More often than not, when you feel
that crawling sensation on your skin, there’s something on you. Nothing’s more
peaceful than writing letters by candlelight.
When bored, staring at a wall really
can give you something to do.
Doing laundry gives me an excuse to clean under my
fingernails.
Kiswahili is becoming second nature. Finally.
I don’t remember
what a hot shower feels like, or a cold one; our cleanliness depends entirely
on how initially clean the bucket is (for we take bucket baths).
I sometimes
warm myself next to a burning pile of garbage.
I sweep dirt.
My workdays are 24
hours long, yes even when I’m sleeping.
I think I have more hand sanitizer than
I’ll need if I were to stay here for 4 years (thank you, care packages).
Sometimes, if I don’t leave my house and no one stops by, I can go hours without
speaking a single word.
I’m proud of how fast I can make it to the choo
(bathroom) when I feel something explosive coming on.
I will never take a
decent road bike and a paved road for granted ever again.
My iPod is my
lifesaver.
Sometimes I belt out songs as if no one can hear me through my
screen windows.
I will never get used to being stared at 24/7, 365.
Sometimes,
just for fun, when it rains, I make a game out of plugging up my doors, windows
and getting that basin under the leaks in my roof by timing myself.
Traveling
in Tanzania will never be easy, enjoyable, or tolerable.
My feet are always dirty.
There are no words for
the feeling of safety I get when I know my mama in the village is looking out
for me.
The friendships we make here are necessary
and lifelong.
My back yearns for a mattress with springs, not a useless foam pad
with a crater in the shape of my butt.
I miss my family.
I miss going to the gym.
I miss driving.
The stars, sunrises, and sunsets are utterly breathtaking.
The African night noises are sometimes disturbing; with a tin roof, everything
is intensified and scarier.
If something falls off my walls, it takes me more
than a week to put it back up.
I will never get used to the layer of dust that
covers everything.
Never again will I feel bad about stepping on an ant on the
sidewalk; the ants here are ruthless and move in unimaginable swarms.
The wind
is strong, the sun is fierce, and the rain is relentless; there is nothing
half-ass about the weather here.
I’d be lost without my little French press.
Cooking
for one has always been difficult, but now I don’t have a fridge in which to
put leftovers.
And finally, I have never learned as much about myself – what
I’m capable of, what I’m not capable of, and what I admit I need help with -
than I have in these past ten months.
