Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Dear friends, relations, and assorted others:

As you may or may not have heard through the grapevine, I’ll be joining the Peace Corps and shipping off to Zambia this February. For those who didn’t know: Surprise! To those who did: Thank you for helping me through those crazy, exciting, and chaotic 10 days between invitation and acceptance. Your support – and ability to sit through long one-sided conversations – was invaluable.

According to my fancy, schmancy invitation packet, I have been invited to the “Real Africa.” In PC-language that means I will be living in a hut (my own hut), without running water and electricity. Yes, I realize this description implies that other more modern African cities and countries are less realistic/authentic to the African identity. No, I do not agree that modernization is inherently Western or that a people loses its ethnic or cultural roots by improving quality of life and offering basic creature comforts. Let’s let that slide for now. I feel the African modernization vs. African identity will occupy many of my ipod-, tv-, computer-free nights in the near future.

Also, I will be granted my own mountain bike. Navigating Zambia will require about 5 to 20 miles of biking on a daily basis, from what I gleaned from blogs. Maybe more depending on where I am stationed. The thought makes my butt hurt. And as some of you know, I have a tendency to crash bikes into various immovable objects.

I will be working on a highly successful radio education project called “Learning at Taonga Market.” The AIDS crisis has decimated Zambia’s supply of teachers and general poverty makes it difficult to have traditional classes in rural areas. A large percentage of children are orphans, and these kids often sacrifice schooling to support themselves. The radio program offers a “fun, engaging” form of learning that is accessible to everyone. And tests show that children who attend radio classes do just as well or better than children in formal classrooms. As a volunteer, I will be working at a district level to build capacity in this program (in existence since 2001), recruiting new participants, working with the Ministry of Education and incorporating life skills and HIV/AIDS education. I’m glad the program is indigenous to the community and not a Westernized imposition. It seems my life energy is continually moving to the intersection of media and advocacy. Using communication to feed, house, love, and help makes me feel more alive than I can explain. This may be my acorn (for those of you who get that).

More about Zambia: It’s a land-locked country slightly larger than Texas. It is neighbored by Congo, Angola, Mozambique, Namibia, Malawi, Zimbabwe and Tanzania. The official language is English and the main religion Christianity. It has a tropical or temperate climate depending and it rains from October to April. Google Image Search informs me that it is beautiful. It is famous for Victoria Falls, adventure safaris and “Dr. Livingstone, I presume.” It was once Rhodesia. Lonely Planet has a country guide with a section on extreme outdoor sports. Friends, start saving your pennies now.

Not-so-hot things about Zambia: 1 in 6 people have HIV/AIDS (2003 est.). Life expectancy is 38 years. It’s one of the poorest countries in the world.
There are many things I am afraid of. Spiders not being the biggest of them right now. There are many things I am impatient for. Namely my very own mud hut. There are many other feelings I am not sure about dancing around like Northern Lights in my peripheral vision.

I drive my Volvo on Main Street and drum out Simon and Garfunkel melodies and think of Africa. I am nervous that I will fail that mission, but I remind myself that it is not a mission but an adventure and adventures cannot be failed unless they are avoided. I worry that the sorrow will engulf me. Then I think of the countless other alleged “sufferers” I have embraced. These homeless and impoverished individuals left me with a richer understanding of joy. And I think of the people I have met of privilege, who have taught me that unnamable sorrow of small deaths, and managed mediocrity, of unvoiced desires and furtive escape plans.

At some point, sorrow finds us all, whether on suburban cul-de-sacs or under African skies. There is no blood on the door that will ward off the human condition. This plague comes to everyone. Getting this may be part of growing up.

Now, I know I am not going to save the whole big world. Or even just a little country. Limitations are everywhere and my manual fully prepares me to be frustrated by the Zambian bureaucracy. I harbor no rosy expectations of international development.

So why go? Why abandon a country with many legitimate problems of its own, especially when doing so means sacrificing friends, family and a reliable toilet source.

Why not? Maybe I watched too much “Into the Wild.” Or read too many adventure stories. Or loved my Indian fort in the backyard a little too strong. The accurate variation of the Thoreau quote in this blog’s title used to hang above my bed. I loved it since hearing it uttered with whispered reverence by Robin Williams in “The Dead Poets Society.” Perhaps Nineteenth Century recluses are better at expressing me than me. The Peruvian revolutionary Javier Heraud puts it similarly, this universal need to temporarily check out of society,

“But it is better than other ways,” (he writes)
“I recommend it –
get away for a time
from the bustle
learn what it’s all about
in those mountains.”

So dear ones, don’t take it personally. I am not abandoning you. Everything you have given me has brought me to this decision. And I will send you blog posts and letters and e-mail and send cosmic vibes. In return, I would like countless care packages of goodies and similar shows of positive energy. And a few blog comments now and then.

If all goes as planned, I’ll leave for staging February 28 and train in the capital until I begin my actual service in May. From then, it’s straight on ‘til morning, i.e. May 2011.

So if anyone wants to see me in the next 2½ years, please alert me soon! Between now and February, I would also like to a) Acquire a list of fabulous reading, recipes and music; b) Learn some musical instrument; c) Practice running from poisonous things and other crazed bikers; d) Watch lots and lots of movies; and e) Pack.

This is the thing I will not do: I will no longer start thoughts with the phrase “Brittany in Africa…”

Examples:
Brittany in Africa lives in a mud hut and carries water on her head.

Brittany in Africa reads nightly under the constellations and produces deep insights into our existence on Earth.

Brittany in Africa is beloved by small children who follow her like little woodland creatures around a Disney princess.

Brittany in Africa bikes mountains and has calves of titanium and steel.

Brittany in Africa sustains herself on food she grew, picked and cooked.

Brittany in Africa spends her days weaving, sewing, potting and other crafty –ing’s associated with fair trade products, hipsters and women’s collectives.

Brittany in Africa is better, stronger, prettier, primitiver and holier than Brittany in America. (and yes, primitiver is not an actual word but it works.)

This is surprisingly hard for a degenerate daydreamer. I will also refrain from posting long rambling discourses on the state of my soul.

Thank you all. I love you and am more grateful than you can know.