#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

[twiichii]

Doing lots of sketches to prepare my next zine! Had a great time making art at another school as part of my #pcvlife, then biked home to enjoy papaya and draw in the garden... 🍊 Many changes are coming and I'm ready to leap forward. Packing up, moving out, solidifying plans for the #newyear. Honestly, I've already got 2 solo exhibitions lined up for 2021 that I'm stoked about, too! I used to have so much anxiety putting my projects together. Now, it's so freeing to think about them. And I don't want them to just "happen" or "be over already". I want to devote my time to the process, no matter how long it takes. ⌚ ... #nature #art #flowers #drawing #sketch #sketching #sketchbook #traditionalart #kawaii #cute #anime #girl #witch #botanicalwitches #morigirl #sunflower #fantasy https://www.instagram.com/p/B76i791HJgb/?igshid=1cyklfur4tgww

[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? 

[hetmanandherring]

Ingredients from the Invisible Hand: July, Blueberries

Maybe you’ve been cooking for years, maybe for months. Maybe you pride yourself in “buying local” or focusing on in season produce. Maybe you’re just Type A enough that the arrival of your CSA box opens a world of tasks just waiting to be accomplished.

Me? I’m an explorer. A traveling musician looking for an audience and a way to soak up new material on the road. A wanderer who falls at the mercy of the instruments on the table. A newly re-sanctioned cook with the per meal budget of a public school cafeteria bound by the invisible hand of Ukraine’s highly fluctuating produce market. And after a scant month of researching, revisiting and collecting this country’s cupboard staples I’m starting to fall into an affordable rhythm of meals using what is at my fingertips. 

So here, in the Ingredients from the Invisible Hand series, I’ll share what recipes I’m making in Ukraine.

Ingredient: Blueberries (smaller and tarter than the American variety, but juicier and more balanced in savory dishes)

Current Cost: 14 UAH/kg (~$0.23/lb)

Recipe:  Blueberry Chicken Chopped Salad

[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!

[dianawurzer]

Pig roast in Ghana!! Proceeds went towards supporting girls' education. This is how Ghana PCVs do it! Thanks for making it happen @jimmy87lee @jakemmclean @jaduncan624 #pcvlife #letgirlslearn #peacecorpsghana #optimusswine #porkislife #pcvfamily #pig #pigroast #iamfull (at Tamale, Ghana)

[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.

[onlyihavethekhuushuur-blog]

An Open Letter

A Terrible Introduction:

Attempting to come up with a first sentence almost led me to backtracking and giving up on making a post like this. You see, I have what is called “high functioning depression” and anxiety. 

I want to be clear that this is not to discourage potential Peace Corps applicants with similar afflictions nor am I making blanket statements about how depression effects all Peace Corps Volunteers. I just want to share what I’ve been through and what I realized though 18 months of serving in Mongolia.

Also for the sake of text space when i refer to feeling depressed for me it is the physical state of performing on of those lung capacity tests until you feel hollowed out (if you have asthma or to become an astronaut) while someone adds sandbags slowly onto your chest. The mental state varies in severity as all of us with depression know.

The Bad and Ugly:

The initial integration process was not a depression spiral trigger for me. It was actually one of the longest periods I haven’t spiraled from day to day depression downward into a more complex state that features self loathing. Upon feeling integrated into my community is when the problems started and I found myself feeling like the kid who can’t kick or throw come recess time (not the last one picked but the one NOT picked). 

Small things tend to trigger bigger spirals because of the stress of Peace Corps (especially Monoglian winter which i will explain later). Here are some of those things:

- Being locked accidentally in my office by a coworker

- Not being told about unscheduled holidays or days off

- Rarely being invited to coworkers homes

- Stores being sold out of things like bread or onions

- Petting my dog (although usually a huge relief)

- Seeing things you know are wrong but don’t have the language skills to safely stop them

- Realizing I'm losing touch with friends but not finding the will to fix it myself

Now many of these things can be logically explained by difference in culture, gender roles, and well just chalking it up to life but that isn’t always easy to see in the moment. However, I now do this once the storm in my head has settled down to help prevent cultural differences from being catalysts in the future.

At the worst of times it is easy to criticize the different culture I find myself in. At the worst of times I can’t bring myself to keep studying the language. At the worst of times I struggle to eat even after making a meal. At the worst of times it is hard to remember things will get better either in America or in Mongolia.

The Good:

At the best of times I’m running around a soccer field with a 6 year old child on my back. At the best of times I’m laughing with my coworkers and impressing them with little phrases I’ve picked up. At the best of times I know this is worth it. At the best of times I feel like I’ve made a small impact here. At the best of times I feel like this depression is okay.

I know I have had great experiences in Peace Corps that both triggered and helped me get out of depressive sandbag spirals. I’ve been able to start a youth soccer league that has almost 400 players, i’ve been able to work with nomadic reindeer herders, i’ve made lifelong friends (including one whose wedding I went back to America for this December. And the most important thing I’ve learned is that, when I am able to, to not worry about which of those two outcomes doing something will have and to try and live in that moment for as long as my brain chemistry will allow me to. 

Closing Ramblings:

Depression is something that is always following me but isn’t always active. Like a tiny little rain cloud that just needs that extra bit of moister before letting lose. I still have a hard time describing how it effects me day to day versus when things start to spiral but I hope at least some of this has been helpful to those of you looking for someone to feel akin to. The hardest thing about going through Peace Corps with depression is being unable to get close enough to those in your daily life to truly open up to them about what your life entails.

I’ve gotten through the lowest of lows thanks to many different people (most of whom don’t know what was going on or that they were helping me through something); Mongolian friends, Peace Corps Volunteers, and friends and family in America. So I want to give you all a collective thank you. 

I have been able to learn a lot about myself from serving in Peace Corps with high functioning depression. The degree to which this experience has tested me has made me feel more willing to open up to others (about my life in general) and has allowed me to learn a lot about in what ways depression is a part of me and how I can work with it to do what I dream to. 

I would not have been able to write all of this, although it is poorly written and I can’t quite bring myself to proofread everything I wrote without deleting large chunks, if i wasn't on my way to being in a better place even when the sandbags are piling up. 

Finally, there is one person I want to thank. I won’t say his name but if he is reading this he will soon know it is him. He is a friend, although friend is not nearly a strong enough word, who also lives with (not afflicted by or suffering from) depression (a different kind but we can relate on how it makes us feel sometimes) and anxiety. He has not only recently been able to confide in his family and close friends but has been able to share small parts of what he has gone through/goes through via social media. He strives to be a voice for those lost in the fog and needing a guide to find their way out. Without him i don’t think I ever would have made this post. His bravery astounds me even when he is facing a steep spiral. I just want him to know, for these reasons, I look up to you.

[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