Suffering

I am suffering. 

I have what feels like a gangrenous wound on my finger from a heroic effort to save a small child from an anaconda.

It’s definitely not from an overzealous attempt to get the last bit of peanut butter from the jar.

However, inquiring minds want to know: What bashi-bazouk makes plastic jars with serrated openings? Are we living in an Indiana Jones movie?!

My Story

First of all, I’m updating job requirements/qualifications for assignments in developing countries:

• Must love squatty potties – if female, must increase bladder capacity
• Must be willing to feel stupid for 6-12 months or entire assignment period if unwilling or mentally unfit to learn new language
• May require re-learning of basic skills – e.g. How to boil rice enough to be edible-but-not-white-cake (even if you’re Asian)
• Must have experience developing/refining verbal filter for unfamiliar context – i.e. “But that’s so stupid/unfair/wrong/weird!”  à  “That’s life [insert chuckle here].”
• Must be willing to adjust concept of ‘clean’ – organization will take no responsibility for obsessive compulsions resulting from silt in bathwater (organization may provide stipend for house helper – note: he is untrained to clean applicant’s hair/nostrils/brain/soul/etc.)
• Total immersion and forgetfulness that life goes on in other countries may be helpful – e.g. Brexit should sound more like a delicious cookie than a historic change
• Goats are food, not friends
• Negotiable:  20/20 night vision and the ability to transport large bodies of potable water using telekinesis (non-mutants may be considered) 

Home

So I’ve been asked why I don’t just take a taxi to work and back.  It’s cheaper, so that’s really answer enough, in my view, but I actually really enjoy the hilarity of bus rides.  I assume the novelty will wear off soon, but for now, it’s another adventure in a culture I've adopted for the next two years. 

I’ve explained that buses here are somewhat equivalent to sotramas in Mali:  A 12-person van usually containing up to 14 or 15 passengers-plus-children-and-or-baggage on rickety, worn seats, a door that is even more ephemeral than a wish your heart makes, and containing a driver and a conductor who look like they should be in nappies.  When the ‘bus’ is relatively empty, the conductor pushes his upper body through the sliding door’s window, hollers where the passengers are headed, and tries to entice pedestrians in.  The driver knows to stop and let someone on when he bangs on the roof, or to let someone off when they bang on the walls and yell Apa! (which actually means here; not stop as I’d previously thought – in other news, Swahili is still a struggle).  If the bus is full, the conductor bends double over the first of three rows of seats or wedges himself between the driver’s seat and the first row, facing the passengers.

Categorical Living

The world is divided into black and white – you are one or the other.

"How come whites create and blacks don't?"

"God must really love whites [to give them hair like that]."

Let’s be clear – the ‘white’ world is made up of Chinese, Indians, Koreans, Brazilians...  I think everyone who was not born and raised in Africa, but I’m not sure.  By this definition, I don’t think the black world includes Obama, Beyonce, or Kanye West.  

Until it Hurts

I am in the business of having my idealistic notions shattered.