I had the vision of a dragonfly. The strength of a stegosaurous. The speed of a Gecko, and the prowess of a Lemur. And my stomach was really really right.
Having just punched myself in the mouth with fistfulls of jerky, candied fruit, pringles, nuts, more jerky, and a 45g progein drink to wash it all down, I looked at my clcok- 6 a.m. There being hardly a dent in the cornucopia contained in my recently arrived care packages, my binge didn't hurt my conscience so much as my alimentary tract. The carbohydrates, proteins, and fats raiding through my system gave me the aforementioned mental and physical rush. So what if I've lost 20+ lbs. since stepping of the plane, today I could wrestle an elephant.
And win.
Time to get ready for school. I revie2wed the notes I scrawled the night before- dear Lord, please reveal to me how to make Relative Abundance of Isotopes interesting to these students- then slammed a few chilly cups of rainwater against my skull. Knut was tied up outside trying to drown out Rihanna on the radio with his own howling, so I gave him the rest of last night's rice to keep his mouth busy. It's hard to believe that the new collar keeping him tied outside could be so loathed and loved- him doing the former, and me the latter. Okay, the dog was sated, I was prepared to pour some chemistry into young brains, and my stomach was stuffed like a boy scout's bag. Must be time to go.
The ride I had to school thuis morning was typical of every ride between my Mambolo Manor and Scarcies Secondary school (this morning in particular, I could've parted a heard of buffallo with my exceptional mood though). Children spilled out of houses like an ocean set free, shouting "Issa Kabba!!" with enough intensity to cause them coronary distress. I've often wondered if I'd be responsible to stop and perform CPR if one of the little onces crossedover from "impassioned yelling" to "passed out and not breathing." The women that sells those delicious little pepper snacks was out cooking, so I had to stop and trade a few words of traditional greeting before aiming my bike at the hill leading up to school. I'm probably a few thousand miles removed from the nearest X-Box, so dodging blue-clad Scarcies students on the road has taken Halo and Call of Duty's place. The school once gained, a meet-and-greet always ensues, every day you'd think you'd just met your colleagues. If I bumped into you in the staff room, our conversation would typically go something like this:
"Good morning! Hello!"
"You're welcome! Hello."
"How did you sleep?"
"I tell God thank you!" What about you?"
"Me too! I tell God thank you!"
"hello. Thank you. Thank you."
"Well that's all!"
"thank you. We will see each other later."
One national anthem, school song, and brief sermon later, we would both find ourselves teaching class. My students are awesome. Awesome, but behind- by no fault of theirs (teacher's strikes, etc.). They'll probably all be in neck braces if they keep glancing between their notes and my board work so frequently.
BOOM. My payload of knowledge bombs dropped on the school for the day, I suppose it's time to proceed to the Mambolo clinic for a whole storm of heart-wrenching problems, jokes and rattling laughter, marasmus represented alongside ballooning Oedema, easy conversation when patients are scarce, infections trying to steal limbs, and an abundance of the fattest happiest faces that could exist on human children. I love hte hospital. Obviously not because I like seeing the harsh diseases that people are dashed against (I may stray towards the awkward, but I'm not strange), but I'm in love because the hospital is an avaible avenue of education on a base level surpassing any classroom. What good is the study of commerce if malaria is ravaging your body? All the formulas you could memorize in physics are worthless if your brain is being snacked on by syphillis. HIV/AIDS, manageable for a community if education is provided, should surely take priority over a literary analysis of "So Long A Letter." Yes, children can eat eggs- it's a good source of energy. No, having intercourse will not kill your baby if they are still breast feeding. No, AIDS is not a myth. No, malaria nets do not make good fishing nets. Yes, the leading cause of pregnancy is sex.
With Al-Kamara, the CHO of the Mambolo clinic, to show me the ropes, nothing feels more comfortable now than to climb the few steps to the clinic, shake a few hands, and see what I can do that day to help (we're having an elephantiasis awareness campaign this weekend...ask me for more details- I'm the guy wearing the Hellen Keller Foundation shirt).
Well I don't think I've ended any of my recent posts with exhortations to tkae the best of care of yourselves and- if you're in the mood or not- to take care of everyone you can reach around you. But, as always, I hope you are. I'm a huge fan of love and other stuff like that.
Also- I'll admit my writing styles are outrageously influenced by whatever book I'm reading at the time- quirky when I'm reading Douglas Adams, succinct if I'm plunged into Hemingway, or lugburious if I'm trudging through Victor Hugo. The last three books I've read have been The Fountainhead, Jurassic Park, and Les Miserables. And apparently this is the kind of post that yields.
Having just punched myself in the mouth with fistfulls of jerky, candied fruit, pringles, nuts, more jerky, and a 45g progein drink to wash it all down, I looked at my clcok- 6 a.m. There being hardly a dent in the cornucopia contained in my recently arrived care packages, my binge didn't hurt my conscience so much as my alimentary tract. The carbohydrates, proteins, and fats raiding through my system gave me the aforementioned mental and physical rush. So what if I've lost 20+ lbs. since stepping of the plane, today I could wrestle an elephant.
And win.
Time to get ready for school. I revie2wed the notes I scrawled the night before- dear Lord, please reveal to me how to make Relative Abundance of Isotopes interesting to these students- then slammed a few chilly cups of rainwater against my skull. Knut was tied up outside trying to drown out Rihanna on the radio with his own howling, so I gave him the rest of last night's rice to keep his mouth busy. It's hard to believe that the new collar keeping him tied outside could be so loathed and loved- him doing the former, and me the latter. Okay, the dog was sated, I was prepared to pour some chemistry into young brains, and my stomach was stuffed like a boy scout's bag. Must be time to go.
The ride I had to school thuis morning was typical of every ride between my Mambolo Manor and Scarcies Secondary school (this morning in particular, I could've parted a heard of buffallo with my exceptional mood though). Children spilled out of houses like an ocean set free, shouting "Issa Kabba!!" with enough intensity to cause them coronary distress. I've often wondered if I'd be responsible to stop and perform CPR if one of the little onces crossedover from "impassioned yelling" to "passed out and not breathing." The women that sells those delicious little pepper snacks was out cooking, so I had to stop and trade a few words of traditional greeting before aiming my bike at the hill leading up to school. I'm probably a few thousand miles removed from the nearest X-Box, so dodging blue-clad Scarcies students on the road has taken Halo and Call of Duty's place. The school once gained, a meet-and-greet always ensues, every day you'd think you'd just met your colleagues. If I bumped into you in the staff room, our conversation would typically go something like this:
"Good morning! Hello!"
"You're welcome! Hello."
"How did you sleep?"
"I tell God thank you!" What about you?"
"Me too! I tell God thank you!"
"hello. Thank you. Thank you."
"Well that's all!"
"thank you. We will see each other later."
One national anthem, school song, and brief sermon later, we would both find ourselves teaching class. My students are awesome. Awesome, but behind- by no fault of theirs (teacher's strikes, etc.). They'll probably all be in neck braces if they keep glancing between their notes and my board work so frequently.
BOOM. My payload of knowledge bombs dropped on the school for the day, I suppose it's time to proceed to the Mambolo clinic for a whole storm of heart-wrenching problems, jokes and rattling laughter, marasmus represented alongside ballooning Oedema, easy conversation when patients are scarce, infections trying to steal limbs, and an abundance of the fattest happiest faces that could exist on human children. I love hte hospital. Obviously not because I like seeing the harsh diseases that people are dashed against (I may stray towards the awkward, but I'm not strange), but I'm in love because the hospital is an avaible avenue of education on a base level surpassing any classroom. What good is the study of commerce if malaria is ravaging your body? All the formulas you could memorize in physics are worthless if your brain is being snacked on by syphillis. HIV/AIDS, manageable for a community if education is provided, should surely take priority over a literary analysis of "So Long A Letter." Yes, children can eat eggs- it's a good source of energy. No, having intercourse will not kill your baby if they are still breast feeding. No, AIDS is not a myth. No, malaria nets do not make good fishing nets. Yes, the leading cause of pregnancy is sex.
With Al-Kamara, the CHO of the Mambolo clinic, to show me the ropes, nothing feels more comfortable now than to climb the few steps to the clinic, shake a few hands, and see what I can do that day to help (we're having an elephantiasis awareness campaign this weekend...ask me for more details- I'm the guy wearing the Hellen Keller Foundation shirt).
Well I don't think I've ended any of my recent posts with exhortations to tkae the best of care of yourselves and- if you're in the mood or not- to take care of everyone you can reach around you. But, as always, I hope you are. I'm a huge fan of love and other stuff like that.
Also- I'll admit my writing styles are outrageously influenced by whatever book I'm reading at the time- quirky when I'm reading Douglas Adams, succinct if I'm plunged into Hemingway, or lugburious if I'm trudging through Victor Hugo. The last three books I've read have been The Fountainhead, Jurassic Park, and Les Miserables. And apparently this is the kind of post that yields.
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