It started with a need to get out of the house. I’ve become bored with my 30g of music, there aren’t any books in my possession that are read or die right now. I was antsy. There’s only so much time I can spend planning my end-of-service trip.
This was the week I came to terms with the fact that I fit into the "cultural" aspect of Peace Corps much more than the "work" part. So maybe I won’t be able to bring solar energy to Kemeni- but I can tell everyone about Deep Dish Pizza.
I saluated my butt off. I "konkari"-ed and "mam-mam-mam"-ed everyone I walked by. I sat under the Neem tree with a group of women and helped with the mundane chores and listened to them chit-chat. I played a silent version of "Simon Says" with the kids. I put on my best "Mama Africa" face and did as the locals do.
When in Rome…
On Monday, I looked out my back window to see someone decapitate a sheep with a dull machete.
On Tuesday, I was invited to dinner at the CEG director’s house. And I was more than willing to help pound the fufu. With all the hard work that goes into preparing meals here, the level of appreciation for the food is justified.
On Wednesday, I got to watch the Manchester v. Barcelona soccer match. Someone in Kemeni has a generator and TV for occasions just that this. It was so crazy. Easily over 150 people crammed into a courtyard watching a 16" TV. Everyone going wild when a goal is scored. The teenage boys taking of their shirts and chanting. They has that same proud look in their eyes my brothers get when they watch the White Sox.
On Thursday, I had the village fou wander into my courtyard after a day in the fields. It took me about 5 seconds to spot the ankle bone sticking out from where he sliced himself with a hoe.
Dinner was another invitation for fufu accompanied by a lecture about "the sorcerers chez-vous build cars and machines. But in Africa they kill and eat people."
Friday started with a visit to the CEG to wish the 3eme students "bon chance" on their examinations next week. If they do well they are able to continue on to Lycee.
Then I was off for my African mani-pedi. There is a plant here the women use to stain their nails and feet. It’s traditionally worn for a wedding-, which was my first problem. Now I have people asking who my husband is and when I’m getting married. When I respond "maybe 10 years, maybe never" they laugh. The second problem is that while the stain looks good on the dark-espresso tone of African skin, it’s bright orange on my pasty white skin. It looks like I have some gnarly fungus on my feet.
In the afternoon as I walking home from my class at the CEG I was stressing about what I’d make for dinner, when I’d get to the post office next, when I’d next have to slave over laundry. And then it occurred to me- this is my life. I live here. In the African bush. How the ____ did that happen?
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