#pcvlife

[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]

[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

[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

[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!

[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]

The Other Side of the Front

You woke up with plans to mind your own business. Cross errands off the list early, sneak in an hour to run, read or meander on the internet and then try to generate a little joy with novel dinner plans. Outside, it’s muggier than usual, but the breeze is still blowing.

For lunch you’re fed a friend frustrated by bureaucracy followed by a parade of loved ones impatient with infrastructure, inconvenienced by science and bored with their own hobbies. You’ve absorbed all this, but your inner Funshine Bear is still hungry for positivity so you just go right ahead and prepare a handful of affordable, tasty salads for a picnic at a post-Soviet-capitalism-at-its-weirdest-BYO-restuarant.

On your way to regain your evening, you’re greeted by a man who wants to practice his English. His amused smile when he describes his misadventures with US immigration laws feels like a tide turning, but is quickly outweighed by his friends’ deafening indifference towards the life choices which led you to their country. This confusion which is so pervasive in your current life leaves you unwavered in your attempt to rechart the energy of the evening.

You are 8 minutes into enjoying yourself by laughing at life’s absurdity when the Western Hemisphere wakes up, with demands, one rapid-fire push(y) notification at a time. Clouds are rolling in, the humidity is building, and your picnic area has recently been overrun by a pack of angsty teenagers huddling around two beers and four cigarettes for emotional warmth. You consider briefly that you may have more in common with their disposition than you’d like to admit.

23:15 - You submit to the idea that only sleep can reset this. 

00:48 - You roll over to the sound of nature crashing against the windows.

02:33 - Your husband is out of bed, his body violently ejecting either the previous day’s bad energy or pickled tomatoes. The rain roars on.

04:47 - The universe is not done with him (or you), there is more cleansing to do. You find a cool rag for his head as you see the sun peaking it’s pink hair over the horizon.

09:59 - A storm continues to accost the streets as you scrape yourself out of bed for the upcoming chaos.

12:21 - You start your workday sweaty, exhausted and anxious.

14:04 - A small, dedicated group of students who jumped out of the house the second the storm ended arrives. They seem to mildly enjoy themselves.

17:15 - Scurrying to a cafe as the wind whips you asunder, the temperature dropped 20 degrees from the time dressed. Huddled with a new friend, spilling shared interests over cake and coffee, riding the spectrum between sympathetic giggle and snarky eye roll in the general direction of the men helplessly vying for your attention, we barely notice the icy wind, fail to acknowledge the indigo gray smear of sky. All we can see is sunshine.

[hetmanandherring]

An Afternoon of Infidelity

Sitting on a rooftop bar in Poltava, sipping a glass of Bianco Lambrusco, eavesdropping on a bakers dozen of foreign engineers having a business dinner while waiting for two plates of delicately prepared fish, I found myself humming...there must be fifty ways to leave your lover.

Flashing back to our first day in Ukraine, we heard an eloquent speech about endurance, resiliency and what it means to join the unexpected fraternity that is Peace Corps. At some point, after a long discussion about service and a dramatic pause, a platitude was uttered, “Look around this room. The connections you make with the people in this room will last a lifetime.” 

Just slip out the back, Jack, make a new plan, Stan.

A few days after our engagement in Poland, we met an ex-USMC aviation engineer who shared his story of the time leading up to his wedding. Sitting in the corner of a basement bar in Krakow, he warned, “the key to marriage is a unified front. The second you commit to something without knowing your partner’s opinion, you’re in trouble.”

Don’t need to be coy, Roy, just listen to me.

If there is anything to be learned about organizational behavior from marriage, it is that the cornerstone of endurance is solidarity. 

Hop on the bus, Gus...

That the support provided by a network of over 200 volunteers, is enormous and necessary goes without saying. That we are bonded by our shared experience of cross cultural mishaps, work frustrations and homesickness should not be understated.

...don’t need to discuss much.

But after the initial dust storm of living abroad settles, the skeletons of the lives we left behind start to emerge. That we are in our mid-thirties, have passed the first years of confusion in the workforce, have refined our social circle past whomever may be free, had a nice apartment in a lively neighborhood in the third largest city in America, replete with amenities that our salaries afforded us, can not always be ignored. After all, we have needs too.

Just drop off the key, Lee, and get yourself free.

So if you find us one day huddled in the corner of an air-conditioned cafe, mainlining 802.11ac or a novel denser than Brazilian Walnut, or if you catch us in the act of ordering salmon sous-vide on a rooftop bar usually reserved for foreign men courting domestic women, know that it didn’t mean anything to us. It was a mistake. We would never trade our old life for what we have as volunteers. We didn’t really like it and were thinking about you the whole time. Why don’t we just go back home and pretend like none of this ever happened? We can make a ten cent dinner from the locally affordable carb, drink cheap vodka and stream a movie from a questionable website. Like old times.

We know what we did was unforgivable, but we still love you.