Article superlative noun time-marker

I have a feeling this post is going to be rather disjointed. I listened to a pod-cast not long ago by an RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer) who, aged 50 or something, said she didn’t really begin to feel like she could process her Peace Corps experience for at least five years after finishing. … I can totally see that. So, meanwhile, I’ll offer the disjointed glimpses of thoughts and experiences I have, because, well, my mom keeps asking me to blog.  ( :-P)

I’ve been in Dakar for two weeks. Well, by the time I leave tomorrow, it’ll be one week, six days and about 16 hours. In the past 15 days I’ve been on Ciprofloxin, Zithromax, Ibuprofen, Acetaminophen, Paracetamol, Tramodol, and whatever they inject as a local anaesthetic for dental procedures. But, oh man, after my root canal yesterday, I am pain free and off all medicines!! Yay!!!! I cannot tell you how thrilled I was when they told me the root canal had been scheduled and how expectantly I was counting down the minutes 'til I got those injections…

The evening before the crazy (likely antibiotic and mold interaction induced) night that brought me here, I had one of the most beautiful experiences of my time here. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve been teaching at a center for Talibé in Saint-Louis once a week for a bit now. I can get a car between my road town and Saint-Louis for a dollar, but from there to my village is a three kilometer walk down a sand path. So, that Thursday, after finishing my afternoon class I got a car back to my road town. Just before the car pulled over, I heard a loud clap of what sounded like, but surely couldn’t be, thunder. I’d been dreaming of rain, but hadn’t expected it right then. I turned around and, sure enough, there rushing toward me in the great expanse of Sahelian sky was a solid wall of grey, encircled by a tubular halo of a cloud. I tested the wind (ya know, licked my finger), and it was actually pulling into the storm, which despite this fact was clearly advancing toward me. Three kilometers 'til a dry home, an hour 'til sunset, not a charette in site, I did what any good PC volunteer would do: I put my laptop in a plastic grocery sack and booked it.

The moment right before the storm hit I was less than half way back, and the sun was just , I dunno, five degrees above the horizon. The wind suddenly changed direction, blowing furiously away from the rain, the sun was cutting into the storm across the landscape, bathing everything in a golden red, accenting the smallest of ridges in the sand in the most beautiful contrast, mirroring that of the sky (gold-red on the west, dark grey in the east). Making the green of the silan leaves (wiry desert bush things) somehow more alive against the abysmal backdrop. And then the moment passed. All I could see was the torrential rain. I was soaked in seconds. It was strangely less dark inside the wall than it looked from a distance. And again, what could I do? Just keep walking. Enjoy the once in a life time experience of walking home through the first storm of rainy season. … Words fail, but it was a beauty I’ve not previously had the chance to experience so closely, accompanied by the energy of a nation’s hopes and expectations for a major cash crop season and that of my own desire for some cooling rain. Once in a lifetime.

So, then **** got weird. And after one of the worst nights of my life, I called the PC doctor and packed a bag to get to Dakar. Within a few days my stomach had healed and my stress levels dropped, enough so that I paid a little more attention to the growing pain in one of my teeth. Four appointments later, the responsible nerve has been slain, leaving me simply exhausted from the constant pain and sleepless nights. I’ll be back in Dakar in 11 days to get the tooth filled and possibly capped. But in the meantime, I’m off to Saint Louis first thing in the morning.

I missed last week of English class, so am hoping to teach tomorrow and Friday before hurrying back to village (I brought my raincoat this time). Still, it’s a really weird feeling being gone this long so unexpectedly. And to have such a horrible memory of that last night in village… Funny how the past has no reality in the present, but it can leave a tangible mark on the body-mind. I literally get some flushes of body anxiety when I think about that last night. Let’s look at this rationally: I’ve lived in Khatete for over a year, almost all of it peaceful. I had one night of extreme body-mind stress, and a part of me actually just wants to never go back. But most of me really does. This afternoon I opened my logic-puzzles book to a page Djibi scribbled all over, and the memory of that sweet little trouble maker was a strong motivator. So, clearly I am going back. And I know that the stress memory will fade, be replaced by new sweet and stressful experiences (such is life.)

There are various aphorisms people use to express the bi-polarity of the Peace Corps experience. It is, after all, “the toughest job you’ll ever love.” A friend of mine says your good days in Peace Corps are like mountain-top amazing, but your bad days in Peace Corps are like lose your faith in humanity devastating. The bottom line is, this experience is just like normal life, full of highs and lows, but cranked by the fact of your near constant isolation and vulnerability. Now, I have to be clear. As you know I have valuable beautiful friendships with people in my village, BUT none of them will ever truly be able to understand the experience I’m having. The vulnerability is an interesting experience… I guess it comes from the inability to get to a doctor quickly, the inability to clearly express needs in crisis situations, the distance from life-long trusted sources of assistance, and the lack of generally “unnecessary” but inevitably comforting infrastructure (AC, refrigeration, running water, reliable electricity and phone service, grocery stores, pharmacies).

So, as a final note, I’d just like to express my gratitude to all the people in American who selflessly support us PCVs. We know that, just like our community members, most of you can’t really understand a lot of what we go through, but you listen patiently anyway. We know that we can be really self-obsessed and think what we’re going through is the hardest thing possible in the world, and that we are therefore the most awesomely hard-core amazing people ever, and you listen patiently anyway. And we know we can be so melodramatic, and weak, and needy (most of us won’t generally admit it, cause this is the hardest thing in the world, right), and you listen patiently anyway. And we talk about poop too much and too casually… Well, I just want to say how incredibly much we all need you. For me, it’s my mom and dad who are always there, always willing to listen, and always supportive. You guys, I think, probably have some idea how much I appreciate you in general, but here's one more specific SUPER THANK YOU!!!! I'm pretty sure you're the best parents ever in the history of the world. Despite my tendency toward susperlatives. Anyone else who actually reads this blog, anyone who’s ever sent me a package, anyone who listened to my stories while I was in America, anyone who has contributed to the girls camp grant, anyone who helped me get into and get ready for this mission, anyone who prays for me or holds me in the stillness, THANK YOU!!!!!!