#PCVlife

[kelseysabo]

Let’s all take a second to celebrate my little brother, best friend, and favorite human graduating nursery school last week!!! That’s right! The once 2 year old who cried every time I stepped out the door neighbor, turned best friend and slightly inseparable sidekick, turned literacy student and “teacher’s pet”, and son of my right hand man, Kennedy, JUST GRADUATED! I’ve never been such a proud big sis and former teacher. Not only that he graduated, but because he can tell you most of his letters, letter sounds, and song you a song about a goat eating his shoe to remember how to sound out “G” every time. You’ve changed my world Edgar, and now you’re one step closer to changing the rest of it. I love you! ♥️🎉 #pcvlife #uganda #littleangels #phonics #family #nurseryteacher #edgarforpresident https://www.instagram.com/sabe_oh/p/BrJbBLulM-k/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1gxwqlzu95l31

[angel-in-namibia]

Age of 29

Lately I’ve been asking myself what it means to be age 29. Living in Namibia as my birthday approaches, my daily life is something I never expected. Where did I picture myself at this age when I was growing up? Since I hadn’t heard of Namibia before 2015, it surely wasn’t here. 

Often when someone conceptualizes a certain age, there are outward expectations and trappings that come along with it. For age 29 that might mean jobs, homes, cars, relationships - “accomplishments” that often come along with that age. Right now I have none of those. Which doesn’t bother me, because I choose to ask, “What does age 29 mean to me?” rather than “Where should I be at age 29?″.

I want to share my answer. 

What does it mean to be age 29?

Age 29 means confidence. It means grace - for yourself and for others. It means recognizing which buttons to push, and which not to push. It means inquisitiveness and aiming first to learn before teaching. 

It means moving from self-advocacy to others-advocacy. Realizing its time to narrow down the list of turns you can make, and focusing on only the best route towards the next step. 

It means embracing conflict, but wasting little time arguing. Orienting yourself towards the future, without getting lost in it. Living up to expectations, at least to set the the pace for the next round. 

It means partying with a sense of purpose. Exemplifying self-control during tough circumstances. It means being self-starting, creative, and innovative. Holding standards for yourself, not for others’ benefits. 

It means not comparing to what others did at this age, but rather asking, “What can I do better than last year?” and knowing you are solely responsible for the answer.

It means spending more time defining what you’re looking for, and why, than actually looking. It’s taking the life you lived in your 20′s and starting to connect all the dots. Its determining which things need practice and which need perfect; which things need time and which need money; which need attention and which need distance. 

It means more poise than power. The courageousness that comes from a bed of humility.

This week I ask myself - am I ready for age 29? 

[tanyaincameroon]

On the back of a moto you can see the most fantastic sights in Cameroon. You can see breathtaking mountains, or children laughing while washing clothes in a stream, or mamas selling potatoes by the roadside with eyes that have seen a century’s worth of travelers. On the back of a moto you can find peace. Sometimes the back of a moto is exactly what I need.

[onlyihavethekhuushuur-blog]

[mzambitious]

In honor of 57 years of Peace Corps, I’m sharing what family and community looked like for me in Mali and Senegal and celebrating my host families and the place I called home for a few glorious years! To the Koné(Diarra), Don, Diakite, Ba, and Ndiaye families and the entire Baugindea, Manatali, Thies, and Kaffrine villages that embraced me during my service... THANK YOU! All of my first memories of real culture immersion and the experiences that made me step so far out of my comfort zone took place in these two countries. I left my home and went to my home. #BeingDadjiKone #BeingAdjiBa #Bambara #French #Wolof 🇲🇱 🇸🇳 #TwoCountriesOneService #LoveIsCultureExchange #HappyPeaceCorpsWeek #March1st #CharterDay #PeaceCorps #PCVlife #PeaceCorpsFamily #57years #LoveIsService

[abrahamlincolnneverdidthis]

Arba Minch wasn’t a Synch

In the early twilight hours, the girls and I set off for our next destination: Arba Minch, the land of 40 springs. Location: Just about as close to the Kenyan border as Peace Corps would allow. One of our friend’s land-family had a sister who lived in Arba Minch, and generously offered to host us for our stay.  Upon arrival, my friends and I were instantly bogged down by the heat and humidity and somehow, it only got worse after the sun went down. As we were sitting in our host’s living/dining room waiting for dinner to be ready, each of us was gleaming with sweat and trying to distract ourselves from the stifling heat and swarming mosquitos with a couple competitive games of Catan (which I won…if anyone was wondering). But alas, the distraction wasn’t enough to thoroughly enjoy our meal. While the fish soup was delicious in a way that homemade dishes only can be, the heat of it (both in temperature and spice) set our tongues ablaze and bodies in heat-stroke territory. We all felt obligated to be polite and finish our ‘Fire Fish Soup,’ while mutually commiserating with each other through eye contact. How we got through that meal without laughing…or tears…is still a mystery to me. We then started getting ready for bed, only to realize that the 6 of us would be sharing a tiny room with two twin size mattresses. We embraced it in the beginning—we were PCVs after all; we could handle it. But ohhhh, were we wrong. If we thought the living room was stifling, it is nothing compared to our bedroom. The window was only able to open about 3 inches because a wardrobe blocked it from being opened any further, so the fresh air was hard to come by (and we were desperate for it). And because the window was screen-less, those nasty little mosquitos found it much too easy to find their way into our room to bite every inch of our skin and buzz around in our ears to the point of insanity. Luckily for us, we found a racquet-shaped bug zapper readily-charged to massacre as many mosquitos as possible every hour throughout the night. In just one swing, the zapper popped and crackled continuously like a sparkler. Jumping around and swinging the racquet around was the comic relief we needed to make it through that first night…and the second. It was pure satisfaction…and the only satisfaction we got in those dreadful hours. Unfortunately, the mosquitos weren’t the only bugs wreaking havoc among us. The three of us on the floor mattress were laying on it perpendicularly, so that only about half of our bodies were off the floor. And that mattress was riddled with bed bugs. I had had my bad case of bed bugs many times over the two years living in Sheno, but this episode was in an entirely different league. Out of the 6 of us, it seemed like I was the most sensitive to them and to put it lightly…it looked as if I had contracted small pox. Ask the masseuse that gave me a full-body massage at the resort on our 3rd day…she was reluctant to touch me, fearing that she too would contract these hideous spots. The 343 bites (yes, we made it a competition and counted) that I had acquired over our two-night stay covered my calves, ankles, lower back, hands, arms, neck and face. Basically, anywhere where my clothing shifted while sleeping, exposing my skin. Thinking about it in such detail now is giving me the heeby-jeebies, so I apologize if it’s having the same effect on you. Originally, we were supposed to stay 3 nights, but we couldn’t bare it. Instead, we told our hosts that we had changed our plans to head home a day early…but really, we splurged on a ‘luxurious’ hotel where I had MY OWN twin mattress with a BED NET. And for the first time in days, we were able to get a solid, good night’s sleep.

For weeks to come, I would wake each morning with the fear that malaria would surface, or I would come down with another bout of typhus. It felt as if the gallons of mosquito repellent or malaria meds that I had cautioned myself with didn’t make a difference; I was bit so many times that I was convinced that that would be how I ended my Peace Corps service. But...that fate never came to be, and for that, I can look back at this experience and laugh at this miserable experience (almost fondly). After all, it is now one of my favorite stories to tell.

[youreghanamissme]

The Last Conference, Wli Falls, Last Ditch Efforts

1/26/2018

Close of Service conference was bittersweet. It was such a hoot to see all of the folks in my cohort together again after such a long time, but there was a disheartening pang that I couldn't shake knowing that this was probably the last time I was going to see most of them. I'll run into the Northerners at least once more before we all go our separate ways on separate days, but the majority of the #selfiescholars (Our group name... a lot of other groups who weren't keen on the names bestowed upon them by their trainers re-branded themselves. Despite a general dislike of our own nomen, we never took that leap and have remained the only non-Ghanaian-theme named troop) south of Dagombaland are probably lost to me, save for the few I'll see in Accra on the day that I COS. On the upside, I'm excited to meet some of the #selfies in America! It'll be great to reminisce with people who understand what I went through; a relief to share a meal with cheese and beer and not break the bank! One of our own is tying the knot in San Diego 2019 to another RPCV (what a lovely “How I Met Your Mother/Father” story)! There will be a PC Ghana reunion then, for sure, so who's joining me for tequila shots on the other side of the border, post-reception?!

COS conference was held on the outskirts of the Volta region. The resort—yes, a resort! PC really treated us as we're on our way out—was on the Volta River and many of us paid a little extra to go on a boat ride. We saw the dam, the summer vacation home of President Nana in the hills (hey-oooo!), and plenty of locals just doing their thing, going about their day. The food was divine and plentiful, and I ate allll... until I got sick (eek). Aaand then I ate some more :) The whole affair was short and sweet and to-the-point. I appreciated its laconic qualities but also regretted how brief of a goodbye (and somehow unceremonious) our's had to be. I guess I'm still processing; it hasn't fully hit me yet that goodbyes are real and there won't be a next time, at least not any time soon.

On the Volta River.

I have separation anxiety. What else can I say?!

My official COS date is March 29th, and I. Am. Stoked!! But there are a plethora of tasks I need to do before I can GTFO. The checklist itself is already giving me anxiety, ugh.

After the conference wrapped, a group of us ventured deeper into the Volta region to climb Wli Falls (pronounced “Vlee” Falls), the highest waterfall in Ghana. I almost died, literally. No, not from the killer views (hey-o! ;) but because I tripped a lot and almost fell off the side of the cliff more than once. It was a six hour hike, but it took us seven because we were seven individuals of varying fitness. Guess where I lay on the muscled spectrum? A strapping, robust, young lass, I am not.

But what a sight to behold! Arriving at the peak was sublime; the views grandiose, the bullets of sweat consistently obscuring my view as they pelted my glasses, the adrenaline a little transcendent. We had clambered to the peak on the 19th of January—the day of the second Women's March. And in our own way, every stomp we made was with solidarity for gender equality, reproductive rights, and access to health care.

The hike led us on a winding, arduous (the descent was twenty times worse than the ascent), and at times, lamentable trail to two separate waterfalls, and at one point, we leaped onto Togo territory when we strayed 30 feet off our path! That last detail is debatable, but we did converge with French-speaking hikers whose passage originated from the neighboring nation. That being said, we also encountered—and for a time, mingled—with plenty of German (so many!) and Danish climbers. The higher waterfall was probably my favorite. It was a little more intimate and less populous as many hikers eschewed a six hour trek in favor of a forty-five minute leisurely stroll to the lower falls that resembled something of a public pool with booze and hollers and many 'suited foreigners (the most white flesh I've seen in Ghana... though I enjoyed seeing many young local Ghanaians just shooting the shit with their friends at the majestic watering hole). It took us three hours of more or less perilous traipsing before we were awarded our reprieve. The taller waterfall was gorgeous, and the pool wasn't deep. I was able to go underneath the waterfall, feeling the impact of millions of water droplets come crashing down on me.

Yes, it is like you imagine: I thought, at one point, I might drown from the shear force. It was literally and figuratively breathtaking.

But hey—I checked “Be underneath a waterfall” off my bucket list. Twice. Holla!!

So. Many. Bats!!

The shitty part was that we were only halfway done. We had to dry ourselves off, put our dirty clothes back on, and climb back into our dust-filled shoes in order to hike a further few hours earthwards to reach the lower falls. I know, I know—was there ever a moment where we considered giving up? Dear readers, that was impossible... because we were on a loop. Quitting was never an option; it was finish or make the Wli Falls trail our new home.

Not that we would ever dessert the mission any way. It was very much a group “GO BIG and then Go Home... and treat ourselves to pizza and chicken and mac n cheese” temperament. And we rewarded ourselves very well that night, in large part because we were ravenous and tired and slid on our butts going downhill too many times to not buy an extra order of fries.

I was truly proud of us. We did it! It took seven hours. We were bone-weary. But we finished!! We climbed 262.5 feet, saw two waterfalls, stood under both cascades despite their mighty force, and then walked all the way back to our place of stay. How amazing is that? I couldn't shake the fiery gratification I felt for all of us; the pleasure to have done it with all of them.

The next day I traveled to Accra, my layover before I retreated to the North. And as usual, I used my stay in the capital to get some medical work done. I succeeded in getting an unsightly mole-growth-thing snipped off and sutured. Unsurprisingly, it became noticeably infected after a couple days (thanks, Ghana), but it mended itself all hunky dory once I extracted the stitches at site. Lesson learned: wear sunscreen, go to your doctor, advocate for yourself and your health, and utilize that free medical care while you have it.

Mah crew.

Now I'm back at site, and I'm making some last ditch efforts to be productive AF. I really should start writing my Description of Service (DOS) and updating my resume... but I'd much rather stencil and cut out reusable menstrual pad materials, paint a mural, and hang out with JHS girls before I bounce. Future me can take care of all that stuff later. She can deal. She climbed two waterfalls, fer chrissakes!

[ajlogan10-blog]

14/30 - Arekit Secondary and Preparatory School. While teaching is definitely NOT my future vocation, I have some many great memories from this place. Working with fellow teachers and students was worth every gray hair! Life long friendships were built and lasting impacts made, I would not trade this for anything in the world!

[cfareaway]

Photos from open class! #pcvlife #teacher #esl (at Himarë)

[hetmanandherring]

Scenes from the 10th annual Victory Day teachers picnic. 

Apple orchard, Plesna Village, Ukraine.

[tanyaincameroon]

Over the last two weeks I’ve been thinking about how it doesn’t feel like Christmas. My village is solidly 70° every day, the trees still have their leaves, I didn’t make butter cookies or watch any classic Christmas movies on ABC family. But this past week I started noticing small signs that it was here: in between Cameroonian dance music a Christmas song or two would come on, there was tinsel around the market, and even some houses had Christmas lights shining through the windows.

Christmas here is very different from the extravagant affair I’m used to. It was like Christmas came through Cameroon with a whisper instead of a bang. But that whisper was so nice. It was a 15 second phone call from a neighbor or teacher just to great you. It was an extra large heap of njamanjama (vegetable) served with the local staple food, fufu. It was another volunteer crocheting stockings with our names on them (shout out to Jamie, you the best) . It was time spent eating a backup plan dinner that turned out to be delicious anyway.

Christmas for me this year was beautiful, not because of fancy decorations or trees that take up half a room, it didn’t have to do with wrapping paper or ornaments, Christmas wasnt cookies or movies. Christmas this year was perfect because of the people I was with and what we did with it. I thought it didn’t feel like Christmas, but really I just needed to take a look inward and see what is really important about Christmas, and I found it.

[ajlogan10-blog]

Sometimes Endale pretends to be my friend. #pcethiopia #pcvlife #debub

[onlyihavethekhuushuur-blog]

Scene: 10 AM on a Friday walking to work from a market in my part of town where the sand roads of the ger district meet the major paved road in town. I am approached by a slightly hunched, quite clearly drunk man wearing a dirt stained beanie and coat with baggy pants pushing a wheelbarrow full of sand and a shovel. Below is the abridged conversation that ensued in Mongolian, translated to English for your pleasure

Man: *Takes off glove and holds out hand*

Me: *Shakes hand* Thinks to self : (earliest conversation with a drunk man yet)

Man: Hello (followed by slurred nonsense)

Me: Hello. What’s up?

Man: You speak Mongolian!? Where are you from?

Me: Yup, I’m from America but I have lived here for a year. I work at the health department (point to the building about 10 feet away). I am a youth soccer coach.

Man: (Still holding my hand) Cool. Is Mongolia nice? What is your favorite part about Mongolia (standard question)

Me: Yes, it is very nice (standard answer). Well the people are very communal, and the food is pretty good. The summer is nice but the winter is cold.

(Both of us laugh about the weather) (hands part)

Man: Want to buy a bottle of vodka and drink it here? (points to the side of a building)

Me: I have to go to work 

Man: How about we drink vodka? (grabs my hand again)

Me: Maybe tomorrow.

Man: Okay! What is your favorite part of Mongolia?

Me: Repeats answer above. What is your name?

Nyambo: My name is Nyambo. My job is to keep the sand off of the sidewalks and the road (points to the road by the gas station in a broad motion).

Me: I’m Tom, it was nice to meet you.

Nyambo: Next time I see you we will drink together. Have a good day.

And thus ends the story of my meeting of Nyambo. A man with a Sysaphean task of keeping nature in check and preventing the sand from swallowing the city. Next time I see him i’ll be sure to snag a photo of us drinking behind an abandoned factory.

[godobeecuador]

Earthquake...&Relief!

[ajlogan10-blog]

This crazy group makes it all worth it! #peacecorps #pcethiopia #pcvlife #hawassa