To Do. To See. To Experience.

My friend Katie recently blogged about her Life List: a collection of places she wants to visit, goals she hopes to achieve and experiences she’d like to have. Joining the Peace Corps and living in Africa were two major things I always wanted to do, but they weren't on my Life List. Mostly, because I never had one.

Luckily, I found this posted on my friend Frances' blog. It’s by no means a definitive Life List, or even a Life List of my own (I’m still working on that). But it was fun to see how childhood road trips and family vacations were responsible for checking off many of these. And even more interesting, to see what things I’ve done only because I moved to Africa.

It's no surprise that there's plenty more to do, to see and to experience. (I have a feeling it will always be that way.) Despite that fact, I'd say I'm still making pretty good progress ... How about you?

1. started your own blog
2. slept under the stars
3. played in a band (to be clear, it was THE band, not A band)
4. visited hawaii
5. watched a meteor shower
6. given more than you can afford to charity (plus two years)
7. been to disneyworld
8. climbed a mountain
9. held a praying mantis
10. sang a solo
11. bungee jumped
12. visited paris
13. watched a lightning storm at sea
14. taught yourself an art from scratch
15. adopted a child
16. had food poisoning
17. walked to the top of the statue of liberty
18. grown your own vegetables
19. seen the mona lisa in france
20. slept on an overnight train
21. had a pillow fight
22. hitch-hiked (In Africa no less)
23. taken a sick day when you're not ill
24. built a snow fort
25. held a lamb
26. gone skinny dipping
27. run a marathon
28. ridden in a gondola in venice
29. seen a total eclipse
30. watched a sunrise or a sunset
31. hit a home run (in the park)
32. been on a cruise
33. seen niagra falls in person
34. visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. seen an amish community
36. taught yourself a new language
37. had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. seen the leaning tower of pisa in person
39. gone rock climbing
40. seen michaelangelo's david
41. sung karaoke
42. seen the old faithful geyser erupt
43. bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. visited Africa (and lived there!)
45. walked on a beach by moonlight
46. been transported in an ambulance
47. had your portrait painted
48. gone deep sea fishing
49. seen the sistine chapel in person
50. been to the top of the eiffel tower in paris
51. gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. kissed in the rain
53. played in the mud
54. gone to a drive-in theater
55. been in a movie
56. visited the great wall of china
57. started a business
58. taken a martial arts class
59. visited russia
60. served at a soup kitchen
61. sold girl scout cookies
62. gone whale watching
63. got flowers for no reason
64. donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. gone sky diving
66. visited a nazi concentration camp
67. bounced a check
68. flown in a helicopter
69. saved a favorite childhood toy
70. visited the lincoln memorial
71. eaten caviar
72. pieced a quilt
73. stood in times square (even worked in an office there)
74. toured the everglades
75. been fired from a job
76. seen the changing of the guards in London
77. broken a bone
78. been on a motorcycle
79. seen the grand canyon in person
80. published a book
81. visited the vatican
82. bought a brand new car
83. walked in jerusalem
84. had your picture in the newspaper
85. read the entire bible
86. visited the white house
87. killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. had chickenpox
89. saved someone's life
90. sat on a jury
91. met someone famous
92. joined a book club (started one, in fact!)
93. lost a loved one
94. had a baby
95. seen the alamo in person
96. swam in the great salt lake
97. been involved in a law suit
98. owned a cell phone
99. been stung by a bee
100. seen mount rushmore in person
101. learned to play an instrument

Water Water Everywhere...Or Not

In Khorixas, the donkeys bathe in dust. And these days, I do, too.

That’s because on Sunday, a water pipe burst near the school. It flooded the yard in front of the hostels, the road in front of the gate, and the makeshift soccer field beside our house. There was water everywhere.

For about three hours.

And after that, there was no water at all.

I used to live in a place where switches on walls meant lights and taps in bathrooms meant running water. The electricity never went out and never, in my life, was the water turned off. But since moving to Namibia, all that has changed. Here, taps mostly serve as a reminder of what I think I have—but more often than not—actually don’t.

A year ago this four days without water thing would have alarmed me. Frustrated me. Annoyed me. But today, as I sit here with the taps open, waiting patiently for the possibility of the sweet sound of water, it doesn’t. (I count this change among my chief accomplishments over the last 18 months.)

Maybe it doesn’t bother me because the last time this happened, the entire town of Khorixas was without water. None in the shops. None in the houses. And perhaps most alarming, none in the hospital.

In the dead of summer.

In the middle of the desert.

For five days.

It goes without saying that I’ve grown at least somehow accustomed to this (and definitely survived worse than these past few days). I’ve learned to live life with mostly-full jerry cans on hand and water stored in buckets and bottles. And while it makes life easier, it’s not really a long-term solution.

So while I wait for the pipe to be fixed—a project workers seem in no hurry to complete, since learners are on holiday and our hostel is mostly empty—I’ve found my own way of managing: schlepping empty bottles to work in the morning, bringing full ones home at night, and bathing in dust like the donkeys, while I wait patiently for the sweet sound of water once again.

Losing a Year (But Gaining a New Perspective)

A handful of Nam 27ers discovered the album, NOW That’s What I Call Peace Corps! just before swear-in. It was a play on the yearly Top-40 compilation some American music label puts out. Only the songs on this album were hand selected by our predecessors in Nam 26. It was somehow tongue and cheek, but the titles hinted at what we were in for over the course of our service:

Chain of Fools
It’s a Great Day to Whoop Somebody’s Ass
Where the Streets Have No Name
Hanging Around
Losing a Whole Year
Halfway Home
Time of Need
Run
Little Victories
I Will Survive

Some titles made us laugh. Others made us seriously question what we’d gotten ourselves into. But one in particular really got me thinking: the song Losing a Whole Year.

It was something I’d seriously contemplated before joining the Peace Corps—something I think almost all of us had. Everything we’d miss. (Perhaps it was even this fear that prevented me from serving straight out of university.) It was something I thought of when I left home for D.C., and it was something I thought about even more as I prepared to swear in and commit two years to life in Namibia.

One of my final stateside blog posts touched on this subject. Not losing one year—but losing two. I’d contemplated the friends’ weddings I’d miss (they’ll be three more this year), the babies I’d meet only after they’d become toddlers (three and counting), the holidays I’d spend away from family (four major ones and another two more to go) and the milestones I’d miss out on while living in a foreign land. There were the jobs I couldn’t have. The stories I couldn’t write. The money I couldn’t save.

And at the time, it all seemed a little overwhelming. Was Peace Corps worth all that I’d be giving up?

I now know the answer.

Yes.

But I didn’t realize why until a couple of months ago, when a fellow Nam 27er was sent back to the states to be treated for a medical condition Peace Corps couldn’t handle in Namibia. She wasn’t ready to go. And like many of us, felt there was too much left to be done. There was regret and frustration. Anger and I’m sure some tears. But when our Country Director sat her down for one final talk, something else became clear. Sure, she said, there was more to be done. And of course we’ll always leave feeling like we haven’t done enough. But our work here is lasting, and regardless of how much we’ve managed to change in Namibia, we can without a doubt, measure the things we’ve changed in ourselves. One of the most important things we’ve gained, she said, is the true understanding of the value of a year.

In my American life I measured my years in bylines and paychecks. In articles written and stories scooped. I measured my year in failed relationships and in pounds lost or gained. In fashion trends that worked (and those that didn’t). In new addresses and in old friends. So it was no surprise that when I boarded the plane for Africa, these were the things I worried that I’d miss.

But 17 months later, I see things differently.

A year is more than dollars and cents. More than the number of stories written, weddings attended or minor milestones achieved. It’s about being touched by the kindness of strangers. About family and old friends who keep relationships strong even from an ocean away. And about new friends who understand almost exactly what I’m facing. It’s about seeing places I never thought I’d go and living a life I never imagined I’d have. It’s about overcoming obstacles. About learning to work within a mixed-up system, instead of always trying to fight it. It’s about hitchhiking and clicking. About fitting in. About laughing (mostly at myself). It’s about love notes from learners and hugs from kids. Gaining patience and killing time. About having friendships here that are as real and as important as the ones I left at home. It’s about measuring my own successes in the faces and deeds of those around me. It’s about 2,000 kids who now have toothbrushes and 1,000 teachers who now know their HIV status. It’s about finding a second home in a place I never imagined I’d fit in.

But mostly it’s about valuing life more because I’m living better. About realizing that, even with the smallest pay check of my life, I’m able to live more richly than I ever have before.

Maybe the 26ers were right. Perhaps we are losing a whole year—even two. But our Country Director was onto something. What we’re gaining is so much more:

A new understanding.
A wider perspective.
And a greater appreciation for the true value of a year.