Chance encounters

When I woke up this morning, I didn't think that I would be discussing Taylor Park, Ridgeland Commons or Madison St, some of the places in my hometown. But then, it's pretty difficult to know what to expect here.

I was at the bus station in Iringa, waiting for a bus back to Arusha when I saw some other foreigners at the station. I usually don't engage with other foreigners unless they approach me first. It's mostly a fear that I will find out that they are tourists and that we likely have nothing in common. But this time, I decided to walk up and greet the three of them (two guys, one girl). I learned that one of them was a Peace Corps education volunteer in southern Tanzania and that the other two were heading north. Inevitably, the conversation took a turn towards where we came from (the two guys were Americans and the girl was Austrian). I said that I come from Chicago (close enough, at any rate). One of the guys turned to me and asked which high school (clearly a sign of someone also from the Chicagoland area) and I told him OPRF. His jaw dropped and he told me that he went to Fenwick (the other high school in my hometown). Turns out he lives four blocks away from me and was one year ahead of me in school, although I don't think our paths ever crossed back home. We bonded a lot, but when the bus arrived, we found ourselves seated pretty far apart, so we didn't have a chance to talk much more.

Pretty weird, huh?

The downside of Iringa

Hopefully you gleaned from the last post that my work related tasks in Iringa went pretty well.

I want to pass a word of caution to any future travelers to Iringa. When you arrive there, the first guest house you'll see when you leave the bus station is called the Annex Guest House. I would not recommend the place to anyone.

Now, sketchy guest houses are definitely par for the course when traveling to a new place, but in three nights staying there, we stayed in three different rooms (including the second day where we were kicked out of our room at 7:30 AM). The rooms were not terribly comfortable, so we didn't sleep very well (actually, our third room wasn't so bad). And on the third night, there was some kind of electrical problem and Jackie and I both got some nasty shocks. Really nasty.

A really cool project

Jackie and I didn't have a very solid plan for what we would get done in Iringa. Our first day, we figured we would scout around in town and see if we saw anything promising. We explored the market and looked at the types of shops in town (we were excited when we saw some bicycle shops and agro-dealers), but we didn't see anyone immediately obvious with whom we could partner.

We both decided that we could use some lunch and maybe our luck would improve in the afternoon. The first place we went to didn't have much selection (and Jackie and I were both looking for something a little less fried than most of what we'd had for the rest of the trip), so we decided to keep looking. We saw a nice little cafe and decided to see if the prices were reasonable. The food looked pretty good and the prices passable, so we decided to go for it. The first thing we saw was that the entire cafe staff was deaf (except for a hostess). We were pretty impressed and looked over the little Tanzania Sign Language guide on our table (apparently it's a bit different from American Sign Language or Kenyan Sign Language).

As we were finishing up (it was delcious), a British man came up to us, introduced himself as the owner (Andy), and asked us if we would vote for them in an online campaign they were having. We agreed and he asked us a little bit about GCS (I was wearing my GCS T-shirt, which always helps start the conversation), so we explained a bit about the company to him. He seemed pretty impressed and invited us to come see the workshop after visiting the cyber-cafe in the restaurant to vote. We went in and voted (all the machines in the cyber run Linux; it was the only cyber-cafe I've visited during my time here that advertised itself as being completely virus-free) and then went down to see Andy again.

Andy showed us all of the work that they do there. The cafe is only a small part of the place. The center is focused on providing employment opportunities for the deaf and physically disabled (the disabled population is above average in the area), since they are excluded from jobs nearly everywhere that they turn. Andy showed us the weaving workshop where they have all manner of looms (some can be operated using only hands, some using one hand and one foot, and various other combinations to suit people with different disabilities). Then he showed us the solar workshop where they assemble small (and cheap) solar panels, which they sell with lights for rural communities. Then we saw the shop where they offer vocational training so that people can start their own tailoring business. After that, Andy showed us the paper-making workshop where they turn elephant dung, maize stalks and other "waste" products into paper. They also had beading workshops where they made beads from either glass (by recycling old alcohol bottles) or paper. We saw the shop where they sell the crafts that they produce. Then there was the physiotherapy clinic where they treat a lot of people who can't afford or access treatments under any other circumstances. Finally, we saw the guest house that they are building, which will be the first one in Africa (or maybe worldwide) that is operated exclusively by deaf and physically disabled people. Everywhere that we stopped on the tour, Andy had remarkable success stories (interspersed with a few stories with lessons learned, but I can't bring myself to call them failure stories) about the projects.

The center is a really vibrant part of the town and Andy has really hit on a good solution to a pressing need. He also seemed to really like our work and showed us his appropriate technology library. Then he offered to arrange a demonstration for our sheller for the following day. Jackie and I were pretty overwhelmed by our good fortune.

Andy assembled a good crowd for the demonstration the next day (some of our most active participants could not use one or both of their legs, but loved the design and showed how they would just drive the pedals by hand). One lady with a bicycle wheelchair was particularly excited and wanted to know if she could mount it on her wheelchair. Jackie and I ran the demo pretty smoothly, but there was no maize to run through it (so the demo was really just setting up the machine and showing how it would work), since it's too early in the year for that.

Andy also pointed me toward a nice little campsite right outside of town where he thought there might also be some interest. I hopped on a daladala to see what I would find. The daladala dropped me off at a sign saying 1.5 km to the campsite. I cursed under my breath as I thought about how tired I was (I'll discuss that in the next post) and how much I didn't want to haul the sheller down the path. I made it to the gate and the guard pointed me to reception. When I got there, I showed the staff what I had brought and they seemed pretty impressed. I asked if I could speak to the owner and they brought me to a woman named Kay. Kay was another Brit and we had a pretty frank discussion on development theory and practice. She seemed pretty happy with my ideas and wanted to support us whatever way she could. She told me that when the harvest arrived, most of the staff would be interested and that there was a good chance that we could set up a demonstration for some of the patrons, since a lot of their guests are missionaries who stay there before traveling to far-flung regions of Tanzania.

So yeah, I'm really glad that I met Andy and I hope that I'll be able to help someone so much sometime down the road.

Raspberry clothes

Jackie and I were traveling again today. The trip was from Mbeya, which is in southern Tanzania near the Malawian border to Iringa, which is in southern Tanzania, but 329 km away (Tanzania is pretty big). We hopped on a bus (but it's actually only half the size of a standard bus, while still being much larger than a dala-dala) and set off. When I traveled down, Iringa to Mbeya took just over 4 hours. Our return trip was a whopping 7 hours. Shows what a difference stops to drop off, wait for and pick up passengers can make.

My duffle bag was at the back of the bus under my seat. At one point, the conductor asked me if I had any oil in my bag. I gave him a puzzled look and told him there was no oil. Jackie mentioned that she thought she saw something wet on my bag, but couldn't be sure. We both shrugged it off.

Ten minutes later, I had a flash of realization. Jackie had bought a glass bottle of raspberry balsamic vinagrette in Malawi that I was carrying for her. I had wrapped it in my towel and tried to insulate it from my other belongings (for fear of leaking and because I knew that the sheller could probably break it). I tried to keep my mind off of it for the rest of the trip, but my mind kept jumping to images of a shattered glass bottle and oil, balsamic vinegar and raspberry extract all over my clothes.

When we arrived in Iringa, Jackie smelled my bag and told me that it smelled more like gasoline than oil. I was optimistic. We carried our bags to a nearby guest house and as soon as I was in the room, I looked inside. Definitely raspberry clothes. I found the empty bottle, still fully intact with the stopper (not a screw-on cap) removed. At least I have some clean(ish) clothes for the next couple of days and I will do a full load of laundry when I get back to Arusha.

This duffle has seen 7 countries (maybe more) and faced other spills such as hand lotion and mango shampoo. I'm sure it'll bounce back from this little mishap as well.

Leaving Malawi

Jackie and I had a plan for traveling from Malawi back to Tanzania. We wanted to leave early Saturday morning, make our two transfers, arrive at the border before it closed (6 pm) and then get 112 km into Tanzania to the nearest major town. If you've been reading the other posts from this trip, you can probably predict that almost nothing goes according to plan.

We started off well. Jackie and I left at 5:20 am (the best part about Jackie is that she loves mornings as much as I do, which is not at all). It was pouring rain, and she was carrying all her supplies that she has for her year-and-a-half time here, while I had the sheller once again on my back. It started pouring right as we went out the front door, but we lucked into finding a taxi to the bus station before we were completely drenched.

We searched around the bus station hoping to find a vehicle heading to the border, but no such luck. We wound up finding a minibus (remember, I said in my last post that it's not as bad in cities) going partway to the next big town (the attractive feature was that it was about to leave instead of waiting 20 minutes to 2 hours to fill up). We hopped on and rode to the town and changed to another minibus which was supposed to take us to the town that would have transport to the border town. Minibuses are always making lots of stops, so we were feeling a bit anxious about the pace that we were setting and whether we would make it to the border in time. Then, the driver kicked everyone off the minibus, refunded part of our cash and set off somewhere else (I don't speak Chichewa, the Malawian language, so I didn't get all the details of what he was saying).

Jackie and I were not thrilled at this point, and we calculated that our only shot was to hitch with a fast driver. Fortunately, we didn't have to wait long. We spotted a nice Land Cruiser and asked if we could hop in. The driver checked with his only passenger (sitting in the backseat) and then invited us in. We found out that they were heading toward the border, and Jackie and I had an unspoken high five. The passenger mentioned that he was an MP and asked us some questions about where we were coming from and all that stuff. Jackie and he were chatting a bit, while I was trying to find a good spot to jump in and find out a little bit more about being a Malawian member of parliament.

As we drove on, he told us a lot about his work and his life before joining Malawian politics (I was especially interested in what he had to say since a lot of his work focused on international trade). We told him about the work that GCS does and he sounded very interested. He invited us to stay at his house and show him how the sheller works. Jackie and I looked at each other and smiled. We rode on and talked about life as an economist (our host), an engineer (Jackie) and a scientist (me-- well, that's what my degree says at any rate). My favorite part of the discussion was discussing Malawi's new Youth Enterprise Development Fund (worth about $20 million) for young people to have the opportunity to become entrepreneurs.

Before we got to his house, he took us to a campsite on Lake Malawi. The lake, the hills and the entire setting was just gorgeous. The campsite is within his constituency, so he is good friends with the owner, so he introduced us to a nice Dutch gentleman. My favorite part was the dog at the campsite: half Great Dane, half greyhound. The dog was an enormous beast, with seemingly no meat on his ribs.

We arrived at his house and he invited us to swim in Lake Malawi. We quickly changed and all three of us headed for a quick swim before sunset. The water was warm and calm and we all felt incredibly refreshed. Dinner was incredibly fresh fish, with a delicious variety of rice that apparently is grown locally in northern Malawi. He also showed us some videos of Malawian singing and dancing, which was pretty fun. Jackie and I were reluctant, but we had to excuse ourselves early to go to the guest room and do some work. We had a really productive evening (mostly emails) and then crashed.

The next morning, we woke to the sound of guests. Our host had invited several neighbors who grow maize to come over and see how the maize sheller worked. They brought dried maize and bicycles as well so that we had everything we would need. Jackie and I ate a quick breakfast (cassava is a good way to get the energy you need for the day) and began setting up. We started putting on all the parts, but soon everyone was enthusiastically helping, so I stepped back a bit to let them feel that they were owning the project. After making some final adjustments, we were all set to go and started feeding maize through the sheller. Everyone was impressed at how fast and easily it fed into the machine. They all tried to convince us to leave the machine with them, but we sadly had to take it back (somewhat cruel, but there will be other demonstrations on this trip).

We quickly disassembled the machine and packed our bags before heading to the border. The driver gave us a lift, and we crossed the border without event. Jackie and I both felt immense relief to be back in Tanzania and able to communicate in the local language (my feeble attempt in Malawi was to use Malawian grammar structure with kiswahili verbs, since they are both Bantu languages). We hopped a bus and completed the last leg of our journey. We checked into a hotel and took some much needed rest.

Our initial plan set aside Sunday as our rest day (for all my talk about taking a vacation, I still hadn't taken a day for resting). Didn't quite work out that way, and I think this pace is catching up with both of us.

Hitchhiking

One of my biggest worries in Peace Corps Kenya was about the transport policy. I was rather vocal about my concerns, though I can certainly understand why my campaigns never really took off. Motorcycles and hitchhiking were completely banned under all circumstances (as were night travel, which I've previously discussed and bikes without helmets, which I would never argue against). In general, trains (if you're lucky to live along a train line), buses and matatus were the recommended modes of transportation. Of course, much of the time, volunteers were expected to be working in their communities, so the best mode of transport is probably a good pair of shoes.

At first glance, motorcycles seem wildly dangerous. The motorcycle policy is from previous days when motorcycle casualties were a sadly common occurrence. Many drivers are very unsafe in how they drive, and helmets are virtually unheard of. I always jumped slightly when I heard a motorcycle at night. Still, motorcycles were not the mode of transport that scared me the most.

I was most scared of matatus. The small minibuses that were often considered to be the best way of traveling from one town to another. In my village, I knew most of the drivers pretty well. I enjoyed hanging out with them around the village. I knew that they usually hung around the bars until 4 AM or so. They had certainly not sobered up by the time they started their route at 7. I never heard of any accidents (I suppose years of practice plays a role in that), but it always terrified me to ride in the morning matatu. I know that this isn't true for all morning matatus, usually untrue for afternoon matatus and presumably less common in city matatus, but that was only a small consolation

Whenever it was practical, I preferred to hitchhike. A lot of people automatically assume that hitchhiking is one of the worst ways to travel, but I felt no reservations about prioritizing my safety. I could generally find a ride at the police checkpoint (right next to my house), which meant that if any funny business went down (it never did), there were people who would know who to look for and make sure that I was okay. In general, the ride was faster, cheaper, more comfortable and a good opportunity to learn something (I met some really interesting people).

This is not to say that hitchhiking doesn't have lots of inherent dangers. I don't recommend it as a night-time activity, with cars that give you any funny feeling inside (trust your instincts) or when there is any better option. I just worry that too many people write it off too easily.

Hiking adventure in Malawi

Well, after a hectic travel experience, my friend Jackie came and collected me and brought me back to her place. The first thing she did was to hand me a plate of rice with chicken and eggplant (pretty incredible considering I had consumed around 1500 calories in the preceding 48 hours). I also got to catch up with my friend Amanda who is also working on Malawi. Then, since one of my tasks was to deliver a dress to Jackie, I promptly put it on and modeled it. She made me take it off and then she went and modeled it (I maintain that it looked better on me).

The morning was a little hectic since the plan was to leave for southern Malawi around 10 am. Fortunately, our ride was a bit late, so I repacked my bags (a.k.a. took that maize sheller out of my bag) got to meet one of Jackie's housemates, the three of us were able to sprint into town for a quick errand, and then I came back and sent off some frantic emails (I held up the car slightly trying to send out a last email). I met Sam, Finn and Kaitlin (our traveling companions) and marveled at the compactness at the car (5 seats with minimal legroom, and we were pretty crowded with hiking gear).

With Sam behind the wheel, we set off in high spirits. I decided to set the tone for the trip with some classic Haddaway (I don't know if they ever wrote another song besides "What Is Love?", which was best known as the song from A Night at the Roxbury on SNL). After that, we sang for the bulk of the car ride. Kaitlin and Finn are a bit of a musical duo, so they sounded a lot better than the rest of us, but they let us sing as loudly and off-key as we pleased.

We didn't encounter any issues with police checkpoints or bad roads (nice paved roads run the length of Malawi). Unfortunately, we learned about halfway there that the car didn't exactly have new tires. At first, we saw that part of the inner tread was coming off (it made a thumping noise on every revolution as it hit the car). We cut it off, exposing the inner fibers and continued on. We knew that this would wear through the tire eventually, and it made it to the next big town (about 50 km) before the tire was officially done for. We threw on the spare, which was a satisfying accomplishment (I was the most experienced tire changer, but I didn't have much experience in using the jack and may have slightly damaged the body--NB apparently, the jack goes on the frame of the car, not the underbelly). Then, rather then continue onto the mountain, we stopped at a lodge in town to rest for the night and finish our journey in the morning.

At the lodge, we caught a bit of the olympics. We were really disappointed when we discovered that they weren't showing whole events. For hockey games, it was a 30 second cut showing all the goals and none of the other action. For 3000 meter speed skating, we saw the last 10 seconds of about a dozen races. Finally, luge came on and they showed the final run for some of the competitors. Not the most satisfying experience, but certainly better than nothing. After that, everyone else went to bed while I stayed up and talked to my sisters for a short while and then sat down for some serious work (the day kept up the pattern of the previous two days of travelling for the bulk of the day and not getting enough sleep).

The next morning, we got an early start and made it to the mountain. Mulanje is at the southern tip of Malawi and is the tallest mountain in the country, and we were excited to conquer it. We arrived in town and collected Amanda and made arrangements for a guide before heading up to the mountain. We paid all of our fees and were getting ready to start on our way up. Then we noticed the imminent thunderstorm gathering on the horizon. We figured it would be a lot safer to postpone our hike until the following day, so we grabbed some chalets (basically, really nice cabins at the base of the hill that were gorgeous and comfortable). We decided to go ask for a refund for the hiking expenses since we weren't going that day, but then they pointed to a small paper on the wall that said "no refunds". We argued long and hard, but to no avail. Hopefully they'll at least be a bit more explicit about the refund policy with future hikers.

We unwound a bit in the afternoon (I was relieved not to be traveling and took a much needed nap) and then played games in the evening. I discovered the shower in the chalet, which were absolutely glorious, and wanted to stay in there the whole evening. Jackie and I did a bit of work at night, but all of us made sure to get a good night's sleep so that we would be fresh for some intense hiking the next day.

Our guide, Peter, showed up at 7:15 AM, but we were going a bit slowly, so we didn't set off until 8. Sam said he was having some stomach problems, so he was going to pass on the hike (really sad, since he was a really entertaining guy), but he took solace, since he had explored a nearby waterfall the day before. The rest of us started our climb.

Peter was patient with us, which was nice because we weren't setting a very good pace. We also sang lots of songs as we climbed. We didn't encounter many other hikers, but there were a lot of Malawians carrying large boards down the hill. I was struggling a lot with the climb, and Jackie pointed out that it was probably partially dehydration (apparently, all my unhealthfulness as I traveled down was catching up with me). I started attacking the water and felt a lot better. We made it to the top of the plateau (sadly, all our delays meant that there wasn't time to summit the mountain) and basked in the unforgettable view. The plateau itself was rather tragic, since it was balding under the weight of deforestation. The signs told us that they were working to reduce pressure from the invasive pine trees (likely brought over during the colonial era without a thought for the consequences of introducing an exotic species), which we could sympathize with, but we also noticed that there weren't any visible signs of reforestation, and speculated about the risks to the environment.

After a rest at the top, complete with peanut butter and honey sandwiches, we began our return trip. We took a longer route, which passed several waterfalls. The waterfalls were definitely my favorite part in all of their magnificence. The paths were rather slippery, and we had some near catastrophes, but we all made it down unscathed. We thanked Peter profusely and found Sam at the bottom reading. We were all pretty worn out from the hiking and the heat, so we relaxed the rest of the afternoon.

The evening became a bit more stressful when Jackie's laptop charger popped. Some kind of circuitry issue in there. I felt her anxiety about needing a power source. It gave us a good excuse to sleep early and a project for the following day.

We woke up early to hit the road, and actually made good time. Finn dropped Amanda off in Mulanje so she could see more of southern Malawi, so I said my good-bye to her. Then Jackie and I got off in Blantyre (one of the biggest cities in Malawi) to resolve the charger issue. We had to visit three stores, which wasn't too bad. After that, we met up with Tombo (a good friend from IDDS in 2008 who lives in Malawi) for lunch before heading back to Lilongwe.

The bus ride to Lilongwe was slow to get started, but it got us there without event. We grabbed a taxi to an Indian restaurant and had a wonderful dinner before heading back to the house to finally relax properly.

Traveling to Malawi

Last week was really hectic at work. I was trying to meet a bunch of deadlines and be in twenty places at once. The main reason was that I was planning a trip to Malawi to see some friends. After a week in Malawi, I have another week in southern Tanzania to meet with some maize farmers and conduct some market research.

Friday night, I stayed at work trying to tie up one last loose end and didn't wind up leaving until 6:50 (Arusha is pretty safe, but walking a few kilometers after sunset anywhere is usually not a good idea). I had also forgotten to put a maize sheller in the truck, so I had to throw that in my bag (the machine can be a bit unwieldy when walking; that's why it was designed to be carried on a bicycle). I hurried home and discovered that the first thing that I was too late for my first task. My beard and hair have become a bit unwieldy (and I have generally low standards for wieldiness, so that's saying something), but both barbers near the house had closed and we didn't have much water, so I figured I shouldn't waste it on shaving. Gotta love the unkempt look.

Jodie and I were both kinda beat, so we went into town for dinner (pizza!!!). We talked a bit about the work part of my trip, and then we were joined by our neighbor, Mic. He asked me about my ticket and everything, and I told him I figured I'd just go to the station at 7. He looked at me like I was crazy. Turns out the buses are supposed to leave before 6. Going to the bus station to make inquiries was another one of those tasks that I had to put off because of everything going on this week. Glad he set me straight.

Jodie and Mic agreed to drive me to the station at 4:40 AM so that we could be there when the ticket booth opened at 5 (no public transport at that hour). I had to stay up a bit and pack and clean my room, but I mustered three hours of sleep before my alarm went off. We drove to the bus station yesterday morning and helped me get my ticket and make sure my luggage was on the bus before it left at 6. I saw that the ticket price was 46,000 Tanzania Shillings (exchange rate is around 1330, so it was around $35). I looked in my wallet and saw that I had 36,000. Oh yeah, going to the ATM was another one of those tasks that had fallen by the wayside. Fortunately, Jodie lent me the last bit and I boarded the bus. I owe Jodie and Mic big time.

We rolled out at 6. The bus was one of the more comfortable ones that I've ridden in ages. The next thing I remember, it was 9 AM and the conductor was telling me to move, since the passenger whose seat I was sitting in had just boarded. Oops. I slid over and went back to sleep. The trip was pretty uneventful. My head was bothering me a tad, so I couldn't read, but there was plenty of scenery, so that was nice. We made a few stops along the way, but I wasn't hungry the entire time, so I subsisted on a half-liter of water and a small mango juice-box. The lady and her daughter who were sitting next to me were very nice and we wound up talking for about an hour. She was very concerned that I hadn't eaten the entire trip. I told her it was just a minor stomach bug--nothing to worry about. We hit some construction about 3/4 of the way there, which slowed us down a lot. Fortunately, the bus pushed through and at 12:20 AM (18 hours travel time, and I spent less than 1 hour off the bus), we rolled into the station in Mbeya (near the Malawi border). I grabbed the last room (phew!) at the hotel near the station and proceeded to bask in my nice bed for a reasonable rate (15,000 shillings).

Before getting some sleep (all the napping on the bus was to make up for lost sleep during the week), I decided I wanted to run to the ATM. The manager had said it was just up the hill, so I decided to check it out. The night guard seemed a tad cranky as he opened the gate to let me out. Even though I was in a completely unfamiliar town, I didn't feel unsafe as I walked through the streets (partially from taking a few precautionary measures). The ATM was just under ten minutes from the hotel, but then I saw that it wouldn't take Visa. Sigh. So I decided to look around and see if there was another bank in the area. After 10 minutes of wandering (and taking in the beauty of nighttime in the city--one of my absolute favorite things that I don't often get to see over here), I found a Barclay's ATM that said it accepted Visa. Well, after my 4th failed attempt, I decided that the sign probably didn't know what it was talking about, so I decided to go back to the hotel and see what I could figure out during daylight. I got back to the hotel and thought of the night watchman. He was still sleeping. The gate was just too tight for me to squeeze through, and there were nails on the wall to keep out would-be burglars, but I noticed that the gate was really easy to scale, so I left the watchman sleeping and stealthily made it back to my room (it's those ninja genes I inherited).

Well, I wanted to leave at 5 AM to get in at a reasonable hour. No such luck. I went back to the ATM at 8 (I originally wanted to wait until it opened before realizing the bank was closed since it was Sunday) and this time it worked! I grabbed a quick shave (much needed), packed up my room and headed back to the bus station.

I always hate walking around bus stations, because often there are 20 different people trying to guess where you're going and pulling you towards one bus or another. Yesterday was no different. Unfortunately, I also had really heavy bags, so I couldn't move very easily as well. One guy just wouldn't leave me alone. Even after he clearly led me to the wrong place (a bus going to the wrong city for twice the price), he was still attached at my hip. I finally told him I'd give him 500 shillings if he got me the right price at the correct bus (I was getting pretty sore at that point with the luggage on my back). He led me to the bus that had the correct city on it and agreed on the price of 3500 (it was printed on the bus anyway, so I could've done that part). I didn't particularly like this guy, but I felt obliged to hold up my end of the bargain. I only had two 2000 shillings notes, so I was just going to pay the conductor and give this guy the change. But the conductor had gone away, and this guy wanted to get back to his post (and I wanted him to leave me alone), so he offered to get change for one of the notes. And I never saw him again. Kinda unfortunate how people like that can kinda ruin the whole day.

I grabbed a small muffin from a nearby shop (my first food in about 35 hours), hoping that we would be on the road soon. Well, the bus took a little while to fill up (which meant a 2:1 ratio of passengers to seats), so it was pretty slow going (always a risk when traveling on a Sunday). We were further slowed by 8 police checkpoints as we drove to the border (I think, but I lost count after 5). In one comical situation, the officer told us that there were 2 people too many on the bus, so they got out and started walking. The officer inspected us a bit longer and then we drove on and picked the passengers back up half a kilometer later. We also had to change buses. We made it to the border without event and the nice gentleman next to me helped get me on a bicycle for a lift, since the bus drops off a half km from the border. I paid the cyclist 1000 shillings (twice the actual price) for the lift since my bag made me quite the burden. Walking the last 20 meters to the gate was agony. I couldn't move quickly and there were 8 money changers sticking to me like flies (and none of them giving me the correct price). I was trying to make up some of my lost time (at this point I was about 4.5 hours behind schedule), so I finally accepted the guy who was offering 8 Tanzanian shillings per kwacha (which is the correct rate). Then he gave me less than 9 Tanzanian shillings per kwacha and disappeared before I could count and realize his mistake. In his defense, I don't think this was another con, just someone who wasn't very good at math, who had run away to find other customers. There was another one who kept following me into the No Peddlers Area trying to offer me a crappier exchange rate and not listening to my insistence (in kiswahili) that I wasn't going to change any money. Finally, I explained to some truck repairmen I was passing that this guy didn't seem to understand any kiswahili and he quickly melted away.

The border was pretty painless. Everything was in english, which was a relief, but I realized that this was going to be my first time going to a country where I didn't know a word of the language. Mercifully, there was plenty of kiswahili at the border, and even more english. I got into a carpool-taxi (for lack of a better word) from the border to the first town. My heart sunk as I saw the sign saying that at was another 645 km to Lilongwe (my final destination). We made pretty good time, which was a nice change, and we were packed in like sardines, which was not so nice, but pretty typical. He dropped us off at the bus station and I found a matatu (well, they're called minibuses here) that was heading to Mzuzu (the first stop).

I lucked out and got a seat up front. In other words, I wasn't a sardine. I was always getting bumped when the driver changed gears, but in that humidity, I think I was pretty lucky all the same. Before the bus took off, I grabbed a packet of cookies and a coke (I didn't have a whole lot of options at the station). The scenery was pretty gorgeous (more to come on that later) and the driver set a really good pace. We got to Mzuzu just after 5:30, and I found the bus that was supposed to head to Lilongwe (400 more km) at 6. The bus pulled out at 6:30, went to the gas station, filled up (buses have very large gas tanks), and then took us back to the bus station where we were told that we would have to get on another bus. We shuffled onto the new bus and took off. The ride was pretty uneventful. I mostly read since it was too dark (and at times, foggy) to see the scenery. When the conductor came to look at my ticket, she greeted me in Chichewa (the main language of Malawi). I kinda botched the response, but she was really friendly and it is the best way to learn.

We rolled into Lilongwe at 1:30 AM. I didn't want to seek out a taxi, so I just slept (or at least tried to) on the bus with a few other passengers until sunrise.

Now, the Malawi adventure begins!

Why I blog

This blog started as a chance to keep my friends and family up to date on the goings-on in my life while I'm far away from so many of them. Since then, it has evolved to a place where people can observe certain chapters of my life and glimpse an understanding of a different world.

Well, I don't keep this up for the money. I'm not here fishing for sympathy or flattery. I certainly don't do this to take abuse from anyone. I encourage lively, constructive discussions on the comments pages, but I do not want posts that make unfounded assumptions about myself or any of the people about whom I write. If you would like more information about anything I've written, please ask questions. If you just want to attack, there are plenty of fora on the internet for that, but this is certainly not one of them.

I try to exercise a certain degree of restraint in my writings. Note that I used the word "try". I whole-heartedly acknowledge that I may cross a line on here sometimes. However, I try to avoid making assumptions about the people whom I write about, and I try to avoid classifying people as good or bad (although, I have highlighted a few cases where it appeared to me that people were not fulfilling their responsibilities, but that was not intended to be a judgment on their character). There was a single exception, in the form of one of the teachers at my school, who I offered some anonymity, but highlighted his abusive nature, always hoping that he would prove me wrong and I would write a redemptive post. Sadly, that never happened.

The point that I am trying to make is that respect is a two-way street. I ask my readers to be respectful with what they write on the blog, but I also encourage them to call me out when I am being disrespectful with my content.

Where I went

Of all the stories I have heard about people having difficult immigration experiences (there's a whole lot of them too), the vast majority of them involve United States immigration officials. Vast majority. However, the most likely candidate for runner-up is Tanzania. That said, I wanted to make sure that every single i was dotted and t was crossed before writing anything. Yesterday I received my visa to do work with Global Cycle Solutions (my initial visa was as a tourist), so at long last, here is my update.

At the start of December, I took a trip to Tanzania. The border was only 60 km west of my house, but I had never bothered to go even 2 km in that direction. I was pretty worn down from an exhausting term, a seemingly futile job search (I had sent out 7 resumes, had 2 interviews and been rejected by 1 of them) and my struggles with Peace Corps administration. This respite was exactly what I needed. I started out my week-long trip with a 3.5 day safari to Ngorongoro Crater and the Serengeti with Jackie (lots of funny stories from that, which will hopefully show up as retroactive blog posts in the not too distant future). After that, we came back to Arusha to spend a few days in town.

The first thing that we did was to find our friend Jodie (Jackie, Jodie and I all took D-Lab together in Fall 2007) and meet for lunch. Jodie talked a lot about her experiences running a start-up, and it all sounded really rewarding (Jodie and I had also lived on the same hall for a year in college, and had several friends in common, so I knew about her initial efforts, but had since lost track of everything). I talked a bit about my job search, and as the conversation continued, Jodie suggested that there might be a place for me at Global Cycle Solutions. We ironed out the details and we both seemed a lot happier after that.

After I returned from the trip, I went to Nairobi for a medical check-up. A lot of people commented that I looked a lot more positive and happy (some even used the word healthy). Two separate staff members noted the change and asked me if things had improved with my school. I was not allowed to tell them anything (as discussed in my post “Leaving”), so all I could do was tell them they had not, although I had a big smile on my face as I said so. Since my family was coming (the third goal of Peace Corps is to teach Americans about life and culture of our host country, so I was still working within Peace Corps objectives) and I was on vacation time anyway, I wanted to hold on to my Kenyan visa a bit longer. (Blog posts about my family visiting should also be coming in the slightly more not too distant future.)

After putting my family on the plane, I ended my Peace Corps service and traveled to Tanzania. I spent nearly a month learning my way around Arusha, meeting people, getting settled, improving my Kiswahili, becoming a better cook, and all kinds of other random tasks. Now that my visa has been processed, I can work at Global Cycle Solutions. My responsibilities vary pretty widely and include tasks ranging from sales to accounting to grant-writing, and hopefully, eventually to some engineering tasks.

So lots of people put lists in their blogs, so I am trying to do this a bit more:

Reasons I think this company is pretty cool:
1. Pedal-power has very high potential to increase productivity in rural villages
2. Top notch product design (with a specific focus on affordability, portability and user-friendliness)
3. The company is for-profit, so we are not sitting around waiting for donations (especially difficult with the current world economy)
4. The company is using part of the profits to foster innovation and co-creation (i.e. encourage local inventors to bring their own designs to market)
5. Scalability is a top priority
6. The team in Tanzania is very tightly-knit and is a collaborative effort between Tanzanians and Americans
7. The company is dynamic so that it can stay relevant and continue to meet customers' changing needs
8. The team cultivates networks to facilitate growth and support
9. My work is challenging and rewarding
10. There is a lot of freedom and flexibility in policies to allow workers to get their work done

Meeting

I've been in the same time zone for the last 15 months (this is no real accomplishment for the likes of my father, who believes that he's on CST, whether he's in North Carolina, London, or anywhere else in the world and regardless of what any calendars may say about daylight savings). I think that's a first for me in my lifetime. There's not even daylight savings (which is kinda like changing time zones anyway). That means I live 8 hours ahead of EST, 9 hours ahead of CST and 11 hours ahead of PST. (For some reason, my blog is on Pacific time, and I can't figure out how to change that. Don't read too much into that, since I doctor the timestamp on a lot of my posts anyway.) The time difference can be inconvenient at times when trying to work with people who are in the states, but that is only rarely an issue. Wednesday was one of those times.

I was very actively involved in the International Development & Design Summit (IDDS) from July to November 2008. After coming to East Africa, however, I have not been able to participate very much. Finally, on Tuesday night I was able to join in the meeting over Skype. Unfortunately, as the meeting was scheduled at 6:30 PM in Boston, that meant that I was joining in at 2:30 AM in Tanzania (so I guess I should've said Wednesday morning). The meeting was actually really interesting, and I felt like I was really back in my element, talking to all those incredible people. The meeting wound up lasting until 6 AM, while I go into work at 8 AM. Honestly, I would've stuck around if the meeting had continued until 7:55 AM.

I'm going to keep this up, and hopefully I'll be in Colorado in July.

Civic Duty

NOTE: Whenever people ask a question on the comments page, I try to respond over email so that it can turn into a dialogue. However, if there is no email available, then my response goes on the comments page. Catherine, you can see my response to your post there.

Election day in Illinois was a week ago. I can't say that I have lived there in a real sense for a few years now (contrary to what my driver's license might say). But I am still proud to call myself a Chicagoan (my suburb is a lot closer to the Loop than a lot of other people who call themselves Chicagoans, at any rate). I still actively follow local affairs, and if I ever return to the states, I'd love to live in Chicago. (My father maintains that the city is so great that everyone should live there so that he never has to travel anywhere)

Now, I don't feel any remorse over missing jury duty. I've been summoned three times, and each time I have been at least 1000 miles away. But I do feel pangs of conscience about elections. I have successfully voted in absentia once (I kinda lost one of the pieces of paperwork from my ballot one year, so I'm assuming that even though I mailed it in, my vote was not counted) and once have I been in Illinois on election day to cast my ballot. There was an election last week for some state-wide primaries and local elections, and I missed it. Honestly, I hadn't done my homework on most of the races. There was only one race where I had a specific candidate in mind. And sadly, in that race, my candidate lost.

The postal system is an absolute nightmare here, but that is no excuse. I had my opportunity to participate in democracy (anyone up for a lively debate on a certain recent 5-4 Supreme Court decision on campaign finance?), and I passed it up. As much as I encourage people to exercise their right to vote everywhere that I go (presidential poll in Tanzania this year--let's root for high voter turnout!), I have passed up several elections because it was inconvenient for me. Still, I refuse to be labeled complacent. I am vowing (and this isn't like those vows that I make about more blog posts or anything like that) to research and vote in November of this year, no matter how inconvenient it is to do so from Tanzania, or wherever I may be. I hope that you (assuming that you are eligible) will do the same.

Loss

The world doesn't stop for me just because I am thousands of miles away. My great-aunt died two weeks ago. She lived a long and full life and she passed on peacefully. I only met her once (if there was a second time, the memory eludes me), but I remember her kindness and ability to make people laugh.

I didn't attend the funeral. I didn't even contemplate attending the funeral. Where I am right now, it's hard to drop everything and travel to another continent. I know my family understands this, and I am deeply grateful to them for it.

The service was yesterday. I took a deliberately meandering walk to the supermarket to reflect on this and think about my family, and especially my mother who would be delivering the eulogy. The weather was cool and rainy and had a very English feel to it (my great-aunt lived in England as long as I could remember, though I suppose England probably isn't too rainy in February), which helped me to reflect on everything. It was then that I realized the depth of this loss.

There is only one generation preceding me on my maternal side. My maternal grandparents and great-aunts and uncles have all passed away. My grandfather's cousin is still going strong and perhaps other more distant relatives are around. Still, it is sobering to realize that the links to one's past are fading away. But then, there are two generations succeeding me (a roundabout way of saying that two of my first cousins are already grandfathers). And that serves as a reminder to look to the future.

I returned home from the supermarket and confined myself to the kitchen. Whipping up a double recipe of banana bread was therapeutic and gave me the energy to look at some work that I had been putting off.

Driving

Today one of my colleagues came back from a trip to India. I was the only one around, so I was in charge of driving to the bus station to pick him up, dropping him at his house and then bringing the truck back home. How this truck is a Datsun pickup, which is older than I am. It's a fierce beast, but before continuing this post, I feel like I should list some things that we take for granted driving to the states.

1. Power steering
2. Defoggers
3. Labeled gears (you just have to memorize where to swing the gear-shifter)
4. Anti-lock brakes
5. Paved roads
6. Paved roads that don't have speed bumps every 50 feet
7. 1st gear

Now then, I drove this truck once for a quarter mile while we were in a village. Other than that, I haven't driven in 15 months. Prior to that, I was nearly always driving an automatic (with the exception of a few lessons from my father on driving stick, where I was always really close to getting the hang of it). Well, nothing like a little fire under my matako to help me learn.

The first step was getting it out of the parking space. Getting the gear-shifter (not located next to the driver's seat, but rather on the side of the steering wheel, so not exactly a gear-stick) into reverse took some effort, but I finally pulled it off. I backed out and promptly stalled out. I guess that's the right time to do it. Then I put it into 2nd gear (the truck technically has first gear, but it's hard to find it reliably) and started driving. Now, the windshield was completely fogged over, and there was no traction in the mud, and I had to fight my way through the rain, so I drove (slid might be more accurate) about ten feet before hitting a tree. Fortunately, I was going around 5 mph and banana trees have a lot of give to them (our neighbors have that banana tree way too close to the road anyway), so it wasn't much of an issue.

Then, I made it to the path where some mamas asked me for a ride. I figured that they weren't really dangerous strangers, and it would be pretty cruel to leave them to walk through the rain, so I invited them in. It was actually a lot more calming to have passengers. I drove down the path about a quarter mile to the road. I figured it probably made sense to shift to 3rd, so I made the change. I didn't shift the gear again until I arrived at the bus stop (I was too busy struggling to see through the rain). The road was nice, being paved and all, but it also introduced the challenge of traffic. The first thing that I saw was a car driving at me (always unpleasant when it's raining). After a moment's hesitation, I remembered that I was not driving in the US, so I needed to drive on the left side of the road. Weird. Fortunately, collision averted.

I dropped the mamas off at a roundabout and drove one block to the bus stop. There was a bus exiting, so I had to stop before the speed bump for the turn in. I tried to start moving again, but wound up stalling out. I was too panicked to switch back to 2nd, so after three attempts, I managed to start the truck in 3rd and pull into the parking lot. The car pitched and grunted a lot those last 50 feet.

When I arrived, Bernard had just gotten in, and offered to drive the truck back to his place. I was very grateful. He was much better at it than I was. I've now seen Bernard in 3 different countries, met his sister, brother and parents, but today was the first time I met his wife and daughter. They were very friendly and Claudia (probably two years old) was adorable. Bernard asked his wife if she remembered me from the picture on top of the TV and she returned a puzzled look. Then we walked into the sitting room and he picked up a photo with 80 people in it and pointed to me. We all had a good laugh.

Driving home from Bernard's was a lot easier. There was no rain and I could change gears comfortably. I even found 1st gear a couple of times (unfortunately, usually when I was looking for 3rd). The traffic was a little tough to navigate (fortunately, after driving in Boston a few times, I felt that I could handle just about anything), but nothing unmanageable. I made it back home without event. Until the last 100 feet when I stalled and then I couldn't find 2nd (that gear-shifter is really infuriating). Fortunately, there was no traffic, so I had all the time in the world. I parked the car and went home to just relax a bit.

Leaving

NB: I have just put an addendum at the bottom of the preceding post: Why I left

Well, I tried to schedule my departure so that I could meet with my APCD. As luck would have it, he wound up being out of the office anyway. Well, I wrote him a long note, but I wish I could have had a final conversation.

I had made inquiries in July and found out that if Peace Corps knew that I was making any plans for leaving, I would have to start the departure process immediately. Upon learning that, I avoided the topic during all interactions for the rest of my service. I was in Nairobi on December 29th, just after my parents had gone to the airport, so it was just a matter of going to the office. The first thing that I saw when I arrived was that the notice board was half filled with staff on leave (understandably so, given my timing). I was a little relieved since I always struggle with good-byes to friends, but mostly disappointed and uncertain if I would ever see these people again.

I received a stack of papers for filling out. I won't bore you with the details, but it was pretty drawn out. Then I went to Medical for the final tasks there. Ordinarily there is a check-up and everything, but I had just been in for an examination 3 weeks before and I was trying to finish the process for a day, and medical had only one staff member in the office, so I decided to forgo the checkup. I got a long explanation of all the paperwork and medicines that they were giving me. There was a lot of information about what I am supposed to do to get my full check-up when I get back to the states (but only relevant in the unlikely event that I return there within 3 months of leaving the program). As I listened, I recalled my friend Will's advice that you should get all medical stuff done before you leave because it's a real hassle in the states (and apparently unavailable outside the states). Well, let's hope that I don't have any medical conditions (actually, I really should have a comprehensive physical after all my adventures in the chemistry lab; too bad the timing didn't work out).

After that was finished, I had to close out my bank account (the only major ordeal of the day). Peace Corps does all volunteer banking with Commercial Bank of Africa. We regularly complain about the inconvenience due to the fact that there are 11 branches in the country: 7 in Nairobi, 3 in Mombasa and 1 in Meru. Seeing as no volunteers are stationed in Nairobi, and there are very few in the Mombasa or Meru area, this does not seem like the bank of choice. However, Peace Corps does put an extra allowance into our accounts each month to cover the ATM fees incurred by using non-CBA ATMs. Just don't encounter any customer service issues. In my case, I was at the bank with Peace Corps's finance officer (Isabella is a quiet, but wonderful member of the office), so I figured it would be really easy. No such luck. After some light paperwork, they told me that they would need me to write a check to give me the balance from my account. I didn't have my checkbook, so they also had to charge me for a new checkbook. They printed the new checkbook (they misspelled my name on it, as they had on the previous one that I hadn't bothered to carry with me--inexplicably, they also misspelled my name on my ATM card, but with a different typo) and deducted the cost from my balance (I wish checkbooks were a tad cheaper). Then I wrote the check and surrendered the checkbook. Then came handing me the balance. I had XXX46.98 in my account, so they gave me XXX46.50. Bankers' rounding wouldn't bother me so much if those 0.50 cent pieces weren't so worthless. CBA's slogan is "What stress-free banking is all about". I feel like that is supposed to be a joke. That slogan can't be serious, right? My condolences to anyone with an account at that bank.

After that, I went back to the office and finished up my paperwork. I had Tim, who runs the Public Health program sign in place of my APCD. He was very friendly about everything. I surrendered my passport (we are issued a Peace Corps specific passport, so I remained with my personal passport) and my work permit for Kenya. The Acting Country Director wrote me a letter to allow me to cross the border since I didn't have a visa or entry stamp (I was worried immigration would hold me up, but after a brief explanation, they accepted it). The Acting Country Director also told me that we could forgo the exit interview so that we could wrap up the process (I needed to get out of the country ASAP for the letter to be valid; I managed to hop a bus back to site, pack up my house and hop on another bus to leave the country within 36 hours).

I emailed many staff members at the office to say a final good-bye and received nice words back from several of them. I may return to Kenya some time. Perhaps when that day comes, I might be able to partner with Peace Corps on some of my work.

Why I left

Well, it's been just over a month since I left Peace Corps.  I've thought a lot about everything and today I finally decided to write down the reasons (though perhaps not an exhaustive list) why I left Peace Corps.  I also sent this (with minor alterations) to the Country Director.

* I felt too constrained by many of Peace Corps's rules and regulations.  I knew that there were circumstances where, given the travel options, it made more sense for me to travel at night, to ride a motorcycle or to hitchhike.  I knew that I could accomplish more without losing work by missing occasional school days to work on other projects.  I came to Kenya hoping to live as much like a Kenyan as possible, but there were many occurrences where Peace Corps rules prevented that.
* I felt woefully under-prepared for many of the tasks that I faced at site.  My group's language training was nothing short of abominable (it was nothing short of comical when I was told during my departure that I was supposed to write that I had had 105 hours of language training--I barely felt comfortable rounding the number up to 50).  I did not know what were reasonable tasks for me to undertake when I arrived at site, so I wound up teaching agriculture (they insisted that I choose agriculture, biology or Christian Religious Education, none of which I had ever properly studied) while resisting requests like coaching volleyball.  Our technical trainer informed us of what volunteers were supposed to do based on his interaction with one Peace Corps volunteer who had taught at his school, and our APCD never followed up to find out what messages we were receiving or correcting them.
* I never had a good understanding of what was expected from me.  My school's headmaster died before I ever met him.  After we completed all of the funeral tasks, I learned that none of my colleagues at the school had ever spoken with anyone from Peace Corps.  There was no subsequent communication between my school and Peace Corps (with the exception of a brief interview of my newly installed headmaster by my APCD during his site visit).  So I was left to figure out why I was matched to my school.  I never found a satisfactory explanation.
* Caning students tore me apart inside.  I had to witness savage beatings on a regular basis.  The only thing I could do was explain to students why I never caned them and hope that I could convince them not to carry this practice on to the next generation.  All of my attempts to engage my colleagues in dialogue proved futile.  (I tried to put on a tough face in my blog posts, but every single post about those beatings was agony to write).
* I came into Peace Corps with vastly different expectations from what I found on arrival.  I was hoping to have time for secondary projects and defining my role within my school.  I even tried to explain this to my APCD during the interview we had during training.  There was never any indication that this was an unreasonable expectation.  When I arrived at my site, they told me that they needed someone who could be in the classroom as much as possible.  Over time, I was able to craft a productive role for myself at the school, but it took much more trial and error than would have been necessary with a more focused training.  Working on secondary projects was always an uphill battle, seemingly against Peace Corps.
* I found a lot of Peace Corps projects to be futile projects.  Perhaps futile is too strong here, but they did not seem to be more than short-term solutions to deep problems.  In the case of the science education program, there is currently a surplus of science teachers in Kenya, while there are shortages for other areas of teaching.  There are certainly long-term benefits for the students at schools with Peace Corps volunteers, but having science teachers does not seem to meet a pressing need in Kenya.  If the purpose of the program is to improve teaching methods in the schools, then it seems like the program would be more effective if it also worked with teacher training colleges in Kenya.  Furthermore, of the nine science teachers who were sworn in after training, there was only one with an education degree, while the other eight held science degrees.
* I felt unappreciated by Peace Corps.  I didn't join Peace Corps to be appreciated, but the attitude really bothered me.  When my APCD was interviewing me during my site visit, I listed all the things that I was working on (a pretty substantial list, but I had already sent him the same information in my monthly reports).  He then asked me if I was doing anything with sports; I told him that I wasn't, and he reminded me that the former volunteer at my site used to coach volleyball before continuing the interview.  Also, during one of the interview I had with the current Country Director, he told me that volunteers who have time to sit around and complain are typically the ones who don't do much work.  As he had noted that I had raised a lot of complaints, I took this as a criticism of my work.  Perhaps I misinterpreted it, but I was pretty offended after all the blood, sweat and tears that I had put into my school and projects.
* I had negative working relationships with some of the staff members.  I found my APCD unsupportive and unresponsive (and at times demoralizing).  I approached the Administrative Officer (then Acting Country Director) to find out what my alternatives were.  Her response was condescending and unhelpful (as well as making some incorrect assumptions) and left me with a very bad taste in my mouth.  She also decided as I was leaving Peace Corps that I didn't need an exit interview--seems that I actually had a lot to say (I should have disabused her of that notion, but I was already hesitant to meet with her).  Our former Programming/Training Officer (PTO) and former Country Director barely interacted with my training group during our training and then at the very end, they proceeded to place the blame squarely on us for our inadequate language and technical training.  I tried to engage them about the four volunteers that they were sending home based in part on recommendations from staff members that they did not rehire and a language training scheme that clearly failed.  First the PTO responded in a rude, dismissive and unprofessional manner (I will admit that I was overjoyed when I learned she was transferring out of Kenya).  Unfortunately, this experience led me to approach the Country Director in a confrontational mood.  I deeply regretted the exchange, but that too tarnished my relationships.  (I will also say that I had very positive relationships with other staff members including other APCDs in the program, the training staff, medical staff and PEPFAR coordinator).
* I was really bothered by the radar.  Certain volunteers were periodically (often unbeknownst to them) "on the radar".  It was not Orwellian, rather it brought to mind the absurdity of "double-secret probation" from the movie Animal House.  Most times, volunteers wanted to stay "off the radar", meaning that they wanted to avoid contact with Peace Corps administration.  The radar highlighted the dysfunctionality of the relationship between Peace Corps administration and volunteers.
* I disliked being part of a conservative and opaque organization.  Some rules were justified only with "because Peace Corps Washington says so."  There was minimal effort to engage volunteers in constructive dialogue about ways to improve the program.
* I was unhappy.  I tried to wait for the dark clouds to pass, but they never seemed to.  I could feel bitterness seeping into my character, which seriously disturbed me.  A lot of this arose from challenges that I faced at site and even still seem somehow surreal to me.  But there was also a frustration with the workings of Peace Corps that I have described above.  Therefore, rather than let my misery consume me, I decided to do something about it.

All of this is not to say that I don't believe in what Peace Corps sets out to do.  I have heard about remarkable successes of other programs around the world.  This is only to explain the issues that I had with my specific program and country that led to my decision to leave.

ADDENDUM: (written 7 Feb 2009 @ 12:42 AM blog time)
I would like to state that the training program in Peace Corps Kenya has improved exponentially since my group's experiences. Although there is still room for improvement, they have undertaken an improved language program and sought out better technical trainers (I have not visited training, only heard second hand from other volunteers, so I cannot comment on levels of staff support or oversight of training).

Round 5

I know, I know... I was supposed to have a bunch of updates by the end of January. You've probably learned by now that I just try to get my readers' hopes up so that I can dash them to pieces.

No, actually I have a good excuse this time. I had intestinal parasites last week. They were actually pretty mild this time around. I still kinda lost a bit of weight, but I had put some on in December, so I think I'm back to where I was for most of last year. Seems like intestinal parasites are just no match for this digestive system. That's my 5th time defeating them.

Well, I think the parasites realized this, so they brought a secret weapon this time around. On Monday of last week, I realized that I'd been feeling pretty tired for several days and maybe running a slight fever. I thought that maybe I had malaria, but I read over the symptoms, and since I hadn't experienced chills at all, I figured it was just dehydration with a side of hypochondria. But I decided to get tested anyway. Good thing too. Turns out I had three strains of malaria in my body. I think that's a pretty good reason for my decreased productivity.

Well, I started taking my malaria meds. I decided that this meant I would be at full strength, so I went straight back to the office. Nothing too exciting until the next day when I felt some abdominal discomfort. It became sharper as I walked home, but I just wrote it off as the parasites. Then I realized that the region that hurt had the distinct possibility of being my liver. And malaria complications can arise in the liver. So after an anxious night, I sought some medical advice and found out that abdominal discomfort can be a side effect of the meds. Well, I wound up missing work that day and the next. I could barely eat food (just a little plain rice) and I didn't even leave the house. The worst part was that I couldn't even look at books or anything else (including the blog) so time was crawling.

Fortunately, after I finished the meds, the pain subsided. I got retested for malaria and it came back negative. Now I'm putting in long days at the office to make up for everything I missed while I was down for the count. Once I'm less behind, I'll have more up here.