to just go home and lock myself
in my house for the weekend, Duncan surprised me and told me that he was taking
me to Kasane for Valentine’s Day!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day we drove straight through, only
stopping to let elephants cross the roads and after 6 hours, arrived to the
lush, green splendor that is Kasane. We went on boat cruises and watched the
sunset over the Chobe River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night
of Valentine’s Day, Duncan led me to a lodge called the Chobe River Lodge where
a man holding a glass of Champaign was waiting for me at the top of the
stairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He escorted us to our table that
was strewn about with heart confetti and flower petals. I ate crocodile crepes,
salmon fettucini, and topped it off with pinot grigio. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day we went to the natural hot springs of
the area. As we made our way across the logs to the mouth of the spring, my
foot slipped and I began sinking into the warm, mushy mud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two women who were nearby began screaming and
rushed to pull me out, telling Duncan that he needed to keep a better eye on me
since elephants have been known to sink and die in that spot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After Valentine’s Day, I went straight down to
Gaborone to attend the 2014 All-Volunteer Conference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over 130 individuals attended the conference,
and sat in on different sessions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unfortunately, on the second day, I became ill and convinced myself that
I had malaria (since I had just returned from two malaria-prone environments)
although it was probably just exhaustion from traveling!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the last night, we sat down to a ceremony
with the United States Ambassador Michelle Gavin and the Peace Corps Botswana Country
Director Tim Hartman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stacey and I went
back to our hotel room, drank some wine and watched the Winter Olympics until a
talent show ensued under the tent outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everyone congregated and joined in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bots12 (the individuals in my cohort) stood bravely in front of the
crowd and drunkenly attempted to sing our self-elected anthem “Wagon
Wheel”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the next day we parted ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Remind me to tell you about my hitch the following
day…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, once I returned to Gobojango, things
returned to being normal for a few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I became a co-facilitator for the Junior Secondary School Chess Club
(not that I knew what I was doing..?) and we celebrated my friend Ketnie’s
birthday in the local town of Phikwe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The rains came near the beginning of March and brought tall grasses,
yellow flowers, and mosquitos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One
afternoon I was startled to find a parade of donkeys in my backyard, hee-hawing
all the way. Then, on one tumultuous afternoon, I convinced myself that a
tornado was going to rip its way through Gobojango.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Luckily, tornados cannot happen in Botswana, Nina,
a-duhh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">On the 7<sup>th</sup>, I assisted Ketnie with a
workshop she was conducting in a somewhat close village called Sefhope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An audience of about 15 out-of-school youth
and young professionals attended to further their knowledge of HIV and AIDS. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I presented about the life cycle of the
human-immunodeficiency virus, and helped to correct some myths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was also not diffident to conduct condom
demonstrations for all to see. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then, a couple days later, I was traveling back
north again to the village of Tutume to visit my friends Dan and Leah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throughout these past three months, power
outages have been prevailing across the country and the majority of my nights
have been spent in darkness, or reading by candlelight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So when we arrived to Tutume, I wasn’t
surprised to find cellphone lights and candles being our only source for
light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ate quesadillas and drank tea
and I had an opportunity to catch up with some amazing individuals. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day, we were fortunate enough to get a
hitch straight to Maun where we were to report for our “Close of Service
Conference”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the way, the rains
were so heavy, that it felt like the bus had transformed itself into a boat! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We spent the next few days in Maun at a Hotel that
catered to us nicely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was refreshing
to be around my posse again, I was surrounded by individuals who had taken the
exact amount of energy and time in Botswana as I had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their faces surrounded me two years ago in
the airport as we departed the United States into the abyss of the unknown, and
there was an inkling of comfort as I looked around and saw their faces together
again in the same room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My feelings were
two-fold, however.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I had shared
a very unique experience with these individuals over the past two years, we
were now reaching another point in our lives where we not only had to say
goodbye to the lives that we had been working so hard for, but to our peers who
had cried with us, laughed with us, and grown to love. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">During my time in Maun, I also received a surfeit of
information (good news, really) that overwhelmed my decisions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I arrived to Maun, I was planning to
move to Costa Rica to study at la Universidad para La Paz in Ciudad Colon and
work at Habitat for Humanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day of
my arrival, I received my acceptance letter to American University’s School of
International Service in Washington D.C. as well as a Fellowship to help me
cover the costs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then on a subsequent
night, I had been asked to do an interview with a position in Chaletenango, El
Salvador to become a Youth Outreach Music Coordinator with Peace Corps
Response. I had a great opportunity to milk the country director for all of the
information he had, as well as for advice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After spending time in Maun, I attended a
spur-of-the moment meeting with the Peer Support and Diversity Committee in the
capital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We swore in and trained the new
members and stepped down as the retiring members. During the training process,
we experienced cathartic bonding and uplifted and empowered one another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Gosh, if you’re still reading, I give you mad props.
You must really be bored to read all of this!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There will be more to come, I promise. I think I’ve
usurped my internet time for the week!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ll try to upload more pictures as soon as I can. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I hope you enjoyed the stories! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Until next time, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Feel a hug from Africa<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">~Nina<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-16671265770197449482013-12-10T04:25:00.002-08:002013-12-10T04:25:26.064-08:0012 Reasons to Date a Peace Corps VolunteerI am so sorry, dear reading base, that it has been so long since I last updated. My computer screen was cracked and I therefore had no access to any internet in months. On the up side, my screen has been fixed and I promise to write a new blog entry soon! <br />
<br />
For now, let me entertain you with a little diddy I found online....;)<br />
<br />
<strong>12 reasons to date a Peace Corps Volunteer:</strong><br />
<ol>
<li>We can woo you in multiple languages. Who else is going to whisper sweet nothings to you in everything from Albanian to Hausa to Quechua to Xhosa? That’s right. Only a Peace Corps Volunteer.</li>
<li>We’re pretty good dancers. Yeah, we don’t like to brag, but after 27 months in Latin America or Africa we know how to move it.</li>
<li>We’ll eat anything. Seriously. No matter how bad your cooking, Peace Corps Volunteers have had worse and will eat it with nary a blink. Sheep’s eyeball? Water buffalo gall bladder? Grasshoppers? Bush rat? Bring it.</li>
<li>We know all about safe sex, thanks to our very thorough Peace Corps health training. In fact, there’s a chance that we’ve stood unblushingly in front of hundreds of villagers and demonstrated good condom technique with a large wooden phallus.</li>
<li>We’ll kill spiders for you. Well, actually, we’ll nonchalantly scoop them up and put them out of sight. Same goes for mice, geckos, frogs, snakes. Critters don’t faze Volunteers.</li>
<li>We have great date ideas: wandering a street market, checking out a foreign film, taking in a world music concert, volunteering…. Romantic getaway? Our passport is updated and our suitcase is packed. With us, life is always an adventure.</li>
<li>We like you for “you”… not your paycheck. Especially if we are freshly back from service, a local joint with “character” will win out over a pretentious eatery. Living in a group house? No problem. Does it have running hot water? What luxury!</li>
<li>You won’t get lost when you’re with a Peace Corps Volunteer. Navigating local markets on four continents, we’ve honed an uncanny sense of direction. Or else we’ll ask for directions. We’re not afraid to talk to “strangers.”</li>
<li>Waiting for a late train or bus with us? Don’t worry. Been there, done that. We can share lots of funny stories about “the bus ride from hell” that will make the time go quickly and put it all into perspective.</li>
<li>Our low-maintenance fashion style. Peace Corps Volunteer guys are secure in their manhood and don’t mind rocking a sarong. Women often prefer flip flops to high heels. We don’t spend hours in front of a mirror getting ready to go out.</li>
<li>Marry us, and you won’t just get one family — you’ll get two! When we refer to our “brother” or “mom,” you’ll want to be certain we’re talking about our American one or our Peace Corps one. You might even get two wedding ceremonies, one in the U.S. and one back in our Peace Corps country.</li>
<li>And last but not least … we aren’t afraid to get dirty.</li>
</ol>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-40660174677606721352013-10-17T02:41:00.000-07:002013-10-17T02:41:25.698-07:00Cribs: Botswana Edition<br />
<em>So I've realized that even after 17 months of living in this splendorous country, many people back home are unable to wrap their minds around where it is that I'm living or even what my village looks like. I understand, as the majority of the pictures I take are when I'm on vacation or doing a project outside of my village...so for this, friends, I apologize!</em><br />
<br />
<em>I have had numerous requests to post more pictures of my village from many close friends so now that I have fast internet, I will now take this opportunity to rectify the wrongs and show you, with in-depth pictures, what Gobojango looks like and the walk I take every morning to the clinic. Please bear with me (and for those of you who are not familiar with the tv show "Cribs" feel free to click </em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MTV_Cribs" target="_blank"><em>here</em></a><em> for more information).</em> <br />
<br />
Hello and welcome to Kitso's rendition of Cribs! On this episode I'll take you through the crispy, dry wonderland that is known as Gobojango, Botswana! <br />
<br />
Life in Gobojango is quite relaxed, with nothing to fulfill a day but a trip to the clinic or meandering over to your neighbor's house to catch up on the most up-to-date gossip over lunch preparations. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgC7TH2Brvbu9if9l9WqzyarUSc6cX2vwnI3qr6aU8O_cYslvi_x5mQuh8Ynl6xI6k03MHYAHKzOOGelkJd-7sPJOi789NGXMWmtxBwgU4RZkJIDvA59OXsqcsK_46jSIWoYM0PK_EYQ/s1600/chat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgC7TH2Brvbu9if9l9WqzyarUSc6cX2vwnI3qr6aU8O_cYslvi_x5mQuh8Ynl6xI6k03MHYAHKzOOGelkJd-7sPJOi789NGXMWmtxBwgU4RZkJIDvA59OXsqcsK_46jSIWoYM0PK_EYQ/s320/chat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ladies preparing a meal and sharing in one another's lives. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Throughout the day and night one might find themselves entranced by the sounds of roosters crowing, donkeys baying their breathless "hee-haw", and dogs barking. Oftentimes, the clanging of a cowbell and the whimpering of a baby goat who has lost her way will creep into the crevices of your mind while the smell of smoke from nearby burning trash will infest your nose. If you're lucky, you will overhear the morning prayer songs from the primary school children or the laughter of the older women and men at the "kgotla" (community courthouse). <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIfkLpYGzMfBPoL5iX4h_0wtxhQRtdMOrfIBiIrHikoTbfsESqTq1ourr03Wk0-3C13srRzwMTNPM5ychw52Z82qg_ZR46MH65hvFqpFCZNze6n6eCUBVcP_0DllB1g2gl7549DPabxc/s1600/kgotla1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIfkLpYGzMfBPoL5iX4h_0wtxhQRtdMOrfIBiIrHikoTbfsESqTq1ourr03Wk0-3C13srRzwMTNPM5ychw52Z82qg_ZR46MH65hvFqpFCZNze6n6eCUBVcP_0DllB1g2gl7549DPabxc/s320/kgotla1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A community's <em>kgotla</em> is a place for people to gather and share ideas. It is common knowledge that women are not allowed to enter any kgotla unless they are wearing a dress or a skirt that is longer than their knees. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
While some of you may think that my houses look like one of the following...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRqqa6HbBzHxBX90kppGxd_WvYvI4KOUujtb9WPwbsOhasT9TNKMdtMml8SugQ-AQgdDFL-HHzyk7WPWLCpeONo821wJqMx2hQUGmRpBWuT_GIMvmSAzBSDedQtS5iGuhdkhxe__HzbU/s1600/traditional1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRqqa6HbBzHxBX90kppGxd_WvYvI4KOUujtb9WPwbsOhasT9TNKMdtMml8SugQ-AQgdDFL-HHzyk7WPWLCpeONo821wJqMx2hQUGmRpBWuT_GIMvmSAzBSDedQtS5iGuhdkhxe__HzbU/s320/traditional1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beginnings of a mud hut. Sticks are placed around the base to assist in the formation of the structure then "moo" (water, mud, and cow dung) are added around it to form a solid-standing structure. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
or like this....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8R9gLHbfWt3s4HsOENmQNt5ldgKLMQEE4BXi6xwAOXGCcFAYrrAgzFjvxxjpEp21rzlTFREv_XyxJSiCHiy3yA7KRHBZQjYodHkogCImA9uHJywW0YHKXtdWmMW0Bl9WbQAfNujXjIbs/s1600/traditional3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8R9gLHbfWt3s4HsOENmQNt5ldgKLMQEE4BXi6xwAOXGCcFAYrrAgzFjvxxjpEp21rzlTFREv_XyxJSiCHiy3yA7KRHBZQjYodHkogCImA9uHJywW0YHKXtdWmMW0Bl9WbQAfNujXjIbs/s320/traditional3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some basadi bogolo (old ladies) conversing around their traditional hut. When it's cold outside, a fire will be started inside the hut to prepare afternoon tea or supper. </td></tr>
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I am in fact one of the more lucky volunteers in Botswana. My house is endowed with electricity, running water (when there is water in the village), an inside flush toilet, AND bathtub. I also have tile floor, a front and a back door, and I live alone on a compound. This means that I don't have anyone next door to me constantly knocking on my door for sugar or on those days when I simply want to go home and collapse I have no one whom I have to greet on my compound before arriving to my front door. Of course, there is always two sides of a coin. Because there is no one else on my compound, I am also more susceptible to loneliness, and must keep constant tabs on who comes to "check me". (One of the reasons having a dog is such a plus, she barks strangers away). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjogKeJUJvbq8wweeERCyvySUsr2gLKdo07VJIZciYwEbxuHXv5BSbB1XXB25Mc40aHmFQUSB20ODwMa6Z15d6s-ptk9uo1Szdz1NcmL_kffU3jn8LBdxOx-BGmZ3f6VsbyChYRHNnvGvM/s1600/house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjogKeJUJvbq8wweeERCyvySUsr2gLKdo07VJIZciYwEbxuHXv5BSbB1XXB25Mc40aHmFQUSB20ODwMa6Z15d6s-ptk9uo1Szdz1NcmL_kffU3jn8LBdxOx-BGmZ3f6VsbyChYRHNnvGvM/s400/house.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Anyway, back to Cribs. Above is the picture of my humble abode. While there is an apparent satellite dish on the front of my house, I have no television so it does not behoove me in any way. The piles of dirt and rock have since been made into concrete cinderblocks that will be placed around my compound to form a tall fence. For now, the chicken wire will do. To the right of my house is the larger house on the compound, also one of the nicer ones in Gobojango, it is a three-bedroom vacation home meaning that my landlord and his family only come to visit during holidays. </div>
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To the left, you will see my neighbors' pit latrine, as well as the homes of the families that live nearby. If you follow that direction, it will eventually lead you to the primary school and the one tar road that runs through Gobojango. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3cgeC2NwHKaGQ7dUZKgTdX__JH_YitjmsssoPltekdcCJl1ZVAkA0xnH0x2-UL3czEh6fnbPtJwz7zXgeaIAAPBr9QXhaNGiEFbWOOXUNmYwHImr3UejdhS0lio9uJMOiMnMhjDgAd3w/s1600/shade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3cgeC2NwHKaGQ7dUZKgTdX__JH_YitjmsssoPltekdcCJl1ZVAkA0xnH0x2-UL3czEh6fnbPtJwz7zXgeaIAAPBr9QXhaNGiEFbWOOXUNmYwHImr3UejdhS0lio9uJMOiMnMhjDgAd3w/s320/shade.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unfortunately, I don't have a direct picture of the primary school, but here is the completed shade (yayy!) found on the premises as well as the "school bus" that takes the choir children to competitions. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our tar road! =D (with Cleo strutting about the bus stop/hitching post) </td></tr>
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Once on the tar road, one may head due east a few meters and look out into the vast expanse of the village. Gobojango is one of three villages in the northeastern catchment of Bobonong. Though it is about 42 kilometers from the larger village, it is only about 15 kilometers from Zimbabwe, and 30 kilometers from South Africa. While it is said to be home to 2,100 people, the majority of its inhabitants live at their respective "cattle posts" (plots of land far from the village) and the village center sees the same 100-200 people daily. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinD7rI0uTV8ByKtSqA5DMqCjlyaSCDlaXwMrfPFSYvBKilW53zLVjrTvbbNxRq4x7xmn-CkMojBwuMiqD-lo38p_pLZAOzm8ZVt9RD9WXRj33TpQCRY6x99N7H5xPtDKea2ZoCYZkHXWQ/s1600/village.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinD7rI0uTV8ByKtSqA5DMqCjlyaSCDlaXwMrfPFSYvBKilW53zLVjrTvbbNxRq4x7xmn-CkMojBwuMiqD-lo38p_pLZAOzm8ZVt9RD9WXRj33TpQCRY6x99N7H5xPtDKea2ZoCYZkHXWQ/s320/village.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking out on Gobojango from the tar road. </td></tr>
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The village has no stores, only "tuck shops" (small huts reserved for selling small necessities like cooking oil and phone credit/airtime). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcruq0S00mvO23IiIRTnnvbmQrOeLY66rlt4-PMeDFeV_XxZkckWh0ULJIByb3jWBcItWV9d0_4swRboJH-9JlW9T5MJWh1Jjmz2qB-73fjPF2ISm0fCu-IeM0Qwz-CjfRDT8hSq-A9Y/s1600/bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcruq0S00mvO23IiIRTnnvbmQrOeLY66rlt4-PMeDFeV_XxZkckWh0ULJIByb3jWBcItWV9d0_4swRboJH-9JlW9T5MJWh1Jjmz2qB-73fjPF2ISm0fCu-IeM0Qwz-CjfRDT8hSq-A9Y/s320/bar.jpg" width="320" /></a>There is a single bar that sits on the side of the road, as if aimlessly waiting for a hitch to Bobonong. <br /><br />Its music can sometimes be heard echoing throughout the village near the end of the month, and you just know that men doubled over with age are reaping their profits from their welfare checks by throwing back one or two beers and boisterously placing their coins in the jukebox to listen to music such as "kwasa kwasa" or "stonkana". </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSk4elZM34O-JMOk9F1D-SHoMQ01NmQcs4ULQdFlQZPQOV59q6qd9cQHTVUWQaRfYLqUabMXOdwKUdeFNevHqbjZm4tstWW-y_eTB0hbzDwTPCd3RyuSoI87l6sqTSfMjN1QLGjo3-USI/s1600/post+office.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSk4elZM34O-JMOk9F1D-SHoMQ01NmQcs4ULQdFlQZPQOV59q6qd9cQHTVUWQaRfYLqUabMXOdwKUdeFNevHqbjZm4tstWW-y_eTB0hbzDwTPCd3RyuSoI87l6sqTSfMjN1QLGjo3-USI/s320/post+office.jpg" width="320" /></a>If you continue walking east, you will come across the proud post office, which stands on the opposite side of the road from the bar. It's bowing fence fell years ago and has yet to be repaired. <br /><br />While the six windows along either side suggest a welcoming house of well-functioning government post, the reality is that the woman who runs the building is rarely present and the open-mouthed gates are usually empty throughout the month. </div>
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Just past the post office, the road will curve and at the spout of the curve, you will encounter the Gobojango kgotla. My first month in Gobojango, I assisted in the painting and "refurbishing" if you will of this meeting area. It stands effortlessly as one of the nicer kgotlas in the area and is shaded by a large mophane tree. "Pula", as written on the side wall, not only means 'rain' but is also the name for Botswana's currency and is an exclamation of excitement and pride. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1JjLJHq0kEyV8ulPFlnU8eGqkClOOxXGa-PeTiu5RMG85nHqm72kR3Zj8mMuD6zOwztavKBqVZDTlDGwh8SahyTbyUkeFLFoZTEZIt6XI65tJUqpgbc8tJZHnFuyCyQrwzVVz-uy_RU/s1600/kgotla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1JjLJHq0kEyV8ulPFlnU8eGqkClOOxXGa-PeTiu5RMG85nHqm72kR3Zj8mMuD6zOwztavKBqVZDTlDGwh8SahyTbyUkeFLFoZTEZIt6XI65tJUqpgbc8tJZHnFuyCyQrwzVVz-uy_RU/s320/kgotla.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">During village meetings, VIPs will sit in chairs in the cemented/stage-looking part while the villagers will bring blankets and sit upon the ground beneath the tree.</td></tr>
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If you follow the curve, you will be taken the village corral (kraal) on the right and the clinic. Further down the tar road (about 1.5 kilometers), you will run into the Gobojango Junior Secondary School and then meet up with the larger tar road that takes to the nearby villages Semolale and Mabolwe. <br />
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If you are a <em>lekgoa</em> (white person) like me, and are daring enough to do this walk on a daily basis, you will not be surprised to hear small children screaming "LEKGOA!!! LEKGOOOOAAA!!" from different compounds on your way to work. The funniest part, however, is when you try to near these small children to tell them your real name is not lekgoa and you actually have a name they can pronounce, the reactions are similar to these....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwj3rGeQ6UXNgIhFYyv92KCcJmj5WWeuQ02Lq0G8Iyu2hP6DPMeijLJLrrYBvK2xt19cgb2EaT9cmWHl8Ks_KbeZP29BinLE7OTN5mGPnCbHPibWSOJ8_wmUNXgBfl5bPRFqv5oMj3lxM/s1600/balling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwj3rGeQ6UXNgIhFYyv92KCcJmj5WWeuQ02Lq0G8Iyu2hP6DPMeijLJLrrYBvK2xt19cgb2EaT9cmWHl8Ks_KbeZP29BinLE7OTN5mGPnCbHPibWSOJ8_wmUNXgBfl5bPRFqv5oMj3lxM/s320/balling.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJczreZW7vKqOJ9ud3__P1XYAXsGJBeTCT59AH55MpfrU6Wl6kWYYhQPJ5o8UDiTQzeAGExaqRGPYdFqlCdscqj-UOaFK92Owyl4JscrYhN3mDer1pS9sF61IIUE67_5c1UFbpF6xmMXk/s1600/crying.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJczreZW7vKqOJ9ud3__P1XYAXsGJBeTCT59AH55MpfrU6Wl6kWYYhQPJ5o8UDiTQzeAGExaqRGPYdFqlCdscqj-UOaFK92Owyl4JscrYhN3mDer1pS9sF61IIUE67_5c1UFbpF6xmMXk/s320/crying.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoCR7uKYYWn2GdRqxqc7ABJhppzvq3KV7l1adMnIB6lxQCLPN31JcGxP8caWKC6bqG6MHKOg2rRNrPEBw-sKucdYbcOeFV-LgLWfjghnnsDszTh1WqaT_bypXQGc2VHytDugYnfZW52lA/s1600/cry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><em><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoCR7uKYYWn2GdRqxqc7ABJhppzvq3KV7l1adMnIB6lxQCLPN31JcGxP8caWKC6bqG6MHKOg2rRNrPEBw-sKucdYbcOeFV-LgLWfjghnnsDszTh1WqaT_bypXQGc2VHytDugYnfZW52lA/s320/cry.jpg" width="320" /></em></a></div>
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...You'd think from their mortified faces that I'd be sitting there offering them a snake or making faces or something...not that that's something I would do, of course...<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hRx-fshCDkdydWqCUNRNc9F-V9Kbijc5ikMHliFCUU6FhSX5fJ_PotqpIjfm9T0In_RZM3vfExInGB5PD8EsME9B8tQnpfQUivKmEVnD_DfpI3tVJidBRhpFMu9J5bu3tagsWd7kgA4/s1600/face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hRx-fshCDkdydWqCUNRNc9F-V9Kbijc5ikMHliFCUU6FhSX5fJ_PotqpIjfm9T0In_RZM3vfExInGB5PD8EsME9B8tQnpfQUivKmEVnD_DfpI3tVJidBRhpFMu9J5bu3tagsWd7kgA4/s200/face.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NV9dzEiGGJ49tNjmWBE3KPnoNgMj-WepjTX-gc6WRDE822icquEMXpu20FpLnYUotPSiy8CZ_uEr5mLaE3kK_3pisYWXBU077s5gpFYHj0iZKdOniRU0ndYvn2FPTbYXDmF2mDP9EvU/s1600/snake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NV9dzEiGGJ49tNjmWBE3KPnoNgMj-WepjTX-gc6WRDE822icquEMXpu20FpLnYUotPSiy8CZ_uEr5mLaE3kK_3pisYWXBU077s5gpFYHj0iZKdOniRU0ndYvn2FPTbYXDmF2mDP9EvU/s320/snake.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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...what's even worse is that their mothers usually encourage them to go and touch us or get closer. When the child screams even louder, this is usually the expression on the faces of the parents....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hRx-fshCDkdydWqCUNRNc9F-V9Kbijc5ikMHliFCUU6FhSX5fJ_PotqpIjfm9T0In_RZM3vfExInGB5PD8EsME9B8tQnpfQUivKmEVnD_DfpI3tVJidBRhpFMu9J5bu3tagsWd7kgA4/s1600/face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVvAvU00lmyO-sHTJMbMFsJVuXoUZMRw57EAM53Bt3o1lLjOT4H-EzuBbjf2WgqPRISZhVpb_Iu11E3dcsZb2GpHFZbMrih9hQ0rD2rMd7nSSe33GU8LQY_AMtXH5IH8QwhDkyvsAcmU/s1600/laughing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVvAvU00lmyO-sHTJMbMFsJVuXoUZMRw57EAM53Bt3o1lLjOT4H-EzuBbjf2WgqPRISZhVpb_Iu11E3dcsZb2GpHFZbMrih9hQ0rD2rMd7nSSe33GU8LQY_AMtXH5IH8QwhDkyvsAcmU/s320/laughing.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anyway, although it is rare, you always will have the opportunity to run into this smiling face, Samantha, my daily dose of happiness. No matter how blue I am, all I have to do is go to my neighbor's house and encounter this cheeky 5 year old and my day will improve. <br />
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So let me finish telling you a bit more about where I live. The individuals who inhabit Gobojango are all a part of (or married into) the Sebirwa tribe. A rich and vibrant culture whose dialect is a mixture of Ndebele from Zimbabwe and the Bangwato Setswana, the Babirwa are a welcoming people who practice the culture of herding livestock and keeping farms. The traditional dance in this area is similar to that of the dancing found throughout Botswana with drums and vocals to accompany the rattling of the seeds wrapped around the ankles, though the colors of the dancers are much more effervescent and each dancer is clad with a staff. <br />
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As I said before, most Batswana practice the life of owning land. I've learned that it's very important to have livestock (usually cattle), land, and to build a house on said land. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7DHnDRGfyrdx7sniMVcSrRjZ_RlHiQHbOezoL-LpDdcHpY2_QuCS0tbmIunK2WSegi5cc7rexgWAtfI_sDZwWyuY8vh8JMnNEDwP8eS27v3jiHY2udH9PIY-2SIJMmqufHLus5xoQroc/s1600/traditional2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7DHnDRGfyrdx7sniMVcSrRjZ_RlHiQHbOezoL-LpDdcHpY2_QuCS0tbmIunK2WSegi5cc7rexgWAtfI_sDZwWyuY8vh8JMnNEDwP8eS27v3jiHY2udH9PIY-2SIJMmqufHLus5xoQroc/s200/traditional2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A house that may be found on a cattle post</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDScmzQFY5KuOeihJ4m0cTZ4RRbABrFwQzmvLWtc1DSisO20DPfehZbo908JrB8LdTgUHFReLqgy6OlLKIRUTOEpqE2jpGE4493MnpFdJ4JgTcjy9OgGl7_0ECLfHJqOl4DH6D1OhTC4/s1600/empty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDScmzQFY5KuOeihJ4m0cTZ4RRbABrFwQzmvLWtc1DSisO20DPfehZbo908JrB8LdTgUHFReLqgy6OlLKIRUTOEpqE2jpGE4493MnpFdJ4JgTcjy9OgGl7_0ECLfHJqOl4DH6D1OhTC4/s200/empty.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An example of a house found in a home village</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Usually, on this land (the aforementioned "cattle post"), they will have one small hut where the men stay while caring for the livestock and then have another house in their home village where the women will stay with the children. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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Since families here encompass not only the nuclear but the extended family as well, a lot of the cooking has to be done in mass amounts. Therefore, the process of boiling water and cooking with "three-legged pots" over an open fire is customary. This proved to be difficult for me when I wanted to cook for my neighbors (since in the United States we are so used to having smaller portions of more varieties of foods) and here in Botswana, the portions are usually just meat and starch doused in insurmountable amounts of oil and salt. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJLrGSmelTpnKTqnP6cePTMrcvtDJcieHqfh1mBFMW5Wrlm-4vTs_bpp4_CtGN8Uf6gMI3DRIc-5OicEk7FCqIkMecRwErkUBenLPycDDoLc0575HlZxYrB8FUTyPWbZRUVeXpgFC1Pc/s1600/pots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJLrGSmelTpnKTqnP6cePTMrcvtDJcieHqfh1mBFMW5Wrlm-4vTs_bpp4_CtGN8Uf6gMI3DRIc-5OicEk7FCqIkMecRwErkUBenLPycDDoLc0575HlZxYrB8FUTyPWbZRUVeXpgFC1Pc/s320/pots.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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With all of these things to consider and mull over, I hope I have given you a better glimpse at what my life here in Gobojango and in Botswana is like. My village, although seemingly bare and flora-free, has hidden beauty in each of its corners and faces. <br />
<br />
I am always taken by surprise by some of the things I encounter on a daily basis in Gobojango. The sunsets, for example, always leave me breathless. On most days, when I'm sitting in my living room watching meaningless media on my computer, and my room turns orange from the setting sun outside, I only grab my camera and place myself on my back stoop to see what entertainment the sky has in hold for me that night. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tcQ_0-cbQUpi31UzoTMg-utcSaX6w-prAooiOZOq56Mc7QZWvAbLkZsa7aZlP3nLKFBymIG-xR435NDMM7PlUg71_DsGtXWMtYS-RZjWLHK8ZkqlCRGwt0lC1ZnudkKaHK5JduCGzGc/s1600/house1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tcQ_0-cbQUpi31UzoTMg-utcSaX6w-prAooiOZOq56Mc7QZWvAbLkZsa7aZlP3nLKFBymIG-xR435NDMM7PlUg71_DsGtXWMtYS-RZjWLHK8ZkqlCRGwt0lC1ZnudkKaHK5JduCGzGc/s320/house1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The humor lies in the fact that when people are scrolling through my camera, they are perplexed at why I love the sunsets so much. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirC17vP2SmbovVWZ1q_eGy5WuPlavRZvjk6UXVW9pHvo6ffiuyF19v5U_Qxfh95BlF4ZTU6d4Lt8MGgORhYOOvQpifIcd61WMXko6RuE00u-1m8XBLLDN43yaxE2kH2uthT_kcvcO6-OY/s1600/sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirC17vP2SmbovVWZ1q_eGy5WuPlavRZvjk6UXVW9pHvo6ffiuyF19v5U_Qxfh95BlF4ZTU6d4Lt8MGgORhYOOvQpifIcd61WMXko6RuE00u-1m8XBLLDN43yaxE2kH2uthT_kcvcO6-OY/s320/sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Another aspect of why my village has been so astronomically blissful is because of the family that has adopted me. Some of my favorite nights have been spent simply sitting around an open fire, sharing conversation with people around the world. In fact, the other day as the doctor from my village gave me a ride, I was overcome with an epiphany that I was sitting in a car with a man from the DRC Congo, a woman from Zimbabwe, a young man from South Africa, and I was an American. What an opportunity this entire experience has been thus far! What amazing individuals I have encountered on this adventure! </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqUujDpsYESgzqQDGcVoQ-VE8FAEH3thIPJUVqc0gk7_7WlgzNfeSeKBB7xQMJU7eW_z2z7_Ope5X1fD8pPaxTGrht38ac9XxmCdjJwzqqkrQZELwNQMt3cTFIX0JTNJeo2PIe6WkYo0/s1600/fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqUujDpsYESgzqQDGcVoQ-VE8FAEH3thIPJUVqc0gk7_7WlgzNfeSeKBB7xQMJU7eW_z2z7_Ope5X1fD8pPaxTGrht38ac9XxmCdjJwzqqkrQZELwNQMt3cTFIX0JTNJeo2PIe6WkYo0/s320/fire.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is a braai (bbq) that I had for a Swedish scientist, Pier, and his son who came to visit Gobojango for a couple months. </td></tr>
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I hope you have enjoyed reading this rendition of Cribs. Hopefully now, you're more able to visualize what my home looks like, what my village looks like, and perhaps maybe you are more able to understand what my service has been throughout these past 17 months. Join us next time....when I update my blog with another fun-filled post ;)<br />
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Finally, and I'll leave you with this thought from a book that I finished a few weeks ago...<br />
(Just so you know, I've been encouraging everyone I know to read the book "The Alchemist". It's filled with wisdom beyond compare and I feel like it's a great representation of what my service has done for me so far so if you haven't read it yet...DO!)<br />
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<em>"
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Making a decision is only the beginning of
things. When someone makes a decision he is really diving into a strong current
that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the
decision. "</span></em><br />
<br />
If you had asked me two years ago if I ever thought I'd catch myself sitting in the middle of a group of children in Africa listening to a man play the guitar on a sporadic Tuesday afternoon. I would have laughed in your face. But thank God and thank all graces that I am able to experience this firsthand and understand what life means for people who are so different, yet so similar to me. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9m3r2DkcXz3y_vyEAEZY2cW9BjQHlIBB_IorXdKvHgH1zfTGkKTn0t4UpFPR_41ac7GdANLK89GNjP4Yh5ULHWfJB0HL2oWLwrewo3WBF45cY4MMf0dTFDMOgsmeNK_ZJwhMzR1wB5p0/s1600/music.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9m3r2DkcXz3y_vyEAEZY2cW9BjQHlIBB_IorXdKvHgH1zfTGkKTn0t4UpFPR_41ac7GdANLK89GNjP4Yh5ULHWfJB0HL2oWLwrewo3WBF45cY4MMf0dTFDMOgsmeNK_ZJwhMzR1wB5p0/s320/music.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-5155828495979381202013-09-15T03:16:00.003-07:002013-10-09T01:55:27.674-07:004 Obstacles<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We all need to be aware of our personal calling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What is a personal calling? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It is God’s blessing, it is the path that God chose for
you here on Earth. Whenever we do something that fills us with enthusiasm, we
are following our legend. However, we don’t all have the courage to confront
our own dream. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Why? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There are four obstacles.
First: we are told from childhood onward that everything we want to do is
impossible. We grow up with this idea, and as the years accumulate, so too do
the layers of prejudice, fear, and guilt. There comes a time when our personal
calling is so deeply buried in our soul as to be invisible. But it’s still
there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If
we have the courage to disinter dream, we are then faced by the second
obstacle: love. We know what we want to do, but are afraid of hurting those
around us by abandoning everything in order to pursue our dream. We do not
realize that love is just a further impetus, not something that will prevent us
going forward. We do not realize that those who genuinely wish us well want us
to be happy and are prepared to accompany us on that journey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once
we have accepted that love is a stimulus, we come up against the third obstacle:
fear of the defeats we will meet on the path. We who fight for our dream suffer
far more when it doesn’t work out, because we cannot fall back on the old
excuse; “Oh well, I didn’t really want it anyway.” We do want it and know that
we have staked everything on it and that the path of the personal calling is no
easier than any other path, except that our whole heart is in this
journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, we warriors of light must
be prepared to have patience in difficult times and to know that the universe
is conspiring in our favor, even though we may not understand how. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJvMUYgtWYtGQV3GNGLIZad7QtkQnBo9z71rwB7VVMc2ICfsj7FZVEdYTgolqVvtXsnBdwrcOPjRFwTIIv-6jpYPDrwhDtQwhuVhsJafBYpaQF6bIeeWDgrwxawsOUrCGQwPbx7IzNbs/s1600/IMG_2764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJvMUYgtWYtGQV3GNGLIZad7QtkQnBo9z71rwB7VVMc2ICfsj7FZVEdYTgolqVvtXsnBdwrcOPjRFwTIIv-6jpYPDrwhDtQwhuVhsJafBYpaQF6bIeeWDgrwxawsOUrCGQwPbx7IzNbs/s320/IMG_2764.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The waterfront next to the tallest building in the world in Dubai, United Arab Emirates</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I ask myself: are defeats necessary? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Well,
necessary or not, they happen. When we first begin fighting for our dream, we
have no experience and make many mistakes. The secret of life, though, is to
fall seven times and to get up eight times. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So why is it so important to live our personal calling
if we are only going to suffer more than other people? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because,
once we have overcome the defeats—and we always do—we are filled by a greater
sense of euphoria and confidence. In the silence of our hearts, we know that we
are proving ourselves worthy of the miracle of life. Each day, each hour, is
part of the good fight. We start to live with enthusiasm and pleasure. Intense,
unexpected suffering passes more quickly than suffering that is apparently
bearable; the latter goes on for years and, without our noticing, eats away at
our soul, until, one day we are no longer able to free ourselves from the
bitterness and it stays with us for the rest of our lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Having
disinterred our dream, having used the power of love to nurture it and spent
many years living with the scars, we suddenly notice that what we always wanted
is there, waiting for us, perhaps the very next day. Then comes the fourth
obstacle: the fear of realizing the dream for which we fought all our lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oscar
Wilde said: “Each man kills the thing he loves most.” And it’s true. The mere
possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with
guilt. We look around at all those who have failed to get what they truly want
and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. We forget about all
the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering our hearts endured, all the things
we had to give up in order to get this far. I have known a lot of people who,
when their personal calling was within their grasp, went on to commit a series
of stupid mistakes and never reached their goal—when it was only a step away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
is the most dangerous of the obstacles because it has a kind of saintly aura
about it: renouncing joy and conquest. But if you believe yourself worthy of
the thing you fought so hard to get, then you become an instrument of God, you
help the Soul of the World, and you understand why you are here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFF7Nn857tbvtW7bNyz15I4ljlFabcZKMdWkJIknogj8gdZSd7LiF1OmDws_GFt0AqqCizgo5vOtNPzQpr2RirSLY4GSs5ycr35xajTnvKK7DuqaGWQgq8YEPIXyJCyGUpcElSEH4vHM/s1600/MOONSHINE.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFF7Nn857tbvtW7bNyz15I4ljlFabcZKMdWkJIknogj8gdZSd7LiF1OmDws_GFt0AqqCizgo5vOtNPzQpr2RirSLY4GSs5ycr35xajTnvKK7DuqaGWQgq8YEPIXyJCyGUpcElSEH4vHM/s320/MOONSHINE.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sunset behind my house in Gobojango, Botswana<br />
<br />
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<br />
-Paulo Coelho (preface to The Alchemist)</td></tr>
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Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-26280850346621575502013-08-27T15:16:00.001-07:002013-10-07T04:17:11.618-07:00Language Barrier<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So, the majority of Batswana understand and can
speak English very well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to say that this
has contributed to my overall success within the country because even though I
am learning the local language (Setswana), it’s assuring to be able to express
myself in my native tongue when Setswana just isn’t working for me that day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Vk-0XkUhVc1UOa-pAOhw60K2M11VhSdO0e-t7EHyyfl8Q7GVvA4rSD5r7ezKq2-9sYd7pStAYEBRP_7bYedUl8mg8ysycIR-HCSBuNZqLavx0x1TWVgqT_ypmtXTq6XUTggBjOXD_i8/s1600/teaching.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Vk-0XkUhVc1UOa-pAOhw60K2M11VhSdO0e-t7EHyyfl8Q7GVvA4rSD5r7ezKq2-9sYd7pStAYEBRP_7bYedUl8mg8ysycIR-HCSBuNZqLavx0x1TWVgqT_ypmtXTq6XUTggBjOXD_i8/s320/teaching.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teaching sexual reproductive health to a group of junior secondary students</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">That being said, the English that is spoken here is
very much a conglomeration from around the world: from England to South
Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of the “isms” are
infinitely disparate from the English I am familiar with and on days where I
feel that I need to make my speech ingenuous, I am taken back when a youth in
my PACT club utilizes a word like, “ameliorate” or “discordant”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often it seems that the smallest words are
the ones that cause the most confusion; such as “bathroom” literally means the
room in which you bathe, and not where the toilet is located.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcXl5r6De6zRu5meS9rWE-Lq07PduUKCsb48VuQKjo3dZQ2MeNhvUmMiod7qleI_5DGo3Gswa9i0QlwjUMplFEcoO4NUV_2sq2bKfnXGjxJKnx7M2M9T2jqZpRv5zHOWf2gsMT5aJLFM/s1600/toilet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcXl5r6De6zRu5meS9rWE-Lq07PduUKCsb48VuQKjo3dZQ2MeNhvUmMiod7qleI_5DGo3Gswa9i0QlwjUMplFEcoO4NUV_2sq2bKfnXGjxJKnx7M2M9T2jqZpRv5zHOWf2gsMT5aJLFM/s320/toilet.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Livingstone, Zambia. One of the nicer toilets and bathrooms I've seen in a while. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One day as I walked with a male friend of mine, I
stated my discomfort at my “pants” being bunched at my knees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He immediately turned his head away from me,
and with eyes bulging asked me, “Do you need to go somewhere where you can find
privacy?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, “no, silly, I can just
fix it right here”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His protuberant eyes
began scanning our surroundings frantically as he said, “No, Kitso, please not
here, people will stare.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crunched my
nose in confusion, trying to understand why I would need privacy to unroll the
bottoms of my pants and why that would be a cause for public attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did it anyway, and told him that we could
continue on our way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t until
later that evening, when I was explaining to my friend Lorato what had
happened, that I learned that “pants” here means “underwear” and, essentially,
my friend thought that I wanted to unbunch my underwear from my knees in the
middle of square in my shopping village. This was the day I began to say
“trousers” instead of “pants” and “pants” instead of “underwear”. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6UQi1PxDq8Qa3XqTXTswIaPkxotSIz6_cpap7VEvPgipnl7T6PYxvCiGaDU48EHhCrcc1fXSAdqbZM1ml75Co9p8JhUfZSSfFWzIox9f3Eedsac3OQRi7WiwtqyifzScbJwc92zb18to/s1600/children.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6UQi1PxDq8Qa3XqTXTswIaPkxotSIz6_cpap7VEvPgipnl7T6PYxvCiGaDU48EHhCrcc1fXSAdqbZM1ml75Co9p8JhUfZSSfFWzIox9f3Eedsac3OQRi7WiwtqyifzScbJwc92zb18to/s320/children.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Though I see them and teach them things every day, <br />
I feel as if the children in Gobojango are my best, most patient teachers!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When I first arrived to Botswana, I was having a
couple drinks with people from South Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remember sitting there, listening to their stories and laughing on cue
but really not understanding a single word that was being said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple months ago, I met up with the same
South Africans and found myself understanding and contributing to the
conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stories consisted of
“braai’s” (bar-be-ques) and “the boot and the bonnet of the bakkies” (the trunk
and hood of a pickup truck).</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When I speak to my friends and family, I find myself
epitomizing the “Botswana-isms”: everything from the reactionary expressions to
the hand gestures to the diction I choose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For example, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now</i> now” implies
a different time reference to “now” and “just that side” (followed by an
ambiguous hand gesture similar to waving) could mean anywhere from a few
kilometers away to the other side of the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever I reference anything that’s small in
size, I have to remind myself not to add “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in-yana</i>”
to the end and something that’s “big” is a very different size than something
that’s “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">big</i> big”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The running joke between my fellow PCVs and me
is how weird all of us are going to be when we return Stateside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaqFLSI_RVmRmSycUpSxDlhVojJt6h9e3F1wb-EszlyOf2yaC1m5_13UYuKivcXFaMMeaRBj67FFxrP4R7MMP3cnK1oKTXjMBsLWEzVpueHRIRPnN7RSRI46qFz6f34GjOcDpQ_9-n8A/s1600/lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaqFLSI_RVmRmSycUpSxDlhVojJt6h9e3F1wb-EszlyOf2yaC1m5_13UYuKivcXFaMMeaRBj67FFxrP4R7MMP3cnK1oKTXjMBsLWEzVpueHRIRPnN7RSRI46qFz6f34GjOcDpQ_9-n8A/s320/lights.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What is "normal" anyway? <br />
Sometimes when the electricity is out, I amuse my neighbor children with light shows....</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What’s unfortunate is that I’m now studying for the
GRE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I would love to utilize
the new vocabulary I’m learning in an every-day setting, it’s proving to be
increasingly difficult. I’ve managed to find a couple friends of mine within
the country who are also studying for the GRE and willing to assist me in
studying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We text one another our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">neologisms</i>… (Hah! You like how I did
that?) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-14098183509407780352013-08-26T18:30:00.001-07:002013-08-26T18:30:18.037-07:00"Working Like a Motswana"
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The other day, as I raked my large yard of dirt, a
woman walking by paused, shifted her weight to one hip, and smiled from ear to
ear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt her presence on the other
side of the gate, wiped the sweat from my brow, and looked up with a friendly
greeting “Dumela Mma!” (At this point, I’m used to being a splendorous
attraction). She shook her head and smiled even bigger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Kitso!” She exclaimed, her voice gaining an
octave with each word, “You are working like a Motswana!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t help but chuckle and nod it
off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I affirmed her statement by saying,
“Eeh Mma!” She continued on her journey, her face still creased into a
smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUkXXlIn9mBiGQjsS4ypNN7jPpFjqYUMiVqToznMWAYuNPK_vWEY9fnQ2K2_AI8zFQeyOlEC0mdEnaL9kCRvvSurORH7wEHFFlVy3NBCfUcBRzXDEiYwK9TDWcXKF2ev9HhOobgYd4bOI/s1600/garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUkXXlIn9mBiGQjsS4ypNN7jPpFjqYUMiVqToznMWAYuNPK_vWEY9fnQ2K2_AI8zFQeyOlEC0mdEnaL9kCRvvSurORH7wEHFFlVy3NBCfUcBRzXDEiYwK9TDWcXKF2ev9HhOobgYd4bOI/s320/garden.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watering the garden (that has since died due to no water in the village)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A couple days later, as I rode my newly-bought
bicycle to the junior secondary school, children ran alongside me screaming
with excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk began circulating
around the village that I knew how to ride a bicycle and people came to my
house simply to ask me to ride it so that they may watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Every day, I’m humored by the simple-natured things
that I do that people find to be most fascinating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most entertaining of these, I think, (not
including the raking or bicycle riding) is the fact that I know how to
whistle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently, whistling is a very
“masculine” characteristic here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
those of you who know me well, I whistle to myself a good deal, usually without
even noticing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems like every time
someone who has never heard me whistle before hears me for the first time, they
offer their aghast reaction (two short exhales with their mouth and eyes wide
open), followed by a prodigious cackle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5ZcmHc6i60OuNXziYQTaIQF8F0mbKAEgvVIcuXCyHKJ5KzRqfOntILtTEecp9ubNPCf3hMb3PkPx1CIVa2FwTFURBxCqggHv5gEATfCejhBvZSNR3bi0qzgMtXfilyePrmWLHLpvjfQ/s1600/shock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5ZcmHc6i60OuNXziYQTaIQF8F0mbKAEgvVIcuXCyHKJ5KzRqfOntILtTEecp9ubNPCf3hMb3PkPx1CIVa2FwTFURBxCqggHv5gEATfCejhBvZSNR3bi0qzgMtXfilyePrmWLHLpvjfQ/s320/shock.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A man in my shopping village was shocked to hear me whistle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I think it’s going to be difficult for me to go back
to the U.S. simply because I often enjoy being a source of inquiry for everyone
around me! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">That being said, as much as I try to “capacity
build” my peers in Gobojango about the axiomatic nature of the diversity of
Americans (that yes, we are able to do mundane tasks), I still find it
difficult to verbally express our commonalities as a human race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather, things that I simply assume are
common-knowledge (like riding a bicycle or raking a yard) are shocking to my
host country national peers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People
still get a kick out of watching me hang my laundry to dry outside, and to this
day (16 months later) I am often pleasantly taken by surprise when an
individual sheds light on the subject.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf8at108xCF5N4rLZgUvcKd37YI8KTbDTaj_zzXvra-t2xdYCAvn87ubxkT792UbDYZmkUSTSjJHWIo3vlpiJCu9aj9JmPWOMmDK86YkgoCj-by1QsCiq3YVLHUdmRpi60AR6j7CgEUHc/s1600/hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf8at108xCF5N4rLZgUvcKd37YI8KTbDTaj_zzXvra-t2xdYCAvn87ubxkT792UbDYZmkUSTSjJHWIo3vlpiJCu9aj9JmPWOMmDK86YkgoCj-by1QsCiq3YVLHUdmRpi60AR6j7CgEUHc/s320/hair.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love when young girls want to touch my hair. <br />
I've heard everything from "it feels like doll hair" to "it feels like donkey hair"!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-74582217334692868522013-06-19T08:14:00.003-07:002013-06-19T08:14:58.830-07:00And now for some silliness =P
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><u>Ode to my Best Friend.</u> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never in my life have I had a friend like you<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’re always there for me when I’m feeling blue. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On those days where the dust accumulates and I feel dirty<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You clean my feet and I watch the water turn murky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When the sweat pours off of my worried forehead<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I feel like the heat is going to make me dead<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know at the end of the day, you’ll be there<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Waiting for me to cool off, without a care. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">During the cold winter mornings when I can’t get out of bed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’re there to offer a warm place to rest my head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When Cleo (my dog) is covered in pap<sup><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">1</span></sup><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You let me wash her, and never make me stop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When my clothes have been soiled and piling for days<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You help me to wash them and snap me out of my daze. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If my sink is clogged, I know where to turn <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wash in your mouth, while both of us learn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, never in my life have I had a friend so true<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This ode is for you, my bath tub, how I love you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">1</span></sup>Pap is a traditional Botswana food made from
mealy meal (pronounced “pop”) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-85036830038311199852013-05-22T00:55:00.000-07:002013-05-22T00:55:08.906-07:00Lots of updates...long post ;)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">These past few weeks have been overwhelmingly busy! Currently, one of the primary school teachers has lent me his laptop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I sit, pensive, and write about the going-ons in my life over the past couple months. I realize it has been a while, so please bear with me and the extremely loooong post that is about to ensue…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The last time I was able to post, I briefly mentioned my birthday and the wonderful surprise that the Junior Secondary Students prepared for me. What I didn’t tell you was the birthday presents I received from my magnificent family through the post and my birthday trip to the Okavango Delta. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One day, as the sun splayed its viciously hot face in the sky, I sat and grumbled at the daily frustrations I face at the clinic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The organizational system I set up for the patient files was out of order…again…patients persisted in asking that I take their vital signs or prescribe them medicine (thought they know I don’t have the authority to do so), and the head nurse was preoccupied updating herself on the latest gossip in the village while the number of clients in the waiting room rose exponentially by the minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the door opened with another person saying, “Kitso, ke batla wena” (Kitso, I need you) I hid my dramatic eye roll and turned to face the post office attendant laden with a box from America in her arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My frustrations quickly melted into visible excitement as I yelped with glee, flew out of my chair and pranced towards her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I locked myself in an abandoned kitchen and began to rip the box open like a child anticipating a toy on the morning of Christmas. Lo and behold, my family did not disappoint: I was faced with a bursting display of new shoes, mac’n’cheese boxes, new jewelry, nail polish, and the best part: a card written with words from each of my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, parents, and brother. As I read through the cards, tears flowed easily down my cheeks and I became extremely reminiscent of weekend dinners and birthdays spent with the company of those I love most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though it may seem as if my reaction was spontaneously infantile, I haven’t felt so thought about or missed since I joined the Peace Corps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of the minor obstructions for the day seemed to roll off of me like water off a duck and my smile lasted the rest of the week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A couple days after my actual birthday, I began packing to head up north to the largest inland delta in the world: the Okavango Delta. There was to be a large event held in a village called Shakawe, and my fellow volunteer Leia and I were asked to run a stall based on gender-based violence prevention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rolled up the posters I had prepared, rolled up my clothes for the next few days and set off to Bobonong where I would meet Leia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I was under the assumption that I would be taking the ambulance at 4am, the lack of electricity in the village and therefore lack of communication with the driver convinced me to stay home a bit longer and begin to hitchhike when the sun began to come up instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, since I was so excited for our oncoming trip, I was unable to sleep; so instead, I cleaned my entire house, made egg salad sandwiches for the road, and began making a mosaic with rocks and fabric on my knife holder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, the sun peered its sleepy way through the window panes and around 7 I decided to walk to the hitching post. I caught a ride all the way to Phikwe with one of the teachers from the primary school; we picked up an extremely exhausted Leia and arrived in our shopping town about an hour later. The majority of the ride went very well. We took a two and half hour bus from Phikwe to Francistown, and were pleasantly surprised to find that one of our friends was actually in Francistown as well and headed to our first destination, Maun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We meandered our way through the crowded bus rank to Milky Lane, an ice cream store, and excitedly awaited our friend Beekyper to meet up with us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(I find it funny how overwhelmed I get nowadays being surrounded by so many people after I’ve been in the village for so long.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we waited, we met up with my best friends Claire and Stacey and all shared some much-craved ice cream. Finally, Beekyper arrived and we all piled into his jeep and took off for Maun with hopes of making great time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly to our realization, BK (although a very safe driver) drives about 10 kms under every speed limit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrived in Nata (the halfway point) much later than we’d hoped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took matters into our own hands and finally arrived in Maun just after sunset. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A feast of homemade pizza awaited us at a Peace Corps couple’s house, and we delved into our allotted slices while mustering conversations with the other PCVs staying the night there. Since the next day was also going to be filled with painstaking travelling, we all called it a night around midnight and snuggled into our respective sleeping bags. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day, Leia and I left around 8 (after making a scrumptious breakfast of omelettes and bacon) to begin hitchhiking up North. Right as we arrived to the hitching post, a group of people informed us that there was a cue (line) that we had to follow. Since this was so unlike everywhere else I’d travelled in Botswana, I was taken by surprise and immediately uneasy about what to do…just as I was processing the thought of following a line, a van pulled up declaring that he was going to Shakawe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The aforementioned “cue” turned into mass hysteria as people grabbed their belongings and began diving through windows and car doors to secure their seat. Needless to say, we shrugged off our losses, watched the packed van drive off, and agreed that we were going to begin throwing elbows if necessary to ensure we had a ride on the next vehicle to Shakawe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the morning slowly morphed into afternoon, we agreed that we would take any ride that was going towards our destination, such that we still had a few hours of travelling ahead of us and any progression would help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, an open-bed bucky (truck) pulled up and we literally played human tetris as more and more people loaded onto the back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We travelled for a couple hours, with my right knee bent up towards my shoulder and my left foot directly under the bottom of another passenger, until the bucky dropped us off at its final location: our half-way point to Shakawe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During those two hours on the bucky, our exposed fair skin decided to absorb the harsh sun and transform into a translucent shade of pink. We unloaded, threw our belongings on the curb, and prepared ourselves to begin hitching yet again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Imagine: there we stood, in the middle of nowhere, our feet burning from the boiling pavement and our sweat evaporating from our rubicund cheeks while watching every car zip past us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We must have looked so pathetic that one of the boys waiting alongside us snatched my water bottle, filled it to the brim with water from the nearby standpipe, and ordered us to drink more. Finally, after about an hour of standing in the Kalagadi desert, a nice Ford F150 conducted by two very clean gentlemen pulled up and offered to take us all the way to Shakawe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The journey was pleasant: filled with good conversation, a few chuckles here and there, and….if you can believe it…air-conditioning! We stopped briefly in Gumare so the men could donate books that they had brought, and proceeded to collect a handful of our peers (other volunteers who had left much earlier than Leia and me) who were found hitching on the side of the road near the fueling station. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At long last, our ruby red faces looked onto the landscape of Shakawe: the northern-most village in Botswana where Peace Corps volunteers are placed. The landscape is vastly different than what I’m used to here in Gobojango.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than being made of soil, the huts are instead constructed with tall reeds from the delta, and the green trees towered over us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as if we had jumped into an alternative tropical Bostwana. We arrived at the house of Bridgette and Matt Kogle (the wonderful couple willing to host a slew of volunteers for the Okavango Half Marathon) and were pleasantly greeted by people we didn’t even know were going to be there! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We took a quick hike over the fence of the Kogle’s back yard and looked onto the scenery of the mighty Okavango. It was breath-taking. It seemed like I had accidentally stepped into a post card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to add to the view, a man slowly paddled his way through the reeds of the Delta in a makoro (small canoe-like boat)…come on…those kind of things only happen in movies! I returned to the house, kicked my heels up next to the campfire, and enjoyed the company of my captivating peers: some whom I hadn’t seen for months (like Tate and the Kogles), some whom I had hardly met (like some of the Bots13s), and some who I saw more regularly than others. It was a wonderful light at the end of the “traveling” tunnel I had taken over the past two days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The half marathon went very well, and the young local woman who won the race did so barefoot!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent the rest of my afternoon watching local traditional dance performances and listening to presentations until Tate and Ashley approached me concerned that no one had taken the lead with the Kings Foundation Base Pack! The three of us joined forces and spent hours playing with an ever-growing group of children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I’ll tell ya, that in it of itself is a form of marathon…I was EXHAUSTED by the end of the day)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day we had hoped to make it to the crocodile farm, but due to exhaustion and a dire need to relax, we spent the entire day with our friends, cooking a pot of chili and cornbread, and playing card games while listening to the hippos in the backyard delta. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After packing up our tents before the sun came up, and bidding farewell to our comrades, a handful of us set off to catch the early morning bus south.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were about to embark on a journey through the delta to camp on an island for three days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once we arrived to the loading location, the Swamp Stop, we packed two boats full of food, alcohol, backpacks, tents, and people, and splashed off into the winding landscape of the Okavango. Before we left, they warned us the hippos and crocodiles were very prominent during this time of day and to brace ourselves. Along the way, I sort of got the feeling that I was on the Disneyland water safari ride; which only got stronger as we approached the largest, fattest crocodile I had ever seen in existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sat there, smiling its maniacal grimace at us as the drivers of the boats giggled and drove closer and closer. Leia almost clawed her nails into the bone in my arm when the croc jolted and slithered his way into the water. I kept my cool until our driver began worrying and attempting to move the boat out of the cove.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don’t worry, nothing happened to us. ;) It just makes for a cool story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We arrived to the island after a few hours in the boats. The three days seemed to fly by as we enjoyed a series of fishing, charades, drinking games, game drives, boat rides, and swimming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, we were out in a marsh fishing while I antagonized the driver, Theo. “push me in, I dare you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You won’t do it, I know you won’t…” and yes, good people, he started the engine, turned the boat in the direction back to camp, put one hand on my forehead, and shoved me into the crocodile and hippo-infested waters. Unfortunately everyone else was in the front of the boat and didn’t see that he pushed me, so as he turned the boat back around to collect me, Theo convinced everyone that I had slipped and fallen in. Another time, we drove the boats to the nearest village to collect petrol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I proudly drove the boat as we arrived into the dock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As some volunteers jumped out to see the village, others of us hurdled ourselves into the water and began having a splashing fight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(One thing I should probably tell you about the average Peace Corps volunteer is that we are pretty competitive. So keep in mind, when I say a “splashing fight”, I really mean it started as us splashing water at one another and ended in us chucking mud at one another and a couple bloody noses. But don’t worry, everyone was okay). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our last night on the island, we went for one final boat ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Theo idled the boat in a vast marsh, and I laid on my back and looked up into the stars. The reflection of the night sky off of the undisturbed delta water beneath me and splashed stars of the Milky Way overhead made me feel as if I was floating in space…it was one of the most memorable experiences I’ve ever had. After I soaked up as much of the bliss that I could, we then proceeded to use the spotlight to identify crocodile eyes along the shore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can’t even lie to you: Theo taught me how to catch a baby crocodile. As I held its scaly, slippery body in my hands, the noise that escaped its needle-sharp tooth-filled mouth sounded similar to a concoction between a child’s cry and a cat’s meow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Though it wasn’t directly on my 24<sup>th</sup> birthday, the Okavango Delta trip was chalk-full of memories and great company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, who else can say that they learned how to catch a crocodile (besides Steve Irwin), drive a boat, and camp on an island for three days on their birthday? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yeah…I guess I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">am</i> really living in Africa. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moving on, let me tell you that the members of the Bots12 Peace Corps intake group have achieved their one year mark in country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WOOHOO! Talk about a weird point in service…I remember talking to my predecessors at their one year mark and thinking, “Wow, I can’t even imagine what that would feel like”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that I’m here…let me tell you…it’s an odd sensation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Though I’ve been here for over 12 months, I don’t have many tangible things to prove my success or existence within my community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The absence from my family feels like proof enough, though I keep reminding myself that this is where I want to be. I look over this past year and feel an immense amount of personal growth but then look at the entire year left and feel a bit disheartened for two reasons: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">1) I fear it may not be enough time for me to accomplish everything I’ve set out to do and <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2) it’s a whole nother 12 months away from the life I knew in the US.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like I said, it’s a strange point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I think I’ve come to terms with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than living as if this is a two-year break from my “real” life, I’m much more comfortable accepting that this is currently my life, and…let’s be honest…it’s pretty bad ass. So I’m trying to soak up as much as I can and enjoy the ride. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On that note, let me tell you about our one year celebration! About 17 other volunteers from my intake group throughout Botswana came to our side of the country to spend three days and two nights in the legendary private Tuli Safari Block. Though we all brought tents, the lodge owner surprised us by allowing all 18 of us to use the private chalets. She also offered us a free (4-hour) game drive in which we saw elephants, impala, eland, and hippos, and she gave us an extremely discounted braii (bbq) with complimentary bottles of free, REAL wine. It was such a great time; I brought my new puppy Cleo (who had an overwhelming amount of affection from her Peace Corps aunties), and we relaxed like kings and queens for three days. The best parts of those three days were the times spent around the campfire, playing games, dancing, and laughing with our Peace Corps family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Though many of them live so undoubtedly far away from me, I have this warm connection with each volunteer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have grown together, we have experienced hardships with similar foundations, and yet here we are, one year later, still thriving. One thing I’ve learned about Peace Corps is that it truly attracts some of the most phenomenal, diverse group of people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really feel like no matter where I find myself in life in the future, I will always have those starry-filled nights with my PC family to reminisce upon and smile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oftentimes, during America-specific holidays, many PCVs will join forces and celebrate together to avoid ridicule and having to explain to their communities <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such was the case with Thanksgiving, Halloween, and, the most recent: Cinco de Mayo. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This year, I celebrated El Cinco with four wonderful ladies: Claire, Stacey, Jessica, and Lindsay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though the actual celebration was fun-filled, I really want to tell you about the transport situation to get to Claire’s village, Ramokgonami.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because, honestly, I think it was the most haphazard, slapdash situation I have experienced in Botswana (and, let me tell you, I’ve experienced some chaotic things…). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I met Lindsay in her village (Palapye) and we collected a few things from the grocery store before walking over to the hitching spot. Since Ramokgonami is a small village like Gobojango, I felt a bit wary about hitching with so many expectant people looking for rides around us. After a bus that was going to a nearby village rolled by bursting with passengers, we mutually agreed to walk over to the bus rank and stand in line for the 5pm bus. When we arrived we casually joined a well-formed line where the Rams bus was supposed to come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People were pleasantly sharing conversation, munching on snacks, and holding their children’s hands and Lindsay and I agreed that we had made the right decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made friends with a delicate, older woman whose smile warmed our hearts, and she informed us that she would be going to Moshupa, the village past Claire’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At one point, we noticed that the line we were standing in began shifting slowly behind us and to the right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bit confused we picked up our groceries from the ground and tried to follow the masses until a man grabbed me by the shoulders and said, “everybody stand behind the mekgoa (white people)”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Okay,</i> I thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that’s awfully nice; they’re allowing us to be in the front of the line…</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh if only I knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The second that the sprinter (small, 20 passenger bus) pulled around the corner, the well-formed, peacefully pleasant line turned into a frenzied bustle of confusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People started pushing old ladies out of the way to be in the front of the line, men were yelling at one another in Setswana, women were pulling one another by the hair, and Lindsay and I ducked out of the way as to avoid injury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so chaotic and hectic that the sprinter driver yelled out the window, “Unless you form a line, I’m not pulling in!” (Or at least, that’s what I assumed he said…since it was in Setswana, I couldn’t get the exact translation).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three people designated themselves the start of three dissimilar lines and those of us who were less vehement slowly fell into one of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Clearly unhappy, the sprinter driver put the vehicle into gear and rolled away, saying that when he came back he wanted to see one, orderly line. People grabbed one another by the shoulders and placed themselves in a single-file line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where we once stood at the front, we now meshed into the middle of the crowd of people. The second the sprinter returned and parked at the stop, the well-formed line exploded again into a mass bulk of people yelling and pushing one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a bit overwhelmed with individuals all around me, grabbed Lindsay’s hand, and made our way outside the deranged mob.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A small girl holding her younger brother began screaming and crying from within the throng while a man took it upon himself to conduct a rescue mission and pull her out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our newly-acquired granny friend from Moshupa looked to me with a look of desperation as her cheek pressed against the window of the sprinter. The driver stated that he wouldn’t open the doors until people could conduct themselves in an orderly manner. A well-dressed man tried taking charge of the horde by yelling, “The elderly, women, and children first, come on my brothers, we can walk if needed!” Thank goodness Lindsay was there, we kept exchanging looks to one another to assure ourselves that we weren’t crazy, and this situation was, in fact, completely preposterous. It honestly felt like we were trying to get on the last life boat off of the Titanic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Slowly, the conductor slid the side door open wide enough for one individual to pass at a time. People threw their bags through the windows to claim seats, which started an entirely different uproar, and Lindsay and I decided that our lives were way too important to us to be lost in a fight for a seat so we stood aside as people shoved one another to get onto the sprinter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally, as the flock was sucked up into the small bus, we decided that it would be a good time to try and mount ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure how it happened, but we were able to crush about 50 people onto a 20-seater sprinter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact that I was sitting on a woman’s chest, my head was tilted to the side because of the luggage rack, and my legs strattled the lap of an elderly man didn’t even matter to me: we had gotten onto the damned bus. “How far does Claire live from here?” I asked Lindsay, “Not far…only about 70 kilometers I think” was her response. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A little part of me died thinking I was going to have to spend the next hour in this position. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the conductor made his way through the small crevices that we were using for air, we were able to adjust to a point where it was tolerable (enough). We couldn’t stop laughing at the situation and the ways we were standing… “Thank goodness I can do my yoga today” I told her as I found myself in a back-bend with my head in the chest of the conductor, and stomach thrust in a woman’s face. Lindsay’s skirt was stepped on at one point and pulled down to her mid-thigh so the skin on her back thigh was pressed against the bare skin of the woman’s shoulder sitting next to her; though because it was so crammed, she couldn’t pull it back up or adjust in any way. Every time someone got off and the door was opened, it was as if each individual on the bus gasped for air, and the sides of the sprinter heaved like the rising and falling ribs of a breathing beast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Needless to say, my dears, we arrived to Ramokgonami, a bit sore, a bit “peopled-out”, and in dire need of some tequila and our personal space.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rest of the Cinco de Mayo celebrations were pleasurable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We played “pin the tail on the burro”, cooked an obscene amount of Mexican food, and danced the nights away in Claire’s living room. Reluctantly, I made the journey back to Gobojango the following Sunday, and was so exhausted that I didn’t even visit my Botswana family when I arrived. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Enough of these travel stories, now let me tell you what work I’m actually doing! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I told my parents yesterday, this is the busiest I’ve been since I arrived to Botswana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I’ve tried to start many projects and had great ideas for initiatives that just didn’t take, I’ve found myself in a position where the projects for which I’ve partaken are succeeding satisfactorily. Unfortunately, this also contributes to my rising stress levels; but I’m overjoyed to be occupied and hoping to have tangible evidence of my existence and small success in Botswana! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">First, I have been working very closely with the other volunteers in the area to plan an outdoor youth camp for junior secondary (middle) school students. The camp would be a leadership camp aimed to include the top five qualified individuals from each PACT (Peer Approach to Counseling by Teens) club in the subdistrict.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have been planning the retreat from the very ground up since Bobirwa has never had a camp like this before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After securing a hosting location in the Tuli block, and transport, we proposed a minimum budget to the Technical Advisory Committee in Bobonong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To our great surprise, our 6,800 pula request was granted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, the TAC committee granted us 15,000 pula to reach more students than the 20 we had planned!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have now amended the budget and revised our plans to include 60 PACT students over three different camps. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you know me well, I’m sure you know I love being a camp counselor, so this project is extremely exhilarating for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I draft the schedule and consent forms for the participants, I’m overcome with a sense of accomplishment that I know will last for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our first camp is to be held in August; but for now, I’m holding an essay competition to determine which five students will be selected from the Gobojango Junior Secondary School PACT club.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ll keep you updated as more develops for this!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What’s next?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">OH GOSH! The Gobojango Primary School Shade Grant was funded in full last week! Thanks to all of our donors, we now have over 12,000 pula to build a beautiful, fortified shade over the new recreational park at the school. I’ve now begun the necessary steps to get this project on its way to fruition. Tomorrow I’m headed to Bobonong to verify that the original price quotations are still stable, and possibly even to buy the material.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I have entrusted the High Commissioner of Education to find transport for the equipment and materials to Gobojango from the hardware store in Bobonong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lorato, her team, as well as a group of volunteers (community and Peace Corps) have agreed to begin building the shade next weekend from the 23<sup>rd</sup> to the 25<sup>th</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a huge accomplishment! This is the first and only grant I’ve ever written, so to see its completion in full is truly electrifying!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Since the pula-to-dollar ratio has increased since I wrote the grant, we might have a bit of leeway after the completion of the shade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For this, I’m hoping to hold a small unveiling ceremony for the children and their parents and to send sentimental gifts to the donors (shh…don’t tell ;) who helped this dream become a reality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A couple weeks ago, a local business owner came to me with an idea of bringing a small career fair to Gobojango to target the large out of school population in the village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because there are so many young individuals who are unemployed in the area, issues related to the spread of HIV/AIDS arise (such as teen pregnancy, multiple concurrent partners, intergenerational relationships, etc.) For this reason, we decided it would be a wonderful idea to invite some representatives of government programs as well as their beneficiaries to come here and provide information for those who would be interested. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I proposed this idea to the Bobirwa Youth Officer, Gape (pronounced ha-peh) a couple weeks ago in Bobonong, and was surprised to find how excited he became over this idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked me to draft a proposal, including budget, to present to his boss the following week and told me he would begin speaking to different departments to see who would be interested in coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The following week, I was taken aback at how many organizations agreed to bring a stall with information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I was thinking it would only be individuals from the business and entrepreneurial sectors, Gape recommended that I include individuals from the sports and arts divisions as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also suggested that we invite the Botswana Minister of Youth, Sports and Culture, which would in essence bring the media as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I began briefly mentioning this to the guidance and counseling teacher at the Junior Secondary school, she got so excited and offered the hall at the school as a location for it to be held.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I was planning for it to be at the community hall, this option sounded much better because it could not only hold more individuals, but also has electricity and therefore opens up a number of other possibilities, such as the availability for morning tea to be served. I felt happy at first because this meant that there were more people on the planning committee, and I felt as if it was going to be less stress off my plate…but then I became more worried as I heard the teachers mentioning that they wanted to have a VIP table, welcome speech, and performances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am not sure if I’ve written yet about the veneration of “VIP”s here in Botswana…but let me briefly tell you now…it is ABSOLUTELY, COMPLETELY, AND UTTERLY BLOWN OUT OF PROPORTION. Usually if there’s an event, the majority of the funding goes towards the VIPs rather than the individuals in the community that could benefit from it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Luckily, Gape seems to understand the format I want this career fair to follow, and even better: he agrees with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stated that we should all sit down and discuss how the arrangement of this event should look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, he also stated that we should probably push the date back to leave more time for the organization of the event (which helped with my stress levels as well). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have a feeling it is going to be a successful experience, not only for myself but especially for the out of school youth in the area as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m learning to take less control over the events that I participate in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually I love to jump on a committee and become a part of a collection of good ideas…though unfortunately, I think Botswana has me a bit jaded about doing so off the get-go any more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems like a lot of time people really just want me to do the work for them and they manipulate it into seeming like they did everything. When I do offer my input, I’m simply rejected, or not even acknowledged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This isn’t always the case, of course, but I’ve kept this in mind while joining any other committee from now on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another project that I have going right now is that I am on the “communication, publicity, and community mobilization” committee for a nation-wide event that is meant to encourage individuals to test their HIV status. My district is amongst the worst in the country in terms of individuals testing their status. As a result, the National AIDS Collaboration Administration (NACA) and the Ministry of Health have collaborated to propose a new strategy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our committee proposed a highly idealistic approach to campaigning this strategy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though the launch will be held on the 15<sup>th</sup> of June, we offered an idea of how to reach out to each of the 17 villages in the subdistrict: with road shows that would travel the district.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The original committee loved the idea, they encouraged us to continue planning it, and so we did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, yesterday, as we met with NACA and the Ministry, the Master of Ceremonies says, “we will now hear from Kitso about what events will be held at the launch as well as the wayforward for the entire campaign”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">0_o<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Talk about being a deer in headlights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t even paying attention when she said it, so you could imagine my humiliation as 40 heads turn towards me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, as I stood to present what I had written in my notes, they asked if I had prepared it on a powerpoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I hadn’t, we broke for tea so we could “write it on a powerpoint presentation” (really, so we could gather our thoughts and collaborate what we were going to present).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank goodness we did so, because it appeared that our group was divided in terms of what was to be presented.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got my clarifications, we made the slides, and I felt prepared to present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right when they were to turn to us, my phone started ringing with a call from the States!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I spoke to my parents for over a half an hour and thought I had completely avoided presenting altogether. When I strode into the hall, all eyes turned to me as if they were expecting me…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So much for being saved by the phone…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Luckily, the audience seemed captivated, I squeezed out a couple smiles (as I made a fool of myself demonstrating what wheelbarrow races are), and I sat down with people thumbs-upping me and patting me on the back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So much still needs to be done for the planning for that but gosh my head hurts from thinking so much so I’ll have to tell u more later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well it is now almost 5:30 pm. Cleo is passed out on my lap and I’m cross-legged on the porch outside. The sun is setting and my foot is falling asleep. I think this means its time for me to go over to Lorato’s. I hope all is well for you, dear reader. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time, please remember, “a little nonsense here and then is relished by the wisest men..”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">~Kitso<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-22196790894848351432013-05-01T11:06:00.001-07:002013-05-01T11:06:09.460-07:00Been a while...
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update! My computer died and it has therefore been damned near impossible to get access to anyone's computer long enough to update my blog! I have so much to tell you about...from Lepokole to the Okavango Delta...but for now let me update you on what has been going on recently with a couple blog posts that i've had saved up:</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(I'll update as much as I can i promise from here on out)...</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Birthday Shenanegans...<br /><br />The day started like any other, with the
puppy crying at 5am and the pigeons outside my window cooing to the
sunrise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I peeled open my curtains and
was excited to find that it was actually cloudy outside, and a wind was howling
through the cracks in my window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
supposed to go into the clinic at the usual time, 7:30 am, but decided, “Today
is my birthday, and I can be tardy if I want to…” I pulled the covers over my
ears and clicked on a movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, I
was dreading this day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first birthday
in Botswana, thousands of miles from home, and I had no real plans for the day
either (with hopes to celebrate the following week).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Around 8 o’clock, I decided I had spent
enough time in my dark bedroom and got up, got dressed, and set off to the
clinic with Cleo in hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It truly was
just like any other day; everyone greeted me with energetic smiles and inquired
about my new puppy. I walked into the clinic and started working on tedious
tasks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At around 10, the ambulance came
and I hitched a ride to my shopping village of Bobonong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked from the hospital to Leia’s house
and sat with her and discussed our plans for the next few event-packed weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then walked into town, bought a few things,
and excitedly got a free ride back to Gobojango. I unloaded my things at my
house and took off for the Junior Secondary School. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once I arrived, 15 minutes late and
dripping in sweat, the students approached me saying that the teacher was not
around but that they wanted to show me something. They took all of my things,
told me to close my eyes, and lead me by the hand into a classroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I opened my eyes, there was a table
covered in flower petals and rows of students lined up singing me happy
birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After they finished the
birthday song, they asked me to sit and then took turns telling me why they are
grateful for me in their lives. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Your involvement with the JAB club has
been monumental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what other
word to call you but our hero; you have inspired us and influenced us to be
positive role models and for that, we thank you!”</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What can I say, Kitso? We love you big
time!”</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Thank you so much for being a part of our
lives, we are so fortunate to have you here, and we hope you enjoy your
birthday”…</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was so sincere, I literally started
tearing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, when the students
asked me to speak, I was at a loss for words, “thank you so much for this
beautiful surprise. I am so far away from home and…” that was all I could say
before my voice cracked and the words choked out of my mouth. Everyone
applauded as if I had given a legendary speech and then asked to take turns
taking pictures with me. From that point on, the entire day took a turn for the
better. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I walked home with a handful of
students, TJ Castro called me from the US to send me birthday wishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then my mom called and surprised me even
further by offering to buy my ticket home in August. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">((Not only did her and my dad offer to buy
my ticket home for Tasha’s wedding, but they also gave me an opportunity to use
my hard earned savings for travel while in Southern Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m currently beginning to plan a trip to
Mozambique to celebrate!))</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, as I walked from the general store
to my house, I stopped by one of the primary school teacher’s home where a
handful of the teachers were relaxing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After they discovered it was my birthday, they proceeded to begin
dancing and singing for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
surprised to find that one of them has been trained in classical opera, and the
others are tremendously musically talented! We decided to create a band and
they drove me home. </span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span lang="EN-ZA"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Though I didn’t
particularly celebrate my birthday on the actual day, I was amusingly surprised
at how much the people around me cared! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Mpha thupa” (Give me the stick) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One thing that has severely caught me off guard in this
country has been the widely accepted notion of corporal punishment. The legal
beating of individuals in public by elected officials…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was first introduced to corporal punishment during my work
with the students in the primary school. Though the majority of the teachers
promised me that they do not punish their students with physical force, I was
flabbergasted one day to walk past a classroom and find one of the 11 year old
boys bent over and getting lashed on the buttocks by a teacher. I was honestly
stunned; I didn’t know how to react. I wanted to yell at the man to stop
hurting the little boy, but I knew it wasn’t my place. I spent days mulling it
over and finally decided to ask my neighbors their thoughts on it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jonjo, an astute 12 year old boy, described it to me as so:
“I know I’m doing well if the teacher beats me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At least that way, I know he cares about my education.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I’m being beaten, I know it’s because I
can do better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It teaches us to become
more responsible children.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perhaps it’s because I have been raised in a society where
this has been illegal for years, but I still cannot wrap my head around how
parents can allow their children to be beaten by their teachers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Punishment should be doled out at home, in
my opinion; I do not think that teachers should have the authority to
physically hurt a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was asked by a friend of mine who is a teacher at the
primary school how teachers punish children in the US, I was surprised to find his
lack of trust in the system. “Kitso, I think physical punishment is much more
effective and kinder than the mental punishment you American children go
through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do not have to feel
humiliated or miss out on any events because we’ve been bad. We accept our
lashings and move on.” When I tried to explain that detention and suspension
were not necessarily means of mental punishment, he persisted to say, “Those
disciplinary actions make a man soft.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s fascinating working within the parameters of this
society where students are honestly afraid of their teachers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was working in the computer lab at the
junior secondary school one afternoon when a slew of children came in and started
messing around the lab.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t sure if
this was warranted until a student handed me a long stick with tape wrapped
around the end of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I took it, a
bit confused at what it was, the students fled in fear that I would beat them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This stick is called the “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thupa</i>” (pronounced too-pah) and apparently is what the teachers use
to get their message across. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now that I’m more aware of it, I’m realizing that the
majority of these teachers who have all promised me that they don’t beat their
students walk around with a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thupa</i>. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Furthermore, I have been taken aback at the punishment
methods used at the local court, or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kgotla</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I left on holiday break, a case was
being heard by the elders at the court.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I left work, I learned that the suspect was found guilty, and his
punishment was 10 lashes by a court-appointed official.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are grown adults that we’re talking
about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Individuals within the society
that sell and buy goods, raise children, and put ties on to go to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These adults were warranting physical
lashings of a criminal. I learned that once this individual received his
lashings, the charges were dropped and everyone moved on with their lives. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It seems so primordial to me that this punishment is
accepted in such modern society. It almost doesn’t make sense in my mind that I
can sit in a computer room, just a few kilometers from where a grown man is
being spanked with a log for committing a crime. More and more, what I know to
be “globalization” and “growth” is being questioned by living in such a rural
village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no way that Botswana
can mimic the models of modernization set forth by countries of the Western
World because its past is so unique.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
tribal conflicts and traditions are so invested in its policies that to facsimile
the United States’ example, for instance, would be obsolete and cause more
problems. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve noticed this to be the case on multiple occasions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Botswana is finding itself in a very
inimitable position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a fairly new
country, only gained independence in 1966, and yet it has found itself splashed
in a rapidly developing global environment. The Gobojango Health Post, for
example, has just been declared an Infectious Disease Control Center (which
means that it can dispense Anti-RetroViral drugs to its HIV positive
patients).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In doing so, the Ministry of
Health has dumped an increasing amount of technology our way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, what isn’t understood is that
although we have 4 computers and a new patient operating system, many of the
people who work here don’t even know how to turn on a computer. As a result,
there are thousands of dollars and people’s hard work going to waste simply
because step one was bypassed. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now that I’ve travelled on an entirely new tangent, let me
finish this post by declaring that there are days where I’d really like to take
a thupa to the higher ups in government and slap them into the reality in which
we are living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The limitations set forth
by the traditional and modern conflict cause a whole new set of problems that
people of Botswana are still learning to navigate (myself included!) </span></div>
Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-74760578979751391042013-03-20T06:05:00.001-07:002013-03-20T06:05:11.535-07:00Thinking like a bird<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">I
have no desire to move mountains, construct monuments, or leave behind in my
wake material evidence of my existence. But in the final recollection, if the
essence of my being has caused a smile to have appeared upon your face or a
touch of joy within your heart…then in living–I have made my mark. ~ Thomas L.
Odem, Jr.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I know it has been a while since my last post, but I
have so much to tell you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">First of all, let me explain that I’ve been trying
to save my pula and pennies to buy a ticket home for Tasha’s wedding in
September.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For this reason, I’ve tried
more than anything to stay in my village as much as possible. Though there
isn’t too much to do in Gobojango during the lazy afternoons, I’ve been
spending my time taking evening walks around the village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my surprise, I’ve discovered a whole new
appreciation for the people in Botswana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One afternoon, as I meandered through a dry
riverbed, a woman called to me from her hut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As I approached her, she took me by the hand and brought me inside her
mud, thatched-roof home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I
couldn’t understand exactly what she was talking about she kept motioning down
to a mangled mass on a mat on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I just assumed it was dried bean leaves until she reached down and
picked up a tiny, shriveled bird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
mouth flew open in astonishment, which only made her giggle more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turns out; at her cattle post there is a
colony of birds that lays an abundance of eggs once a year. In the Bobirwa
tribe, it is a norm to eat these baby birds just after they hatch. Not wanting
to be disrespectful, I followed her lead and began plucking the tiny black
feathers off the bird and ate the entire thing whole: feathers, beak, head, and
all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure if you’ll believe
me…but it tastes just like dark meat chicken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVVNGl7lGNzJmm4ETjLtKFO3mfWZZEIg-yZPuY0gRCElDNNhurD1oQyJV56xNWyB3Vj-kwJPhj5V2S2_v5NoX-eqY_gGqvGfcGGCro5yq-LrNCkUBA67vExdaXy77xA1LmJpNFaIiJXw/s1600/nonyane2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVVNGl7lGNzJmm4ETjLtKFO3mfWZZEIg-yZPuY0gRCElDNNhurD1oQyJV56xNWyB3Vj-kwJPhj5V2S2_v5NoX-eqY_gGqvGfcGGCro5yq-LrNCkUBA67vExdaXy77xA1LmJpNFaIiJXw/s320/nonyane2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The woman was tickled with excitement at my
daringness and threw a cupful of these tiny birds into a plastic bag for me to
take home and bid me farewell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later
that night I explained to my Botswana family what I had eaten and they all were
beside themselves with pleasure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I
told them I ate the head and everything, Fred (the 10 year old) shook his head
and, with a look of dismay exclaimed, “Kitso, now you’re going to start
thinking like a bird”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">----------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was completely out of contact for the entire week
last week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to stay with a group
of volunteers at a nature preservation lodge in the Tuli Block.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of all of the amazing things I have done
since I’ve arrived to Botswana, I must admit that this week was definitely top
three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Though ten peace corps volunteers were invited, we
packed enough food for an army.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had
organized ourselves into cooking teams and each team was responsible for
cooking two meals; one lunch and one dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was such a great way to have a variety of foods for 14 people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ate everything from jambalaya and cheesy
mashed potatoes to veggie curry to quesadillas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was scrumptious!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">-it’s so funny; since I’ve moved to Botswana all of
my conversations begin with what I ate…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Now let me tell you about the rest of the week!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll preface this part of the post by telling
you how breathtaking the scenery is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
were literally in the nearly uncharted African bush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were no telephone poles, no paved
roads, no streetlights, and wildlife surrounded us from all sides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night sky was only dimmed by the
crackling of our fire, and you could hear hippos and baboons in the distance at
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After darkness hit, we weren’t
allowed to stray too far from camp for fear of encountering a wandering herd of
elephants, stray leopards, or a pride of lions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, the reason we were allowed to go on this
phenomenal trip was because Hollis and Leia got to be good friends with this
lady named Meike (pronounced Me-kuh).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Originally from South Africa, her and her husband live on this land, and
periodically buy more and more hectares for conservation purposes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the past, they have hosted paying
volunteers, and were therefore used to catering to large groups; but nowadays
have turned their aim primarily in the direction for environmental protection
only.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Throughout the week, we did a number of activities
including alien plant removal (digging up prickly pear cactus with machetes and
spades), tree rehabilitation (planting baobab and fever trees), wildlife
discussions (learning about what to do when bitten by different types of
snakes), learned to mosaic, and social deliberations (discussing mental health
of volunteers).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One night, as Meike and
her husband Garrit grilled impala meat for us, we had an African drum circle by
the fire and got lost in the rhythms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
hiked to the top of a mountain and looked across the entire Tuli block.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was dumbfounded by the astonishing vista, alluded
to the Lion King’s Pride Rock, and burned the image into my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As I joined one or two of my peers in the mornings
over a bowl of oatmeal and raisins and watched the wildlife near the Limpopo
River from the veranda, my soul and mind relaxed. It was a much-needed escape,
whether I realized it was necessary or not. Though the week seemed to pass
extremely quickly, I feel as if I have learned more in those 6 days than I have
in a very long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Since Caesar passed away, I have been battling with
a lot of internal demons about my purpose in Botswana and the Peace Corps, as
well as my intrapersonal relationships with friends and family back home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s funny that something so seemingly small
can kick off a chain reaction of reflection. More and more I’m becoming more
self-aware, self-realized, and in tune to what I am capable of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I’ve discovered that an individual
within my community actually maliciously poisoned Caesar, I’ve found room
within myself to forgive, and pity them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m a big believer that whatever energy you put out
into the universe will come back to you in some way in the future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not hoping that the woman who poisoned my
dog receives any malevolent revenge, but I do believe that one day she will
reflect upon what she did and feel some remorse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For now, all I can do is work on making myself
happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Breathing and approaching each
day with a smile. Recognizing and getting through the bad days to become a more
whole, beneficial part of this community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m not going to let one woman filled with hate and anger destroy my
service, and I hope one day she may find peace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A few weeks ago, Gobojango was blessed to have five
beautiful American women stay at my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had a small “ladies’ weekend retreat”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daniella (from Maun), Claire (from
Ramokgonami), Hollis (Mathathane), Jessica (Tsetsebjwe), and Leia (Bobonong)
all graced my home with their presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We cooked, laughed, and shared stories of our service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was such a therapeutic and inspiring time!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After Hollis, Jess, and Leia left the following day,
Claire, Daniella and I baked rustic Italian bread, made sangria, and enjoyed a
picnic near the Thuni dam. As the other two ladies drifted off to sleep in the
shade of the afternoon sun, I decided that I wanted to climb a mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked off into the distance and assured
myself I would ascend the rocks that climaxed the horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lo and behold, an hour later and clothing
filled with thorns, I yelled across the valley to Claire and Daniella.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their heads appeared from the bush in the
next hill over, and I turned my head towards the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a great accomplishment…especially in
flip flops (I might add). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Quickly we travelled into the Tuli block with high
hopes of seeing some wild animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
made it to the junction with no luck, and, a little saddened; decided we had to
turn around for fear of running out of petrol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Right as we turned the car around, we were all surprised to find a hefty
brown elephant munching on a branch and staring right at us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The next morning we all went to Phikwe and shared a
delicious breakfast in a bakery: freshly baked donuts, biscuits, scones, and
coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We watched Daniella mount the
bus, and Claire and I decided that we might as well take advantage of the day
in the large town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bought myself a
floor-length mirror and we meandered into the tourism office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With newly-inspired information, we agreed
that it would be a great day to go and see the rock paintings at Lepokole
Hills. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So that’s exactly what we did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We came back to Gobojango, changed, met up with
Lorato and her daughter Charity, and piled into the car to head to
Lepokole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All guide books that I’ve read
state that Lepokole is about 25 kilometers from Bobonong (my shopping
village).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me tell you: they are all
lying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We drove for about two hours on an unpaved, poorly
maintained road before finally arriving at a snug, hushed village. We
approached the village chief and requested his permission to go see the
paintings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sprung at the idea and
assigned us our own guide to take us deep into the hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I collected this man from the local bar,
he instructed us to follow the two-tire path into the wilderness. We drove for
another 30 minutes until we approached a riverbed that was impassable with a
vehicle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The five of us climbed out of
the car and began hiking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As we walked deeper and deeper into the hills,
leaving all paths behind, Claire and I began questioning whether or not it was
a legitimate trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so thankful to
have Lorato with us; otherwise I would have been extremely cautious and
questionable of this chief-elected guide taking us into the backwoods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Finally, after climbing rocks and hills, and being
stabbed by countless thorns, we arrived at a huge cave inlet. Before we
entered, the guide asked us all to be quiet so that he may pray to the
ancestors and ask permission for us to proceed. Respectfully, we advanced in
silence and I was taken aback at how many drawings stared back at us from the
face of the cave wall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was stunning, and very special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not many people have had the opportunity to
be graced with the opportunity to visit the Lepokole Rock Paintings, and I am
so grateful to have had the chance. We drove back in the dark, blasting
American music and smiling to the night sky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Although my family means more to me than anything in
the whole world, I have an adopted family here in Botswana that I spend the
majority of my time with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I say
“adopted” family, I mean they have really adopted me, rather than me adopting
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lorato, the elder of the two
sisters, has become my best friend and confidante.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel no reservations when I’m with her, and
I feel a mutual respect that is hard to come by in my community. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A week after the Lepokole Hills trip, I found myself
home on a Friday afternoon in the middle of a wonderful rainstorm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had all of my windows and doors open and
the scent of freshly moistened earth seeped into my nostrils.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so happy that the smile was cavernous
on my lips. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The day was perfect until Kesa, Lorato’s 13 year old
niece, came splashing up to my doorstep with tears streaming from her
cheeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked me to accompany Lorato
to the hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently Charity,
Lorato’s daughter, had been bleeding throughout the night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It turns out Charity had a miscarriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody even knew she was pregnant, and she
was three months along. We spent that night and the following day at the
hospital until they released her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Lorato asked me to help her speak with Charity about
safe sex methods and her available options.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m wondering if it was a lack of information that caused Charity to
keep her pregnancy a secret, or if it was merely fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never had to do something like this
before, so I’m definitely treading on new waters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">-------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I HAVE A NEW
PUPPY!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjef5zlogwH-p15Ax5oLgHBlem-Xmu8fMfcpqHSkUzbHb1CKOrrLcmaBdTSAwvokBl8jV7XBwHPA0i4UfxvhXpL9ehxp8Yd5ohtShe6WsSWC_76aGmcsY8fOt4edXdt1qNw1fuqSIle_ss/s1600/cleopup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjef5zlogwH-p15Ax5oLgHBlem-Xmu8fMfcpqHSkUzbHb1CKOrrLcmaBdTSAwvokBl8jV7XBwHPA0i4UfxvhXpL9ehxp8Yd5ohtShe6WsSWC_76aGmcsY8fOt4edXdt1qNw1fuqSIle_ss/s320/cleopup.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It has been wonderful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though you could imagine the treacherous
mishaps one must encounter when taking on the responsibilities of a new
puppy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve relinquished my joy in
having clean floors while potty training, and, most importantly, have
sacrificed a few hours each night of sleep during the time she cries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Her name is Cleo, she’s going to be a small breed
like Caesar, and, comically, she is almost his identical twin!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is too small now to take the long walks
with me to the secondary school so I just carry for the majority of the
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people I encounter along the
way say things like, “Kitso, you have a Caesar two!”, “I thought your little
black and white dog had died” and, my all time favorite: “your dog is getting
smaller!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I now just need to re-learn patience and understanding
while raising her…I was so content with the age that Caesar was that I have to
get past the annoying parts of puppyhood to be there again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Right before Caesar passed away, Lorato’s dog had a
litter of puppies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of them clung
onto Caesar as his best friend and began following us around everywhere we
went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Caesar was gone, Spike would
come to my house searching for his best buddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After he realized that Caesar wasn’t coming back, he continued to follow
me around the village and come into my house eagerly expecting to be
loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is a floppy, yellow lab-like
puppy who is hard not to love, so of course, I treated him as my own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Now that I have Cleo, Spike has begun to express
feelings of jealousy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, as I
began walking the 4 kilometers to the secondary school in the summer heat,
Spike followed closely on my heels. I tried everything to keep him back at the
house, but he was determined not to leave my side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we finally arrived to the secondary
school, Spike’s tongue hung so low out of his mouth that it nearly touched the
floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to the teacher(who had
given me Cleo)’s house to request water for the dogs when Cleo’s mother began
barking and chased Spike away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I called for him for hours after that and was
extremely stressed and worried when he didn’t return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked home after the meeting with my head
hung low, imagining all of the terrible things that could have happened to him.
All night I was anxious and terrified of having to tell Lorato’s son that one
of his puppies had gone missing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A few minutes ago, I heard a soft bark and
scratching at my door (like Caesar used to do for me to let him inside the
house).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I opened the door, I was
overjoyed to see a droopy yellow lab puppy plunk his way into my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat on the floor, and he fell backwards
onto my lap (also just like Caesar used to), legs spread wide, with not a care
in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2JNHcOsldy_zdci8PaI1Xx9Uj_2A9U-B9hbhxQCKWKde8Y50f4MOT97d9Ut_oJH8lW_Snq00gmaS5wWj-cqdhS7PIkvluJnhEA4SwnGEfDNhODuDTpdF7Dk5HpBiwlIvW8yPdt8MT6s/s1600/spikeNcleo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2JNHcOsldy_zdci8PaI1Xx9Uj_2A9U-B9hbhxQCKWKde8Y50f4MOT97d9Ut_oJH8lW_Snq00gmaS5wWj-cqdhS7PIkvluJnhEA4SwnGEfDNhODuDTpdF7Dk5HpBiwlIvW8yPdt8MT6s/s320/spikeNcleo.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He and Cleo are already best friends, and even
though he can put her entire body in his mouth, they are such a delight to be
around!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Time to get training…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">----------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So my 24<sup>th</sup> birthday is tomorrow. For the
first time since I can remember, I have absolutely no plans for the big day.
Apparently it’s customary here for the birthday person to plan their own
party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I didn’t know, I’m
shrugging my shoulders and saving money for a big trip next week to northern
part of Botswana. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m hoping to hitch a ride with the ambulance early
in the morning on Thursday to Francistown, then head to Maun from there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to be in Shakawe by Friday night, so
I’m still attempting to plan the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That Saturday morning, there will be a huge half-marathon that has been
planned by a Peace Corps volunteer in the area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Leia and I will have a booth devoted to the prevention of gender-based
violence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After the marathon, we are hoping to meander our way
down the Okavango Delta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps one of
the days I’ll be able to celebrate my birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ll keep you posted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">---------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I think that’s everything for now…sorry I had word
vomit, I told you there was a lot to say! If I get strong internet connection,
I’ll try my best to upload some pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Feel a hug from Africa!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">~Kitso<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span>Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8447061924858287712.post-61065856219091306872013-02-25T07:34:00.003-08:002013-02-25T07:39:05.731-08:00Live a life that matters<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ready or not, someday it will all come to an end. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your grudges, resentments, frustrations, and jealousies will finally disappear. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, too, your hopes, ambitions, plans, and to-do lists will expire. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It won't matter where you came from, or on what side of the tracks you lived, at the end. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It won't matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant -- even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So what will matter? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How will the value of your days be measured? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What will matter is not what you bought, but what you built; not what you got, but what you gave. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What will matter is not your success, but your significance. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What will matter is not what you learned, but what you taught. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What will matter is not your competence, but your character.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you're gone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What will matter is not your memories, but the memories that live in those who loved you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not a matter of circumstance but of choice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Choose a <strong>great</strong> one.</span> Ninahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08087237072764375596noreply@blogger.com0