Letter 18 February 7, 2003

Dear Mom and Dad,

I find myself listening to classical music more and more. I channel surf the World Space, but when I am reading or cooking (mostly reading -- cooking is often jazz, or oldies, or that alt-country program on Thursday nights) I come back to "Maestro", the classical station. Its slogan is "classical music for real people." I wonder what sort of classical music unreal people listen to. Opera? Heaving chorales? Lieder? Therre is no singing on Maestro, so that must be it -- classical music for crazy fakers. I've just awoken out of a book and remembered I am in Africa. It was the book and the music together I think, that made my surroundings become a little out of focus. My cornmeal-white bread is rising a second time, and the breeze is stirring the vaguely yeasty smell through the house. Everything is very normal. Classical music is very normal. Life is like this. Symphonies and concertos were the soundtrack of my childhood so of course reading and listening while engaged in culinary activity will make me feel at home. The comfort of the familiar -- the familiar of my old home, plus the familiar of this, my now-home. In our PCV newsletter Michelle, who we went out to Vietnamese with in LBV, wrote that she has trouble writing home because nothing exciting happens any more. And that this, of course, is because bush meat bleeding on your bag and goats barging into your yard are no longer wierd. She was on the phone with her sister who asked what sort of things are normal now that weren't before -- she thought for a couple of minutes, then said "Well, when my girlfriends are all sitting around and they get hot, they just take their shirts off." Her sister, and aunt in particular, wondered if she'd ever be the same. Of course. We're always the same -- at least, that's how I see it, and my other stagemates are the same too. But I think we will be different to those we left behind. We do not take adversity lying down, for example. We are rude to men who bother us. We solve our own problems without relying on others, because we know we do not need to research the issue from all angles in order to find the best solution. We can sit for hours, unmoving, uncomplaining, especially in crowded buses. We have spooky, McGyver-like fix-it skills.

When I came back from Mali people liked the change they saw so I'm banking on the same thing happening again. How tragic to go into Peace Corps and come out worse! After all, it's why we join up -- surefire self-improvement. Patience, flexibility, confidence, and a two-year tropical vacation -- I think they'd get more recruits if they ditched the Toughest Job You'll Ever Love slogan and told everyone the truth.

The book I just finished, whose effect has more or less worn off, was Cause Celeb (Fielding -- Bridget Jones Diary). Woman has nasty relationship with evil famous person, escapes to Africa to run a refugee camp and become strong, then organizes old celeb friends to help when locusts cause huge famine. Not half bad. Several salient points. Characters very well done and realistic -- sounded like she'd been there, or at least done really good research. The African bureaucrat, wasting your time because everyone has too much of it, here, and so it is not valuable -- yes. All kinds of annoying rich people, clueless and good hearted -- slightly 'off' aid workers. Light, but not fluffy.

Yesterday I finished Stones from the River, which Grandma sent me. German dwarf girl grows up between the wars. Her unique position as an outsider allows her to become the town's secret-holder -- she's not normal, and therefore trustworthy. I liked it. But I noticed, as I read, that all the people who were on the margins of society there -- her, the crazy people, the disabled (before WWII) -- are normal people here. We have a dwarf guy here, he's chef de classe in one of the premiere's (11th grade). All the people with polio -- in chairs or with crutches, or kids with withered legs or club feet -- their difference is not important. Even the fous here are more or less accepted. Some more than others -- young fous are looked after by everyone, given money, odd jobs, joked with, consoled. The older ones are less friendly but no less part of the community. The little girl with the short leg, whose big toe wraps around her crutch like a thumb now, chases and plays tag and beats her brothers up. No one shuns the polio kids at school -- every class has two or three. It's like having red hair -- something different, but not remarkable. Appearance, and physical integrity, are not highly valued attributes. It really is the sort of person you are, not whether you're fat or skinny, short or tall, one legged or short-armed. Physical characteristics have no values attached to them.

The running has been going well -- I took Mike's bike the other day to measure my route (he has an odometer). My short run is 40 minutes, 6 km, and the longer one is 8 km -- 5 miles! Which I do in just over 50 minutes. I might figure out a way to do 10 k but not right away. I try to go every morning if it's not raining, but man is it a struggle to get out of bed. I always feel better once I'm going, though -- except it is so boring. Clomp clomp clomp clomp. I miss hockey.

The puppies are inside because it is raining, and yesterday in the storm they got so pathetically wet on the terrace that I was willing to risk pee and poop in the house. They are bobbling around and have started playing, barking, and growling -- last week they sounded like squeaky toys but this week it's more like ducks. There are 2 girls -- Stella and Chloe, and five boys -- Primo, Bruce, Squeaky, Tawny (terrible name; it will change), and Runt. Ma Yvonne will take Primo, he's really yappy, already.

The new oven is fabulous -- I've made cinnamon rolls and cookies, brownies, banana bread -- I made swedish pancakes in Julie's marmite oven and will try again here soon. I have some blueberry jam that sort of looks like lingonberries and tastes ok. Mike and I made enchiladas last week with some goofy raspberry salsa that Amanda brought back from home. Last night I had Mike over for lentil soup from Joy of Cooking, with his potato bread. We don't eat with Erick. If he wants to eat we go to grillade. But I love Mike and we get along great -- see each other a couple times a week, cook something or plot elaborate ways to scare the new volunteers at IST. I got very lucky with my postmate -- he's fun and wierd and the opposite of creepy, and I will miss him when we go home. I probably won't see him unless we live in the same town, because it would be wierd to spend more than half a day just with him. But in a reunion, or going out for dinner -- that'd be great. I don't know where any of us will be -- a lot of people are talking DC, or East Coast. Claire wants me to come to Madison, Brandon to New York, Jeff to DC -- I don't know. I just want to go home for awhile, then hit the cottage, and find a job (ok; I'm thinking DC. Or Boston. BU has a good looking MPH program).

Seven months left. As Jeff says, though, you only really count until COS conference, since after that it's just a mad dash till September -- so, June. 3-1/2 months. I don't know if I want to travel after COS -- I'll go to Bamako if the Dantes are still there, but I really, at this point, have no desire to kick around Africa very long. The Bongo missionaries are not going to Jordan after all, and I doubt Kate from Carleton will be in Mongolia at that point -- and I don't like traveling where I don't know anybody. Julie is talking S. Africa but ... I've done TZ, the parks, the ocean -- the only thing S.A. has is wineries and a European feel -- but I can just go home and have unlimited everything. We'll see -- I may yet change my mind.

At our Club meeting last night I was once again impressed with their energy -- I'd brought up Condom Day for Valentine's Day -- use Mike's old shower curtain as a costume and do a little march -- but had sort of let the idea go. But they jumped on it and got organized immediately. The publicity guy will make a banner; the external relations team will talk to the Mayor so we can assemble at the Carrefour. Put a little wind back in my sails, I can tell you.

Right - that's the news from Lac Bleu. Take care and have fun and work hard and eat well. I love you.

Hannah