Because I don’t feel like I have much interesting information to share, I thought I would write a little about some playful and frivolous thoughts I’ve pursued in my free time here, and along my extensive walks from one place to another.
I’d love to share photos, but I don’t yet have the internet capacity for that. It might be a while, but hopefully my vibrant words will sustain you for now.

I was writing a letter to send via snail mail to a friend from home the other day and began to think about the nature of handwritten letters and postal mail in general. I remember when I was younger I wrote letters to my aunt, corresponding as pen pals, telling the oh so interesting news of currents events in my life and elaborating on my particular interests at the time or inquiring about her pets and the like. I was eager to share news about my life and hear about hers, but there was little supplementary conversation in between. All news was new news in this way.

Now, as I’m trying to write a letter, I’m trying to write something timeless because I write emails in between that are more current and readily accessible. So when the letter arrives, it’s clearly a mental note displaced in time and out of date. In place of providing relevant and timely information on the details of my life, I try to supplement my letters with humor and aesthetically pleasing decoration. On occasion I drop a chicken feather or flower in there for good measure, with an added souvenir kind of quality.

In some ways, the essence of a letter isn’t so much about the information disclosed anymore, as it is just a gesture documenting a thought or a state of mind (for me, anyway). My sister, Christine, would also encourage the use of the postal service as a personal endeavor of hers. She could singlehandedly keep USPS up and running. She has instilled in me this appreciation for tangible mail sent from the hands of one to another. She is an avid postcard writer, which I too have come to appreciate. It documents a small moment in time where I know that I was thought of in a particular place (noted by the postcard and the postmark… pending the delay in sending it).
I’ve received a couple of packages and letters since I’ve arrived in Botswana. What a treat! Because funds are limited, sending letters back gets a little expensive, but sometimes it’s fun just to send something real across an ocean and hope that it arrives in a timely fashion, if at all. It’s really a game. I mean I celebrated my birthday for about two weeks with each incoming letter! These letters will serve as decoration in my house…little reminders of love need to be evident everywhere in this currently bland house.

I also love the diversity in penmanship between family and friends. It really is another art form. Most of my closest “penpals” I can identify without them putting a return address…not such an impressive skill, I know, but I enjoy noting the particular way Christine writes her lowercase y’s & g’s with a long stem and my dad’s lowercase “a” switches between the grade school “a” and the textbook “a” throughout the years of his letter correspondence. Other friends can’t spell very well and it’s fun to see the permanency of their mistakes in ink. To be fair puddin’, I struggle with comma placement and run-ons…My mom would argue that I can’t spell either, but that’s only in my emails.
I’ve written this whole silly tangent and now I’m wondering why, but that tends to be the nature of my thoughts here. You pursue things until they seem irrelevant or uninteresting and move on.

Moving on…My house is becoming cozier. The smell is becoming more familiar and I am learning to relax in a space that is slowly becoming my own. It is somewhat lonely coming from constant interaction and stimulation during training with my host family and the other volunteers. If I take the initiative to go up the road to the grocery store, I’m reminded that the weather’s fine and there are people all around willing and eager to exchange a hello and a smile (and ask for money). My next few months here with just be me starting over and learning the people I can trust and build relationships with. Starting over is so daunting, but it seems mustering the initiative to move is the hardest part and I’ve already arrived and unpacked my things. So with my chin up and a (revived) resilient level of patience and optimism, I am starting over here.

I spent the day with the other Peace Corps Volunteer in the village, Rick. He has lived here for two years now. Just his insight and familiarity with the village was comforting. We were having a conversation about how people in our group refer to Botswana Peace Corps as “posh Peace Corps.” Peace Corps Botswana is very much a business professional experience, in the nature and context of your work here. Typically, we are in schools, offices, and clinics with established infrastructure. They need help with things like funding and general business management and some organization…a far cry from grassroots development and mud hut living. In addition, our living conditions are quite nice, relative to the general Batswana population in regards to amenities and furnishings. Because I imagined my Peace Corps experience to be a little more rustic, I have spent the past couple of months rationalizing the circumstances of my experience here. I am not necessarily disappointed or ungrateful I am just reminding myself that my experience is not any less “Peace Corps” by being this way. The unforeseen challenges of my service and the nature of my work may fulfill the essence of my expected Peace Corps experience. We shall see. Then I recognize that Peace Corps Volunteers serve all around the world and everyone’s experience is so vastly different that you can’t lessen or further validate your experience with your only criteria being living conditions.
“Own your service” is what I keep hearing…make it what you will…and that’s what I’ll do. It sounds like a Dr. Seuss prompt.

more later...
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