Reasons to avoid Marriage

So I am not completely aware of the scientific criteria to classify a country as "tropical". I believe that is lays somewhere in the 15-35 degrees on either side of the equator. Either way, Zambia, at around 17 degrees to the south either qualifies or is close enough to not make a significant difference.

I mention Zambia’s position on the globe to bring into context my quite untropical contemplations this morning as I deliberated whether or not the word “frostbite” would be in the medical dictionary for any health institution in this “tropical” country. I was almost certain that my fingers were going to drop off at any point in time. I can already hear you New Englanders laughing at me. No, it wasn’t actually that cold. It was probably about 45 degrees this morning. But when you spent a month and a half in 90 degree bright sunshiney days, 45 degrees is pretty damn cold, not to mention the wind coursing over my hands as I made the ride to Masansa to find transport.

I was heading down a slightly steeper than gentle down slope, rapidly inventing and as rapidly rejecting several ideas for ensure that all of my fingers would be functional upon my arrival to Mkuhsi. I was coasting in a relaxed position on my bike, comfortably resting on the left pedal at the most extreme point of its downward motion when, quite unexpectedly, the aforementioned pedal stopped. Just stopped. Well, to be accurate, stopped at the point of contact with a stone just barely sticking out of the path. The next to links on this particular chain of events would be none other than the entire bike stopped in accordance to the wishes of the pedal and my body continuing in its motion in accordance to the law of inertia. Quite luckily, my body continued its motion in a slightly upward direction, and therefore the rapidly approaching – or, I suppose, the patiently waiting – junction of the handle bars to the rest of my bike did NOT come into swift and painful contact with the junction of my legs to the rest of my body. However, my thighs were soon introduced to my handlebars, thus beginning the summersault motion with which I continued over the bars onto the less than forgiving ground and down the hill a few meters before skidding to a quite undignified halt. I stood up, my hands feeling much less cold with the introduction of the pain in my left knee, and walked back to my bike. I thought about kicking the offending stone, but deciding that would not help in matters at all, I clambered back up on my bike and – gingerly at first – rode on through the dawn chill to manansa, where I climbed into the back of a truck with 23 other people and made the trip to mkushi.

OK. Now on to the subject of this post. Daisy, my best friend and the love of my life in the village, is in heat. She is driving me insane. I could handle all of the boy dogs coming at all hours of the night. I could handle the blood that she is spreading around my yard, kitchen, and occasionally my pants. But she is an emotional wreck. She has no idea what’s happening to her right now and I don’t think she has quite figured out exactly how to handle it. Sometimes she runs away from me when I try to pet her, sometimes she even growls, a feat of which I knew not that she was capable, and sometimes she runs towards me when I am sitting in my insaka reading a book and , crying and whining, insists on climbing up into my lap and resting there for an hour or so. She was crazy before, but geez louise!

In any case, I am having trouble with my dog in zambia whom I can lock out of the house and yell at when she gets too annoying. I don’t know if I will be able to manage if I ever have a wife and start a family. Good lord.

Other than Daisy. Life is splendid. I am starting to do education-volunteer-type-things (surprise surprise) and it makes me feel good about myself. I am learning how to get around my area quite well, and I am amazed at the amount of little things I am able to do. I still worry about the large goals of my project and whether or not I will make any progress towards meeting them, but as I tour the various government and community schools around me I have been able to help in numerous little ways like taking a letter here, or providing advice on submitting a budget there. There is really just very little communication in the bush, and often times schools are unaware of things that are going on (classes, workshops, meetings, district deadlines) that they can or should attend and that very may well benefit. But none the less I always feel happy when I am able to help. I feel like I am doing something other than just sitting and spending two years reading… although wow! I am getting a lot of great reading done. I am certainly enjoying it. I wonder if I will keep it up when I am finished, or if I will just go back to sportscenter.

My little brother twisted (and maybe broke) his ankle playing football and had to go to Lusaka with my Ba Mayo. I worry about him, but I am much more selfish in my desires for them to return quickly. Life is a little less cheerful without ba mayo around. She is always laughing and helping me with whatever I need. She also is a big help in my bemba, and it is already suffering with her gone. And dinner is no where near as good without her around, both for her company and the fact that the boys just are quite as good at preparing nshima as she is… come back ba mayo, come back!!!

So I am trying to find this book “The White Farmers Bemba English Dictionary” A fellow volunteer has it and it is glorious. I found a copy online, but when I ordered it, it turns out that it was mistakenly listed. So if any of you happen to see a copy around, tell me!!! Or just send it (wink wink)

Ok. It is about time for me to go eat lunch and accomplish a few other things. I am heading back home today and so I don’t really have all that much time here.

I love you all… be well.