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R.I.P. Backpack

Today as I arrived on campus at American University I searched around my backpack and noticed quite a large tear.

I was suddenly over come with emotion. I know how trivial it may sound to care about an item, especially one as common as a backpack—but for me it’s the end of an era.

I don’t remember when I got this backpack, I suspect its when I started college. It is lime green and grey and I am sure I admired it’s bright exterior. One thing I know for sure is that when I got this backpack I never knew the adventures we’d have together.

My backpack has kind of taken a life of its own—my only travel partner and the only thing that has consistently bore witness to other life, my life on the road.

I first took it to Ghana in 2006, I remember packing it for my first time really “back packing” a trip to the Volta region. Right after I hit the road with my buddies our tro tro ( local transportation) broke down, here is photo evidence.

I cradled this backpack in the scorching heat, and we were patient.

A few months later I went on 2 ½ week trip to Mali and I decided to for-go buying another larger back pack, and stuck with my little green pack. Everyone was shocked that I had packed so light— yet when we walked through the Sahara desert in Dogon country, I fell in love with my tiny backpack.

This backpack has seen me through hell and high water, literally, high water through the rainy seasons, and the hellish heat of the desert. It has been my pillow, my chair, my head rest, my foot rest. It was my security blanket, as I wrapped it around my legs during long journeys to protect it (although at times I suspect it was protecting me).

My back pack has been to 17 different countries and 5 continents. It’s seen elephants in Masai Mara, the tops of temples in China, wine country in South Africa, rock hewn churches in Ethiopia, and too many adventures to recount. There are mud stains from South American rainforest, and for some reason always sand from beaches or deserts in it's cracks.

I guess this is more than just an item to me; it has taken on so many roles in my travels it’s a badge of honor, scratched from use. When I was alone and so far from home, this backpack was a comforting friend. It is always a reminder of my adventures and close calls-- it has survived it all.

It always did look foreign in America, the item was too worn in this clean cut presence; so maybe it is appropriate that it should fall apart here, I am just hoping I don’t.

So I will say goodbye to my longest travel partner, you’ve done well.

6 Months

I remember sitting underneath my net in the long stretches of the dry seasons and wondering what it would be like to get this point, 6 months in America.

I still wake up sometimes in the cold confines of an over air-conditioned room and desperately search for my malaria net--my safety blanket. These two worlds feel so entirely different, I always wonder if one was only a dream.

The readjustment back to American life and culture is something often discussed amongst Peace Corps Volunteers and those who live abroad--the tales of tears shed a supermarket or the development of agoraphobia, but everyones experience is different. But yes I did cry at the sight of a mango in a supermarket it looked so out of place in such a cold, clean, space; not in a busy market with a mama selling it. I believe the biggest struggle is the in between time--when your story is "I just got back from the Peace Corps and I am hanging out" the uncertainty is deadly to your confidence, yet I never imagined that having a plan would be difficult as well--it means it is really over. There is no magic time when you should stop grieving the loss of your alternative, yet somewhat mythical life--it has to be felt.

I miss my students more than I ever thought possible, yet it is a pain I never expected-- a joyful one. One day I furiously wrote down everything I could remember about each of my students in an attempt to save it all, before it slips away and when I broke down in tears when I forgot Jackline's favorite color, I could smile at myself for ever knowing it at all.

Life does move on and there are so many moments I am filled with so much gratitude for: seeing my grandma turn 90, being there when my niece was born, even the simplest actions such an afternoon with friends, and exploring a city make me want to scream with happiness. I started my first full-time job (albeit a temporary one) and I will be starting school at American University in the fall. I am even planning my first trip out of the country since I have been home to Guatemala to see my family. I realize now the growing importance of family and the wonderful life lesson you receive from looking back.

Six month--the view from here is different than I expected, but it is a bittersweet view.

Running for Silas

My foot pounds on the pavement; black and hard it smacks with each step. It's cold and the sky is gray, ice sheets blocks and I run to avoid the slick trap. I can see my breath; something I haven't experienced in more than two years. Houses line the streets, they look so big and so foreign to me, but familiar at the same time. Running, my connection to my old life-- Kenya, my students, Silas its why I run.

It has been about 6 weeks since I have returned to the United States. I braced the snow and all these new challenges I faced: buying a pair of closed toe shoes, remembering how to use a microwave, feeling overwhelmed by all the choices that exists in every store. I felt the need to run, to be outside, to do something that has become so familiar to me in my old life, I wanted to hold onto so closely before it slips away. I decided to run the Monument 10K on April 2nd for my student Silas. My talented student who I tracked down in the village and decided to do anything in my power to get him through school. Hard to believe that was just over one year ago and it seems my heart has fallen to my feet, as a push the pavement with each bound, most of them time with one thing on my mind; the kids I left behind.

I was greeted when I got home from a letter from Silas, he writes, " I love you so much. My school is the best. I don't ever forget you. You are my teacher always. I love my new teachers and I don't make any mistakes with teachers. I admire you every day. Yours faithfully, Silas."

I am still raising funds for Silas' education. I ask anyone who is interested in sponsoring my run in the Monument 10k, to donate directly to Kenya Education Fund and write Virginia "Ginnie" Seger. Thanks to everyone's help I have raised around $1,480 which means I have a little over $500 to go to fully fund his education, with your help we can make sure this bright, caring, intelligent student fully realizes his potential by providing him with an education.

I take to the pavement everyday, warmed by life, and by the little sparks I hoped I lit in my students life.

I miss them....I really miss them

The long way home

6 in the morning

I wake up everyday at 6AM or sometimes 4 AM and I wonder where I am. I don't hear birds, or the rooster, and I panic; then I feel blankets and sheets and realize I am not in my bed, house, or old life. I am in this new one--that is neither mine nor is not. It feels as if I pressed pause on this life--but it continued and I am joining again, in the middle of was once mine just--different.

When the plane took off, the first time I left the African continent in two years I cried. What did I leave behind there? What did I take with me?

I walked through a supermarket, blinded by it artificial glow--dazed by all the choices, I saw a mango. I picked it up and held it and cried-- this was not my market, this was not mango season, it was over--really over.

It needed to end it wasn't mine, and after two years of trying, it still wasn't mine. I carved out my life in that school; and though I built up in the lives of my students, I was just--different.

Being here is really hard, exciting, new, different, sometimes I just want to run. Run away from the questions, the cold, the things. I want to run to a place that's quite and sunny where my head doesn't chatter with car payments or job opportunities, where it just is.

Everything here is so nice, clean, conformed, I feel too worn in it presence. Everything is easy but nothing is simple. How can two just different places exist on the same planet?

Maybe I will go for that run, see where I end up.

Cairo-a-go-go

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)

2

You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all
that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial,
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the
illiterate person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the
drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping couple,
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the
town, the return back from the town,
They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,
None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.
Walt Whitman

I am leaving Cairo today after 8 days of an awesome trip. I really love traveling alone, and everyday as soon as I stepped out the door--adventure waited. My favorite part was discovering Cairo on foot--getting lost, finding beautiful spots, sitting and watching the 24 million people pass. I also took enjoyment of things that I haven't experienced in 2 years, hot showers, metros, McDonalds!( I know, I know, I normally don't eat such things in the US, but to me, after two years, this is exotic! )
I have met very warm and friendly people, who have guided me through their lovely city. I will never forget Cairo, although I have a feeling we are not quite finished yet.

Highlights:

Discovering Giza on the back of a camel

Figuring out metro routes, and shared taxi's despite my lack of Arabic.

Getting lost in Islamic Cairo, only to find beautiful Mameluke Palaces and mosques, and the ending up exactly where I wanted to be.

Discovering the red pyramid as I climbed inside and was the only person inside, 5,000 years old.

Curiously staring at mummies, who forever hold their gaze.

Mint tea and hookah in the afternoons.

Quite conversations with strangers, and now friends.

Walking the bridge over the Nile as the sun was setting, in awe, complete awe, of the beauty that the world possess--with a goofy happy grin on my face.


Now I have one more trip before I return home. I will spend a week in London, seeing friends from my time in Ghana. For some of them it has been 5 years since I have seen them, but I know that with good friends, time, it makes no difference.

Off to the next adventure, Insha'Allah!

Walk like an Egyptian

What a world wind this past month has been! I feel like I have no place to start! I'll update more when I have a chance to sit and think but quick takes-- I finished up at my school and went to the coast, beautiful beaches, late nights, wonderful people. My next stop was Nairobi where I officially closed my service--it was exciting and bittersweet, about half my group went home and never made it to that point, so I was a bit proud for making it through.

My next trip was to Lodwar and Lake Turkana-- the travel gods did not smile upon me for this trip that I should describe, in more detail later. I'll just sum up. I sat for a long time in matatus, buses, trucks, and cars, waiting to leave, then I sat in matatus, buses, trucks, and cars, for hours in transit. I ate bad goat which came back to haunt me later. Snakes in beds, crazy "guides" with TB, completely different view on time and urgency. I was with good people and that made a huge difference.

Next I went to Ethiopia, the 10th African country I have visited. Ethiopia was amazing. The history and the culture are so rich, beautiful. From rock carved churches in Lalibela, to the castle of the queen of Sheba, and the arc of the covenant in Axum, it was magical.

Once again the ghost of Lodwar came to haunt my stomach and I dealt with the ghost of goat pasts. I got dysentery...again and was unable to climb Mount Kenya. I decided to high tail it to Egypt where I am right now! Cairo is busy, full of life and energy. I had a staring contest with King Tut this morning (he won), and I'll travel to Giza tomorrow to see the pyramids. I am also enjoying the afternoons with mint tea and hookah with the locals.

Next I'll travel to the U.K. to see some old friends of mine from the University of Ghana, many years ago. I have never left the airports of Europe or the U.K. so this will be a first for me, but I am looking forward to things like, washing machines, cheese, showers!

I do love to travel but this past month, I have dealt with the highs and lows of travel. A part of me knows I am going home so soon, and I long to be there, instead of thinking of it so much, but these next few years I may not be able to travel at all, so I am taking it all in. I love wandering new streets, and as my dad says " I am not lost I am only exploring" so I explore. I love feeling so small next to such old pieces of art and history. I love learning new things about myself and the world around me, but my heart is calling out back to a place that is my own- where that place is--who knows, but here I go.

"People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway. If you do good, people may accuse you of selfish motives. Do good anyway. If you are successful, you may win false friends and true enemies. Succeed anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable. Be honest and transparent anyway. What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway. People who really want help may attack you if you help them. Help them anyway. Give the world the best you have and you may get hurt. Give the world your best anyway."

- Mother Teresa

No Goodbyes

Signed conversation

Rhoda: You are going to America?

Me: Yes in month 1( January) I will go to America,

Rhoda: What color is the plane?

Me: White, why?

Rhoda: So I will see you in the sky.

I watch as they tumble on each other, cartwheels, flips, and high kicks--their laughs, I want to always remember. I enter the compound to 20 little hands, wanting to assist with my things, I want to always remember these hands. I leave my house every morning, and walk toward the school, I am greeted with "good morning teacher" and 97 little smiles, I always want to remember these smiles.

These past few weeks have been full of different events. I had some newbies stay with me for one week and shadow my work, and I even made them teach a bit, and they did great, I am sure they'll make lovely Volunteers. I was also fortunate that their visit coincided with a “field day/ life skills day” that I had planned for the kids, so the newbie’s and another Health Volunteer were extra wranglers for the day.

I wanted to do something nice for my kids before they left; I considered re-painting the dinning hall a source of ire, as of recently; but I decided to go with my strengths, which is not art, but rather playing! The day started with face paint, sack race, three-legged race, and football tournament. In the afternoon we played Frisbee, and had a water balloon toss, which my kids have never seen before! Needless to say it was very entertaining, and the kids had a blast. We finished the evening with arts ( all the kids made pipe cleaner glasses--adorable) and crafts and some HIV/AIDS games.

It was great to see the kids having so much fun, and to see the newbie’s and the Volunteer fall in love with my kids! They really are the cutest kids, ever. I was proud to see everything fall into place, and mostly to see my smiling kids and hearing their squeals of delight. I would update adorable pictures, but my flash drive was destroyed, so no pictures until I return home I suppose.

I guess with 1 week and half left; I should be introspective about my experience but I won’t; not right now. I am doing everything the same as I always do at site, refusing to let the ticking clock distract me. Perhaps I am just in denial that the fact that my whole world for the past two years is coming to a close, or that I fear I will leave the best part of me in this little village, in this little school, in these 97 little people. No, for now I will sit on my stoop let the kids crowd around until dinner, and I will remain seated, without a care, in admiration. Goodbyes; not now.

I will head out at the end of this month to Mombasa to finish up a project; a video about HIV/AIDS counseling and testing. Then I will attend a farewell weekend with fellow Peace Corps Volunteers in my group, and make my way to Nairobi, where I officially “close my service”. After that I’ll make my way to Lake Turkana in the most remote part of the country, Northern Kenya. I will then fly to Ethiopia for a 10-day trip with one of my favorite people in the world! I will spend Christmas with some hostel buddies, and Boxing Day with my Kenyan Mama in Embu. Afterwards I will head out to the massive Mount Kenya; the mountain the country is named after; and the mountain I have stared at for two years. I will ring in the New Year 17,000 ft above sea level, staring out onto the land I have called home for two years. Then I will make my way back to Embu and spend a few quite days with my Kenyan Mama and visit my school-for the last time. I’ll fly to Egypt for a quick trip to the pyramids, and eventually to the U.K. for a week with old friends. Finally, after being away for over two years, I will fly to the United States. Inshalla.

No goodbye for now, let the adventure begin.

Success

These past few months have turned to weeks, and days—it hard to comprehend rational of time. Peace Corps is ephemeral by nature; two years is what you have, and as you experience highs, it is a ticking time bomb—a set of amount of time to accomplish something. During your lows, it is a sentence—a fixed time to when you can be “home” again. Yet they co-exist, somehow, to my vexation.

Mid-term exams were taken and all the students anxiously awaited the results; to their surprise, so did I. I have worked with my class 8 for 2 years now, in social studies—the most despised subject in the school. Every year the results from exam show that social studies always have the lowest average of all subjects. For students who struggle with English, social studies can be very—wordy. I didn’t know all this when I first began teaching 2 years ago, in fact I had no idea that the class I was taking on currently had a failing class average in the subject, I just knew my best subject was always social studies and history, so I eagerly choose this class.

Before I knew it I was thrown into the teaching gauntlet. I have had so many highs and lows teaching this class. There were days when I wanted to just walk out and cry; cry for the system that had failed these kids, and at time is feels as if it is almost designed for them to be unsuccessful. Yet, in small ways my students encouraged me, everyday. I could see them growing mentally, becoming curious, asking questions, and demonstrating concepts. Even when I felt beat down, I tried to enter the classroom with the same enthusiasm, and patience, I had the first day. My students brought their energy, and curiosity. Some days they brought their attitudes, hormones, and general teenage behavior, and I brought my frustrations, and exasperation, yet someone we preserved together.

The midterms are the last exam results I will see, in two weeks my class eight will seat for the national exams; the results won’t be released until January, after I have left the school. So as the teachers posted the results for the exams I anxiously waited until classes begun and the children left. I watched each minute pass with a vigilant stare. Finally when all the children ran to class, I approached the bulletin board and traced the lines of subjects with my finger. Social studies; all of my students had improved, tremendously. If I look at the results from when I first began teaching this class they began with a failing average; to this exam, in which they now have a C+ average as a class—with none of them failing. My heart busted into a million little pieces, I was so overwhelmed with unadulterated joy! Later, I met my class; told them how proud I was of them, their eyes swelled with pride, and their smiles were so genuine. I signed “ I told you if you work hard, you will improve” they responded “yes teacher, thank you”. We have a few weeks until they seat for the national exam, and there is something different in all of them, a passion, a confidence, a new life breathed in them. We are not missing a beat, continuing until the national exam, where I will be a wreck, hoping, wishing, crossing my fingers for them!

I thought as a nice reward would be a field trip to Embu, as part of our life skills class. Our main event was getting a tour of the Post Office ( pictured above), which they all enjoyed, especially when they were able to stamp some of the letters. They were so excited, to see a new and different place, to understand something new, I was proud.


I think about the two years I have spent in the classroom, I think of everything I will take away, and leave behind. Even though I am beyond proud of my classes because of the improvements they have made academically, I hope I taught them more. I hope I taught them how to be curious, to ask questions, to know their rights, to challenge themselves, to see a person for who he or she is not what they look like, to be more human. When I think of everything that I will take away—well that list could consist of a whole book. It was best of times, it was the worst of times, I think that one has been taken.... I will say I have seen great warmth in people, I have seen charity, and honesty, but I have also seen corruption, apathy, and even violence. Yet the juxtaposition, and the emotion that comes with living a in world with both, well, often leaves me vexed. I know that every time I am discouraged by the world, I throw my energy into my students; they are my hope. I’ll put it this way, a phrase I hear often from people at home is that I am changing the world, but the way I really see it, for better or worse, the world has changed me.

Like a Rolling Stone

Every year the jacaranda blooms in October. All year it sits in silence- amongst the trees, just waiting for its time to shine, patient.

Then like a red headed stepchild, it blooms- and there it is exposed to the world, all the green leaves fall, all thats left is a smear of electric purple, that rains on all of Embu.

I love jacaranda season.

I recently finished my COS ( close of service) conference at a nice hotel not so far from me. Its hard to describe what I am feeling these days--part nostalgia, fear, excitement, curiosity, happiness, and a longing. There are million things I love about living in Kenya, I have become so accustomed to life here, I actually find it hard to remember a different life.

I love the excitement I feel every morning, the quite cups of tea, the line of children who run to help me carry me books, the greeting from the other teachers, the time spent alone. I get so much joy from the smallest gestures of kindness, the small hands signing- big ideas, the time, time to read, to think, make the world go silent--and to just be.

For all the these months, time has slowed me down to a snails pace, like a donkey dragging its feet, now it taunts me with its change of pace! These next few weeks will include helping with the new groups training, finishing up some projects, taking the GRE, applying to grad school, finalizing my travel plans, tying up lose ends here, finishing strong with my class 8 who are seating for national exams next month, saying goodbye to fellow volunteers, friends, and my students.

I feel almost the same way I did 2 years ago! Everything I have known for 2 years will be turned upside down, I'll be thrown into a different culture ( well is it different, or am I?), but I am strangely excited by the next adventure. This experience has taught me so much-- equivalent to my 4-years at university. My teachers Emerson, Hemingway, Marquez, Eggars, and the hundreds of other authors I have read--along with all my co-workers, community members, and my students- who teach me something new everyday.

I'll finish up these next few months, trying to soak everything up, trying to absorb all the happiness here, so I can use it for a rainy day when things may not be so bright in the future.

Whatever the next adventure brings--I am ready to jump, without hesitation.

100 days

100 day ( give or take) until I am done with Peace Corps service. I have taken stock on a lot of past memories and things I have written, it feels like a whole life wrapped up in 21 months. I feel as if I left for Kenya 10 years ago, so much has changed.

Behind the purple prose of this blog, are my experiences here, which literally full of dramatic highs and desperate lows. I sit here with a mere 100 days left its hard to encompass, the magnitude of it all that has happened and everything that will come.

I have started my third and last term at St. Luke's. I try to count how many pots of water I warmed for my bucket baths, how many bowls of oatmeal I've eaten, how many times I have seen the morning parade performed by class 4, how many books I've read at my desk, how many lesson plans I have prepared, how many children I have taught, how many letters I've received and written, how many chickens I've chased from my house, how many times I laughed so hard I cried, or how many times I cried so hard I had to laugh, how many times my students thanked me for teaching, how many times they've understood concepts, how many conversations I had with my neighbors,how many lessons I've learned in the silence of the evenings on my stoop, how many times I've just appreciated life. Its an eternity.

For now I'll let Christine sit on my lap, Caroline play with my hair, Patrick carry my books, Jackline practice finger spelling my name, Consolata hold my hand. 100 more times.

South Africa

I sway back and fourth in the frigid, restless, Atlantic Ocean, as the rain preserves, I hold my breath, ready. I am not safely nestled in front of my TV, for shark week; in fact I am not even on the boat, I am in the water, surrounded by great white sharks.

I calmly grab the bars of my cage, and think how did I end up here? As shark bait none the less? The waves crash and the captain orders the boat back- we only have 20 minutes. The squall has snuck upon us, and the white-capped waves are growing stronger by the minute. This is the most dangerous part of the trip; an impending capsized boat. Yet here I am, in the unforgiving Ocean where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic, and battle it out, where seals migrate every year, and where Great Whites come to feast on their blubber, in South Africa; this is shark alley.

This is one of my last days in South Africa; a trip that proved to be as magical as it was memorable. Since landing in Jo’burg, South Africa has left me something to think about. After traveling to West Africa and living in East, I never thought a place like this existed. Paved roads, stop lights, Mcdonalds? Where was I? Huge cities, even bigger townships, and a history as torn as a Shakespearean tale. South Africa was quite the anomaly.

I swallowed everything Capetown had to offer—diversity, charm, edge, history, beauty, a Big Mac. The mysterious table mountain frames the whole city, and striking cliffs the hug the coastline. Everyone is still alive from the buzz of the World Cup, proud of their accomplishments, and rightfully so. I wander the streets wide-eyed taking it all in with awe. People singing on the street, gives me the chills, the hum of the curio market, and the solemn moments inside a church turned museum, telling the tales of apartheid’s cruel conjecture. Capetown; it is what I needed.

Any trip is only as good as the company you keep; and I was in luck. Two of my fellow Volunteers, were my partners in crime, confidants, lenders, moms, sisters, photographers, co-pilots, captains, interpreters, wine tasters, and more than anything friends; the best one could ask for. We left Kenya together and clung to each other in heat of Cape Point, and the chills of an Atlantic squall.

We rented a car; the smallest, little white car you could think of, but it was a nice break from the oversized matatu’s filled to the brim with chickens, people, and goats. We headed out south, the Cape of Good Hope where the Portuguese stumbled in hundreds of years ago, and somehow they were not enamored by the juxtaposed landscape, and continued on. The three of us were much more captivated. The fold mountains that pushed their way out of plates shifting; raised above the wild Atlantic waves, so pristinely blue; and windswept vegetation, fight to survive, the gentle greenery that beckons. We hiked to the Cape Point lighthouse, taking in views of cliffs and waves, and a kind sun above. Then to the most South Western point on the Continent—the Cape of Good Hope. I sat watching the waves crashing, and said a prayer of Good Hope to my baby nephew whom I have never met, my hope-- that he sees this with his own eyes one day, I hope he is always curious. We leave as the sun chases us down. Off to wine country—Stellenbosch, where some of the best wine in the world is created.

In Stellenbosch we walked the white washed streets and old buildings tucked in the valleys of rolling hills. The next morning we began a tour of 5 local wineries—after interpreting up a storm for my friend, I was rewarded with …several glasses of wine. We pooled our money together and splurged on a cheese sampler, perhaps the best purchase of my life. We took in the warm sun, the smells of good wine, and peaceful valleys dotted with vineyards. That night feasted on load of cheese, good bread, apples, and of coarse another bottle of Stellenbosch’s finest, with plenty of laughs, and signing until our hands ached.

The next day we headed out to Hermanus—the best place for land based whale watching; home to the enormous Southern Right Whale. Every year they make their way here to bask in the bay, for the month, before they’re off again. We walked the edge of cliffs spotting a few out on the distance; we watched random fins slap the water, puff from blowholes. As we moved further down the shore I spotted two whales not 100 meters from where we were. I ran for a better look on top of a cliff, found myself a comfortable rock, and just sat, feeling hopelessly small to this gentle giant. We consumed the ocean air, the setting sun, and the peacefulness of the moment; quite the contrast to the next day.

Back in the cage the water crashes, the skipper nervously watching the cage as we sway with Atlantic. The sky is gray and the rain is vindictive, the white seagulls swarm, attracted to the chum churning at the back of the boat, the air is thick with its stench, mixed with the salty sea. My feet dangle within the cage and I look to my right, and smile bright to my friend, my hands to cold to sign, we both read each others faces; excitement! When I hear the call—“ DOWN DOWN DOWN” I clench the metal in my fists, push myself down into the ocean, and assess my surroundings. I am in a green world, astonishingly calm compared to the scene above, holding my breath, waiting for what feels like an eternity, and then I see it—in a flash, the flip of a tail darting side to side, and in an instant, gone. I hold myself down looking in each direction for the shark, in awe of how fast it can move, but this is not my world, I am a foreigner and must come up for air.

I look to my friend, we give eachother toothy grins as I push my bangs out of my goggles view, I grab her hand- how awesome is this?! We sit in the cage scanning the water for another movement, yet from this point of view I am helpless, I am at the will of the ocean. The waves crash and the cage raises for a moment then clings once again to the boat. I calm myself , and wait for the call “ DOWN DOWN DOWN” again I quickly duck in the water, only to come nose to nose with a great white shark. It swims inches from my face, with a precision unknown to me, it's black eye passing my brown, and just like that its gone, into the depths of the sea. I go up for air and I can’t contain myself, I sign “cool” to my friend, “ I know” she signs. Then once again DOWN DOWN DOWN, we sink once again and she comes in dodging the cage, I can count the scars on her skin, she turns with such care, so powerful in her domain. I watch as she effortlessly glided into the green depths.

This is not the killer from Jaws I knew; she is beautiful, graceful, and powerful. Never once did I think the shark was “after” me, in fact inside the cage, I doubt she even knew anything but a boat was in front of her. This is not a bloodthirsty animal, but rather an animal that should be protected, and revered the same as other great predators, lions, leopard, bears, etc. Sharks, especially the great white sharks, are just misunderstood.

The last shark gave quite a show to those on the boat, getting out of the water, and showing her teeth. From bellow the water I could just see the flashes of fin in the water, zooming like lighting in a zig zag motion, towards the boat and in an instant away again. Then we were called in, the swells were growing rapidly, and because the weather is prone to change on the drop of hat, we were safer going back to shore. The waves crashed, and water was flying everywhere, I was still high off my shark sighting I welcomed each wave, the crashing of water in my face, my lips soaked in salt, the jump of the boat, I was alive. We stopped briefly next to an island full of seals, they covered the island like a fur coat, feasting on fish and trying to avoid the great whites. Then quickly headed back to violent waves, and eventually to land. I thought I would never be warm again. I shook uncontrollably in the horrid claws of hypothermia, and made my way to the car, where the three of us huddled in the small white car clinging to the heater. My shark experience was over, but the moments I spend among the great whites, I will take with me for the rest of my life.

We took an afternoon drive amongst the farms and rolling hills, to the jutting cliffs of Cape Algunas the Southern most point of the African continent; where many wayward ships rest among the Indian and Atlantic ocean malicious meeting point, and a light house shines like a beacon of hope, or like a tricky siren. I am struck my the wind and cold outside our car, and I take off in a sprint down the boardwalk, to the southern most tip of Africa, I run to the ends of the continent, alive.

Vacation

Time for a vacation again! This is my last vacation as a Peace Corps Volunteer! The rules state you cannot take vacation in the last three months of your service and this is the last month off of school before it is time to close, so here it goes!

Right now I am in Mombasa, the second largest city in Kenya, visiting my good friend for a week.

Next week I will head to SOUTH AFRICA!!!

Then I will head back to Mombasa for some more training.

Then it will be time for school again!

I am sure my next post will be full of adventure stories but for now enjoy some pictures from this last term.

Peace Corps is Hard

I’ve wanted to say this for quite some time now, but never felt like I really could. I try to write about things that have shaped me, the positive moments that enlighten, but I am realizing, some time the shades of grey lead to a more, real experience, so here is it the moment of truth…

Peace Corps is hard.

Peace Corps is the hardest thing I have ever done. Being isolated from people from my culture, and thrown into another, which some cases have views that are poles apart from my core beliefs, like the treatment of women, or children with special needs, and trying to navigate through both these world, while staying healthy and more importantly…sane…it is hard!

So why do it? I have been asking myself this question for the past few months when the difficulties seemed too much, and I think I found the answer; those few fleeting moments of grace.

I experience a mess of emotions tangled within each other; loneliness, independence, anger, joy, disillusion, satisfaction but within all of this are the moments of absolute calmness and clarity, and near benediction, and that makes everything ok again.

The other day I had the one of roughest night of my life; dysentery, once again( I’ll spare you the detail I am sure you don’t want to know). I woke up unable to do anything for myself. One call to my mama, and she was by my side the whole day. She cleaned my house from top to bottom; scouring the floors as if the fiercer she cleaned the faster I’d get better. The whole day people flooded my house, helping cook, or to just say, “pole” (sorry). It was genuine humanity.

I also find moments like these with my students all the time. After finishing interpreting the constitution (which is being voted on August 4^th in Kenya) to my class eight students, we finally had our election day. We had been learning about the how elections work in Kenya, the constitution and about the government. It all culminated in our mock election; I told them that it was going to be a secret ballot that not even I would know what they voted for, but that I wanted them to think for themselves. I made them pretend ID’s, had their names on lists, and had a voting box ready. All of them voted and I announced the winner. They were all very excited, and I could see them actually making connections to the material, current events, and their lives in the future. It was one of those rare moments teachers always hope for. After I was done with my lesson, my students thanked me for teaching them, asked me to stay, to continue teaching, which was a huge compliment.

While these moments are rare; they are very powerful, and are able to reenergize against insurmountable odds, ( culture, religion, gender, poverty) and are able to enlighten.

My Peace Corps service is coming to an end in the next few months; next term will be my last at Saint Luke’s. I will remember those moments with burning precision.