Looking towards the end of service

Greetings Earthlings!  It's been quite some time, I know.  I've been occupied lately with a beautiful thing - pondering the future.  This August I'll start a master's in public health at the University of Arizona as a Peace Corps Fellow, exactly the situation I've imagined myself in since 2009, when I began my Peace Corps application.  West Africa and I are ready for a break from each other.  Not a divorce per se, just a separation.  It needs to enjoy gazing at fresh-faced volunteers who are full of optimism and an appropriate amount of innocence while I need to enjoy some fruits and vegetables and Starbucks.  We'll be back together in a few years, I'm sure.

By my  (not unreasonable) calculations, I have about eleven weeks left of Peace Corps service.  If someone in Washington loves me, I'll be on a plane on July 1st.  Like I said, it's really, really time for me to go.  Certainly there are things that I'll miss about Kandi and about Benin - like entire pinneaples for $.20, the maman by the post office who makes amazing rice and beans and wagasi, and speaking Hausa to my Nigerien leather goods guy - but I'm ready for the next step.

Last night, because my brain was full and head pounding, I took a walk on my favorite running path, which cuts through several fields and over to what used to be a gravel collection area.  It's the most peaceful part of town and close to my house, and I wanted to be out and about without having to be especially "on."  This, as I'm sure PCVs throughout the world would tell you, is always a huge challenge.  There are several enormous (several stories tall) mango trees along the path, and I watched as two women with long sticks tried poking out the mangoes while another one precariously climbed around in the tree, simultaneously balancing on and shaking the branches.  A Fulani man herded a group of about twenty cows nearby and greeted me when he passed.  As I got further into the field,  I spotted a teenaged boy doing homework under a giant neem tree, undoubtedly enjoying the peace and quiet and shade.  Two dusty men with dogs on their laps passed on a motorcycle, heading out to the bush to hunt rabbits or bushrats.   These scenes, along with a sunset view of "my" colline/hill and for the first time this spring, smelling the newly emerging mint leaves, is what I want to remember about my time here.  A returned volunteer assures me I won't remember the bad - being called "batoure" every time I leave the house, bush taxi travel, or obnoxious and sexist treatment by men.  I am grateful for selective memory.  I will forever say that Peace Corps service is a privilege and that my entire worldview has changed because of it.  I was thinking last night about how it also marked the end of my young adulthood and naivete.  As much as I've tried to hold onto those things, I understand now more than ever what it means - however complicated - to be actively engaged in the world, to be in service to others, and perhaps the most profoundly for me, doing so as an American.  I'm so, so very excited to continue on this journey as a volunteer.  For now, though, eleven more weeks of  baby weighings, vaccination paperwork, and my radio show.  Allons-y toward the end.

The phrase "il faut patienter" needs to die

Recently my dad noted how the tone of this blog has changed pretty drastically since I started it in July 2010 when I headed off to Niger with zero expectations and a lot of naivete.  As much as it hurts me to admit it, it's true.  Don't get me wrong: as emotionally and physically difficult as it's been to spend the last 2 1/2 years in West Africa, it's been an absolute privilege.  But there are still things I probably should have accepted a long time ago that still leave me either scratching my head or wanting to tear my hair out.  One of these things is how the concept of customer services does. not. exist.  Why?  There's no real competition, so really, there's no need.  In my town of 30,000 people, we have one bank.  The next nearest one is 3 hours away by bush taxi or bus.  So here's what inevitably happens: you walk into the bank and see about 20 people in line ahead of you, waiting for one cashier.  Of course it's your responsibility to magically determine who the last person in line is, because that person may be sitting in one of the chairs to the side. soaking up the air conditioning (the only comforting aspect of this errand).  There's no taking a number.  Then, you'll wait in line up to an hour for the one cashier, who tells you that no, even though you have expressly written it on the withdrawal slip, you may NOT have petite monnaie/small change because he doesn't have it right there in front of him and/or doesn't feel like counting it when there is such a long line of people.  You try to explain, calmly at first, that you are in fact the client but really, no one cares.  You then say, "would you prefer that I talk to the bank president instead?"  He ignores you, calling the next person in line and leaving you hanging.  You ask for his name, and he refuses.  Heading over the to bank president himself, you explain the situation.  He's sort of sympathetic, even though he acknowledges that counting out all that petite monnaie would have taken the cashier a lot of time.  "Why," you ask, "don't you put another cashier up there (there are multiple windows) if you see the line has 20 people in it?"  "Il faut patienter."  (Be patient, he says).  "Being patient doesn't solve the problem, does it?" you retort.  And again, no one cares.  Incidentally, he asks why you didn't use the ATM outside.  You tried, but a giant Microsoft error message blocked a majority of the screen.  He insists it's still usable.  You ask if the technician was called and he responds, "multiple times."  You wonder if God is good at fixing ATMs, because, well, that's who solves everything.  You'll undoubtedly find out next month.