The Ugly American

Kushe-o!

It’s day 7 here in Salone. That’s right everyone, I’ve officially survived my first week as a PCV. I’ve eaten so many foods that neither my stomach nor eyes can identify, I've learned to speak broken Krio ( mi Krio small-small) and I’ve learned how to dance wherever I go.

What I’ve not done is look in a mirror.

I didn’t realize it until just recently. I was sitting and talking with a good friend about the fact that my mother was overly concerned about my eyebrows. Then I realized that I had no idea what my eyebrows looked like. In fact, I hadn’t seen my face in over a week.

The American shock value hit me, and I really thought about what the reality of that was. In America, you're practically accosted by mirrors everywhere you go. If you have a day where you look shitty, you’re going to be reminded often. Constantly when I'm going around guys I find attractive I’ll find myself smoothing and plucking, checking to see if there’s anything that I can fix, because of course, if my hair is mussed, he’ll just keep on moving.

So much of the American values are set in looks. How thin you are, how sleek your hair is, how well you put on makeup. Here in Salone, things are beyond different.

It’s a whole new world where beauty is something totally different. The Salone people love a good smile and ‘Owbibodi?!” (How are you) in the morning. I've never felt more beautiful than I do here. And I’ve gotten 5 marriage proposals thus far, so apparently I look fine too.

But the thing that I value the most is how much people in my groups could care less. When I came to the mirror realization, my friend reassured me “ You look good. You always do.” And I believed him. Because it didn’t matter that I as pouring with sweat or wearing my tres-attractive zip-off hiking pants. What did matter was how much fun I’ve been having and how much I simply enjoyed being with everyone.

This is a good lesson for me to bring to my girls. Both in the classroom here and back in America, but the other girls I care about too- my sisters, particularly. I spent too much time dressing to impress and not getting what I wanted in return. But when I let myself be who and where I was supposed to be, I found myself surrounded by 42 awesome new friends (Some, let’s admit, are totally hot and don’t seem to be turned off by the fact that no girl here wears makeup).

The experience seems strange to me. Like there's something that I'm missing. But then I think that maybe America is the place that’s backwards. That maybe Salone knows something about being happy that we simply don’t. We think they have a lot to learn from us, but really, there's so much more that we don’t know. Feeling comfortable in our own skin is only part of it.

But it’s a start.

Kushe, Bo-Town!

Kushe-o!

As I sit in an Internet café in Bo, drinking a beer and waiting on a pizza, it hardly seems like I’m in Africa. Then I glance outside and see all kinds of chickens and children and women in Africana selling all kinds of things from magi (Spices) to Rubba Fak (rubber bands) and realize that I’m further from home than I realize.

The Peace Corps does a great job of integrating us in slowly so that we don’t get overwhelmed.  The idea that we’re in Africa hasn’t quite hit me yet. Why that is still baffles me because in my day-to-day life, I am very much in Africa.

Every morning I wake up with a bucket bath, which is much more refreshing than it sounds. A cold shower was never something I enjoyed in the States but when it’s an average of 90 degrees every day, you start to warm up to the idea. Then on goes the long skirt, I grab bread and walk to school.

I’ve been told my walk is only about a mile, but it takes me about 25 minutes on average to walk there because I’ve gotten to know people along my route. There are the numerous numbers of schoolchildren who always grab your hand as you’re walking by. There are the men at the edge of my village who always correct my Krio (I go na skul) but always tell me I’m pretty to make up for it. There’s the very pregnant woman who gets very upset if I don’t call out to her in Mende, wishing her a good morning and countless other people. Sometimes the best comparison to Africa is that bar from Cheers, you know, where everybody knows your name? Every morning, “Konya! Konya! Konya!” (Konya is my Mende name)

Then school happens. We learn all kinds of wonderful things like how to have proper relations with members of the opposite sex, safe medical practice for when there’s no doctor, cross-cultural training and most of all- Language. Language, language, language. Language is the crux of the PC, the do or die of it all. If you can’t hack the language, you can’t make it through training. My Language teacher, Saio, is the best in the business, though. He’s ordinarily a teacher in Freetown and knows English inside and out, so he’s able to translate the Krio into my English Major-ese (“This is the present perfect tense”, “This is where the subject goes”, etc.)

My Host family is wonderful, but a bit confusing at times. I’m the only PCT in my villiage, so I’m sort of running the show. It’s nice and not nice at the same time. I’m definitely the celebrity and I love the warm welcome I come home to every day, but in exchange I have tons of grabbing hands pulling on my water bottle and my skirt and I’ve been felt up (I’m going to assume accidently) far more than once. My family doesn’t know much Krio at all and even less English, so we’re left with Mende, a tribal language that they’re DYING to teach me. The only word I’ve managed to pick up so far is gari, which means ‘sky’ (Which is GORGEOUS here).

Alas, alack, we had to come to the negative eventually. The food is most definitely not my favorite. I’ve been existing on bread and prayer really. I realized rather quickly that I’m not a huge Cassava Leaf fan and realized even quicker than that this could potentially be a problem, because it shows up every which way. I’ve been mostly compensating with water and a (hopefully) positive attitude. Dropping a few pounds most definitely couldn’t hurt.

The volunteers always end the day with something. We play soccer or Frisbee or do yoga or go for a hike, just something physical together. Cooping up 43 outdoorsy people inside all day makes them more than a little stir crazy. I’ve learned to live with constant sweating and not to worry so much about shaving my legs. The people here are so focused on important things like humor and character, you never feel self-conscious.

I’ve not fallen out of love with the volunteers in the slightest yet. It’s just been compounded by many more crazy happenings. From wild chases through the marketplace to extremely sweet descriptions in Krio, we all just become closer every day. So close that I wonder how we’re going to say goodbye to each other in a few months.

We hit the bars on the weekends and have shut them all down systematically. It’s a given that when our group gets there, we will blow the electricity and drink all the beer. More than one of us had turned to street moonshine (which really just tastes like flavored vodka). We all love to dance and do it quite frequently. And we’re all more than just a little in love with each other.

I admit that I wasn’t sure what to expect, but every day has surpassed my expectations. I’m in love with this country, with its beautiful rolling hills and red dirt roads. I’m in love with the people and their crazy outpouring of love every day onto everything. It’s amazing how many people just care about us. I love the kids, with their eagerness to learn and work on new things and their readiness to help me with the language. I think it’s pretty clear that the volunteers all get along. Basically, it’s more than I ever could have hoped for.

America withdrawals happen occasionally, mostly at mealtimes or when someone brings up something like apple picking or going to the movies. But we’re learning to help each other through them and try and refocus ourselves on the task at hand.

I miss you all a ton. Thank you for all of your support and prayers and I’ll try and get back here sometime soon to post again (Let’s be real- I’ll be back for the pizza)

Wi go si bak!

(Krio for “I’ll see you later!”)

Above Africa

Looking out my window seat, above me is God; the guiding force behind this adventure, below me sits the Atlantic, which will separate me from everything I’ve ever known for the next 2 years. Somewhere in between I sit, really thinking about the journey ahead of me.

The past 2 days have been taken up with overwhelming bonding with my group, too much beer and not enough sleep. All of a sudden the people that I have only imagined surround me and they surpass anything I could have dreamt up on my own. It’s a rousing group of twenty-somethings, all ready to leave everything behind and already so in love with Sierra Leone.

Everywhere we go, the talk centers on our impending adventure. Finally we have someone to swap war stories with, compare experiences and inspirations and finally, FINALLY we are with people who understand us. No more skepticism, no more raised eyebrows, no more tears. There is this essence of camaraderie that amazes me. In a group of 43 people, you can sit down with anyone and get along.

Already scenarios are forming in my head. Which couple that paired off right away are going to be the ones who get married first? Will the best friendships we formed right away follow us through the next two years? How different will everyone look once we get over to Africa? Forgive me for saying so, but we really are an overwhelmingly attractive group right now. In 3 months however, we may be a little worse for wear.

I feel so blessed to be a part of this group. The more I get to know people, the more that I like them. As I look around to the people that were chosen for the same journey as me, I'm amazed at how special they all are. All of them are on fire for helping people, genuine of heart and kind-spirited. It reflects a positive light back onto myself, hoping that maybe since I was chosen to go with them, I might be a bit of those things too.

I’m looking forward to these next two years more than anything I can remember. After a long weekend of saying goodbye and crying at the slightest provocation, it feels amazing to finally be just happy. The life I had is behind me now, the life I will have ahead of me, and while things are still up in the air, I’m going to watch movies and laugh with my new friends.

“Today is the day! Your mountain is waiting! So, get on your way.”

~Oh, The Places You’ll Go, Dr. Seuss

My very first view of Sierra Leone from the plane!

Not Nervous, Just Ready

As the holiday weekend reaches a close, I reflect upon the past few days. A weekend of countless conversations with my extended family that hasn't seen me since my PC nomination, and also many with wizened, doting parishioners from my grandparents' church who prayed a blessing over me for safe travels. All asked me in hushed voices how nervous I was about my departure.

My response, invariably, was a shrug and an "I'm really not at all."

They would then purse their lips and say, "Hm, okay" in a pacifying voice that clearly indicated that they knew how I was feeling better than I did.

I let them do what they needed to.

Truth was, I really wasn't nervous. My intense personality paired with an eerie calm that came with the territory of knowing that Salone was where I was supposed to be at this point in my life gave me a serenity that most people probably mistook for gas.

If they had known what was going through my mind, maybe they would have let me be. What occupied my thoughts more than anything else lately was the kind of people with whom I would be serving. Constantly, they were running through my mind.

Since the invention of the Internet, the imagination has had a whole lot of help. If I had been serving 15 years ago, I would have nothing but the wilderness of my mind to concoct these future friends from. Now we have Facebook and with that come the story of their lives. At least the lives they choose to share with cyberspace.

I'm so ready to meet these people.

What are their real stories, not just Facebook stories? How did they get to this junction? How are their parents coping with them leaving? Were they like my dad, who just shoved me on my way like he knew he'd always have to? Or were they like my mom, a control freak that was steadily losing control over me and was stretching it to any area she could (medical forms, packing lists, my going away party)

Who's going to be best friends? Who's going to break curfew every night? Who's going to fall in love? Who is going to wish me dead every second of the day because I never just shut the hell up? Who's going to be seriously injured on a hike, rendering them the spectator all through training? Who's the Hermione? Whose wedding will we all be reuniting at after we return home? Who's the Quiet one? Are there going to be cliques? Are we too cool for that? 

All I can think about is getting to know these people. My people. More than ever before, I look forward to a goodbye because I know that hellos are soon to follow.

So, to my future friends, I promise I'm not insane. Just mega-pumped to meet you all. This is the adventure of a lifetime.

 And we're going together.

"Be true to your work, your word, and your friend."

- Henry David Thoreau

Leap of Faith

As my departure grows steadily closer, the more unsteady my mind becomes. I have to remember the passwords to exceptionally more portals than any person should, trying to complete the never-ending mound of paperwork that the Peace Corps needs from me. I feel excessively popular as people are coming out of the woodwork, making plans for “one last day” and making me nervous that perhaps people think I might not be coming back.

There’s been so many questions hurled my way, I'm becoming a pompous old windbag, answering them trying to use my very expensive English degree in a way that would make my professors proud. I'm spouting words like pivotal, and integral and cultural diversity to explain why I’m embarking on this journey that sounds more crazy the closer it gets.

What I've been avoiding is the truth.

Most that know me knows that Jesus and I are bros. Honestly, that’s really the best way to describe the thing we’ve got going. I didn’t become a Christian until later in life, and as such, my faith has always looked a lot different than everyone else’s. I had to play catch up with the bible stories and become a human thesaurus about the titles of God. Savior, King, Almighty, those were the words that got thrown around a lot in my church.

But that’s never really who he was to me.

There’s a passage in 1 Kings where an angel tells Elijah to go up on a mountain and wait for God and a great many huge things happen: an earthquake, a hurricane and a fire, but they go on to say that God wasn’t in those things. He came after, “ a still, small voice.”

That’s always what God has been to me. Someone I could talk to.  A still, small voice that answered when I talked. He wasn’t bossy, He wasn’t condemning, and He just listened.

He was very polite when I was 18 and He told me that He wanted me to become a missionary and I more or less told him to fuck off. He let it go for a few years, and then gently reminded me again when I was about 20. My uncle, a missionary himself, had been coming home from Africa more and more. I told God no again, but reluctantly brought it up to my uncle, one of my favorite people in the world. He simply told me to trust.

Finally, when I was finishing my junior year at North Park, God brought it up again. Basically, I told Him I would apply to the Peace Corps if it would shut Him up. Knowing the statistics of how many people are accepted, I thought I was the cleverest person ever. When I didn’t get in, I had a ready-made excuse not to leave.

However, as soon as I started the application process, I was surprised to find how much I actually wanted to go. It felt right, the work that the Peace Corps was doing. The statistics that had comforted me before now daunted me, as I wondered if I was going to be good enough. 

10 months later I sat at my computer, mouth gaping as I read my invitation to Sierra Leone. As I said the name out loud for the first time, I knew this was what He had meant. I didn’t beat the odds by getting in, this was what He had intended for me. As I talked to my campus pastor and she pulled out the same story of Elijah that I had clung to in the beginning of my faith, I finally saw the connection.

 This is the real story of why I’m going. 

I’m going because I know that this is where I’m meant to be. I can’t wait to meet the people that I’ll be there with, and hear their stories of how they got there. I can’t wait to meet my students and start teaching in a place totally new to me. Cooperative Teaching takes on a whole new meaning out there in the Bush.

I can’t wait to see what else God has for me over there.

“For I know the plans I have for you.” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.”

                        ~Jeremiah 29:11