what we do for fun

Surprise extra blog this month due to an emergency trip to electricity-land to deal with an email hacking situation. Huge apologies extended to all my victims. I think it’s under control now.

Anyway, onto the blogification! 

As I’ve been staring like a deer in headlights at the one-year mark approaching unstoppably like a runaway train (but significantly less deadly), I decided to take some time to assess the last twelve months the way my generation knows best: by re-reading old blog entries and looking at facebook pictures. 

In the course of my reminiscence, I noticed a disconnect.  

I have plenty of facebook pictures of me having fun with other volunteers, but I pretty much never mention those not-exactly-Tanzanian experiences in this blog. I’ll admit, covering myself in soap and running head-first onto a very make-shift slip-and-slide isn’t going to win me a Nobel Peace Prize (although if I hit my head a little harder, it might have earned me a Darwin Award), but the crazy things I do to blow off steam with other volunteers are just as much a part of my Peace Corps experience as the painful, or touching, or inspiring, or endearing, or entertaining moments I have with my Tanzanian friends. I’m fine in the village most of the time, but once in a while I have to get out and have some American time. I honestly don’t think I’d survive the village life if I didn’t have my fellow volunteers to lean on, kvetch with, drink with, make inappropriate jokes with, and generally just be myself with.

One of the people who has kept me most sane since getting to site is my site-mate (PC lingo for “person who lives closest to me,” in this case about a 1 hour walk away), Dana Baker. This post is dedicated to her. I hope she’s not embarrassed that I’m sharing our secrets with the whole world wide web. The people have a right to know. 

So here’s a sample of Peace Corps reality.

Dana and I meet up once a week or so to go for a run and chitchat. This week, we decided to take a short loop and head back to her house early because her knee was hurting. Not one to leave an injured friend to face the day alone, I decided to invite myself over for the day to sunbathe in her courtyard, which is much larger and more secluded than my own.

“I’m going to be a health-hazard next time I go to the beach," I complained, "I’m literally going to blind people when the sun reflects off the whiteness of my legs."

“I miss the beach,” Dana replied, ignoring the rest of my statement, which was intended to provoke a compliment. I forgave her, though, because she just gave me an excellent idea.

We decided to spend the rest of the day pretending her courtyard was the beach. I spent hundreds of hours of my childhood pretending that my grandparents’ basement was a Floridian beach, why shouldn’t I spend at least a few hours of my adulthood doing the same thing?   

As we lay on her large straw mat and tried to imagine that the banana trees in her backyard were palms framing the ocean, we both decided that a day at the beach was incomplete without cold beer. Cold was out of the question, but beer was possible if we weren't too lazy to go looking for it. 

Being a good friend, and on account of Dana's injured-ness, I volunteered to go on a beer hunt. We may not have refrigerators out here in the bush, but beer is always available. Or so we thought. Actually it turned out that all (by which I mean, all two) of the stores in her village were out of beer. So I did what any self-respecting Peace Corps Volunteer who is pretending to have a day at the beach in her friend’s courtyard in the middle of the semi-arid lands of central northern Tanzania would do. I put on my hiking boots and went for a 40 minute trek to the nearest store guaranteed to have warm beer. It tasted like victory. 

The rest of the day we spent lying in Dana’s courtyard, listening to the breeze dance its way through the banana leaves, talking about how much fun it was to be at the beach. We even had music…though the solar-powered speakers would go off every time the sun fell behind a cloud. 

As if on cue, we got a phone call from our friend Sativa who was on the actual beach with her sister. We put the phone on speaker and placed it between us, chatting as though we were lying in three side-by-side lounge chairs. Sativa seemed not at all surprised that we were pretending to be on the beach, though she didn’t seem to agree that our imaginary adventure was more fun than her own, actual, beach excursion. That’s when we considered filling up a small basin with water kiddie-pool style. We ultimately decided it wasn’t worth the trek to go fetch enough water to fill up a basin.   

When the sun started to cool off, I decided to come home. My neighbor was extremely confused when I told her I was late getting back because Dana and I decided to go to the beach. Her five-year-old totally understood the concept of a pretend beach adventure, and asked if he could be invited next time. 

I’ve heard that a few members of the TZ Education class of 2011-2013 have found this blog. A special shout-out to you guys: I know you are probably freaking out right now as you try to decide whether or not to bring that adorable blue shirt to country. If it helps you decide, I did bring that adorable blue shirt to country and it’s currently somewhere between Arusha and Singida on the bus I left it on five months ago. I rarely think about it, but when I do I feel a brief pang of loss flitting like a moth in my chest. But more importantly, I hope you read this post and realize that you’re not going into this alone, you won’t be going through this alone, and you won’t be coming out of this alone. Peace Corps is tough, but volunteers find all sorts of creative ways to get through it, and we get through it together. Enjoy these last few weeks at home, and eat some oreos dipped in cold milk for me. But most importantly, don’t panic. You’re going to be fine and we’re really excited to meet you. Feel free to email me if you have any questions, no need to stalk anonymously.