Working on it!

I wanted to post just a short message to let you all know that I have many posts written and ready to go, I am just working on finding an internet cafe with internet that is fast enough to upload pictures because as we all know, a picture is worth more...

arrival in ghana

I have arrived safely in Ghana. Our plane arrived at the Accra International Airport at approximately 8:30am local time.
The new volunteers and our more than 2 tons of luggage filled up the baggage terminal. It was a zoo making sure everybody was reunited with their luggage but in the end no bags were lost!






We were piled onto busses and brought to the Main Office.
Exhausted and overwhelmed from the flight, we were forced into a full day of work. We were given tours of the Peace Corps office, surrounding Accra area, given some vaccinations, and lastly language lessons and more than 8 hours later finally taken to a University about an hour outside of Accra, called Valley View to finally sleep. As you can imagine I was more than happy to see my bed that night where I would be staying for the next few days before the infamous “Vision Quest”.

Packed and ready to go

When the time comes, all you can do is pack your bags and go...




Much to my surprise, it all fits in my two bags and weighs less than 80lbs. I have a feeling when I look at these pictures from my new home in Africa I will be most nostalgic about how soft the carpet was. It is interesting how quickly our perspectives can change.


With everything packed up tightly and I can't help but realize there is something refreshing about being so utterly....portable.

Next stop, Ghana!

Let the Packing Begin

A few more things crossed off the list:
Sleeping Bag- check! Bike Helmet- check!

And so it begins...

I am a legacy volunteer. It means I am expected to succeed. It means my support network is endless and expectations perhaps more realistic, but it doesn't mean any of the next few years of my life will be easy.

I've already battled all of the things leading up to Peace Corps, or rather the things that draw us little lambs there in the first place. The restlessness- foot tapping the seconds of my life away, chained behind a desk by own lack of motivation in an office on the fifth floor of some building somewhere. The waiting- approximately one year to be exact, filled with paperwork endless doctors appointments, checkboxes, faxes; enough bureaucracy to kill a mailman. Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. I am just convincing myself that I am truly ready to go. And, believe me- I am.

Now all that is left is to pack and go.

I will miss these beautiful hills

Transition isn't for the faint, the sick, or really the sane to be perfectly honest. Neither is leaving the only place that ever felt like home, and a bay full of friends, lovers, family, mentors, and even some admirable enemies. Oh, and that big big big blue house. Always opening her arms to reveal a swarm of smiling faces (and a bevy of bicycles which if nostalgia can work her magic I may one day also remember fondly). There were just so many things I wasn't through with but sometimes when it is time to go, there is nothing left to do but leave.

What better way to kick off an epic departure than with a month of willful unemployment, a giant naked mural of myself on the half-shell, a stellar going away party, and a seemingly endless road trip with but one purpose- to hug the people most deserving of my last hugs.

In the Half Shell

The Big One

I doze off into that perfect space between dreaming and reality, where each face grows longer, and eyes deeper, and all of the sudden my feet are tingling and I pray for 'The Big One'. 'The Big One' is a concept I only recently learned how to toy with. We need have 'any' where I came from, let alone some bigger than others. It is terrifying and dreamy at the same time. Knowing that each second of this listless rest will be countered with one second of violent shaking. It is just wonderful to know that in an instant, I may never have to deal with that broken elevator, that tricky lock, or that creaky stool ever again. The prospect of the earth like liquid beneath my toes- terror seeping up from the molten core, turning men to monsters. Everything you once thought of as home, gone. Crumbled to pieces, covered with silt and filth. This is what they mean when they say 'The Big One'. Not one to be taken lightly be any means. Maybe this is scene is the cause and the solution. Maybe it does takes great tragedy to bring about great strength. Maybe I’ve never crawled down deep to once again rise above the oppressive weight of the sky. Maybe this terror is really hope. Maybe that is why 'The Big One' scares the shit out of me.

Here and Now

Consider this the first step. The first step away from your pre-destined path and a step towards your epistemological destiny. At first the words will be slow, and your fingers will ache with inactivity. 'We haven't written in so long!', they'll scream. But ignore them, they are your slaves- you must work them as you would work anything totally under your command. Write furiously, like a hypographic madman, it’s not yours yet but it will be.

And you will be here to listen.

To listen, and to wonder.

To wonder how you get up every morning before you knew how to tell them what to do with their passing hours. Slaves in the hot, hot, heat- computers burning their tips, callusing their edges as if they had been working with weapons or musical instruments.

All that humidity, those poor little scoundrels, designer collars tied around their necks, cutting off the blood flow to their already stiffened brains. But don't worry about their brains- this about yours. Your brain is a muscle and you must exercise it as such. Occipital crunches, parietal push-ups, and don't forget stem lunges. Be diligent, make it hurt; progress always hurts.

Wednesday.

Could this day get any longer? The time seems to drag like a limp body on dirted road behind pick-up truck under the Texan sun. Burning and grinding, scraping what little surface protection I have left so by the end of the day I am left red and slimy with the fresh blood of torture.

My boredom is thick and heavy and drips down my face in the most obvious way. It’s hard not to notice. It’s even harder to care. Everybody deserves a glimmering light at the end of their personal daily hell. It should be written into our laws right next to the right to bear arms or reversed robinhoodism. I guess the question becomes- do you care enough? Enough to leave everything in search of happiness yet again? Find someplace with minimal temporary appeal, a few smiling faces, maybe a lousy lay and another paycheck; not necessarily in that order. Is it worth it? I don’t know- I don’t remember, it’s been a while since I plopped my enthusiastic ass down here and climbed 6 flights to my watchtower.