Hello Again

Hello everyone,

I am writing after a long hiatus in order to inform you that all is well. I delayed posting after reading P Crps’ internet restriction policy. I decided that I should probably stop being offensive to someone somewhere, and so I kept the last post to myself. It’s too bad, though. It was going to be a collection of stories from village volunteers, but definitely not culturally sensitive.

Life has returned back to its normal clip after the second and final training period. Things are going well here, except for people pissing me off every so often either with racism or ignorance. I’m back to my usual routine of waking up late and doing as much work as everyone else- i.e. very little. I am amazed that in effect the work day at the mayor’s office is 9:30 until 1:30. The afternoons are spent by most reading the paper and doing crossword puzzles. I’m doing tech trainings every weekday either in excel, web design, or accounting. I was supposed to start classes at the high school, since they built a new computer lab, but the teachers went on strike. So much the better, I say. I went on a long bike ride this morning to a fishing village on the coast, traversing a lot of small villages and mango orchards. It’s actually nice here- there are tree lined paved roads. It’s hilly, too, dotted either with baobab or palm trees. After five month with no rain, most of the country looks like a big stack of hay and sand.

I lost a little bit of weight in the last few months here, ten pounds to be exact. Did you think I was skinny before I got here? Well, I’m almost emaciated now. That’s what happens when you eat rice and fish only for a good five months. I am now in the process of gaining it all back, spending my entire stipend on real food to supplement the forty dollars a month I pay for two meals a day. I could go for some chicken right now, but nobody can afford it.

A few weeks ago there was a big softball tournament in Dakar for all the volunteers in West Africa. It was probably one of the most amazing fun times I’ve ever had. If there’s one great thing about Peace Corps, it has to be partying with the folks here. Besides the fact that they’re much cooler and more interesting than average, they’re deprived of human contact and fun American style, until, of course, they get together. WAIST is the party of them all. Imagine the exit from foreign culture- having three days to drink, party, eat hot dogs and hamburgers, shoot the shit with interesting people, and play softball in the relative comfort of the American country club in Dakar. There’s a party thrown in by marines somewhere in there, and a contest for the which region would have the most hookups over the weekend. It was like recieving a little piece of America in the mail, only moreso. Drunken field conduct and general drunkeness precluded victory in the tournament part of weekend activities for the Peace Corps teams. The winners happened to be the team of twelve year old- mostly-girls- children of American missionaries in Dakar, who squarely kicked my team’s ass. At least we beat the Mauritanian team- the RIM Pirates- which was dressed as rim pirates and had a bottle of Jack Daniels at first base. The Japanese volunteers also didn’t do that poorly.

I am going to visit a friend tomorrow down South to watch the NCAA tournament. While I may not have the luxury of shitting in a toilet or wiping my ass with toilet paper on a daily basis, who says I can’t watch live collage basketball once in a while. A nasty rumor is going around that Georgetown didn’t do half bad and actually made it this year. Well, I’m going to see for myself.