A Place Called Choo

Just so we're clear, choo is pronounced with Swahili phonetics (rhymes with Joe). This is where we do our business here in Africa. It's a hole in the floor. I am one of the luckiest of my good friends; no creatures have flown out of the hole at me.

I am writing this email from a resort at Pangani, which is possibly the most beautiful place I've ever seen in my life, and where I may retire to when I finish the Peace Corps and spend all my days bicycling coconuts to town (kidding, mostly). We got here last night, and all ran into the bathwater-warm Indian Ocean cackling and giggling like mad, feeling like we stole something shiny and got away with it. Other than a fairly nasty spider bite on one of my friend's hands, it has been the most blissful vacation I can imagine, and we got here 10 hours ago. I cannot think of a time in my life when I've needed a vacation more.

Why, you ask? Here's the heavy philosophy: I spent some time wondering why I couldn't explain anything to Mom and Dad clearly. What is it about this experience that was so damn unsettling, not just to me, but to all of us, for the first few days? Here's my thought: that first night, when a Peace Corps car drops you off at a house and drives off and you are alone with a new family, speaking a language you don't understand, eating with your hands, and shitting in a hole, you are in a perfect trap. There are two choices, and you are instantly aware of both: I can either change and adapt to this, and become a little different person, and that will hurt, maybe a lot OR I can not do that, go home, and disappoint myself forever. And the most perfect part of this trap: I made it myself. I never seriously thought of going home those first couple days...but those are the two options: adapt or run away. Both are gonna hurt. So that, I think, is what was so crazy about those first few days. Heavy thinking, done.

So here we are, four weeks into the crazy journey. As hard as it is for me to believe, I only have about four more weeks of training, and then it's time to be a big boy, and go I know not where. I speak Kiswahili! Not particularly beautifully, and I can't understand a native speaker who isn't speaking slowly, but I can get my point across, and most days, I'm getting better. We all say "Hamna Shida" (literally "there are no problem") so much it reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where George's dad keeps shouting "Serenity now!". Most mornings I'm running five miles or so and watching the sun come up. I can't sleep in past 6:30 if you paid me at this point, though that is mostly the fault of the roosters (damn cocks, always get you). I stay in a house that at the moment, I believe, is sleeping 10 people. I have a very nice room, which thank god does not have a ceiling, just a roof. Thank god why? Because twice in the last 3 days I locked myself out of my room and had to climb spider-style up and over the wall to get my key. I climb a lot here, my friends laugh at me. It's also an incredibly rare day when I don't scrape, cut, or bruise myself. My friends laugh at that too. We play hard, here in Africa.

I have fully embraced the African conception of bribery, and use candy as currency to get the children to help us with stuff. I also dole it out as medicine on rough days. Life, on the whole, is pretty good. My major issues arise on the days I'm too tired (there are lots of those) to argue with my mother about the amount of food I'm gonna eat. She keeps saying "Ongeza" (add!) and I keep saying "Hapana" (no). And we go on like this, and I insist mpenzi wangu (my girlfriend) won't love me if I become mnene (fat), and we laugh and laugh and then she scoops rice and beans onto my plate, and on my weak days I just resign myself and eat it. This came to a head two nights ago, when after enough starchy foods to feed a horse, I lay awake with heartburn and gas until 2 in the morning, when, like a 13-year old girl from a bad 90's health video, I staggered out behind the choo and...purged. I assure you, it was mostly hysterical. I kept thinking about the awful "Saved by the Bell" episode when Jessie starts singing "I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so........scared!"

Life is different here. Fundamentally different. You work here to exist. When you don't need to work...you don't. People walk slowly here. There will always be more time. The concept of saving money isn't real, and the concept of a vacation would be absurd. Life is cyclical, and it goes on much as it has gone on here for time immemorial. How long that will last...I wonder. These people love Shakira, and television, and Barack Obama. I'm not sure they realize all the stuff that goes with it. I'm worried that might hurt a bit, too.

So, a shout out. Damon, I think of you whenever I see a child pushing a hoop with a stick (for real, they're everywhere). Kelsey, the flying cow is my only decoration, it and you are a big hit here. Vick, the photo album was the only way I made it through the first night, they love love love pictures of me as a baby, and I love looking at it. Mom and Dad, the amount of things I use and appreciate and am happy I brought every day is huge. I think of "The Things They Carried" a lot. Nothing beats getting ready for the day and putting on a hat, boots, a bandana, and a knife. Oh, I wielded a machete!!! Niedy, I spent idle minutes daydreaming about your wedding. Brittany and Rocco, I was holding a baby the other day and singing songs from Crazy About You. Made me glad. Kucz, you gotta run in Africa. I'm seriously considering running a marathon in February on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Jamie, you could out-bicycle these Africans any day. And Will, we were digging a garden the other day and "Cellar Door" came up on my ipod. Smile time.

I sing a lot of the time here, whatever I can remember. Lots of Christmas carols, and a bunch of sea shanties and Rolling Stones tunes. I love you all, I miss you all, and good god, it is beautiful to see your pictures.

Siku Njema (Good Day) kutoka Afrika (from Africa)



Bwana Waldron