Before you take on the adventure of what is Peace Corps, they write on every page of every single sheet of paper you receive, which adds to about a tree and a half worth, that in order to "survive" you must exhibit patience and flexibility in all arenas of work and play in your assigned country. Me being deluded with the prospect of foraging berries and spotting lion in the wilderness of Africa allowed me to overlook these simple words. Maybe it was over-saturation. I will be the first to admit that the amount of patience I exhibited before I left the States was proportional to the amount of soda I add to my rum and coke. In other words, not a lot. It may be the lack of quality alcohol and the relative absence of rum that has given me a sense of increased patience, but it could just be the additives in the yellow foam water they mismark as beer talking. As I digress. Certain events from the other day caused me to pat myself on the back as I was upholding the pillars of Peace Corps all in an afternoon.
I just got back from out of town. I don't know what it is, but I always get sick when I travel here. Whether it is a minor cold, strep throat, or debilitating stomach cramps. This trip I had the joy of experiencing the latter, but add on a horrible case of the runs. At least when I'm at home I can keel over in my very own latrine. Being out of town for a week caused me to be backlogged with work somehow, which is weird for most Peace Corps Volunteers anyway. I had spent the hour before this particular unfortunate latrine experience waiting in the Mayor's office devising clever tactics as to why he should give me land to host a permagardening training. My reasonings most often resorting to the very well known fact that, hey, I'm a ferenji. Him or the other two people who, may I add scheduled the meeting, never showed. Patience, because I waited for 30 minutes. I am not known to wait for much anything for 30 minutes. Flexible, because I knew there were other things I could get done. I needed to go to the bathroom anyhow, it had already been over 30 minutes you see. I still had a couple minutes to spare before my spinchter gave in, so I had time to shake the kids hands, explain to people that I had a very important training to attend that is why you didn't see me for a week, and give a few shoulder bumps all the while looking relatively pleasant. After my 16th pit stop of the day, I thought I deserved to lay down for a bit and pick up a National Geographic. You know to see what was going on in April 2001 (this is a solicitation to send me magazines that are at least from the past year). While I was becoming enraptured with the issue of commercial whaling in Norway and Japan, one of the meeting absentees phoned me. The conversation went like this (translated into English): "Absentee: Emily, where are you? Emily: "I'm at my house, where were you?" A: "How are you?" E: "I'm fine, how are you?" A: "I'm fine, how are you?" A: "I'm fine, how are you?" E:"No, really, where were you?" A: "I'm fine. How are you? You must come to the Mayor's office soon." E: "Ok. I'm on my way." Can we say patience and flexibility here?! As I was finagling my big toe into my Chacos, he calls again. This time more urgently, reporting that I must come now. Now! Method of transportation: foot. I think he forgot that I don't have a motorized bike to scoot me up the hill and around the bend. If I move too fast my insides started making funny and uncomfortable noises, so I resorted to speed walking that my mother trained me so well to do. Made it just in time. Whew. The meeting was a relative success because I convinced them with a little help from my innate ferenji power to help me out. Off we went to check out the plot of land I had been trying to acquire for the past month (patience). Before I knew it, I was running in the rain and jumping over fences in a skirt with the Mayor to speculate the donated area. He had work to do and had no time to dilly dally. I liked his style. At one point I mistook the rumblings of my intestines as an approaching thunderstorm. Did I mention that I have been having stomach issues? All I know is that 15 minutes before I was in the comfort of my home figuring how I could make the oral rehydration solution (ORS) taste like anything except dirty feet and now I was trapezing through the forest with the most respected man in my town. Who knew life could be this adventurous? After we observed the bountiful gift, he had to go and I really had to go. I thanked him and went on my way home. Jiggity-jig. All the prancing around I just engaged in made my walk back to my latrine particularly urgent. Was it just me or were people stopping me in the middle of the streets to ask me the most inane questions. How do you perfect the English language? Well, you should have come to my English class that I taught at your school. Can't you see I'm clenching my backside? Come on now. All of a sudden kids started popping up from the brush shouting my name. Is that snot running down your chin? Do I really have to shake your hand? Please don't make me bend down to give you a hug. I look back and the whole neighborhood of kids are following me. Does this always happen? I think they are chasing me. Made it back to my compound. Now they all want to come in and play. This can't really be happening. My landlord kicks them out. Thank you for that. I throw my stuff on the porch and high tail it to squatting position. Patience? Flexibility? Hey, at least I waited until I got home and didn't soil my pants. I deserve some credit. Alright, so maybe this was not the most exemplary way of demonstrating my commitment to maintaining these pillars of impossible. There is a proverb in Amharic that roughly translates into "Step by step, the egg moves by foot." I'm getting there—maybe at the incubation stage. Mother Ethiopia is still sitting on me until I can get by on my own.
