tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37818863034816605072024-02-18T20:01:33.953-08:00through the souls of my feet“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
-Robert FrostAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-14446942806213577272016-01-04T00:27:00.001-08:002016-01-04T00:27:31.235-08:00Spain and FranceI have been traveling for over a month now...the days and conversations and running into one another. <div><br></div><div>After taking the ferry from Tangier to Algercias we took the train to Barcelona. It was a beautiful train ride--through mountains and rolling countryside. It was overcast most of the day and we weaved in and out of mist. Coming from wide open skies of Botswana it was a little oppressive to be under clouds and grey. </div><div><br></div><div>We rang in the New Year watching fire works from our hotel balcony. Well done Spain! It was a pretty impressive display. </div><div><br></div><div>We then took the high speed train from Barcelona to Paris. And have spent the days wandering through the streets of Paris. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-JhPhU6JsLhmveEex8WT7Ardzbd7IawxvW3FP2U92jjw7uSTvQ8SMgZiJgqPQKng92lmWlcPdcSLLz5eoguevfn6FFwQ_1Bua2sdzM0FyLwor7jBk3zoBHXA5y6vrlrFu6mQa-C2yNjs/s640/blogger-image--909533671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-JhPhU6JsLhmveEex8WT7Ardzbd7IawxvW3FP2U92jjw7uSTvQ8SMgZiJgqPQKng92lmWlcPdcSLLz5eoguevfn6FFwQ_1Bua2sdzM0FyLwor7jBk3zoBHXA5y6vrlrFu6mQa-C2yNjs/s640/blogger-image--909533671.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYs7JbPTP5ThjqI5lLhdXzwSKf53VrrPkCHOI6tHq8Qo6VQ92qfV2yflBXn2Woh3x8Y1gvQcJXE47BpU3dfhRUpmie8bRDl2F7Yb6fNAN-_B04LHxmB0gZvLd81mwCeUEmbc9BBq8siE/s640/blogger-image-442900801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYs7JbPTP5ThjqI5lLhdXzwSKf53VrrPkCHOI6tHq8Qo6VQ92qfV2yflBXn2Woh3x8Y1gvQcJXE47BpU3dfhRUpmie8bRDl2F7Yb6fNAN-_B04LHxmB0gZvLd81mwCeUEmbc9BBq8siE/s640/blogger-image-442900801.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJaIq7erBUIxaM50R7TpHm688C4OCErbqtrR6fGPVMaiFq0MWxyeDtKOboOovjJsBST59YDXfiV30YQ70Oc5M_GHwo5xK-me-EqWhosCgqudji_rQCplYZZ-35FgLUQ9cZ1RqzTym1Fv4/s640/blogger-image--1980429477.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJaIq7erBUIxaM50R7TpHm688C4OCErbqtrR6fGPVMaiFq0MWxyeDtKOboOovjJsBST59YDXfiV30YQ70Oc5M_GHwo5xK-me-EqWhosCgqudji_rQCplYZZ-35FgLUQ9cZ1RqzTym1Fv4/s640/blogger-image--1980429477.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLsWFNeVcwWPdH1MW7HalYytXntOuV5C3SHY3QJlK6sBHGytrMMDx3-r0t1zB9SrL1Tz-n8oDmwU2A2ekF1VgDJjcxZTip6mXDeqcVuUFlq4vBISHJwq-6pafsnjdZvOZeuojYXt7YAU/s640/blogger-image-1169255414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLsWFNeVcwWPdH1MW7HalYytXntOuV5C3SHY3QJlK6sBHGytrMMDx3-r0t1zB9SrL1Tz-n8oDmwU2A2ekF1VgDJjcxZTip6mXDeqcVuUFlq4vBISHJwq-6pafsnjdZvOZeuojYXt7YAU/s640/blogger-image-1169255414.jpg"></a></div>And of course watching the world go by from a Parisian cafe....</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-47956923353807210032015-12-31T11:54:00.001-08:002015-12-31T11:54:28.685-08:00I heart Morocco.Morocco was never on my travel radar until I came to Botswana....<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Morocco should really be on everyone's travel radar. </span><div><br></div><div>I found the bigger cities overwhelming--Fes and Marrakesh are popular tourist destinations and are filled with people who are more than willing to scam you Prepare yourself and consult Dr. Google on popular Moroccan scams. These cities also have a charm of their own. I had a pretty spectacular screaming match with a taxi driver who overcharged me...he was yelling at me in French and I yelled back in English. </div><div><br></div><div>The rural areas are where the true beauty of Morocco lies.</div><div><br></div><div>In no particular order of why Morocco has stolen my heart:</div><div><br></div><div>Olives--who knew olives came in so many varieties! And are served at every meal....they are heathy right?? </div><div><br></div><div>Mountains--the Atlas Mountains are pretty spectacular. They are very rugged--much of the landscape reminded me of the American Southwest. Towns are perched precariously on a mountain side with one narrow road running through. Deep plummeting valleys with streams lined with palm trees. </div><div><br></div><div>Jellabas--<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I just might move to Morocco and start a jellaba export business! I have a feeling they would be a big hit at winter football games!</span></div><div><br></div><div>Let's get real. The men are also very easy on the eyes...</div><div><br></div><div>Scarves--everywhere! Scarves. </div><div><br></div><div>The call to prayer--there was something comforting hearing the call to prayer. A little reminder throughout the day to be a good person. At times it was very overwhelming to be standing in the medina and hear the prayer being blasted around you. </div><div><br></div><div>Trains--who doesn't love a train ride? </div><div><br></div><div>Kasbahs-there is something about an old old building on a mountainside </div><div><br></div><div>All the wool products--rugs rugs and more rugs in beautiful colors and patterns. I have already started a collection for the house I don't have...</div><div><br></div><div>Pottery and tiles--in the most beautiful colors and designs </div><div><br></div><div>Mint tea--just give me diabetes now. But it's pretty addictive...</div><div><br></div><div>The people--everyone was so nice (aside from the people who tried to scam you....but can you blame them? Tourists=money) </div><div><br></div><div>Hammams--yes please and at least once a week </div><div><br></div><div>The assertive women--coming from Botswana it was nice to see a woman verbally assert herself (to a man...) </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-27829398651198705872015-12-31T11:47:00.001-08:002015-12-31T11:47:15.591-08:00Motherly Moroccan Adventure (Days...?)After picking up Mum in Casablanca, we spent a leisurely day sleeping and wandering around Casablanca. <div><br></div><div>People don't go to Morocco to see Casablanca. </div><div><br></div><div>We went to the 3rd largest Mosque in the world. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-fQXXck_AUly4rCzunlO3VPFC1X9yzLeWdsblpGkCEMvNJAKCz1hyBvLBi0Lfv8xa6lBT7c375VRg-lckRWvkiwV53QJaS1q-GrHUQ2TCiwKXNL_UXbD6Ecn65FGZkXOjw-Ei4gotaE/s640/blogger-image-255405830.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-fQXXck_AUly4rCzunlO3VPFC1X9yzLeWdsblpGkCEMvNJAKCz1hyBvLBi0Lfv8xa6lBT7c375VRg-lckRWvkiwV53QJaS1q-GrHUQ2TCiwKXNL_UXbD6Ecn65FGZkXOjw-Ei4gotaE/s640/blogger-image-255405830.jpg"></a></div>It is a pretty impressive architectural masterpiece. We arrived before our tour and just sat soaking it it. Families were sitting on the steps eating and children were playing. </div><div><br></div><div>After disembarking the night train to Tangier we were assaulted with about 50 taxi drivers fighting over who would take us to the bus station. Our sweet taxi driver offered us a fair price to go straight to Chefchaoun. Since he didn't rob us blind with the price we said yes. In broken English he narrated our journey into the mountains. </div><div><br></div><div>Chefchaoun is a magical place. The old medina is painted various shades of blue. The streets are one surprise after the next. If you wander away from the main square and away from the tourists you stumble on markets where residents shop. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfaiOKXU2bEMSfZZ5cezHPUKVPdeZ1TSJrzUyi1ge2NbKbq-Lcnp8leLiX9E7ivXs_7-Wf2HnTZRujPQwNooIN4TIRpJNKDl5sX5HAJbcbqAjEOQ6iySazcEs-3eY-TwdlrAQhKgY1-4/s640/blogger-image--1085614217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfaiOKXU2bEMSfZZ5cezHPUKVPdeZ1TSJrzUyi1ge2NbKbq-Lcnp8leLiX9E7ivXs_7-Wf2HnTZRujPQwNooIN4TIRpJNKDl5sX5HAJbcbqAjEOQ6iySazcEs-3eY-TwdlrAQhKgY1-4/s640/blogger-image--1085614217.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQYuIgkokQ6pbX_vOIERWgzjkCjyC1QnQwX6JDHn7DkblPmhdloebajLseS3AAO__RjnOWbyydksRCIqdSDE75QyuOUh6uPaKc7R6W-oT2-RWBRecK1Aho30b3f5LruQB3T-ccdj3ups/s640/blogger-image-1831094086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQYuIgkokQ6pbX_vOIERWgzjkCjyC1QnQwX6JDHn7DkblPmhdloebajLseS3AAO__RjnOWbyydksRCIqdSDE75QyuOUh6uPaKc7R6W-oT2-RWBRecK1Aho30b3f5LruQB3T-ccdj3ups/s640/blogger-image-1831094086.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>We climbed the mountain to the Spanish Mosque and were able to see Chefchaoun from above. We were fortunate that it was an overcast day and could see all the nuances of blue </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqMcNx2v6eUDId_p5M6FTrAKJjQYB90s9YWKaeuc93p3-FYkazFYx6NggR6j4lWHcE85jMb4P9ayXgbCpr8qx6LIBk3zBJ8x8BWVees8vu8Jiekzb2tNUQof_rmh92jo-pczKhyphenhyphenb9k20/s640/blogger-image-1551723806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqMcNx2v6eUDId_p5M6FTrAKJjQYB90s9YWKaeuc93p3-FYkazFYx6NggR6j4lWHcE85jMb4P9ayXgbCpr8qx6LIBk3zBJ8x8BWVees8vu8Jiekzb2tNUQof_rmh92jo-pczKhyphenhyphenb9k20/s640/blogger-image-1551723806.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>After spending a few days and night wandering we left for Spain! </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNy8YhoHUv2xhh6VQkopwZLbjsUBKepzfHid1NOWMY5rTi5tNBlR_Rd0av3Fl2HyEVvx-Xk_jL7TOzPMGE60l-4GHGXeiWDj3t40MLCFFo_IpNy55p-ZObKg8ml2xj1pCLXOPaUROjri0/s640/blogger-image-1627136683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNy8YhoHUv2xhh6VQkopwZLbjsUBKepzfHid1NOWMY5rTi5tNBlR_Rd0av3Fl2HyEVvx-Xk_jL7TOzPMGE60l-4GHGXeiWDj3t40MLCFFo_IpNy55p-ZObKg8ml2xj1pCLXOPaUROjri0/s640/blogger-image-1627136683.jpg"></a></div>Ferries are the way to travel!! </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDn1HugPsnyfcc0p46XS4Y9J6kIpXcnKAVw7Spg08NFKa7vSUb6Z4grOgwQdjM7vigA56mL7rllkpGa0GXvFTA_lReTlRo1p4EKgvpsGwB3z6zQsKA_6T2AeLFjXKb0rpozJTofDk1AI/s640/blogger-image--1578387168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDn1HugPsnyfcc0p46XS4Y9J6kIpXcnKAVw7Spg08NFKa7vSUb6Z4grOgwQdjM7vigA56mL7rllkpGa0GXvFTA_lReTlRo1p4EKgvpsGwB3z6zQsKA_6T2AeLFjXKb0rpozJTofDk1AI/s640/blogger-image--1578387168.jpg"></a></div>Goodbye Africa. Till we meet again. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-30458704527579319342015-12-27T10:41:00.001-08:002015-12-27T10:41:24.716-08:00Marrakesh to Fes (Days 21-26)Greetings from Morocco! <br><div><br></div><div>I have to say...Morocco is easily one of the prettiest countries! And they have a train system and who doesn't love trains. And olives....and fresh squeezed orange juice from the sweetest oranges. </div><div><br></div><div>I met up with friends in Marrakesh and we set off on a trek to Erb Chebbe and up to Fes with lots of stops along the way. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXYsLEWjxa1RwH-RfKqtIWk5ntRu_pT8kog-g3LebRAlKwsVSzpPiCYsoygT8ekHm53oWFQ9HUPZva568ncNDbAn1JE6AR9-FkwM8WQgBTCET9ea6cZOHii-h8YyrftLUn6vLJAGg-Z0o/s640/blogger-image--873352631.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXYsLEWjxa1RwH-RfKqtIWk5ntRu_pT8kog-g3LebRAlKwsVSzpPiCYsoygT8ekHm53oWFQ9HUPZva568ncNDbAn1JE6AR9-FkwM8WQgBTCET9ea6cZOHii-h8YyrftLUn6vLJAGg-Z0o/s640/blogger-image--873352631.jpg"></a></div>Wandering through the high-Atlas Mountains (as opposed to the mid-Atlas and the anti-Atlas)</div><div><br></div><div>We drove on the "curvest road" in the world where a famous car commercial was shot.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpTm1tFl38XpBPCUrSmWUNJNbJNr9rMZKbNdTCXFsNofbWlUB5UBgyl6RGEfZNyz1Kn7sQeTleI49rQofWuAvjAOk1zXGsnzLn2teycp4N2cD3l22oNvOAJ7rjlKM3urZA8jk9qZRErg/s640/blogger-image--941506570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpTm1tFl38XpBPCUrSmWUNJNbJNr9rMZKbNdTCXFsNofbWlUB5UBgyl6RGEfZNyz1Kn7sQeTleI49rQofWuAvjAOk1zXGsnzLn2teycp4N2cD3l22oNvOAJ7rjlKM3urZA8jk9qZRErg/s640/blogger-image--941506570.jpg"></a></div>Rocked several Kasbahs. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIW22x_xopaRRDLau1zJpAjBQ3TTIOmwiIci039EeLy6NBOzoTr6DSepbodQc1ROFE70qF2lgc119gb6Ymu6_SRRsDWcu8jAAvAJ6dxRL1l0YzBCh-R7G36TO49Rttt61Or19oNFuA6Q/s640/blogger-image--70135263.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIW22x_xopaRRDLau1zJpAjBQ3TTIOmwiIci039EeLy6NBOzoTr6DSepbodQc1ROFE70qF2lgc119gb6Ymu6_SRRsDWcu8jAAvAJ6dxRL1l0YzBCh-R7G36TO49Rttt61Or19oNFuA6Q/s640/blogger-image--70135263.jpg"></a></div>Ate olives with a side of bread. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0TPm4qCxNAww2xjwfdmPUWbDHO_Pv8Qohfk45rfjEqT1w0dGH6D4HsfFDze3PyI8A6ZLN0iH_WHgdScClDMAp-FrAZdMf8jYYKjqM2gIxoQ2c5smL9W0j4RdZ2lefvZxGF5LDstIpd8/s640/blogger-image-255193256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0TPm4qCxNAww2xjwfdmPUWbDHO_Pv8Qohfk45rfjEqT1w0dGH6D4HsfFDze3PyI8A6ZLN0iH_WHgdScClDMAp-FrAZdMf8jYYKjqM2gIxoQ2c5smL9W0j4RdZ2lefvZxGF5LDstIpd8/s640/blogger-image-255193256.jpg"></a></div>Failed a making music....</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwjDgJ3ZfmSM-iIGxqXRJMaDEkrEBXSgMMfT5aEN6wqX1q4JRTw3t5f8N5uMLcqGV5LCJyiQt4NLD8CfQCm4AMj3hV-qB7zlPDip6iPkITjNeF2YA2W9kKk05Z-bNRoHujOUKcQQRvbs/s640/blogger-image-540998466.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwjDgJ3ZfmSM-iIGxqXRJMaDEkrEBXSgMMfT5aEN6wqX1q4JRTw3t5f8N5uMLcqGV5LCJyiQt4NLD8CfQCm4AMj3hV-qB7zlPDip6iPkITjNeF2YA2W9kKk05Z-bNRoHujOUKcQQRvbs/s640/blogger-image-540998466.jpg"></a></div>Watch the sun set on the dunes</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi79PKxe3WP_maeWNVAhVDQon_xigpIitTqDoPVqurdReFuVGW6YauxaHrdazCEAjK_-tyFPosllDlY5EWbFpX2Xy-0lr6PgpbeL0kQZd2UUg2O0vDWyleXPvV3M01HlULJyVDG_6EOhrw/s640/blogger-image-507830252.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi79PKxe3WP_maeWNVAhVDQon_xigpIitTqDoPVqurdReFuVGW6YauxaHrdazCEAjK_-tyFPosllDlY5EWbFpX2Xy-0lr6PgpbeL0kQZd2UUg2O0vDWyleXPvV3M01HlULJyVDG_6EOhrw/s640/blogger-image-507830252.jpg"></a></div>Then spent the night in the dunes Christmas Eve and watched the full moon rise on the 24th and set on the 25th while on the backs of camels. </div><div><br></div><div>I can't think of a more perfect way to end 2015...</div><div><br></div><div>Oh but wait...</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYJlMVh3jiZVTs78RHWBNVInQ_0m0miDNqJPzk6zRvpyAl_9gngJdY7Ure_vGqS5tTPXJxV-mKthfBSjA_IGKDqQATt9UW7bDnMjoNOECRMiWD3eHnnhXfBdDpr4d6vF3dKimEpG9iL4/s640/blogger-image-1530668064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYJlMVh3jiZVTs78RHWBNVInQ_0m0miDNqJPzk6zRvpyAl_9gngJdY7Ure_vGqS5tTPXJxV-mKthfBSjA_IGKDqQATt9UW7bDnMjoNOECRMiWD3eHnnhXfBdDpr4d6vF3dKimEpG9iL4/s640/blogger-image-1530668064.jpg"></a></div></div><div>Girls trip!!! Follow both of our blogs and we train from Casablanca to London! With many stops along the way...</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-55089164839093911842015-12-21T23:53:00.001-08:002015-12-21T23:53:24.056-08:00Danakil Depression (Days 15-20)Up next on the long road home....Danakil Depression! Or the most inhospitable place on earth. Or the hottest place on earth. Or one of the coolest places I have ever been too!! Please feel free to utilize Dr. Google for more information on the Danakil.<div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PPC-fAa8vvb7C-LvWZQmxjYZ0lQBHQWWDjcNQMNFLVSJKbPB7STxfkHvtm4it1Ugx8CSOLiAJim7c2IZImajffk5SHgShsn6tmjpUnRyLb1vcIyTv0tznFAtp_bo1isYY0yK0C1hkkQ/s640/blogger-image-2044956977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PPC-fAa8vvb7C-LvWZQmxjYZ0lQBHQWWDjcNQMNFLVSJKbPB7STxfkHvtm4it1Ugx8CSOLiAJim7c2IZImajffk5SHgShsn6tmjpUnRyLb1vcIyTv0tznFAtp_bo1isYY0yK0C1hkkQ/s640/blogger-image-2044956977.jpg"></a></div><br><div><br></div><div>Day 14 was an uneventful day in Addis. Except for eating Ethiopian food. Always amazing. </div><div><br></div><div>We woke up bright and early on Wednesday to catch a 7am flight to Mekelle where we started our tour. Ethiopia has got to be one of the prettiest places to fly over. The landscape is....breathtaking to see from above. </div><div><div><br></div><div>Our trek was a 4 day three night adventure going through the Danakil and ending up sleeping a top a volcanic rim. Our ladies only trip was crashed by our new Brazilian friend, we lovingly called Kolo (after an Ethiopian snack) and led by our wonderful driver. </div></div></div><div><br></div><div>I am having a hard time finding the right words to describe the landscape of the Danakil and the Afar region. It went from one extreme to the next. After driving through mountain roads and creasting mountain passes in the clouds we drove down....</div><div><br></div><div>And down....</div><div><br></div><div>Some 100 meters below sea level down. As the land flattened out--it reminded me of the vastness that is Botswana. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbfzvuJFKh-E_517YBNogHb6dYSvW2oXeGDgylSW26FdL-gBrYs_iEUf7oKWV1W0RnJB-8SWwNutTbbbsdbnDOQjLfoVLE5PHydo81_OKTqItjTYiurtnMVCwIxQsiT3aBKa2RNkpXAUU/s640/blogger-image-270571131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbfzvuJFKh-E_517YBNogHb6dYSvW2oXeGDgylSW26FdL-gBrYs_iEUf7oKWV1W0RnJB-8SWwNutTbbbsdbnDOQjLfoVLE5PHydo81_OKTqItjTYiurtnMVCwIxQsiT3aBKa2RNkpXAUU/s640/blogger-image-270571131.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>We set up camp in a....settlement? Essentially it was a passing through place for the men who work in the salt mines. That evening we drove to the depression which was underwater (it rained the day before). We watched the sunset and men return from the salt mine with their camels loaded down. </div><div><br></div><div>We woke early the next day to drive to the sulfur springs. We drove through the salt lake--it was like an endless puddle as long as the eye could see and in the distance you can see the hazey mountains. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKMFgRgf9ZsHeKIRTLO0q4vsv4Sw-_M1lvUqmZ_b-0hPYB723r_qZYw39ikXSYbRnCTTBkQnlWVhBfSkJU9D_Ohyphenhyphen5XgAhnBz9LR5JAQORJczBxHL61EOVnj03XuxPzievWXJv-R9PrrHg/s640/blogger-image-1624512721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKMFgRgf9ZsHeKIRTLO0q4vsv4Sw-_M1lvUqmZ_b-0hPYB723r_qZYw39ikXSYbRnCTTBkQnlWVhBfSkJU9D_Ohyphenhyphen5XgAhnBz9LR5JAQORJczBxHL61EOVnj03XuxPzievWXJv-R9PrrHg/s640/blogger-image-1624512721.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>The sulfer springs. Were....simplely put. Amazing. Spectacular. Unreal. It left me wondering if this was what Venus or some planet is like. We pulled our cars up on a rocky bank and walked through rocks colored red and yellow then hit salt mound that looked like mushrooms. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OwVTED6KqmwV27c8p-dz8c_kkv1poUqLtvduaheNu9WlFK7kI1dIe6svc3t-X8yXjUjeyzYFDNqnRGAFhyB7Vr75UoKq8mx_V3tTF0SsMqq0roCaWvTZ9VokLNVp59ty1OBwlDhVViQ/s640/blogger-image-1051278154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OwVTED6KqmwV27c8p-dz8c_kkv1poUqLtvduaheNu9WlFK7kI1dIe6svc3t-X8yXjUjeyzYFDNqnRGAFhyB7Vr75UoKq8mx_V3tTF0SsMqq0roCaWvTZ9VokLNVp59ty1OBwlDhVViQ/s640/blogger-image-1051278154.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Then we saw them....</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Y3hRzQRvrRupq67G9ztWT1P9Bfz34xFpiAMkQL-qcaJoQC3byUY5GZSJx_32Q6og1DOyqWV37k1QQc1gGggbs8vskfJNyUylyf1mZIvHoMK4wi4zxKtXiKX2YyR-MIY_L-MY0Xi1QKw/s640/blogger-image--1912946441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Y3hRzQRvrRupq67G9ztWT1P9Bfz34xFpiAMkQL-qcaJoQC3byUY5GZSJx_32Q6og1DOyqWV37k1QQc1gGggbs8vskfJNyUylyf1mZIvHoMK4wi4zxKtXiKX2YyR-MIY_L-MY0Xi1QKw/s640/blogger-image--1912946441.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9MBoeDs6wp779qSeibjtkwSi5eADWX3xSKuS2zNVOH8tdTqY52luJkp8GqU6dNtGdptMtgxjSzNs3MGpAG9j07KTQAQ7ritTaNL3r3g4OTqvFrucOshyC0sulqADJORVgVAZ6XuW4RQ/s640/blogger-image-146715940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9MBoeDs6wp779qSeibjtkwSi5eADWX3xSKuS2zNVOH8tdTqY52luJkp8GqU6dNtGdptMtgxjSzNs3MGpAG9j07KTQAQ7ritTaNL3r3g4OTqvFrucOshyC0sulqADJORVgVAZ6XuW4RQ/s640/blogger-image-146715940.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>It was like Yellowstone on major steroids. Bubbling sulfer springs. Heat rising from the ground that you can feel from the bottom of your shoes. Rock colored by the minerals and chemical reaction. </div><div><br></div><div>After the sulfer springs we drove to the salt mines. It takes camels 7 days to walk to the mines and 7 days to walk back. Men earn 45 birr for each 3kilo block of salt. The salt is dug from the ground with sticks then chiseled into blocks and loaded onto the camels and donkeys back. </div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiV4-xpmM2bVxhWUXIADz2iXxVaUx7Stapwa0vT4puH5InwTc93k79oVlPWORbdnRgkCKHn9mqTDK8i2tiiXnrCjFH3tubFLa1cnr4_56OFuSHLNzQlZDPsN1OXBgjcvdxzAMJq_qNNA/s640/blogger-image-1467826670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiV4-xpmM2bVxhWUXIADz2iXxVaUx7Stapwa0vT4puH5InwTc93k79oVlPWORbdnRgkCKHn9mqTDK8i2tiiXnrCjFH3tubFLa1cnr4_56OFuSHLNzQlZDPsN1OXBgjcvdxzAMJq_qNNA/s640/blogger-image-1467826670.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The entire experience was neat. However it was very much like we were at the zoo. Just watching men do back breaking work in 100 degree heat. Then white people walking around with cameras. Or climbing on the camels for a laugh. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Several years ago, tourists were killed and now every tour is watched over by men with guns. Which made the experience even more zoo like. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">After the salt mine and sulfer springs we drove to an active volcano. After we left the paved road we drove 80 kilometers over the worst road--they say in the world. It was partially deep sand and partially driving over a hardened lava. The 80 kilometer drive took 3 hours. We eventually pulls up to a Ethiopian militia camp and started walking 10 kilometers to the rim. It was 37 C when we took off as the sun was setting. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">When we drove up all you could see was smoke rising from the top. As we hiked closer and the sun set a red glow appeared. Three hours later we reached the top. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvK3v7LlgnKNI6LwIOPqieEhsNcqNpOxN7oO6wqTuU_gduq8of4OQMQtqnCiYewkIxBuEIaIBb0sX8eEnpOUIbZyZ3NVHiVcu-4mCPf8xG5tKwf6ZXD8dedpUMuvLTfQ1jnw2cZAyeqc/s640/blogger-image-1416446505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvK3v7LlgnKNI6LwIOPqieEhsNcqNpOxN7oO6wqTuU_gduq8of4OQMQtqnCiYewkIxBuEIaIBb0sX8eEnpOUIbZyZ3NVHiVcu-4mCPf8xG5tKwf6ZXD8dedpUMuvLTfQ1jnw2cZAyeqc/s640/blogger-image-1416446505.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG9FkO8aIdMDdQjAAi1bRizmxLaojxe-4UqF0JPpFJASVuuuHn_t-DGJ2umthFiTUFpljzf5NAAMjLEToCRgKhzWas5Je5zBnmqt8amugPLJukIov8Z9s9MsG6WK6h9OIOeOIGEBxpzjY/s640/blogger-image--1659038484.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG9FkO8aIdMDdQjAAi1bRizmxLaojxe-4UqF0JPpFJASVuuuHn_t-DGJ2umthFiTUFpljzf5NAAMjLEToCRgKhzWas5Je5zBnmqt8amugPLJukIov8Z9s9MsG6WK6h9OIOeOIGEBxpzjY/s640/blogger-image--1659038484.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It was truly unreal. Standing at the rim watching a lake of lava bubbling and steaming. Also a little unnerving...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The next morning we hiked down and returned to Addis for a quick shower before I am headed off to Morocco. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Until next time. I will be eating my way through Morocco. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-91201132521279433332015-12-13T21:46:00.001-08:002015-12-13T22:11:12.112-08:00A sudden realization....Day 13I left Botswana in a zen zone. Several weeks before my departure...I was the opposite of zen. Crying in spin class or feeling like I needed a wine drip to get by...<div><br></div><div>The one morning I woke up perfectly calm. The zen zone had arrived. </div><div><br></div><div>My COS was pretty uneventful. Almost surreal getting my PC ID card punched, shaking the DMO's hand and seeing him click the 'end service' button in the PC system. I hugged my favorite staff goodbye and had wet eyes. </div><div><br></div><div>The next day I got on the airplane. It was as if this journey didn't happen....I wasn't sitting in my body. It was as if I was seeing this all from above. </div><div><br></div><div>Many days later I looked at the calendar. December 10th. Which means that I only had 30 more days on this wonderful, crazy journey....</div><div><br></div><div>Then I cried. </div><div><br></div><div>As the days tick down. The realness of my new life is bearing down on me. The life that I have lived is becoming a figment of my imagination. </div><div><br></div><div>My tour guide asked me what I liked to do. My response was 'I don't know...' It came out of me automatically. After giving it some thought--I really don't know. </div><div><br></div><div>Until I touch down, I will continue to savor my days. Live in the moment. And rediscover my passions. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-59125930369253471492015-12-13T02:52:00.001-08:002015-12-13T02:52:05.983-08:00To the highlands (days 9-12)Addis is a bustling and busy city. I never enjoying running around Gaborone--but Addis is far worse. There are twice the number of people in Addis than in all of Botswana. <div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I spent a rainy morning in the national museum--to see Lucy! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfn0oLU-qEB1en4O9LxKEg4c8yDWsFcqLxiED2Vcx-XoKUFBayOTpcI1be5TU5EsUD9GHqRwHhslxY5Uz0NiLH7Y664mGeGy_aiUWFYJijYEPUtR7PrlPwYYi_G69MG0ShXiXWbootEss/s640/blogger-image-1226618156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfn0oLU-qEB1en4O9LxKEg4c8yDWsFcqLxiED2Vcx-XoKUFBayOTpcI1be5TU5EsUD9GHqRwHhslxY5Uz0NiLH7Y664mGeGy_aiUWFYJijYEPUtR7PrlPwYYi_G69MG0ShXiXWbootEss/s640/blogger-image-1226618156.jpg"></a></div>She is so tiny!! Next to Lucy was Selam aka the first child discovered as well as Ardi, who if I am remembering correctly is older than Lucy but discovered after.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwxa8jlCNTXvZHyKmT-lUKlUex4hoK5aTbpluwPESkcoEjN8y6YrnKj9IYACmuNdXziSPP96D4VnIbaZ-ARB2imdTxY7ei3wqXLh6zjPZlpiPCWYpa_XhH7u5NguzDSGw9krm6y8MRV0g/s640/blogger-image--1242685267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwxa8jlCNTXvZHyKmT-lUKlUex4hoK5aTbpluwPESkcoEjN8y6YrnKj9IYACmuNdXziSPP96D4VnIbaZ-ARB2imdTxY7ei3wqXLh6zjPZlpiPCWYpa_XhH7u5NguzDSGw9krm6y8MRV0g/s640/blogger-image--1242685267.jpg"></a></div> The museum was small, but very interesting. They did a wonderful job explaining evolution with pictures and simple explanations. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUgaT5AufUS_NGXt5bosTkKYe94pcqYLMrvU9TSyvNsyTG5ivyFCYS7t-s2cc_Ul8L5Zx6KQHjP5ttH1o5gft6yG21mIfkXR99bO0MZdi5m4vtCKt2toL2BiFgdF-VRlq9X4mWuE4VskA/s640/blogger-image-526097967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUgaT5AufUS_NGXt5bosTkKYe94pcqYLMrvU9TSyvNsyTG5ivyFCYS7t-s2cc_Ul8L5Zx6KQHjP5ttH1o5gft6yG21mIfkXR99bO0MZdi5m4vtCKt2toL2BiFgdF-VRlq9X4mWuE4VskA/s640/blogger-image-526097967.jpg"></a></div>Pottery throughout the ages. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I have escaped from Addis to Lalibela. Laliblea is in the highlands, King Lalibela built churches down into the hillside. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OvfJwJLOh4RXOy5LO0ZFEi7AHLR_TmbdEwDLn8dcLedGuEWTGBxegCvffFkjpyNskqrkonLhXs-MBVtA98GYrKE3u5fDm45es23WK16JWNX2tx81_oQxjTDvdh3_viHay0v8miXX9lk/s640/blogger-image-1089404782.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OvfJwJLOh4RXOy5LO0ZFEi7AHLR_TmbdEwDLn8dcLedGuEWTGBxegCvffFkjpyNskqrkonLhXs-MBVtA98GYrKE3u5fDm45es23WK16JWNX2tx81_oQxjTDvdh3_viHay0v8miXX9lk/s640/blogger-image-1089404782.jpg"></a></div>Now a UNESCO World Heritage site, the churches are protected but still open for religious purposes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNo7jMM2WqzN7whkjlgDHRT6f8Cj2as-pAd5pyCL_-KodsZSJ1SdL0buAN-VNMxRM28u9m9JSDgX_OKCs_8WUILG1z1gAXfYfGghQKuF8ZcVxPnFLhSzhD-uYPYHiXi2unsfH_7shQFZU/s640/blogger-image--1606785234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNo7jMM2WqzN7whkjlgDHRT6f8Cj2as-pAd5pyCL_-KodsZSJ1SdL0buAN-VNMxRM28u9m9JSDgX_OKCs_8WUILG1z1gAXfYfGghQKuF8ZcVxPnFLhSzhD-uYPYHiXi2unsfH_7shQFZU/s640/blogger-image--1606785234.jpg"></a></div>The art in the churches has a definite theme. They remind me of paintings from Art History classes I have taken. In paintings only the 'good guys' have their faces shown. If you are considered bad (like Judas) you are shown from the profile </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CAfpND30FvQYj-GfcyCqSRobTxXomu01KByzS-gXHXkolIYddD7KFmP9aump6VJVc-kUfsGR28lskRm7AiEdW59jUU11Qq1-sd3JKLZKSyr1BnFOGVQTCUxhC4L_HwXZJj0ptkOnBGY/s640/blogger-image--320712827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CAfpND30FvQYj-GfcyCqSRobTxXomu01KByzS-gXHXkolIYddD7KFmP9aump6VJVc-kUfsGR28lskRm7AiEdW59jUU11Qq1-sd3JKLZKSyr1BnFOGVQTCUxhC4L_HwXZJj0ptkOnBGY/s640/blogger-image--320712827.jpg"></a></div>This morning--a Sunday was a holy day for Mary. Church services were throughout the hillside. As a woman you must cover your head. Inside the churches everyone takes their shoes off. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKy88WTfKBYUAdOhLcrfQCT2XkKp2XTRasVAqQpwrQ-NFFWD51Vib_ghpmtbRzCcApjy_jnxFcX3AQk05HxnL7PrpBuzUYFtbmKinp4gtxT9R6k4i1NB7VdkvYYgHaK_VzMMZ0AF1d6qE/s640/blogger-image-1035459757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKy88WTfKBYUAdOhLcrfQCT2XkKp2XTRasVAqQpwrQ-NFFWD51Vib_ghpmtbRzCcApjy_jnxFcX3AQk05HxnL7PrpBuzUYFtbmKinp4gtxT9R6k4i1NB7VdkvYYgHaK_VzMMZ0AF1d6qE/s640/blogger-image-1035459757.jpg"></a></div>The churches were either built down into the rock or built cave like. The hillside is comprised of a relatively soft rock enabling easy carving. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxux9wL7PLlQ-j8R8b8MOl0eeYvSrO0nPSyUWi5aDVVs52Jzq02wO9gYX9Whl4oQZ_j2LwPucbFAOJYc3EW7K7LYtrT5_Yz5VMqiljc4ZkGS_3VZA_DGR2ziHi_kPMFU0f634Nczv2ws0/s640/blogger-image--1497347648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxux9wL7PLlQ-j8R8b8MOl0eeYvSrO0nPSyUWi5aDVVs52Jzq02wO9gYX9Whl4oQZ_j2LwPucbFAOJYc3EW7K7LYtrT5_Yz5VMqiljc4ZkGS_3VZA_DGR2ziHi_kPMFU0f634Nczv2ws0/s640/blogger-image--1497347648.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMJV_T1PM1jHUM69aBVf6EnqNWEXdheC_0hGuruxXjd6MURAbqYrrcdSM7hHnbZ8E2YEOZySRko7wzsDHE0iLnMQVQGdr5FM_M1Z00NyLAQIinlhJotzo_KiBBJlBsHgFZ1yFXF7oXIM/s640/blogger-image-689918359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMJV_T1PM1jHUM69aBVf6EnqNWEXdheC_0hGuruxXjd6MURAbqYrrcdSM7hHnbZ8E2YEOZySRko7wzsDHE0iLnMQVQGdr5FM_M1Z00NyLAQIinlhJotzo_KiBBJlBsHgFZ1yFXF7oXIM/s640/blogger-image-689918359.jpg"></a></div>Everything in the churches has religious symbolism. Biblical stories were represented in the construction of the churches and the layout. At the end of the tour we left the churches through a tunnel which was pitch black to represent the journey through hell. Then you exited to the countryside. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It is now lunch time. I am sitting at a restaurant high up on a mountain. I have a 360 degree view. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dPCdwH2XO6amMqQLiSYyAt9cMhria9yp_I2Z081XLVtA_tbxC7gp4Kzxu4NKmZFT7EyKkpyLmcQJesK-v4RdaQ1dQ0S8M5q4mXBhfbbDrQ7WskZWu_mpNrF-oF4tb7KQCol4fLkN4iQ/s640/blogger-image-1150128216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dPCdwH2XO6amMqQLiSYyAt9cMhria9yp_I2Z081XLVtA_tbxC7gp4Kzxu4NKmZFT7EyKkpyLmcQJesK-v4RdaQ1dQ0S8M5q4mXBhfbbDrQ7WskZWu_mpNrF-oF4tb7KQCol4fLkN4iQ/s640/blogger-image-1150128216.jpg"></a></div>My lunch. Eating for one is...a challenge. So I have my doggie bag and am tasting a local delicacy--honey wine. It....is interesting and softening my view on the world. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Till next time. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-54603905368509241202015-12-09T01:52:00.001-08:002015-12-09T01:52:09.038-08:00Ethiopia (days 5-8)I made it to Ethiopia!! After the chaotic hours in Joburg, we landed in Addis. After waiting for about an hour to get through immigration and witnessing a fight break out! I am now with this girl! <div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAHWS56Faev7yjmLHm-HHJzU301mxn-6L4T07vNzCBtj0API3zWFfKDR-w7wNXPo4MstPV_0iihZ__fJ7qBqnRFqS82wSuU4Ewt_DsNDHXtG1LwlEehay0o3O4Tyh2NHOOqDbMk9Pgh0/s640/blogger-image-1847897770.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAHWS56Faev7yjmLHm-HHJzU301mxn-6L4T07vNzCBtj0API3zWFfKDR-w7wNXPo4MstPV_0iihZ__fJ7qBqnRFqS82wSuU4Ewt_DsNDHXtG1LwlEehay0o3O4Tyh2NHOOqDbMk9Pgh0/s640/blogger-image-1847897770.jpg"></a></div>Addis is cold compared to Botswana! Amanda and I promptly went to her PST site and spent the weekend with her wonderful host family! </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgispDCfRm_ciMc0SvO_o0_ECU3w9SjT3AKBZiDp_9mUp5PwDekLoYvbNbTI73-89GsbUBtjl0LcJHePvI8TCZRdNsRQY8RDSDrRy590TW_feitWGAIE63C4mbNusv9bALFYrxAhqxlUT8/s640/blogger-image--279016295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgispDCfRm_ciMc0SvO_o0_ECU3w9SjT3AKBZiDp_9mUp5PwDekLoYvbNbTI73-89GsbUBtjl0LcJHePvI8TCZRdNsRQY8RDSDrRy590TW_feitWGAIE63C4mbNusv9bALFYrxAhqxlUT8/s640/blogger-image--279016295.jpg"></a></div>It was wonderful to spend time wandering through the countryside and eating delicious food!! After spend the weekend in th country we came back to Addis. </div><div><br></div><div>And we ate more wonderful food. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwO3cUGemNOWiGg2JW5rTiEo7htumWNvsYJOeimHaLNVO6u2c_mgYaJoU7qBPyaztL_c7SyTQUbKpnkj49yDmThpcrNk5okjvB1NO_CCY3Nu_xaarOiVt8Dstm6h8W2h6gKsVoPaoxC8/s640/blogger-image-282476371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwO3cUGemNOWiGg2JW5rTiEo7htumWNvsYJOeimHaLNVO6u2c_mgYaJoU7qBPyaztL_c7SyTQUbKpnkj49yDmThpcrNk5okjvB1NO_CCY3Nu_xaarOiVt8Dstm6h8W2h6gKsVoPaoxC8/s640/blogger-image-282476371.jpg"></a></div>This was my breakfast! Injare with a chickpea mixture and eggs. There are lots of religious fastings and dietary restrictions for various reasons. Today we followed some sort of dietary restrictions. There are these wonderful hole in the wall places that can give you a cheap and quick meal. </div><div><br></div><div>My airline magazine said that Addis was the "Dubai of Africa" ...maybe they are referring to all the construction? It is a sprawling and busy city. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yq6LXi3wLaWY4IOtoXqH0ByPAuVKgzRZ-fasKDWpGbgBtp_5bDov7E1N4_qAAggsiz0wpbORxkNgcccfTAhJCVDNtU8-qAr0nDkTV5loEtdNDz43VJfVp78EFhVkbBMZTXMLFX9i4qc/s640/blogger-image--214698255.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yq6LXi3wLaWY4IOtoXqH0ByPAuVKgzRZ-fasKDWpGbgBtp_5bDov7E1N4_qAAggsiz0wpbORxkNgcccfTAhJCVDNtU8-qAr0nDkTV5loEtdNDz43VJfVp78EFhVkbBMZTXMLFX9i4qc/s640/blogger-image--214698255.jpg"></a></div>Little boys hustle for change and shine your shoes for 4 birr. My shoes look brand new! <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLeMinmjmlFgS7CeVQwuZIyeGFNVvuSApO4rFVEjE100CBP4lKeb5LbNDahX9ndUQQqLSF0Ug8oSivR-cci0GHiowNFFwtd-pshRCLKaMoBjayFAH-yPUdJxtwdFgkUlcWlcLgRBP4E-w/s640/blogger-image-1431482981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLeMinmjmlFgS7CeVQwuZIyeGFNVvuSApO4rFVEjE100CBP4lKeb5LbNDahX9ndUQQqLSF0Ug8oSivR-cci0GHiowNFFwtd-pshRCLKaMoBjayFAH-yPUdJxtwdFgkUlcWlcLgRBP4E-w/s640/blogger-image-1431482981.jpg"></a></div></div><div>Ethiopians love their juice. It is almost like a smoothie. I am a convert! </div><div><br></div><div>I am off to drink coffee and explore the city. </div><div><br></div><div>Until next time...</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-74191279255273822092015-12-09T00:24:00.001-08:002015-12-09T00:24:21.679-08:00Days 3-4I slept in!!! I was glorious. <div><br></div><div>After having a relaxing morning drinking coffee and eating breakfast and just being. I set out in a hike to swimming holes. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotNI_Mz14l2CcIUqjxcE4d6mdbDHRYEk6yrmNM760hkvdkw4CqY9SUKJFwntn6FK7qWm34PkqTe2XlSfY17KSJD4BLRWyq8tRKUEFfvs5wil5UvOZ2z4V8lH61cmeR4G7bSahzD5XCSI/s640/blogger-image--1552821753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotNI_Mz14l2CcIUqjxcE4d6mdbDHRYEk6yrmNM760hkvdkw4CqY9SUKJFwntn6FK7qWm34PkqTe2XlSfY17KSJD4BLRWyq8tRKUEFfvs5wil5UvOZ2z4V8lH61cmeR4G7bSahzD5XCSI/s640/blogger-image--1552821753.jpg"></a></div><br></div>I had to channel my inner billy goat since we climbed down into a river valley </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv4DezfZFtv-jXac4xIT2FtfMSoRchC8dmzKwIw-cfn4_96BrrLKAWx9Y9vJx2SYYmzUyfPFP0VGwZhoa2ghU8zDj8ZMB0GUo9bHwvChygXcJa48sPr01SDEr0_rR_krJOSrE5b3oPUfo/s640/blogger-image-287778930.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv4DezfZFtv-jXac4xIT2FtfMSoRchC8dmzKwIw-cfn4_96BrrLKAWx9Y9vJx2SYYmzUyfPFP0VGwZhoa2ghU8zDj8ZMB0GUo9bHwvChygXcJa48sPr01SDEr0_rR_krJOSrE5b3oPUfo/s640/blogger-image-287778930.jpg"></a></div>I love how the weather affects mountains. If it is cloudy you see a different side to them. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPzvxNYC_AumdBYZ5aBgz_ZlZWbGMXfa56QfQyXKy8fYiH0BFxYs7Uq44F_yWy1q0bYGY3eVLAkVlbXpfn7_orcsVNmSIbi9Ak4Zl0NWFvPV8DyIMJ0XpUzKw2DwZD0o2FeHR80w8ZGWg/s640/blogger-image--738402598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPzvxNYC_AumdBYZ5aBgz_ZlZWbGMXfa56QfQyXKy8fYiH0BFxYs7Uq44F_yWy1q0bYGY3eVLAkVlbXpfn7_orcsVNmSIbi9Ak4Zl0NWFvPV8DyIMJ0XpUzKw2DwZD0o2FeHR80w8ZGWg/s640/blogger-image--738402598.jpg"></a></div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBhDPtn4156_3euGv1ArI6zsHoI6Mx0gmpit6tXzKfE6iwVF24UgeIAQ_pckPtm1kLtjEqsQlonlUNY4ZvhyphenhyphenwBPvoiUrgcAeiUtjDirlYYb2XRFNb7_l1bEBOhFtDIG0GUabpJF_3_lIg/s640/blogger-image-815878861.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBhDPtn4156_3euGv1ArI6zsHoI6Mx0gmpit6tXzKfE6iwVF24UgeIAQ_pckPtm1kLtjEqsQlonlUNY4ZvhyphenhyphenwBPvoiUrgcAeiUtjDirlYYb2XRFNb7_l1bEBOhFtDIG0GUabpJF_3_lIg/s640/blogger-image-815878861.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>I am now sitting on a flight to Addis Ababa. It has been a hectic day! I didn't sleep well....I was experiencing some intestinal complaints. Then I had to get up bright and early to drive to Joburg. It was an uneventful ride....until I got pulled over for crossing a solid line. Then I couldn't find the unmarked entrance to drop off my rental car....</div><div><br></div><div>...and then ran and ran and ran to catch my flight. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-63648747423379897552015-12-09T00:22:00.001-08:002015-12-09T00:22:43.008-08:00Day 2: hello mountainsAfter walking around with a smile on my face (being in the mountains tends to make me smile nonstop) I tried to track down needed necceties aka coffee and food. In my rush last night I decided not to stop in Masuru....<div><br></div><div>After sweet talking the kitchen staff into letting me heat up water (thank god Sesotho is a cousin to Setswana) I the mothers milk (aka coffee) while overlooking a beautiful landscape. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0udVZz49WHZqeyrBiPkWCO30uMBYKv5JUmh3mf94PHeyW66KsttErGNaQ2FmKnJxDG02_OM9446LFJB_OI1Z_XFIkbb_qJDXipvqon8-6b7K9PXPMSWQuJTo_x9S_kaPeoT8QmSKRuM/s640/blogger-image--1984143735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0udVZz49WHZqeyrBiPkWCO30uMBYKv5JUmh3mf94PHeyW66KsttErGNaQ2FmKnJxDG02_OM9446LFJB_OI1Z_XFIkbb_qJDXipvqon8-6b7K9PXPMSWQuJTo_x9S_kaPeoT8QmSKRuM/s640/blogger-image--1984143735.jpg"></a></div>Then I hit up the general dealer...who would have thought that Lehututu would have a better stock?! Since canned fish doesn't seem appealing at 8am I settled on unrefrigerated yogurt (it's fine....?) and cereal. </div><div><br></div><div>I decided to go on a morning hike--the great thing about Malealea is that they hire villagers to do the tours as part of their community trust program. My trusty guide Lucky and I set off. We were going to do a '5 hour hike' to the Bushman paintings and the waterfall. </div><div><br></div><div>Throughout the hike Lucky would wait patiently as I snapped photos and tell me about little cultural tidbits. </div><div><br></div><div>A few views from our journey</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDssWqGi9IvmACcHCXpLEjpb0Vy7icbyqd-hwvgwIZo6SLAygMm-dVG_mZ7wk36mPddp0s5yPk7Dh_ldYXZ0Nwf1TxS6FWG24XNpUiUu63eZBkilMLguUhVAvevDdP0KOoupwRoVExQ7c/s640/blogger-image--371441797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDssWqGi9IvmACcHCXpLEjpb0Vy7icbyqd-hwvgwIZo6SLAygMm-dVG_mZ7wk36mPddp0s5yPk7Dh_ldYXZ0Nwf1TxS6FWG24XNpUiUu63eZBkilMLguUhVAvevDdP0KOoupwRoVExQ7c/s640/blogger-image--371441797.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCIOEsDI2-t_03miYfBIZxH-ID1DqcbMpJK2TVV378wcucdu9dH4ak9Yr-Nu9IQ0Agcq6R8ERivJkKrz8JdlmeQAYs-_fPMvS35QIbZdLpTPHdzU9BcmIbv-gkyn4mrZMH4suWPGmI8k/s640/blogger-image-1161097092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCIOEsDI2-t_03miYfBIZxH-ID1DqcbMpJK2TVV378wcucdu9dH4ak9Yr-Nu9IQ0Agcq6R8ERivJkKrz8JdlmeQAYs-_fPMvS35QIbZdLpTPHdzU9BcmIbv-gkyn4mrZMH4suWPGmI8k/s640/blogger-image-1161097092.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfZZY1R2iOebapMGNz092_hBfbU3QG_i1eB2rotIhrWnc0r0Q97TLx3PBqD7XrbGRCT-jew2Wjl-rBC9VIn8AKQqzbBioM98Efsja1_Cpl-S7J4djESohC0YBrwCeQpexa4NO56HXw9g/s640/blogger-image--1064026439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfZZY1R2iOebapMGNz092_hBfbU3QG_i1eB2rotIhrWnc0r0Q97TLx3PBqD7XrbGRCT-jew2Wjl-rBC9VIn8AKQqzbBioM98Efsja1_Cpl-S7J4djESohC0YBrwCeQpexa4NO56HXw9g/s640/blogger-image--1064026439.jpg"></a></div>The hike was spectacular. Words can not describe the beauty of Lesotho. </div><div><br></div><div>Our hike ended up to be more a 6 hour journey...I must say... Hiking up hill and down hill on yogurt and cereal is a recipe for feeling faint...and bless Lucky's heart he patiently waited for me...and fetched me water when I ran out. </div><div><br></div><div>My dirty and sore feet are propped up on a log and I am drinking a Maluti (for you Granny!)</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-XXROQG9ooCCAkxpa14_zRcN7gymU6iitlOLv6hyphenhyphenksnlzrn70Ronlu24GBGtkMHSBCrqIjrZUOZJquHWg04dVzpLtlvMrGXKAG0RfgODd_BrfuKeT9PvPcFK25P5ve-An2PxjG3WyRiM/s640/blogger-image-1657486503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-XXROQG9ooCCAkxpa14_zRcN7gymU6iitlOLv6hyphenhyphenksnlzrn70Ronlu24GBGtkMHSBCrqIjrZUOZJquHWg04dVzpLtlvMrGXKAG0RfgODd_BrfuKeT9PvPcFK25P5ve-An2PxjG3WyRiM/s640/blogger-image-1657486503.jpg"></a></div>Life is good. </div><div><br></div><div>They have a saying in Lesotho which is peace rain and prosperity...here is to peace and prosperity! </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-18679817481332671032015-12-09T00:21:00.001-08:002015-12-09T00:21:57.243-08:00The next chapter...RPCV day 1It is all very surreal. <div><br></div><div>I did last minute packing in the morning. Said good bye to my wonderful landlords and was off. Three years of my life crammed into two very stuffed bags! </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvl0YyZSXKw6GgozquqZqyROM1K_c05LYPcMoh0_S1lEdw_VtFG1CPvuov5x0ALOSaJ9tyoXnWoX2PjH2xSZd_bAzHpC6-K70OOxuQfOTXg3P2QvEgntmqOf6cSX5fk8zoJpuHc43HEk/s640/blogger-image--1157253707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvl0YyZSXKw6GgozquqZqyROM1K_c05LYPcMoh0_S1lEdw_VtFG1CPvuov5x0ALOSaJ9tyoXnWoX2PjH2xSZd_bAzHpC6-K70OOxuQfOTXg3P2QvEgntmqOf6cSX5fk8zoJpuHc43HEk/s640/blogger-image--1157253707.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Sitting at the airport--I felt like I wasn't in my body. I wasn't about to get on an airplane and leave my life behind. Botswana has been my world for the past three years. My American life is a vague memory. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2iXOB6zVFqPERcifRxIMUs2di69G5uyNopi1lMO-LYC637m1d2QvVIfUf_dHUEg_4iQPuHfmXwQzGMj8vgZ6rF76g6pNjJDa5oSmMXgFl-cfjBans9xXJ9ULEaTMSp8ZV8r5PZV0-nH4/s640/blogger-image-766900048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2iXOB6zVFqPERcifRxIMUs2di69G5uyNopi1lMO-LYC637m1d2QvVIfUf_dHUEg_4iQPuHfmXwQzGMj8vgZ6rF76g6pNjJDa5oSmMXgFl-cfjBans9xXJ9ULEaTMSp8ZV8r5PZV0-nH4/s640/blogger-image-766900048.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjaoPDH6r6AWLjK6vrBerpSwYI6zW2Lb5Zccbj_9Cw7lzlnmNJghVCJaQpnqLfdrqtP4zXVZcolaUGGlUKjfOF-sjJoGvV7ozDT1WAILXcwKKUoi1tSjtCJSnYjbebifq_jyeeJSsH5IM/s640/blogger-image--642230069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjaoPDH6r6AWLjK6vrBerpSwYI6zW2Lb5Zccbj_9Cw7lzlnmNJghVCJaQpnqLfdrqtP4zXVZcolaUGGlUKjfOF-sjJoGvV7ozDT1WAILXcwKKUoi1tSjtCJSnYjbebifq_jyeeJSsH5IM/s640/blogger-image--642230069.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>I flew to Johannesburg and rented a car to drive to Lesotho. Just me and the road. It was a beautiful drive through Free State. Very much like Montana and the open sky of the Western Uniter States. I can see why the Boers came up to settle in this part of Sourg Africa. </div><div><br></div><div>Following my google map I made good time from Joburg to the Masuru board. Which I would just like to say was the most painless crossing ever! You don't even get out of your car!!! </div><div><br></div><div>It was a sign when my GPS stopped working and I wound around mountain roads and battled other chaotic drivers. As night fell I only had 40 kilometers to go...and the road conditions decreased. My last 15 or so kms were spent bumping over a rutted gravel road following a man in a tractor praying he was actually taking me to the lodge. </div><div><br></div><div>The night gaurd took me to my room--tired and hungry I went to sleep. As I fell asleep I told myself that I would sleep in till at least 9.....</div><div> </div><div>As I opened my eyes the next morning...it was 530 am! </div><div><br></div><div>My frustration quickly left when I looked outside. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGFqetWlW9P4ViClxpxj9sOMHVTOUpYBXNdOiGzsD9Xe8ERGVz7o_BiJgv3t_hL1EgVKVLWuwot2siXCjftRPySO-zEHva2fSKpK5lMvF7g-dzQRC4eyVWpfp6F9EY1FhXUVfvtcKY-0o/s640/blogger-image-1849680731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGFqetWlW9P4ViClxpxj9sOMHVTOUpYBXNdOiGzsD9Xe8ERGVz7o_BiJgv3t_hL1EgVKVLWuwot2siXCjftRPySO-zEHva2fSKpK5lMvF7g-dzQRC4eyVWpfp6F9EY1FhXUVfvtcKY-0o/s640/blogger-image-1849680731.jpg"></a></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-37126490056189310342015-10-02T10:51:00.001-07:002015-10-02T10:51:26.416-07:00the long road in I took a mini pilgrimage to Lehututu, a final good by before I leae Botswana. We were taken to site--the three of the new PCVs placed in the Hukuntsi area. Three girls and their two years worth of possessions and a puppy crammed into the back of a pickup truck.<br />
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I remember driving down the 5 kilometer road for the first time. Seeing the expansive salt pan that seemed to go on forever.<br />
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I think it was the longest 5 kilometers I have ever traveled.<br />
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<span id="goog_1598828704"></span><span id="goog_1598828705"></span>We came before the rains. Before green and the yellow flowers that erupt everywhere. Before the cows get fat and baby goats play.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">I grew to love the ride in, my house was in the center of the village just a short walk away from the bus stop. Every time on my way in I would look for my little yellow house with colored curtains. And smile because I was home. </span><br />
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This time in--it was no different, except it wasn’t my little yellow house with colorful curtains. And the rain had come.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-26005751536026974652015-10-02T00:44:00.002-07:002015-10-02T00:44:38.073-07:00Nuances of brownOn September 14, 2012 after landing in Botswana a mere 30-some hours earlier I journey from Gaborone to Kanye.<br />
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I still remember the looking out the bus window and feeling a myriad of emotions wash over me. Depression. Excitement. Dread. Joy. Nerves.<br />
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I remember looking out in the brown scraggly bush of a landscape wondering how I would ever grow to love a place that was brown.<br />
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Telling myself to love the brown. See the beauty in your new home.<br />
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Three years later almost to the date, I made the same journey from Gaborone to Kanye...<br />
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It isn’t just brown. Greyish-brown, green-brown, bone-brown, sandy-brown. There are so many nuances in such a simple color.<br />
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There are so many nuances in this simple thing I call my life.<br />
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I have grown to love Botswana and all its brown. There is something rich in all the brown. In all the scraggly bushes, the people, dried up stream beds, hard packed sand in the east and the deep red sand of the Kalahari. When I depart, I hope that the nuances of brown stay with me and over time more shades appear.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-30977847011769432712015-08-01T11:00:00.001-07:002015-08-01T11:00:07.245-07:00Time--its irrelevant until its over Time is a weird thing...I think it is weirder in the Peace Corps life than it is in my every day life. I say every day life, like I am not living a real life here. My life here is very much real--I work, I have (had) friends, I am a person here just as much as I am in America...That could be part of the problem...My life is split into two Botswana and America.<br />
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I digress....<br />
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All of a sudden it is August 1st. (WHATT??!?!?!??!)<br />
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I can no longer tell people I have been in Botswana “2 1/2 years” since its almost 3 years.<br />
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It seems like I have just moved to Gaborone. Nope. That was almost 10 months ago.<br />
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I feel like I have nothing to show for it. That is a complete lie.<br />
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I feel like a child. When in fact, I am an almost 29 year old woman who has done some pretty amazing things in these short years.<br />
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A brief recap on the past 10 months:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>The Leadership Program (that crazy one I stayed on to run) opened its doors! It was a fighting up hill battle all the way and only took about six months to do. But I did it! We opened our doors in April and we have 32 enrolled youth. It has been unbelievable seeing them change and grow. Each of the participants are coming into their own. Sometimes I look at them and don’t want to leave....</li>
<li>It is August! Which means, all of my close friends have left Gaborone...It was very bitter-sweet seeing them off over the past few months. But this also means, my time here is almost done! December 11th. I will blink and it will be here. </li>
<li>Some really amazing projects have just fallen in my lap! In Lehututu is seemed so hard to get things started, one of the benefits of being at such a connect organization is that people see us out! Lucky me I get to help coordinate! </li>
<li>The other projects that I am coordinating are swimming along! I am keeping busy which is what I wanted! </li>
<li>I went from missing “the village” everyday, to not at all. Not to say that I don’t miss it, I very much do...That life seems so removed from me. That chapter of life where all the really hard aspects are just a cool story--hey remember that time I lived without furniture for 18 months? Or electricity for two years....</li>
<li>I went on a rhino capture for conservation--of course, I have I can’t find the pictures that I uploaded from a friends camera of the trip, the pictures magically disappeared in my iPhoto...It was one of those unreal experiences. I am so glad that I had the opportunity to go on it! Perhaps if I ever get the photos I can write a blog about it. </li>
</ul>
<div>
All along, I have said once I graduate, I will start the job hunt. Well, now that I have some initials behind my name and I have 4 1/2 months left--it is that time. Job hunting seems very overwhelming and scary! When I pull up job servers to look...this feeling of panic comes over me. Where do I want to live? What do I want to do? AHHHH....so, usually, I don’t get very far. I am very sure that there have been points in my life where I felt like I had no direction. The world is my oyster right now. Everything I own is packed in my parents basement or will be on my back. Picking that one direction...seems toooooo much right now. </div>
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With that being said, I am in the middle of a book that I need to finish....</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-54455337567408707252015-05-28T12:32:00.003-07:002015-05-28T12:32:44.728-07:00Commencement Speech <div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dumela, Hola, Salam or simply
hello. I cannot express how happy I am to be here today, I traveled through
three continents over three days to be here today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It seems like just yesterday I was sitting in Scriber Gym
surrounded by a group of strong, intelligent and passionate women soon to be
scattered around the globe. I can only speak for my experience in the Peace
Corps, but I suspect my words will ring true to my sisters sitting here today. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KhIXrZIvg4UhEdik7RsfL7QZJJeSxRle8s_L-gOcgQcu1iQTCCc_R8JZkiZwXeYjaxSAfZEI3Y179BcJ14QV0eTOq8A0skxx_zRyvmBQQHJgrkdlcyWMZ59dKIuSq4Mp0tsP9wEOkro/s1600/thumb_IMG_0534_1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KhIXrZIvg4UhEdik7RsfL7QZJJeSxRle8s_L-gOcgQcu1iQTCCc_R8JZkiZwXeYjaxSAfZEI3Y179BcJ14QV0eTOq8A0skxx_zRyvmBQQHJgrkdlcyWMZ59dKIuSq4Mp0tsP9wEOkro/s320/thumb_IMG_0534_1024.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(part of) Cohort 8! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have wanted to join Peace Corps since my freshman year of
college, I vividly remem<o:p></o:p></div>
ber meeting a recruiter and deciding that I wanted to
one day become a Peace Corps Volunteer, however, I cannot at this time
articulate why my reasons why. I suspect it is because Peace Corps has changed me.
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am in the process of completing my third year as a PCV in
Botswana. I chose to extend my service for an addition year, for I felt like my
time in Botswana wasn’t done. I have been blessed to see both beautiful and
complex sides of Botswana. Botswana is a world of dichotomies, a clash between
traditional culture and modernity. Which couldn’t be truer about my Peace Corps
service. As 21<sup>st</sup> Century PCVs, gone are the days of only communicating
by snail mail and yearly phone calls home. We live and work in communities
racing towards Westernization. Balancing my service straddling two worlds at
times was harder than learning Setswana or navigating cultural differences. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">My first two years
were spent in a small village in the middle of the Kalahari, hours away from
grocery stores, banks or anything the western world would consider as
civilization. My house was little more than a glorified hut, I didn’t have electricity
and water was scarce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were weeks
where I only ate potatoes and onions because that was the only available food
and there were weeks where I feasted on the freshest mangos, avocados and care
package goodies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I arrived in
Lehututu late on a Friday afternoon; my belongings were brought in my students
and piled into the middle of my house. One by one I was greeted by villagers
and dusk settled in. My house was getting darker by the moment, my candles were
still buried in my pile of belongings. As the darkness settled in, a strange
feeling came over me. It took me a while to realize what it was—it was silence.
The defining silence of the village forced me to confront my thoughts and be okay
with silence. My generation of America is never unplugged or silent; the
ability to sit on the porch and watch the world go by is lost art. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">At some point in
time, every volunteer dreams of the accomplishments they will achieve during
their service. Early on I decided that I wasn’t going to be the volunteer who
put in a 1000 pit latrines, start a preschool or a coffee exchange. I decided
that I would be here for relationships. Being placed at a school, the best
thing I could do was be a role model for my students. Over time, my
relationships with the students grew, students would stop by my house just to
say hello or ask for advice. My students didn’t just learn from me, I learned
from them as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkIcx_wtTFCwc1xT2kK-UkTvJuTYLy9sPFhHIdkNEAyaF5FD7p39xUTaB8gghe_XCGjWtZPCMIKaJpm_9HAqPa8JoQhbKIDiZB3I0cG8xJ76zsRjLoMW4KIThj1x0QFwSrH6Yt7qxOag/s1600/thumb_IMG_0543_1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkIcx_wtTFCwc1xT2kK-UkTvJuTYLy9sPFhHIdkNEAyaF5FD7p39xUTaB8gghe_XCGjWtZPCMIKaJpm_9HAqPa8JoQhbKIDiZB3I0cG8xJ76zsRjLoMW4KIThj1x0QFwSrH6Yt7qxOag/s320/thumb_IMG_0543_1024.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The parents </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">One day, I was
having a particularly bad day—one of those “why did I give up my life in
America days” as I was walking to school and wallowing in self pity a student
came up to me. She had been looking for me. Talking was the last thing that I
wanted to do, however I listened to her. She had just been diagnosed with HIV,
which she had contracted while at school. She didn’t know what to do and she
needed my help. I was humbled that she trusted me, however I felt ashamed.
While I was felling sorry for myself about meaningless matters, while her life
was forever changed. In helping her navigate her new diagnosis, she taught me a
new meaning strength and acceptance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">In Botswana, I am
the third sex, an outsider. As an outsider I have freedoms that other Batswana
and women don’t posses. I have the power to speak, when others feel they must
remain silent. As a woman some traditional cultural norms didn’t apply to me
with my status in the village. As hard as I tried to integrate and not be
treated as a guest, I often sat at the head table with the tribal chief or was
served before other women. With this power comes responsibility. I was
conscious of using my voice and actions with care. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Botswana,
I learned about forgiveness, forgiveness for myself and others. I have learned
even more, that things are not always what they appear. I have learned
patience, humility and how to ask for help. I have learned about love and heart
break how to survive through it all. Through it all, I have learned about me. Peace Corps’ slogan is “ the toughest job you will ever love” the Marines say that bootcamp is to break you down then build you back up. My
service in the Peace Corps was very similar, through failures and success,
through tears and laughters, through 9 hour bus rides in 100 degree heat and
learning how to find joy in the small things. I am a stronger woman because of
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Poet Mary Oliver said “don’t worry things take the
time they take. How many roads did St. Augustine walk before be became St
Augustine.” Things in Peace Corps take the time they take, while a hard pill to
swallow, we are strong because of it. We have all walked many roads in our
services—through the twist turns and bumps in the road we have grown, blossomed
and spread our wings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Through is all, none of us would be here without our
families. Our real family, our cohort family and our Peace Corps family. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It is customary to end speeches in Botswana by
shouting “pula” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">PULA! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-69350705093238544862015-01-14T13:44:00.001-08:002015-01-14T13:44:55.092-08:00Cha-cha-cha-changes<br />
I haven’t written a blog post in months, mainly because I felt like I haven’t done anything for months. However, that is a complete lie. A lot has happened in the past few months and my lack of posting is due to the fact that I am still processing everything.<br />
<br />
I left Lehututu on October 14th and moved to Gaborone to start my “3rd year”<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6fPP5hSHzy17V6Ngj5EGpx0srkEiVzSFL-NZoHAxMUwVXRoS8GewSj0U4dfhPeYl_688TWdId2rsaZMZOj-sFszobzRCxalcjcdHimnsXC8ShyphenhyphenzmX-_5QbpFPDt4Scw1mP8W0N1TEuw/s1600/100_0945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6fPP5hSHzy17V6Ngj5EGpx0srkEiVzSFL-NZoHAxMUwVXRoS8GewSj0U4dfhPeYl_688TWdId2rsaZMZOj-sFszobzRCxalcjcdHimnsXC8ShyphenhyphenzmX-_5QbpFPDt4Scw1mP8W0N1TEuw/s1600/100_0945.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
My closest friends went back to America to continue on with their lives while I remained behind. You know that empty feeling when you break up with your significant other? I felt like that. I just broke up with 20 people all at one time.<br />
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As I was struggling to adjust to “city life” my friends were struggling to adjust to life back in America. We were all in dark places just on different sides of the ocean. In my mind, my transition wasn’t going to be that hard--I was still in Botswana--so how much adjusting is needed?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpu3lthFkL4eJYHhIL2Qtgzst8LeN9Ie4TWjSnIme8vHWrGntlxLLfLIg2npDmEbM62DnH4nWCxLDQgtNuLi-s9ljArNTra8Fo8_5hrHYAdeIkiRgjsPzpo8Ugymmn2t5DS41GWo6prHI/s1600/IMG_1901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpu3lthFkL4eJYHhIL2Qtgzst8LeN9Ie4TWjSnIme8vHWrGntlxLLfLIg2npDmEbM62DnH4nWCxLDQgtNuLi-s9ljArNTra8Fo8_5hrHYAdeIkiRgjsPzpo8Ugymmn2t5DS41GWo6prHI/s1600/IMG_1901.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So long hiking spot! </td></tr>
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I was completely wrong, my life was turned up side down. For the first month, I wished I hadn’t extended....Then things started to change, I bought a bike, joined a gym and found some footing in my new job. We put on a summer camp for 60 plus kids and I made new friends....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq36lDqfO2bWSAegUtjJZrYPwzaoL6XYITKFxmUOZjDyC4DYv1jj3Mjtj_PBCjfMlKU-IQwzEXqlCKws04pk0HmLMuM_sfG3JK6MxbECtjz6HGGGJTXyc77O0SHG8RDfZDJ6FzyzQzgHs/s1600/IMG_1952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq36lDqfO2bWSAegUtjJZrYPwzaoL6XYITKFxmUOZjDyC4DYv1jj3Mjtj_PBCjfMlKU-IQwzEXqlCKws04pk0HmLMuM_sfG3JK6MxbECtjz6HGGGJTXyc77O0SHG8RDfZDJ6FzyzQzgHs/s1600/IMG_1952.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new bike! </td></tr>
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I am on my month long home leave, in this past month, I feel that I have lost everything that I worked hard to build. This time 7 days from now, I will be on my way back to Botswana. I don’t know how I am going to muster the strength to get on that plane. This trip home has been wonderful and horrible all at the same time. I have had meaningful conversations with old friends and cried in bathrooms over things that will be funny in a few years.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEina54r_bhv1wN-pisCQOStEuNOLFeQ0L_Vplxvqj6nyNKMEVVPsPOc1miiVIyg45nvdKwCpIYds_ZAL2EgD6QME5oUrqlDCV1VbZZkIsBtJVZQQNkJ7uSEXGzVo4N0ceErIDS9oZnbEjY/s1600/IMG_1966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEina54r_bhv1wN-pisCQOStEuNOLFeQ0L_Vplxvqj6nyNKMEVVPsPOc1miiVIyg45nvdKwCpIYds_ZAL2EgD6QME5oUrqlDCV1VbZZkIsBtJVZQQNkJ7uSEXGzVo4N0ceErIDS9oZnbEjY/s1600/IMG_1966.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
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I do have exiting things in my life--like my new shower head. Ain’t she a beauty! Hot water too! Even a pool! And I don’t have to go outside to go to the bathroom...or even pee in a bucket anymore!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRp6sTLTJpu7GJIc1UErYBAQbvis_o4wHs7s0kire6PoXp7F8qQ5V79lZ_BqcCWpAvspPHpB5MyG-eaDaOMq89arE1TWmwAZ9pcvyRHbJulU2dvoLUYqHrZlM67LTYI9bLUqbCY7LqKg/s1600/IMG_2030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRp6sTLTJpu7GJIc1UErYBAQbvis_o4wHs7s0kire6PoXp7F8qQ5V79lZ_BqcCWpAvspPHpB5MyG-eaDaOMq89arE1TWmwAZ9pcvyRHbJulU2dvoLUYqHrZlM67LTYI9bLUqbCY7LqKg/s1600/IMG_2030.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>Gaborone is beautiful too...in its own way. I don’t have chickens waking me up at 3am on the dot every morning. I can go have coffee with friends or happy hour on Fridays, watch movies or go shopping with out lugging my months worth of groceries home. With all the wonders of city life, I am no longer Bonolo, leaving behind that identity was (and is) bittersweet.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-12257114222040458712014-10-04T04:16:00.001-07:002014-10-04T04:16:28.830-07:00A letter to my studentsI would like to take this opportunity to say goodbye. I will always remember the two years I have spent in Lehututu. All of you have a special place in my heart. <div><br></div><div>Before I go, I would like to say a few words. </div><div><br></div><div>First off you are all special. All of yuh are special and unique creatures of God. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. I pray that one day you can recognize the abilities and strengths that lie in you all. </div><div><br></div><div>Secondly, I ask that you keep on dreaming. No matter what your dreams may be--be it a taxi driver, artist or lawyer. Do not let anyone tell you that your dreams are trivial or stupid. Never stop working towards your dreams, they won't come to fruition over night but never stop trying. </div><div><br></div><div>Lastly, I would like to remind you that you have control over your life. YOU. Not your mother, uncle or friends. It may not seem like it now, but you have the power to make your life what you want it I be. If someone calls you stupid or demeans your dreams, don't let it deter you. Just know that those words were spoken from their own insecurities. Only you can determine your destiny. </div><div><br></div><div>Go with God. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-71049185757044347702014-09-21T12:04:00.001-07:002014-09-21T12:04:41.539-07:00Goodbyes....Its been two years. Well almost two years, roughly 670 days. Two years is a Masters program, or two pregnancies and then some...<br />
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Two years is a long time.<br />
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But in hindsight it was nothing.<br />
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Time is wrapping up in Lehututu, I am leaving on October 14th. October 14th, the day, it seems like it will be here in a blink of an eye.<br />
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I am trying to process the wealth of emotions I am feeling on a daily basis right. The thought of leaving is hard, my best friends in the village are all under the age of 5, it breaks my heart to realize that they won’t remember me. It breaks my heart to know that a new PCV is coming in and I will be no more.<br />
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But at the same time. Being replaced and saying goodbye is part of the cycle. Kind of like breathing and dying. I am being replaced by a man. Which I am thrilled about, my students and other men in the village need a positive male role model. My heart is lightened that since being a man, the constant comparisons won’t happen--or I should say. The comparisons will be less than if it was a female. As a male, more doors are opened too! He can do things that I never could as a female.<br />
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I get a little type-A at times, saying goodbye is an exercise in letting go. I have been working on letting go. Which is easier said than done! Will the new volunteer keep up my garden, but most importantly, will he let my babies water it every day with him? Will he give out all the hugs a kid could need every Monday at the pre-school? Will he spend evenings on sitting side by side my neighbor letting her feed him and making animal sounds together? Will he just be present in the students lives?<br />
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Coming into Peace Corps I always said that I never was going to be the volunteer who built 100 pit latrines, I was going to build relationships instead. I have spent the past 670-odd days building relationships. I won’t be leaving structural impacts behind, I am leaving memories and feelings. I have given students an opportunity to be respected, valued, heard. Students will remember how I made them feel not the lessons I have taught them.<br />
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Can you handle this cuteness??? </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-23968680307228634582014-08-22T10:21:00.002-07:002014-08-22T10:21:20.930-07:00Reflections on two years <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">My time in Lehututu is coming to a close, I recently contributed an article to our PC-Botswana newsletter. I thought I would share it on my blog. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">When I signed up for the Peace Corps, I was prepared mentally for pooping in a hole and living in a hut. Well, I almost have that. I certainly don’t have “posh corps.” And if this is considered posh corps—I want to know what the authentic Peace Corps experience is! </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">During our site placement meetings in PST, we were asked about what we wanted. I was honest and vocal in saying what I wanted out of my service. I wanted rural. I didn’t need to be around other PCVs. I didn’t mind not having electricity. I was ready for the challenge. I wanted to prove to myself and to my family that I could do it. In America I had hundreds of shoes in my closet, months full of outfits, kitchen gadgets coming out my ears and update my candles and table decorations on a seasonal (okay monthly) basis (feel free to judge me, I don’t mind). I vowed to myself that I could live simply for my time here. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Let me paint a picture of my life. I live in Lehututu, as the guide books call it “its little more than a sandy spot on the road” in a little cinderblock house with a flat tin roof-no ceiling, just rafters and tin protecting me from the outside world. My house was built in the early 90s and is slowly crumbing around me. I can see the night sky if I sit at different spots in my house. I have bats that keep me company at night—who needs noise machines when you have the sounds of bats flapping and squeaking around you at night? My water supply is off and on, albeit not as near as bad as other PCVs out there. The entrance to my bathroom is outside, so I usually pee in a bucket instead of making the trip outside. At least I have a bathroom and not a pit latrine. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">My shopping village-where the nearest ATM/Bank and grocery store is about 400 kilometers away from me—thats a 4-5 hour bus ride. I plan my week around when the produce truck comes. It comes on Wednesdays, which means Wednesday afternoons or Thursday is the only time to get produce. Let me use the word produce lightly. Weeks its only potatoes, questionable apples, onions. Good weeks will include wrinkled bell peppers, iffy tomatoes, maybe some bananas, butternut, you can hope for carrots and beets. If you don’t buy produce within 24 to 36 hours of the trucks arrival, you wont be able to buy anything aside from the left over veg which no one wants to buy. Get while the getting is good. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">On the up side we have two bulk food stores in Hukuntsi that cater to the surround settlements. Having the bulk food stores allows us to purchase bulk supplies of canned veggies, rice and pasta—items which are often absent from the shelves of our general dealer. I have to admit, the lady who runs our general dealer will order feta and cheddar cheese for us! Which has been my saving grace these past 20something months. Up until a month ago we were the only subdistrict in Botswana not to have a grocery store and a bank! About a month ago a small Shoppers opened about 100km away! We are still waiting on the bank…. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I also don’t have electricity-not even solar panels. Not having electricity has forced me to be alone with my thoughts in the silence of my house. Back home, I would usually be listening to NPR, podcasts or have music playing in the background. Unless I was busy focusing on school work, there was always noise. I also always had roommate for companionship as well. Never in my life have I been so alone. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Transportation is always a sticky situation. In the past five months we have had consistent petrol shortages at the nearest petrol station. Leaving the next closest station 100ks away. I am fortunately have a kombi that runs semi regularly to Hukuntsi, the next largest village 15km away, where the general deal is. We have three buses that go to Gabs daily at 6am, 7am and 11am. I am the second bus stop, more times than I can count I have been at the bus stop and the bus has sailed on by because not one more person could physically fit on it. More times than I can count, I have had to stand for the entire 7+ hour bus ride or site with the driver its been so full. At month end, its impossible to leave my village unless you arrange a ride with a private vehicle. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Neighboring PCVs….well, I can count them on one hand. Very few of them actually complete their two years for varying reasons…Its like the Kgalagadi spits you out after a while. I don’t know what life is like in the rest of Botswana, but I feel like the Kgalagadi is the forgotten district. That mentality is reflected in every aspect of life. Villagers try and cling to traditional values and practices which clash with government values and programs. Education for example, there is no value in obtaining an education, instead children and parents would prefer to be at the cattle post leading semi-nomadic lifestyles with their cattle. You in fact can still barter livestock for material goods! Why should children sit in English or Setswana class? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Looking back on my service, I am unspeakably thankful that I have faced these challenges. The ability to be alone with your thoughts is something that I feel most Americans lack. It is certainly not a skill I feel that is honed in my generation. There are weeks that I have had nothing to eat but butternut, onions and beans. This isn’t my own choice, just because there is nothing to be found in the general dealer. I have never had to face a situation like that before. </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I have always budgeted my money, but I have never before budgeted the cash I had in my wallet to last me until the next time I can make the trek to an ATM. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I have had my share of bad days, today for instance, tears were in my eyes as I took walked the 3 kilometers from my house to school. The thought of leaving my house to charge my phone and computer were unbearable. I have the ability to say that when I finally leave this place-I will come out stronger. I have done it. I have met my battles head on with little complaining and succeeded. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-89414517538333382014-08-21T03:47:00.001-07:002014-08-21T03:47:10.993-07:00Meerkats! <div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Meerkats. I am obsessed with them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What really can be cuter? </span><span id="goog_1439866965"></span><span id="goog_1439866966"></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEDjuIP3wHMbAry9dzg9P3f0-cu8AlirvHavTUSCdxnzSd3-neX1dD3Aw7rjRGBJ2Dpy1LjHuaCx_L9DNsQRZPQbqZo6uakZBctQic0XkeniLwAOkGSSb_ErdLiHUuo8XA3GngTJVN_4/s1600/100_1858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEDjuIP3wHMbAry9dzg9P3f0-cu8AlirvHavTUSCdxnzSd3-neX1dD3Aw7rjRGBJ2Dpy1LjHuaCx_L9DNsQRZPQbqZo6uakZBctQic0XkeniLwAOkGSSb_ErdLiHUuo8XA3GngTJVN_4/s1600/100_1858.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were becoming friends, alas he couldn’t leave his family and start a new colony at my house</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwaUw0zpC6BK4LWdvdBifbTE3rLDjLaClVEENNMq3_ApzT3UKHVIZ43Y4eKn-gF9PW1MiP6Dv6ql6jXxMQVjOc7T0pzqCzx7Hh1Xvf_cdSVV3tRmPoBksUbPnOmKr5f2ZWcEVKEp3wJA/s1600/100_1860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwaUw0zpC6BK4LWdvdBifbTE3rLDjLaClVEENNMq3_ApzT3UKHVIZ43Y4eKn-gF9PW1MiP6Dv6ql6jXxMQVjOc7T0pzqCzx7Hh1Xvf_cdSVV3tRmPoBksUbPnOmKr5f2ZWcEVKEp3wJA/s1600/100_1860.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2kb9ir3DSHSCMkqw0lb3_iWbtADvVlEx6PvbYDqtYvbnXiwrX3yNe_oEPMsUWNwgOoxTZwqPOjDg4BmlGWeZUR4sjer9iSUbc2-E7WutLGt8mN_3zK-FiafQQvCn6FK8EM6IM67euvI/s1600/100_1862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2kb9ir3DSHSCMkqw0lb3_iWbtADvVlEx6PvbYDqtYvbnXiwrX3yNe_oEPMsUWNwgOoxTZwqPOjDg4BmlGWeZUR4sjer9iSUbc2-E7WutLGt8mN_3zK-FiafQQvCn6FK8EM6IM67euvI/s1600/100_1862.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKsgBV8wWlSnq8npW2UdVqxu6Zi-G0ZPm-8OopQ58KTeK4rVasScuXUsynVrQ4QMb4O0t46ypLH-7L54eA1LMNJi59DQx-y3BCcheErU_TTQOxbTBmHKGTcXwN43SCMY1Up8YGtGUnRUk/s1600/100_1863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKsgBV8wWlSnq8npW2UdVqxu6Zi-G0ZPm-8OopQ58KTeK4rVasScuXUsynVrQ4QMb4O0t46ypLH-7L54eA1LMNJi59DQx-y3BCcheErU_TTQOxbTBmHKGTcXwN43SCMY1Up8YGtGUnRUk/s1600/100_1863.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7IQJqr5uNPhfUdSfOYkSlS2pvq8H1DcdHWyGIx9MaDaBjtXm_reCOTo-MMt-9Ya6_rYF2RlXPxhlGypaaT0fsyHLMivpPSCBosY_q7213AV08YPdYRdzTqlrZia3R4ZIrbFUJ6fAqoM/s1600/100_1864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7IQJqr5uNPhfUdSfOYkSlS2pvq8H1DcdHWyGIx9MaDaBjtXm_reCOTo-MMt-9Ya6_rYF2RlXPxhlGypaaT0fsyHLMivpPSCBosY_q7213AV08YPdYRdzTqlrZia3R4ZIrbFUJ6fAqoM/s1600/100_1864.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wouldn’t mind being a meerkat in my next life, meerkats are altruistic animals! </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TwaXbiBqNI_L9a1RlqjwiK01qPFlJQNKnURJz65eoczTeR0qEFC6ln0bge_cLaJWa0pqZ-5Mu95nqu1B-0eqBbptmPBM8q3ZbB7rYi_NVw2LqZutIE1NfoLelG9JQYtLg3QfQRgcYaY/s1600/100_1866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TwaXbiBqNI_L9a1RlqjwiK01qPFlJQNKnURJz65eoczTeR0qEFC6ln0bge_cLaJWa0pqZ-5Mu95nqu1B-0eqBbptmPBM8q3ZbB7rYi_NVw2LqZutIE1NfoLelG9JQYtLg3QfQRgcYaY/s1600/100_1866.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf792WtxAZkzzjIBavWDqXh3Bq6rtM7hR9RhBiVPxSQtwR0CdndgrRlEzOJ9XxjNWyZ-lztkzVFcJJtB3TzTprQmC7EwwYAAqxU3LKGMNpgIDG9j8nr9-UKnUtqqjTCRypqxDfP9LXHVk/s1600/100_1867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf792WtxAZkzzjIBavWDqXh3Bq6rtM7hR9RhBiVPxSQtwR0CdndgrRlEzOJ9XxjNWyZ-lztkzVFcJJtB3TzTprQmC7EwwYAAqxU3LKGMNpgIDG9j8nr9-UKnUtqqjTCRypqxDfP9LXHVk/s1600/100_1867.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A group of meerkats is called a “mob” or “gang” or “clan” (the original gangsters) </td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-22793061695978037352014-08-21T03:10:00.001-07:002014-08-21T03:10:27.344-07:00The end is near....sort of<div style="text-align: center;">
In July Bots13 came together for our COSC (close of service conference).</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Most of Bots13 is leaving in October after completing our service as Life Skills Volunteers.</div>
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We were all placed at Primary, Junior or Senior Secondary Schools in Botswana.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdNm-rXsT_hnTC8K2A2Vu_wewXJZV9IjuUG20S83E6gHfRyqhXJXL0e50O5p7uJqYs4z97NEE-YY0Ib7RgKEdVwbUktCthGwK26ke6fWiMD6YwllXLAsl3oZ2e3I0_xz26JPvPzEU5OI/s1600/IMG_1618.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdNm-rXsT_hnTC8K2A2Vu_wewXJZV9IjuUG20S83E6gHfRyqhXJXL0e50O5p7uJqYs4z97NEE-YY0Ib7RgKEdVwbUktCthGwK26ke6fWiMD6YwllXLAsl3oZ2e3I0_xz26JPvPzEU5OI/s1600/IMG_1618.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liz, me, Jess and Lisa </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBjv0HnyY6Rf69LeG1XJeP0fLHw8docBt67m5LSkmPG_98cfhoanZF4IqxPDUEXD7hczxITuLJX_sJ_OaFupQN3XTtlSvuq8MTAzs95oWpNlrXQL4a9atiko_THw4eb99EsEI5QpTCZgw/s1600/IMG_1619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBjv0HnyY6Rf69LeG1XJeP0fLHw8docBt67m5LSkmPG_98cfhoanZF4IqxPDUEXD7hczxITuLJX_sJ_OaFupQN3XTtlSvuq8MTAzs95oWpNlrXQL4a9atiko_THw4eb99EsEI5QpTCZgw/s1600/IMG_1619.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know, sometimes I just can’t look at Katy without making a face...</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0isdo7negbUtVGUTLrT3ryuinncyw6prVlRkcqSoCQ0cx06calEbLHYB0K-T2TqPUHi9IZXSIEsEH4sEGScJnG3guIZl2zSfnCTZROf8QovMw4O6P6VSTSY028g7vzarNnqc_Pgurhc/s1600/IMG_1626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0isdo7negbUtVGUTLrT3ryuinncyw6prVlRkcqSoCQ0cx06calEbLHYB0K-T2TqPUHi9IZXSIEsEH4sEGScJnG3guIZl2zSfnCTZROf8QovMw4O6P6VSTSY028g7vzarNnqc_Pgurhc/s1600/IMG_1626.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">coming full circle...</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi34PkdUa1lih8sQo6fz_EBXbt3cCYhktQtR2BdTsYsB7PJ1XLL_fr3wd4rqHhCMT9FnRe4Xuov6E04V-grmJRpUoWhT7vY-fiyV324UQW2bjmXaT4u1SDu0E1cluPiMgeWCzDv5qYTmUo/s1600/IMG_1631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi34PkdUa1lih8sQo6fz_EBXbt3cCYhktQtR2BdTsYsB7PJ1XLL_fr3wd4rqHhCMT9FnRe4Xuov6E04V-grmJRpUoWhT7vY-fiyV324UQW2bjmXaT4u1SDu0E1cluPiMgeWCzDv5qYTmUo/s1600/IMG_1631.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is to the next 13 months! </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13Rwd9yaLPKQwgr24-boaHgazrLgTjlTLswCzr7625JSZCbC4imAyHCPp9jOmFOCm24WzoTpUG0CmusdjgE3Fy_jXJwqWwYWmd4dCtFvOVbCgKI1OTnwy0rSaQaTjfyWGi3QLypV6Ss4/s1600/IMG_1632.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13Rwd9yaLPKQwgr24-boaHgazrLgTjlTLswCzr7625JSZCbC4imAyHCPp9jOmFOCm24WzoTpUG0CmusdjgE3Fy_jXJwqWwYWmd4dCtFvOVbCgKI1OTnwy0rSaQaTjfyWGi3QLypV6Ss4/s1600/IMG_1632.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisa, Maggie and I </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGz7k79Z9fBftN0qxyvGOA_YwwwgjAcPl6bY1MpJG66Tz2wWZmvFWniGd2QV97GK_ZqAdo4iYvoZ3cgVA-pfq9ZcXETU6w84QilbFP8MOTBb9PgQrcGg3NEzvD9XcGOyU6_nX1TQWVKKQ/s1600/IMG_1638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGz7k79Z9fBftN0qxyvGOA_YwwwgjAcPl6bY1MpJG66Tz2wWZmvFWniGd2QV97GK_ZqAdo4iYvoZ3cgVA-pfq9ZcXETU6w84QilbFP8MOTBb9PgQrcGg3NEzvD9XcGOyU6_nX1TQWVKKQ/s1600/IMG_1638.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When you don’t cut your hair for 2 yeas you get mermaid hair! </td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I however, have decided that I haven’t gotten enough. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I am extending for a third year! </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lets see how long my hair will be then... </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-66439958654967768762014-07-22T10:50:00.001-07:002014-07-22T10:50:35.863-07:00Silence is deafening <div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; min-height: 15px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<span style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was watching a TED talk the other day by novelist Abha Aawesar, a New Yorker recounting the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. She talked about her daily journey hauling water up 7 flights of stairs while holding a flashlight between her teeth because of the power outages, the stores being out of bread, water and other necessities, the struggles of getting a shower and charging electronics. To paraphrase, she says the self as we knew it—was no more. She referring to the ever connected age of technology we live in. I instantly started reflecting </span><span style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">my little journey I have be on during the past 20 something months. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When I was in the process of packing up my piles of clothes and shoes, consolidating the things that “I can’t live without” into two 50 pound suitcases for my 27 month Peace Corps service several realizations dawned on me. I was having anxiety induced meltdowns over which pair of my beloved shoes I should bring or which shirts I wanted to bring with me—even though it was a shirt from the back of my closet I hadn't worn in months. These silly material things were making me cry, snap at my mother who was trying to help me pack and make me question can I do this? This being the Peace Corps. The thought of giving away (or packing away) these silly things that had brought me so much fleeting joy was bring me to tears. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After taking time to stop packing and reflect on what is important, I decided that I needed to make some changes. I needed to simplify my life. Hitting up the shoe closet at Van Maur brought me great joy or buying a fancy cheese and new kitchen gadget at the grocery store and making a fabulous dish for my friends brought me great joy. Thats not to say that I didn’t find immense joy and satisfaction from my job….but that wasn't enough. You can’t physically carry with you a clients success. You physically carry with you your new Italian leather boots. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I in the effort to simplify my life, I decided that I wanted to be internet free for the duration of my service—good bye email, Facebook and google. This also meant parting with my smartphone…My loved ones were not as thrilled with this idea. I decided to keep internet and my smartphone, but consciously work on limiting my access to it (via self control). </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Dawesar says our life story needs two dimensions of time—direct experience/ immersive experience (the moment) and our life span—the narration. She claims that our self and our lives stories are being changed in our ever technological world. We are living longer, that dimension of time is lengthening, but our immersive experiences are shrinking. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As I arrived at my site and was unpacking my belongings. A sudden realization dawned on me. It was quiet. My house was quiet and I was alone with my thoughts. It was scary. I didn’t quite know what to make of it. A restless feeling started to spread over me—what am I supposed to do when I am done unpacking? The house that I live in doesn’t have electricity. My phone and computer only has so much battery life…I can’t have the constant noise in the background that I unknowingly had become accustom to. No amount of preparing could help me deal with the flow of emotions that was washing over me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Technology perpetuates the idea that those who have it—so must everyone else. Imagine, going to a friends house and if their is a lull in conversation not being able to check your phone or surf the web to fill the silence. Or being on a bus, not wanting to strike up a conversation with strangers so you turn to your Huffington Post app. Technology perpetrated every aspect of my life, so many of which I was blissfully unaware of until I was sitting in a house that was growing quickly darker and my phones battery was dead. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was suddenly faced with my own revelation. Myself, as I knew it was no more. I was suddenly being forced to live in the moment, live with my thoughts, live with deafening silence, live away from a screen. As my time in Lehututu draws to a close, I am faced with many decisions about my future. How do I live in both worlds? Being truly present in the moment whether in Botswana or in America. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Dawesars’ Grandmother taught her that things happen in the time we take, it can’t be fought. Reflecting on that unspeakably true statement, I have grown more in the ebb and flow of life and time in the Kgalagadi more than I have in my time in America. Or Is should say, I have grown in a different way than in America. Technology threatens the present. But we have the choice. We can regain our “self” the moments that make our life story. Moments that combine the past, present and future. Every cold winters night that I make myself cocoa I am instantly transported back to my Grandparents kitchen with my PaPa as he looks at me with a twinkle in his eye saying “making cocoa is very scientific.” I can’t help but make it the exact same way as he taught me and wishing he was there to eat marshmallows with me while waiting for it to heat up. I am not sure if I would have the same experience making cocoa in my American kitchen because I wouldn’t have embraced the silence and my thoughts. I wouldn’t be able to experience those memories completely. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-24417018371815577072014-06-18T04:13:00.001-07:002014-06-18T04:13:57.715-07:00Lashings <div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have touched on corporal punishment in Botswana before, but never has it hit me so close to home…</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I would like to preface this post, Botswana is a safe country. Yes, there is crime and I do believe that crime is escalating in Botswana as a whole. However, I find that I live in a very safe area of Botswana. Yes, I have had to deal with my share of bothersome men, but there have been very few times (I can count them on one hand) that I have felt unsafe. Seriously unsafe, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your heart races unsafe, fight or flights unsafe. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There is a gentleman in Hukuntsi who has harassed myself and Sarah for months and months. First it was just annoying. Then he became more erratic in his behaviors. He has grabbed my breasts before, touched us, pushed me and forcible block us from leaving or entering a store. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A few weeks ago we reported him to the police when he forcibly blocked me from entering a room as we were trying to flee from him. Sarah the lucky lady had made it in the room before he could stop her. We took him to the police and they sat him down and talked to him. He denied everything. He wasn’t bothering us, he just wanted money….etc etc etc. That day in particular he followed us around the shopping “mall” in Hukuntsi, grabbing our arms, yelling at us and followed into a store. Repeatedly we told him to go away (in English and Setswana) he flat out told us “ke a gona” I am refusing. But yet, he just claims he wanted money. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For the most part, people in Hukuntsi look out of us, they tell him to go away and make sure we are “safe” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Not the other day…</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Its uncanny, its like the man (he is 20 or 21) has radar for us, the minute is step out of the kombi he was on me. Walking far to close for comfort, yelling that he loves me and something about killing someone. I escaped into my first store, the clerk told him to leave. The minute I left he followed me. Then I escaped to PEP. The manager at PEP is a lady with a pair of lungs, she always does a fine job of yelling at him. Unfortunately she wasn’t there. At this point I was already on the edge of crying out of frustration as I am asking for help. The staff at PEP do nothing but laugh at me and tell me I should hit him. That was the breaking point. I cry. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Nothing is worse than crying out of frustration. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Not to mention that crying is a big cultural no-no in Botswana. No one cries (at least in public) and no one knows what to do when they see you crying. Especially a grown woman. People get deer in the headlights looks and don’t make eye contact with you they are so uncomfortable. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After calling the amazing Thuso our safety and security officer (ironically his name means “help”) he stayed with me on the phone while I walked to the police. Af first the police officers just stare at me. Like its a joke that I am asking for help from this guy. “Ahhh he is mentally ill” they tell me actually its more like “he is not right in the head” but I don’t find that an appropriate way to describe an individual with a mental health diagnosis. Finally the police officer says he will go and find this man. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A short while later they return and after a rapid discussion all in Setswana the police officer tells me to sit in a particular chair. I didn’t question that so I move. The next thing I know the police officer has a switch in his hand and the man is bent over a chair. The police officer proceeds to switch the man, in front of me. Within 3 feet of my face, in front of me. All the time telling him he needs to leave me alone. Now, this wasn’t the type of switching I see in school, these lashes were meant to leave a mark and inflict pain. The lashing must have been some work for the officer because during it—he removes his jacket. Or maybe the jacket was constricting his range of motion…? After he lashes the guy and yells at him someone the man walks out of the room. It was more of a painful limp of a person who just got their ass beat….The police officer looks at me and says “he won’t bother your anymore” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Not only have I been subjected to this mans constant harassment, I was just subjected to a beating. I was so unnerved that I was shaking. I ask the officer to walk with me to my kombi stop because I was worried this man wouldn’t leave me alone. The officer looks at me like I was crazy—this man was just beat why wouldn’t he leave you alone? Finally the officer agrees and walks me to the kombi stop. And guess who was at the kombi stop….? </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-75064937406209030192014-06-18T04:07:00.002-07:002014-06-18T04:08:35.669-07:00I wanna be like Harry! <div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I recently started to “read” Harry Potter, actually I was listening to the audio books. I was never really a HP fan back home. I have never, until this year read the books or watched all of the movies. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But man o man. I am hooked. First off: The man who reads the audiobooks, has the best voice in the world. Secondly: HP is actually pretty freaken’ amazing. Mad props JKR! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was only a book in before I was hooked, so hooked that I have had more than one long conversations with people (mainly Katy) about how awesome it would be if we were witches and in the Peace Corps. Or really, just how useful magical skills would be in life in general.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So I have compiled a list (not limited to…)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Owls: Owls would be handy for many reasons, we wouldn’t have to spent hours of our lives waiting in the queue to mail a letter home. We would owl it! Out of air time? No matata! Send an owl! Feel like you just need some entertainment in your life? Get a pig-wiggen size owl. Done and done. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Apparition/Disapparate: Its month end and you need money and groceries but don’t want to be crammed like sardines in the bus. Disapparate. Really wish you could see your friend for the weekend but don’t want to spend hours on the bus. Disapparate. Man o man, I am tired of getting Botswana lap dances on the kombi. Disapparate. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Invisibility cloak: Now, I realize that this is a very special cloak and not every magical being has one….But I need one. Not in the mood to talk to people or have people scream legoka at you? Invisibility cloak. You want to go for a jog but don’t want men stopping and picking you up? Invisibility cloak. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Spells: Oh my goodness, what spell wouldn’t work. I think really, just having the ability to preform a spell would make our lives completely different. Lets say you don’t have electricity (like me) that can be easily fix! Tired of sweeping? Just bewitch your broom to sweep for you! There can be lots of down time in the Peace Corps, what a great time to prefect and create a wide variety of spells! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Brooms: I think this would be ace. I don’t know what I would want more sometimes a broom or a wand….Want to go on a game drive? No problem! Just hop on your broom and have a scenic view of the Delta or Transfrontier. Its month end? No problem, just fly on down to your shopping village. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I feel like I need to stop…I could go on for days about why I need to be a witch, really, this obsession is getting out of control. I cannot count the number of times I have looked seriously at a person and said “man I need an owl” or some Harry Potter related line. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But if anyone wants to get me an owl as a gift….</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781886303481660507.post-91988355054727133292014-06-13T01:05:00.001-07:002014-06-13T01:05:29.318-07:00Botswana lap dance <div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My parents said that so many things happen in Botswana that would make a great movie script....Or a line in a stand up comedy. This is just one of those situations. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I just wanted eggs. Is that too much to ask? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We haven’t had petrol (gas) recently, so its been hard to get a lift out of the village to Hukuntsi (12-15ks away) to buy food. After waiting for a lift for an hour, just as I was debating the pros and cons of walking 5ks to the main road for a lift the kombi shows up. There were about 24 of us waiting to get into a 18 passenger van. The orderly sense of queuing was lost in an instant. Frankly I just wasn’t in the mood to push my way on the kombi so I stepped aside. Which worked in my favor….for a short moment. Someone saved me a seat! Although, it was perhaps the worst seat ever—right by the door in the front. Just as I am getting cozy with the granny next to me, a man decides that he MUST get on the kombi. There was about a foot of space in front of me—which is more than enough room for a body. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So he straddles me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yes, thats right. He straddles me. If I were to move my leg, he wouldn’t have had children. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thank god I bathed this morning! And was wearing perfume! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So we rode like that, him straddling precariously on me. One tap of the breaks or sharp turn and he would be on me like white on rice. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I should have slipped pulas into his belt….</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And guess what. There wasn’t an egg to be found in Hukuntsi. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15007792757790692822noreply@blogger.com0