Back to the grind, and by that I mean back from Nkhata Bay. I'm pretty predictable, so though it may have been the most easy-going 48 hours of my life, I obviously highlighted in my prior post the far out moments of our weekend getaway: they call that gross misrepresentation. In actuality, Nkhata Bay is described as resembling the Caribbean, both in attitude and appearance. It is with a whole heart that I concur.
So yes, now back in Ekwendeni, sitting in the living room. If I misrepresented my living accommodations (strike two), the garage is attached to a rather substantial house. Who do I think I am? Who do you think I am? Living in a free-standing garage? Not quite. Plus, I've plentifully eluded to my housemates, who are not make-believe.
This'll all soon be a moot point, though: a distant memory. As this is our final week in the house. Next week, the real doctor moves in and we head to the village guest house, of our tri-weekly chicken dinners.
It is crazy that we've been in Africa for as long as we have, that the aisles of the ShopRite are becoming rote, that I don't pause and react each time I encounter a rooster or chicken (or chick) in my path. It's also unbelievable that we've conducted as many focus groups as we have. During our second night dinner at Nkhata Bay, the four of us spontaneously combusted I mean had dinner with an American pediatrician and her photographer husband. The couple has spent the better part of the last two decades in the developing world (Laos, namely, but many places in Africa too), and shared with us their experiences and stories. They were receptive to Emily and my research experience as well, and it was cool to have definitive anecdotes and conclusions to spread out across the wooden table. It was obviously significantly more cool to listen to what they dished back, him with his white ribbed tank top and Santa Claus hairstyle, her with her Tanzanian bug spray.
What? The last paragraph was a little glossy? When the pediatrician was in medical school, she sent letters to hospitals in Asia and Africa until she ended up in 1970s Phuket, where her and two other USA med students essentially ran the lone hospital for three months. Fast forwarding her life, she spent twelve years revamping the curriculum for training pediatricians in Laos. In her tenure, the country went from having three to eighty practicing kid doctors (cool, dad, right?). Mr. Christmas showed us his photos, which were stunning. We all raved about the pizza, and traded traditional healer tales. This couple was quirky to the highest quintile, and though the little month-ago-mini-me inside my head whispered they had a smidgen of pretension on board, I genuinely enjoyed this meal with these strangers. And that's a big step.
So alright: that's the status quo. I don't want to record an out, so the last thing I'll mention is that there's one small upcoming event I neglected to catalog above. Put it in the lineup, back up the outfield, let it pinch hit between me leaving the Garage and moving into the Guest House. Can you guess?
Six days!
Rebecca
So yes, now back in Ekwendeni, sitting in the living room. If I misrepresented my living accommodations (strike two), the garage is attached to a rather substantial house. Who do I think I am? Who do you think I am? Living in a free-standing garage? Not quite. Plus, I've plentifully eluded to my housemates, who are not make-believe.
This'll all soon be a moot point, though: a distant memory. As this is our final week in the house. Next week, the real doctor moves in and we head to the village guest house, of our tri-weekly chicken dinners.
It is crazy that we've been in Africa for as long as we have, that the aisles of the ShopRite are becoming rote, that I don't pause and react each time I encounter a rooster or chicken (or chick) in my path. It's also unbelievable that we've conducted as many focus groups as we have. During our second night dinner at Nkhata Bay, the four of us spontaneously combusted I mean had dinner with an American pediatrician and her photographer husband. The couple has spent the better part of the last two decades in the developing world (Laos, namely, but many places in Africa too), and shared with us their experiences and stories. They were receptive to Emily and my research experience as well, and it was cool to have definitive anecdotes and conclusions to spread out across the wooden table. It was obviously significantly more cool to listen to what they dished back, him with his white ribbed tank top and Santa Claus hairstyle, her with her Tanzanian bug spray.
What? The last paragraph was a little glossy? When the pediatrician was in medical school, she sent letters to hospitals in Asia and Africa until she ended up in 1970s Phuket, where her and two other USA med students essentially ran the lone hospital for three months. Fast forwarding her life, she spent twelve years revamping the curriculum for training pediatricians in Laos. In her tenure, the country went from having three to eighty practicing kid doctors (cool, dad, right?). Mr. Christmas showed us his photos, which were stunning. We all raved about the pizza, and traded traditional healer tales. This couple was quirky to the highest quintile, and though the little month-ago-mini-me inside my head whispered they had a smidgen of pretension on board, I genuinely enjoyed this meal with these strangers. And that's a big step.
So alright: that's the status quo. I don't want to record an out, so the last thing I'll mention is that there's one small upcoming event I neglected to catalog above. Put it in the lineup, back up the outfield, let it pinch hit between me leaving the Garage and moving into the Guest House. Can you guess?
Six days!
Rebecca
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