I’ve been reviewing CVs for candidates for our Zambia Country Director position. What I’ve noticed:
CVs are freaking long. I don’t think I’ve seen one under 12 pages.
Most of the candidates were born in June. Curious.
Most of the candidates have 6 or more children. Interesting.
Many list the name of the primary school attended. That’s some history.
In the medians of the highways here, no, not really medians, the lines that divide oncoming traffic, stand boys selling things. Newspapers, baseball hats, globes, maps, cell phones – the most random assortment of items. Today a young man approached our car, offering to sell us a sun hat, plastic coat hangers, or a slingshot. Random.
I don’t feel like I’m really in Africa. When I learned I was coming to Africa, I had visions of wild animals, wide open grassy plains, children’s beautiful dark faces learning to read.
The reality of my situation – I’m in a suburb that could be anywhere in the world. I spend my days conducting meetings, going to government agencies, interviewing people for jobs in our local and regional offices. I walk the paved streets, surrounded by massive construction projects, tons of concrete, meeting people of every shade, from blue black to lily white, dressed in Western clothes.
I realize I smile a lot in foreign countries. I smile because I’m seeing things I’ve never seen before. I smile because I don’t understand what’s going on and smiling is a reminder that I’m a very lucky person. I’ve smiled a lot in South Africa because even though everyone is speaking English I don’t understand what they’re saying. I hate having to ask people to repeat themselves (especially multiple times) so I smile to mask my uncomfortableness and embarrassment.
After flying for 22 hours, I looked down to discover I have swollen ankles. AHHHHHHHHHHH! That’s what old ladies who eat too much salt get. I’ve traveled to Australia, South Korea, and Cambodia, all 20+ hour travels, and I’ve never gotten swollen ankles. This had better just be temporary.
We landed to the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen. The light here is magical, bathing everything in a pure goldness. I exited the place and stood on the tarmac, watching the sun drench the airplanes, the runway, the grassy fields nearby.
Zacharia, a taxi driver arranged by my South African colleagues, met me outside of customs. He had such an easy going manner, we began talking right away: my flight, South Africa, San Francisco, sports, families. The 90 minute drive to Pretoria flew by.
The afternoon was spent catching up on email, meeting with colleagues and unpacking. We walked across the street to an outdoor café. As we ordered, flashes of lighting lit the hot, humid sky. I breathed in deeply. The minerally smell was overwhelming. Heavy drops began falling, one by one, faster and faster. I closed my eyes. I like it here already.
I am compulsive about finishing books and movies. No matter how bad they are, I finish them. This is a bad thing when trapped in an extremely confined space, such as an economy seat on a 11 hour flight. I watched three movies that made me glad I was single, or at least not in the relationship on the screen: The Last Kiss, Running With Scissors, and The Upside of Anger.
I walked into the Adult Immunization Clinic hoping the nurse would tell me I was fine, I didn’t need any shots or pills, enjoy Africa – bon voyage! As I approached the sign-in counter, I noticed a large placard heralding the new “SINGLES VACCINE.” Holy crap. Now they’re trying to rid the world of singledom, along with smallpox, polio, and tb? I did a double take, curious what the rationale behind funding such a vaccine would be. Oh. Shingles vaccine. Don’t need that one either.
I waited patiently, listening to my new iPod, loving the shuffle function – every song is a surprise! Lisa, a café au lait skinned, salt and pepper dreadlocked nurse with the deepest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, called me back to her consultation station. We talked about where I was going, what I’d be doing, and how long I’d be gone before she made her recommendation: I needed my second dose of the hepatitis series I’d started before Cambodia and a prescription for anti-malaria prophylactics.
When I saw her tapping the needle I stammered, “I don’t like shots. I might cry, but it’s okay. I won’t pass out.” She smiled and grabbed my arm. I flinched. “I know, I know, I need to be still. I know.” My stomach was slowly rising in my throat. Why was the room spinning? She punctured my shoulder and I let out a whimper and collapsed. She withdrew the needle and pushed me to the floor with the words, “Lay on the floor.” My phobia of needles competed with my disdain of public floors. I looked into her deep brown eyes and murmured, “Seriously? You want me to lie on the floor? Right here?” She nodded and gently pushed me down. “Don’t think about how many people have walked here. Don’t think about how often they vacuum government offices. Don’t think about this is where people come to get vaccinated and immunized and droplets of live viruses are probably squirming all around you,” was what I thought. And for each “don’t” I told myself not to think about, I did.
Lisa had left, returning with cold wet paper towels and a sickingly sweet juice box that, at the moment she inserted the straw into my still-horizontal mouth, tasted like the nectar of the gods. Each time I said, “I’m okay,” she pushed me back down, urging me to rest. After several rounds of coming up, being pushed down, coming up, I stayed up. And rose (very slowly, but on my own).
I left the clinic, one shot closer to Africa.
Knowing that I always wait until the last minute to pack for international trips, and have almost not gone on two such trips because I still couldn’t find my passport within an hour of leaving for the airport, I decided to pretend I was leaving a week before I actually was. And it worked. I completely panicked, not being able to find my passport. After about an hour of pulling drawers apart, going through files, and looking in previously used bags, I found it. Now, where to put it for a week so I don’t lose it again?
On my nightstand, doubling as a coaster. Perfect. I’m so ready for Africa.
I just realized that the entire month of January is in draft form. I’ve started several entries, saved them, and never come back to them. It’s been that type of month.
To summarize, January was a month of many firsts:
More to come from Africa…
LoriLoo 