It may be a little early, but post graduation plans:
1. save every penny
1.5. go see the Grand Canyon (because that's the only thing on my list that can't be completed outside the US
2. sell everything I own
3. clean my room and vacuum my way out so I don't leave footprints in the carpet (I have suppressed OCD)
4. buy a one-way ticket to the west coast of Africa
5. pack up my Kiwi, some clothes and books and sneak a jar of Nutella on the plane
5. buy a motorbike and get to the other side of the continent (with a sidecar for my pooch)
6. Get a real job. Maybe.
7. Buy a house in Africa
8. Convince Stephanie and Nate & Kelsie to buy the houses on either side of me (they're the only ones I think could be persuaded)
9. Live happily ever after.
In my daydreams, this happens. All day long while I pick olives.
Actually, not really. Usually I'm wondering when we're going to eat, if it's worth it to try and get sun on my neck instead of just my arms and forehead, if I will beat Ian or Joe to the olive branch I've been eyeing to rake next, what I read in One Thousand Gifts this morning, what I read in Whatever You Do, Don't Run last night, how long I can wait to find out what Mma Ramostwe does with her depressed, mechanical fiancee in No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, when we're going to eat, how many words I know in Italian besides curse words, if there's a more efficient way to tie my hair back than two braids, if the bites on my arms are from spiders, and it my armpit hair is as offensive to everyone, who is too polite to say anything to my face, as I imagine.
This might be too personal to share, but this is the twenty-first century, and this is the internet! I never need to see your faces twisted into contortions of disgust at my overindulgence in sharing personal information. You came. You might regret it. I can only imagine Angela's face and it makes the following all worth it:
For some reason, as soon as I started down the hill tonight, I had to go. And I mean, go like I'd been holding it in all my life and was now so old and had so worn out my bladder muscles that I couldn't hold it in any longer. That kind of "go". So I found the best cover and some perfectly acceptable flora to take the place of toilet paper.
But it was feeding time for the horses and they knew to expect it from me. Just as I gathered the last of my flora toilet paper, I was spotted.
"I simply cannot go with you standing there. Please, would you mind? Come on. Vamos!" This horse only spoke Italian and had no intention of leaving me alone but I could almost hear her,
"We're both women. I'm hungry. Why in hell are you hopping from foot to foot like that? What's than in your hand, is it edible? Do you have more apples for me?"
Though I might be female, I've nearly mastered the art of peeing in the bushes. No fire ants, foreign flora, snakes, or other wazungu going in close proximity? Why, what a treat! Except this horse refused to leave and indeed waited right next to me until business was done (not without nudging me and sticking her nose in my face).
As I worried she'd push me over en medias res, I started laughing and have to say that it was one of the most enjoyable bathroom, er, field experiences I've had.
Confession? I can't wait to shave tomorrow! Do I hear the call of No-Deodorant December?
Nope. Definitely not.
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