How the hell’d we get here?

I was having a great day until I watched Blood Diamond.

Without certainty, I was sheltered growing up in one of the poorest countries in the world. Peace Corps Niger was recently evacuated because it is too dangerous to live there. Apparently Al Qaeda has finally made its way through. I don’t remember my age but I remember when President Bare was assassinated. I recall my American friends thinking that they were probably going to be evacuated. I had no idea what was going to happen to us. Looking at the situation as an adult I’m sure only the American Embassy workers and their families would have been evacuated.

I also remember a classmate, Khalipha, we were eating at lunch and he was telling us that his dad was in the room when the assassination happened. I am positive this was not true, we were just a bunch of kids competing for attention back then and children always lie to outdo each other. I do remember he reenacted the way Bare was killed. He stood up and shook his body as if he was having a seizure and dropped to his knees, then his stomach. He told us it was the machine gun fire that supposedly made his body shake like that. Back then I thought he was telling the truth.

After watching Blood Diamond again tonight I realized a few things about myself and Africa. The first time I watched it I was with my girlfriend at the time and I left feeling as if the movie hadn’t changed any of my opinions. I acted as if I had already known what was going on in Africa just because I had lived there. I remember being all nonchalant about the film. The truth is I did know the facts but I regrettably ignored the feelings. I realize now that the feelings, especially when it comes to countries in war that those feelings are far more important. What a cocky little prick I was back then. I hope I’m still not like that.

Apparently Burkina Faso is about to erupt now too. Thank God Ivory Coast is finally cooling down. Africa. This is Africa. But what is Africa? There was a line in Blood Diamond that Djimon Hounsou’s character said, “I know good men from my country that believe there is something wrong in our blood, that we were better off when white men were ruling our country.” What compels somebody to believe that? When he said that, all I could do was drop my jaw. Throughout all the twelve years that I spent growing up here I never encountered one person saying that about Africa. I am here for seven months as an adult and I have heard several people in my village say that.

I’m absolutely thankful that my parents did not surround me around people who believed that as a child, what would I have grown up to think about Africans? What do these African children grow up to believe if there parents say that all the time? Where is the pride? Where is the hope? Where is the trust? Is it even really that harder to find these essential human features here than in any other place in the world?

God I could use a beer right now, actually tequila or whiskey would be better. Be right back.

There was another line in Blood Diamond, about the Peace Corps. I’m just paraphrasing right now but DiCaprio’s character said something like, “Peace Corp Volunteers only stay here long enough to realize that nothing they do actually helps people.” I laughed when I heard this. Personally, I think he is wrong. In fact, f*** the writer for writing that. But at the same time I understand why he would write that. I have always been optimistic, I relate most to both Connelly’s and Hounsou’s characters. I am optimistic but I have to question why some people do what they do.  Come to think of it ‘development’ is an ironic word to call this field of work.

Today one of my favorite people to work with told me something (insert your own adjective here). He told me the director… actually… I won’t give you specifics but he said that an influential figure who I will be working closely with for one of my projects is very corrupt. Apparently he made young kids make bricks and kept the money for himself as well as some other bizarre things. I told him I would love to call out this director on his wrong doings but it simply is not place to do so.

My friend also told me that I shouldn’t work with this other farmer because he was not to be trusted. I told my friend that I don’t trust anyone but I do trust my judge of character. He was basically telling me to not work with a man who gave his kids an option between school and working on the fields. His children chose school and now he makes sure they do it right. He makes them study; finish their homework and everything else that is necessary to succeed in school. I told my friend that I appreciate his advice but my parents didn’t raise no fool. I will always listen to people that give their kids an option between school and working on the fields.

When it comes to trust here, I simply don’t. At least right now I don’t. I haven’t been in Meidougou long enough. Personally it takes a very special moment to trust someone. Whether it is an enlightening conversation, or if they stick with me during a tragedy, or if I notice that they are always there for me, or if we share some sort of life changing moment, I can’t forget history, if I have a long history with a person I tend to (at least most of the times) stick around with them.

Good company is usually not too difficult to find however finding people that reciprocate respect, keep their words, pay back debts, feed your pets while you’re out, help you paint your walls, hand you their last cigarette, clean up your πss, return your phone calls, this list can truly write a trilogy.

All in all what I want to say is that Africa has good company, trustworthy people, respectful men and women but what I’m praying for is that the less educated Africans soon realize that it is just as hard to find these people in any other corner of the world.

Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

April 21, 2011

Teardrop on the Fire

What was I thinking? I should have been using only candles long ago. They are way better than lanterns or flashlights. There was a violent storm earlier today and this usually means that there will be no electricity for a while. No big deal, I have candles now.

I know I complain a lot about the kids in the concession, but I do love them. Since the power went out I thought it’d be a good idea to use all the tomatoes in my fridge so they don’t go bad. There was also a lemon in the vegetable drawer. Today was an insanely busy day. I’m teaching a women’s group who I’m working with how to make soap. The plan is to sell it at the health center and educate the mamas on hygiene. Did I mention tonight was the first time I have ever made soap in my life? Anyways by the time I was done working with them I scrambled to start cooking dinner. It was around eight o’clock.

I asked the kids if they wanted to help me. “BIEN SUR!” They respond. This is, ‘of course!’ in French. These four are named, Amadou (who I like to call Amadamadou), Ibrahim, Yaouba and my favorite, Yousoufa. I’m not supposed to have favorites but he totally is. Keep in mind that there is no electricity; all I have are four candles, one lantern and my heavy duty Mag-lite. I light the four candles on all corners of the kitchen and place the lantern on the counter. The kitchen has never looked so cool.

Amadamadou said, “We can’t start without washing our hands!”

By the way, I taught him that (he also covers his sneezes with his shoulder now too).

I bring in my bucket with some reserved water in it from earlier and we wash our hands with that. The four of us start cutting the onions, garlic and tomatoes. I light the stove, pour some olive oil in my pan, slide all the vegetables in the pan and begin to stir. The kids all watch me. I shake some oregano, thyme, paprika, black pepper and salt in the pan. The kids all watch me. I decide to put some music on, my mom sent me some speakers that work with batteries for my birthday. The kids request Neon Bible by Arcade Fire, its one of the few songs I know how to play on the guitar and they love that song. I get out some tomato paste and mix it with filtered water; I pour that into the pan too. The kids all watching me. After a while I finally decide to start boiling water for the macaroni impulsively decide to squeeze the lemon in the sauce too. Luckily earlier I had asked Yousoufa to get me some macaroni and onions as I was making soap with the women, without him there would be no dinner tonight. I pour the macaroni in the boiling water.

The kids watched.

It’s a custom here to share food. It’s rare when the Dadas (mamas) of the concession (compound) don’t offer me what they cook. They usually end up giving me what they make even after I say, “No thank you.” This simple way of life has compelled me to always share what I cook, no matter how much I prepare. This is also the reason I never have leftovers.

I realized that the bag of macaroni Yousoufa bought was a little too small after I’m done pouring out the water from the pot. There is only enough for three servings. Dang it. I decide at that moment that I wouldn’t eat tonight. There would only be enough for the kids, the mamas, and my landlord (and his wife). I serve the two bowls and the third one in the Tupperware (for my landlord, Salihou). I ask Amadamadou to give one of the bowls to the mamas and other kids and ask Ibrahim to give the Tupperware to Salihou. When the two got back I handed them the third bowl. They instantly asked, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

I replied, “No, I’m not hungry, I just wanted to use the tomatoes before they got bad.”

They didn’t believe me. They knew I had not eaten because before working with the women’s group, the five of us were working on the garden and before that I went to the middle school for my English lesson (which I didn’t get to teach because of the rainstorm). These kids immediately stopped eating and handed me the rest of the bowl which was still practically full. I accepted. They asked me if they could play with the blocks and the puzzle of the African map I bought for them. I respond,

“BIEN SUR!”

I place all but one candle in the living room for them. I leave the lantern on the floor and enjoy my meal with pleasant music by the candle light. Sometimes I envy the volunteers in villages without electricity. I join them in the living room and open Three Cups of Tea (given to me as a gift by my older sister, Isis). After a chapter and a half, I get inspiration to write this entry. Reading by candle light with music in the background is officially one of my new favorite past times.

Merci, Yousoufa, Amadamadou, Ibrahim and Yaouba.

Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

April 19, 2011

They say rap has changed, they want to know how I feel about it

I have been writing a lot. Enjoy some poetry.

MaPa

When I get lost I look for my Ma

When I get lost I remember my Pa

The givers of my life

The reason I’m alive

The writers of my name

The editors of my thoughts

The publishers of my inspiration

Mi Ma y mi Pa

Juntos,

Together

They not only gave me my life

But give it to me every day

Cada dia

I get lost a lot.

Cada dia,

But there are never problems

Only challenges

Cada dia

I erase my limits

And review my direction

But before I look through the telescope

I look for my Ma

And remember my Pa

Y digo gracias a Dios por mi MaPa

Carlitos J. Fernandez-Torres

January 1, 2011

Ill Regal Immigrant

Stop kissing my hand

Stop passing me the ball

Get me off of this stand,

Stop worrying, I’m not going to fall

You see the color of my skin,

So you triple the price.

I can’t let you win.

I can’t be too nice

I can’t give you money,

Children, please stop starring

This attention is scarring.

Men claim to know

everything about the whites.

Maybe they’re right.

I’ll tell you what.

Hand me that cup of tea

Sell me that lantern oil fairly

I’ll show you some pictures,

Some new music too

And we can go out dancing

Then we will

know,

understand,

and simply stand

One another.

Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

April 14, 2011

Fire on a Canoe

In this very moment,

two different lights are

at my front.

I am facing one,

the other is facing me.

The one I am not facing,

Is a flame.

a fire that dances within

a sphere of a golden silhouette.

It delivers inspiration,

smoothly,

It descends transcendently,

Like a river’s source

from a mountain.

Decorating the tip of the wick

is a glowing red charcoal.

It does not have much time

left. We both burn.

The other

light,

will stay bright

for exactly five hours

and fifty five minutes more.

This light does not

dance.

It does not

inspire.

Instead this fire,

waits.

For me.

For my thoughts to be transferred

inside.

Instead in this light I confide

everything I choose to hide.

This modern typewriter

is the mouth of my

river of contemplations

and revelations.

Here.

The three of us

wait.

Each with a purpose.

Wait!

Tragic or perfect?

Neither,

of

us

have

enough

t

i

m

e

.

Carlos J. Fernandez-Torres

April 19, 2011

I’m coming to take you home

I remember when I first moved the Michigan. I remember lying down on my cousin’s trampoline with my fingers laced behind my head. I looked at the summer sun hiding behind the tree’s leaves and branches, they wear waving back and forth. The summer breeze was warm and humid. I remember asking my two younger cousins, “You know what the difference is between the sun here and the sun in Africa?” They responded in a confused tone, “no?” I answered, “Nothing.”

Another memory I’ve been thinking about was the first rain I witnessed in Michigan. I was so excited, I was beaming with enthusiasm. I couldn’t wait to smell the rain, to smell the dust thrown into the atmosphere by the drops of rain. I was so disappointed. The aroma never really arrived. It was so faint that the experience was stolen from me. I could never really figure out why the scent never arrived.

Until now

This week has been radiant. The last two weeks were split into two parts. The first was what we call IST (In-Service Training), a one week seminar filled with sometimes useful workshops. The second week was all traveling. I visited the northern part of Cameroon. I was so close to my previous home, closer than I have ever been in the last ten years. I got choked up. It is good to be back at post, this week has been very proactive but reminiscing my travels in the Extreme North region of Cameroon also comforts me.

I saw Nym Trees. I inhaled dry air, really dry, so dry that some of my friends got bloody noses. I took a walk through Maroua. Maroua is the capitol region of the Extreme North. I hate to admit it but Maroua is more beautiful than Niamey. Maroua has Nym trees on every single street, providing shade to every single pedestrian. The motos in Maroua are not very comfortable but their old classic looks complement the city’s character in an eclectic way. I got lost in Maroua, both figuratively and literally. On my walk I stopped to chat with some kids collecting the berries from the Nym trees. I asked them why, they told me it was to make cooking oil. Mangos were ripe in the Extreme North. The skin was green but their fibrous insides were bright orange. They were naturally divinely delicious. I was reminded of Niger. The city of my adolescence, the city where I got to know the sun so well.

In Maroua, I lied down on a hammock type seat and stared at the Nym trees waving at me for hours. A part of me wanted to head to the bus stop and see the rest of the region but the other firmly decided to take in the Nym trees.

The reason you can smell the rain here in Africa better is because there are less paved roads. There is just so much sand and dirt everywhere that when the raindrops hit the ground they throw the wet dust into the air. The aroma comforted me as a child, it meant that the dry season was over and life was coming back. Michigan is filled with grass and paved roads. It is actually difficult sometimes to find dirt patches in Michigan. Here it is not so.

I love the sun here too, but it is no different than Michigan’s sun. I thought the exact same thing when I was on my cousin’s trampoline. I love the sun everywhere. But I also love the clouds. I love it when there are enough clouds that they pour rain and life onto the ground. I absolutely love it when it rains here.

…

I’m confused. Most days I’m sure this will probably be the last time I live in Africa. I enjoyed Asia so much. I would love to work there some day. Bangladesh lassoed me to that region so much that I’m planning on visiting Pakistan after my service here. However, there are days. There are days like the one during my voyage to the Extreme North where I had a sorcerer tell me how many kids I’m going to have. He added that I’ll be traveling throughout Africa with them some day. This old man spit on a crab, placed it in a pot filled with water, sand and dried up clay. Pulled it out, recited some sort of prayer, spit on it again and told me how many children I will have. To be honest, I like the thought of taking my future family throughout Africa someday. It’s a beautiful contemplation.

I guess I still have time under this galaxy’s sun to figure out just what and where the hell I’m going to be for the rest of my life.

It’s strange, I reminisced a lot of Africa while I lived in Michigan but I don’t reminisce that much of Michigan while I’m here (except for going to the cinema of course). Writing this entry did make me think of two other special things I love about Michigan. The first is definitely the scent of a freshly mowed lawn. The other one was the first time I saw snow. I was sitting in Mr. Savage’s American Government class and I saw the flakes dance their way down to the grass. I remember dropping a few of my own rain drops on my textbook that day; the snow was simply that stunning.

Jesus, now more memories are coming. I better stop before I get even more confused. Like I said, I have the rest of these two years to figure this shit out.

The crab said three by the way.

April 17, 2011

Carlos J. Fernandez-Torres

If it breaks your heart, it won't take your soul

 Okay, so for those who remember I said earlier in this series of blog entries that it would be unique. I also said earlier that my sort of post-mate and I assigned each other monthly writing assignments. Well I've decided that I'm going to post my first writing assignment on this blog. Just a warning, I have not written something like this in a long time so I decided not to be too deep. Actually its not deep at all, I kind of used the opportunity to just practice my writing and get warmed up. So this is the result, please excuse the profanity but it is something I use. Enjoy!

Life Granted

By Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres

“Actually, I’m going to go ahead and add some of this Wrigley’s gum too,” said Grant, impulsively. He was shopping for an ankle brace, some cowboy killers, a lighter and now some gum. Grant went for a jog earlier and mildly sprained his ankle.

“That’s how they get your money you know, I’ve been working here for two years and I’m convinced this is where Walgreen’s gets most of their profits,” remarked the twenty-something cashier.

The cashier was cute, was this her trying to start a conversation? Grant wasn’t sure but even if she was, there was no way he was going to try and find out. His self-esteem level was hovering around 50% that day, no different than any other recent day of his life.

This cashier’s name was Lynn. He could tell by her name tag. She had massive green eyes, shiny red hair and sharp cheek bones. Her Tina Fey glasses complemented her freckles, she seemed bored. She was also hiding a book by the register, he couldn’t really make out the title but he knew it must have been interesting and most likely hip. It was definitely not a Twilight book, thank God, Grant thought.

“Yeah, I think I’ve read that somewhere,” finally replied Grant. He was certainly not satisfied with the response. He instantly thought of five cooler things he could have said, but then he thought he would have regretted saying those too. Grant suddenly couldn’t wait to leave the store.

There was an awkward silence as she was handing him back his credit card.

“So, what happened to your ankle?” asked Lynn engagingly.

“Oh, I twisted it a little during my run through River Walk Park today,” Grant replied.

“Sorry to hear that, wait, you’re a smoker and a runner?” she continued her questions as she put everything in a plastic bag.

There was no one else in the store.

I can’t believe she’s talking to me, what the fuck do I say, Grant thought.

“You know how some people live dangerously? Well I live ironically,” Again Grant instantly regretted his response. In fact he couldn’t believe he just said that.

Lynn responded with a short laugh then breathed out, “Aren’t you just living dangerously though?”

“I guess, well thanks and see you later,” replied Grant curtly. Wait, did I really just end the conversation? He began to limp towards the exit. Damn it! Really, see you later? Yeah, like that will happen.

Grant’s thoughts guided him to his usual bar, his favorite, The Broken Trombone.

He limped to the bar, there were several empty stools. Two guys were playing pool with a flickering florescent light lighting their game. A couple was sitting together in the corner, it looked like they were fighting. The bar was not very lively. The bartender was drying a beer glass with a shredded towel.

“How’s it going, Joe?” greeted Grant.

“How the hell do you think its going?” impatiently replied the bartender.

“Jesus, what happened?”

“This bar is always empty, and when I do get people in here they’re all fucking assholes.”

Grant immediately knew Joe was kidding and smiled.

Joe’s smirk proved his dark humored greeting, “What the hell happened to your foot?”

“You call me a ‘fucking asshole’ and now you want to know what happened to my foot?” playfully retorted Grant.

“You tripped over the tampon that fell out of your vagina huh?”

Grant laughed, “Just give me a beer will you!” Joe turned around to start both Grant’s tab and tap.

Grant had his hands laced to each other gripping the back of his neck. Staring at the ceiling he was contemplating the different things he should have said to the Walgreen’s cashier. Joe started walking towards Grant with his beer. Grant noticed very curiously how Joe’s eyes got extremely wide as his eyes stared towards the entrance. He saw fear on Joe’s face but immediately thought it was another one of his pranks. It wasn’t until Joe dropped his beer and instantly threw his hands in the air that Grant thought something was seriously wrong. He instinctively looked at the reflection of the mirror behind the bar to see what Joe was staring so intensely at.

He vaguely saw a man wearing a ski mask holding what he thought was a sawed off shotgun walking towards Joe. As Grant turned around to see if that was really what he was looking at, the man with the sawed off shotgun threateningly shouted, “Everybody this is a stickup! If you try anything stupid I will shoot you in the face and steal whatever you have anyways! The faster you slide your wallets and cellphones to me the faster this will all be over!”

Freaked out, everyone immediately followed his instructions.

Surprisingly, Grant’s first thought was the fact that he heard a sense of fear in the thief’s voice. At first this comforted him, he thought, “well this guy surely won’t kill anyone because this might be the first time he’s tried something like this.” He asked himself, “How crazy could an amateur be?” Then he realized that he would rather be in this same situation with a thief with experience. Experienced thieves wouldn’t accidentally shoot anybody in the head.

The bar was as silent as a church. The thief was pointing the sawed off shot gun to Joe’s face.

“Give me all the fucking money in the register, NOW!” shouted the thief.

Without hesitation Joe opened the register and started gathering up all the bills. The thief turned around to check if any of the other people at the bar were trying anything brave. He immediately caught the man from the couple doing something in his pocket. The woman was crying hysterically with her hands up.

Right away the thief shot his shotgun towards the floor. All three women in the bar screamed. Some of the men looked around to make sure no one was hurt.

“You think I’m fucking around here? Get your hands out of your pocket, RIGHT NOW!” Threatened the thief with the shotgun pointing to the man’s face.

The man immediately followed his instructions. The thief demanded that the woman take the cellphone out of her boyfriend’s pocket and drop it on the floor. Grant decided that exact instant that he would not try anything stupid.

The thief demanded, “Okay everyone, I’m about to get money out of the safe from the back room. All of you line up on this wall right here. I’m going to watch the bartender get my money from the back room while I also make sure none of you try doing what this asshole just tried doing!” He angrily pointed to the man from the couple with his shotgun.

Grant, the three women and the other three guys that were once drinking all stood up to follow the thief’s instructions. Joe then cleared his throat to get the thief’s attention and pointed to a sign that said, “Only the owner of the bar has the keys to the safe.” which was hung up by the office door.

The thief took the handle of the shotgun and smashed Joe’s face with it. Joe hit the floor. The handle had hit his cheekbone and blood began to gush out onto the floor. The thief then scoffed with a rage, “We all know those signs are bullshit. Do you take me for a fool? Get up and get me my fucking money!” Grant slowly started to limp towards the wall the thief pointed to, the others carefully followed.

Grant now realized that this man was an experienced robber. His next thought was, “If I don’t do anything, I won’t get shot. But what if this guy actually accidentally falls down and I get killed because this idiot trips over some spilled beer?”

Grant then realized that this could be the day that he dies. He began to pray, “Please God, if this asshole does kill me, please let it be quick.” Then he realized that he might never see his family ever again. He thought about his mother crying after she heard the news of her son’s death. He began to sob. All of a sudden it wasn’t the cops he wanted to call but his parents. He thought of his older brother, his brother had just recently asked for Grant’s advice on how to propose to his girlfriend. Grant started praying, “Please God, let me go to my brother’s wedding… alive”

The thief was holding the bar’s office door open and pointing his sawed off shotgun to Joe who was kneeling down in front of the safe. The thief continuously turned his head from the office to the bar.

Grant wanted to wipe his tears but he couldn’t because his hands were held up. He didn’t want to move them with the fear that he would either get shot or smacked in the face like Joe. Grant looked at the hole on the floor caused by the gun blast. He stared at it and began to think of his ex-girlfriend, he thought, “Why the hell am I thinking about her, she treated me like shit. I’m not wasting what could be the last moments of my life thinking of that bitch.”

Instead he began to reflect on how much he regretted not saying anything to that cute Walgreen’s cashier, Lynn. He wanted to go back and return his cigarettes.

Joe finally finished handing all the money to the thief from the safe. The thief zipped up his backpack and curiously dialed a number on his phone and hung up right away. Everyone, including the thief, were thinking the same thing, “this is almost over.”

There was a loud screech outside the bar. Grant immediately realized that the thief called his getaway driver. The thief walked cautiously towards the door, turned around to the people leaning scared on the wall. He pointed his shotgun to them and said, “Don’t follow me,” then walked backwards out of the door.

Joe was lying on the floor completely shocked from what had just happened, somehow he managed to squeeze out a joke, “See Grant, I told ya all the guys that come in here are assholes.”

Grant smiled, he wanted to help him but his ankle ached way too much, instead the two guys who were playing pool went to help him out. Grant slid down the wall to sit down; he didn’t have to wipe his tears because they had dried. He closed his eyes and thanked God he was alive.

The bar was still as silent as a church. Only Joe and the two pool players were talking. Joe asked them to call the cops, one of the others responded, “How? That fucker took all of our cellphones.” Joe pointed his bloody hands to the office phone.

Grant was barely paying attention, he wanted to leave. The guy on the phone hung up and informed everyone, “No one can leave, the cops are coming and they want us to stay for questioning.”

“Perfect,” responded Grant sarcastically. At this point all he wanted to do was return his cigarettes. He now knew exactly what he wanted to tell the cute cashier.

Joe finally got up, he picked up the phone and dialed the bar owner’s number. Grant wanted so badly to smoke one of the cigarettes from the pack he just bought but resisted. He looked at the couple from before, the young woman whispered to her boyfriend, “I’m breaking up with you, where do you get off putting my life in danger like that!” Her voice rapidly got louder. “Seriously? Seriously? What were you thinking? Did you think you were being brave???” She shouted.

The man, now her exboyfriend, responded, “I was trying to protect you!”

She headed towards the door, “I’m not staying, tell the police that you came in alone and you sure as hell will leave alone!” She stormed out.

Joe got off the phone and informed everyone, “I just got off the phone with the owner and he is offering anyone who wants to stay free drinks for the rest of the night.”

Grant asked, “This man just got robbed and is now offering us free drinks?”

“The guy is loaded and he has really good insurance, he’s confident they’ll cover the losses,” answered Joe.

“Are you willing to stay and serve us?” asked the now single guy.

“Psh, I know one thing for sure kid, we could all use a fuck’n drink right now, especially you,” replied Joe half jokingly.

Two cops finally walked into the bar. The uniformed men immediately noticed the hole in the floor. The older one took out his notebook and pen and said, “Okay, we’re going to have to talk to all of you individually.”

The next few minutes felt like hours. After Joe offered everyone free drinks Grant had slightly changed his plans. He wanted to drink but he also wanted to go see the cashier. He was hoping that the cops would finish before midnight. Grant predicted that midnight was probably when Lynn’s shift ended.

Grant assumed that the cops had to talk to everyone individually to make sure that it wasn’t an inside job. When they finally finished, the older cop handed a paper to Joe and said, “You’ll be hearing from us in two to five days. Leave this form for the owner.” They thanked everyone for their patience and casually walked out.

Joe who was now holding an ice pack on his cheek proceeded to ask everyone, “So you guys stay’n or what?”

Everyone looked at each other. It was pretty clear that they all wanted to stay. The taller of the two pool players said, “Let’s get drunk!” Everyone laughed and agreed.

Grant told Joe, “Joe, there’s something I’ve got to do. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure kid, yull have a cold one wait’n for ya,” replied Joe.

Grant limped out of the bar and headed straight towards Walgreen’s. The closer he got the less nervous he got. His ankle barely even hurt anymore. For some reason his confidence was flying. When he got to the pharmacy he saw Lynn walking towards her car. Lynn noticed Grant right away. It was a well lit parking lot.

“Came back for more cigarettes Sparky?” wittingly asked Lynn.

Grant expressed a crooked smile.

“Actually, I came here to return them,” He replied.

“Oh yeah? What happened to living dangerously?”

Grant was hoping she would say that, “Oh I lived dangerously tonight all right.”

She looked at him curious and intrigued, “How so?”

“Well, you know the bar ‘The Broken Trombone’?”

“You mean that joke of a bar a few blocks away from here?” she answered with a question.

He smiled again. “That’s the one.”

“What about it?” she asked.

“Well it was just robbed and I was in there when it happened.” He answered.

“Get out of here, seriously? What are you doing here after an event like that?” Lynn asked concerned.

“Well I had three revelations while I had that gun pointed to my head tonight.”

Lynn was beginning to think that this was an elaborate lie. Grant noticed this by her expression.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” asked Lynn.

“There’s a big hole in the floor from a gun shot, I’ll show it to you.” He offered.

Lynn had one eyebrow higher than the other. She was definitely intrigued and could tell that Grant was an honest guy. Grant could tell she was debating whether or not she would go with him.

“What were your three revelations?” interrogated Lynn.

“Well first let me tell you that I’m Grant, and the first revelation was that I should tell my family I love them more often, the second was that I’m glad my exgirlfriend broke up with me and the last was that I should have asked you out earlier tonight.”

Flattered, Lynn smiled as she looked at Grant.

“Okay then, show me this hole in the floor.”

End

So here’s your holiday

Life is not always inspiring here. There are very difficult days, sometimes these days come in groups of days. I’m hoping they don’t come in bundles of weeks. They are challenging, require constant supply of patience and an escape when your endurance finally breaks. There are little and big straws that cause the camel’s back to break. If you are interested in joining the Peace Corps, please and I mean PLEASE mentally prepare yourself for these inevitable tests.

I’ve gotten used to the 5am prayer calls coming from the Mosque about twenty feet away from my house. What I still haven’t gotten used to is the endless supply of babies crying. There are two babies, six toddlers, eight kids within my concession. At least one of them is always crying. This does not include the babies in the neighboring concessions. I used to be sympathetic to people who cry, now I am apathetic. I defend my indifference because I’ve discovered that anger does not help. But anger does pay a visit every now and then.

I made the mistake of setting the precedent that the children are always welcome, BIG mistake. Sometimes there are more than fifteen kids in my living room, some days I don’t know who some of them are. Some of them have gotten used to coming in and playing with the blocks without even asking. I kick them out every time they do. Kids are only good at two things, crying and not listening. I have to constantly break fights, settle disputes and other time wasting actions that result in the children not learning a damn thing because they do it again after a few minutes. They leave my living room a mess, my couches disheveled and they have a knack for leaving random things in my house. I decided a few days ago that it was time for some reforms, they were simply combusting way too many of the remaining synapses that they have left me.

One of the most irritating things is that the children go through my garbage. I remember opening a can of tuna and a few days later one of the kids was casually holding the empty can as he walked through the concession. This is one of the reasons I want to start some sort of waste management program in my village. There is simply no privacy, at all. When I do shut my door, they love to knock. Knock and knock and knock and knock until I finally tell them what they should already know. If I leave the door closed for more than four hours the women in my concession ask me if something is wrong. There are many people who like to come to my concession because we have a faucet connected to our well. When kids come to get water they like to look through my windows and opened door to see what I’m doing, as if I was some monkey sniffing my finger at a zoo. It’s pretty great.

One of the most fun things about living here is not knowing the local language. I know when they are talking about me because they use the word ‘nassarra’ when they speak near me. Nassarra means white person. I used to think Americans were ignorant, nope, now I think they’re tied with Africans. Anyone who is not black, is white. This never gets old for the Asians, Latinos and every other none white Peace Corps Volunteer serving.

Trust me when I say the list can continue for another few pages, I will spare you. Instead I will tell you of the holidays I have to take in order to feel better.

My six K run does wonders. Some exercise after the run just hits the spot, all the spots. I was reminded today why I enjoyed Track and Field during high school. Even though I never competed in any of the events, I loved the training. I loved the running. I remember hating it in the United States when I first moved, running really helped me through the first two years. I’m discovering that it is doing the same here.

Movie Marathon days are the fire extinguisher to my bad work days. Whenever some person blows off one of our meetings or when a meeting goes unsuccessfully I go home and watch movies on my computer. Thank God people in my stage hooked me up with more than 500 gigs worth of movies and shows. Whenever I watch a good film, it inspires me to write something. Watching movies is one of my favorite things in the world to do, it’s better than Novocain.

Writing. Writing has been so cathartic. Writing releases my negative energy from my finger tips. Even now, it feels like I’m taking a drink of water after a long run. I’m regaining my strength and reflecting at the same time. What better use of time could there possibly be? I spend more time writing than I do reading. Each letter is like a friend who listens to me vent or responds with good advice. Every period I type is a deep breath, a count to ten that brings me back to my equilibrium.

There are of course others, hanging out with friends, listening to music, cooking, drinking, playing the guitar, reading, playing computer games or my Gameboy. But none of them top the three I wrote about. Writing, watching films and exercising are the greatest vacations. These three things don’t just get me through the challenging days but they help me learn from them. They help me grow, they ultimately strengthen my stamina.

I hope this explains some of the downs and back to the middles of living as a PCV.