Random thoughts on blogging

Hello? Anybody out there? In honor of my completely gutted readership, I thought I’d share some of my latest thoughts on blogging for the scant few of you who still bother to come to this site (and yet never comment on ANYthing. Lazy slobs.)

1) I took a long sabbatical from blogging, I know. To tell you the truth, after 5 years in Malawi, I was beginning to feel like I just had nothing good to say anymore. Malawi is still a lovely country, don’t get me wrong. I’d live there over, say, Chad or the Central African Republic any day. But things have been on a gradual decline for the past year, and it was sad to see. I’ve already written about the fuel shortages, of course, and the protests. But I didn’t write about the concerns over governance, the way the government seemed to be increasingly intolerant of criticism, sometimes taking out full page ads in the newspaper, explaining point by point why a) they have never made any mistakes at all, ever, and b) the opposition are idiots.

However, this blog has never been about politics (although every day I am finding it increasingly difficult to restrain from mocking the Republican Party), and as a humanitarian aid worker, I can jeopardize my own ability to work in a country by saying the wrong thing, so mum was the word. I feel conflicted about my silence however; isn’t it my duty to speak out when I see something unjust?

2) I never wrote about this one: I got Twittered. Tweeted?

It was the day of the protests in Lilongwe, and someone (cough cough government cough) had managed to shut down all the radio stations. Nyasa Times had reportedly been hacked. At any rate, there were no readily available news source. So for the first time, I turned to Twitter. For the rest of the day, I refreshed, read, and repeated.

Then I read something curious. Someone tweeted about a blogger named Gwyneth who worked in Public Health in Malawi. “Wow!” I thought “There’s another Gwyneth working in public health in Malawi? And she has a blog too! What are the odds?” And then it occurred to me – the odds were actually something like 6.7 million to one. They were talking about me.

I clicked through the link, and found my own blog post, written just a couple hours earlier, posted on the African news website All Africa. At first I was quite proud. But then I thought of how the government had announced it would be monitoring Facebook, and Twitter, and blogs, with the implication that those found writing negative things would face consequences. I briefly considered removing my post, but then I read my post again, and I was proud of what I had done. I decided to stand by my words.

3) Call me naïve, but I only recently realized that prospective employers Google their job candidates. Since my contract in Malawi was coming to an end, I have been steadily job-hunting over the past few months. Not long after a job interview a few months ago, I discovered that someone had found my blog by Googling me. Unfortunately, they were able to find me because a certain friend made the indiscretion of referring to our last names on this blog. I will punch him the next time I see him, but seeing as the guy is like 250 pounds, I don’t think I’ll do much harm.

But here’s something you should know, Mr. or Ms. Prospective employer. I see you. I know you’re out there, looking for me. I can now what you’re up to too.

And my next blog post is likely to be titled “Why I am the most awesome employee EVAH.”

And another adventure begins

We have moved to Ireland. We are still a little bit in shock. Fortunately, everything went pretty smoothly with the trip here - the boys slept most of the flight from Nairoble to Amsterdam, there were no issues at all with immigration coming into Ireland, all our bags showed up, and there was even a humongous van waiting at the taxi stand when we got out there.

The only complications were when an older American man hassled us for going around to the front of the line to board (with our two small, wailing children, of course). I resisted the urge to tell him to stuff it. And Aer Lingus made us check one of our carry-ons, even though we were well within the limit. I tried to explain that Milo gets the exact same allowances I get - as he pays almost full price - but math was apparently not her strong suit. Anyway, I didn't mind having the load off. We keep saying this, but we are really going to have to learn to pack lighter next time.

Ireland is all a bit overwhelming still. It's hard to overcome the urge to splurge and indulge in everything. "Look - shawarma! No wait, there's sushi! And burritos! Can we have some ice cream?" I even found myself thinking about getting a McDonald's sundae today, because, you know, they don't have those in Malawi. I keep having to remind myself that we are staing here, and there will be plenty of time to eat the foods I like, buy new clothes, go to the movies.

Jorge is having the opposite reaction - he's finding everything a little overstimulating, and just wants to eat bread and cheese in the hotel room.

I know it never really takes us long to adjust, but I think we have been permanently changed by the years we spent living in Africa. It is hard for me to ever imagine a time when spending 600 dollars on a telephone will make any sense. And I think I will always crave for my children the freedom they have gotten used to. My saddest moment so far was getting down to Milo eye-to-eye and having to explain to him "We are not in Malawi anymore - you have to stay with Mommy now, you can't run around whenever you want to."

We went to several parks today, and as he always does, Milo tried to make friends with the other kids. They pretty much ignored him, the same way they did in Seattle -something I found very difficult to understand. But I saw a little spark of interest in some of the kids, as if they were wistfully considering socializing with another child, and that gave me a little hope that Milo will indeed make some friends here.

Our next big job is to find an apartment. A friend very generously offered us her apartment while she travels to Somalia for work, but the clock is ticking - we've got 3 weeks at the most to find and move into a new place. We're OK with something small, even a little dingy, but there is one thing I won't sacrifice, and that is a good shower. So it may take a while...

Big news. Sad, but big.

Malawi has been our home for so long, I’ve forgotten that the nature of my job is more in the moving than the staying. In fact, when I was younger, I scoffed at the idea of staying put more than a year or two in any given place. I was born to roam, baby.

Now that I’m older, more maternal, and quite frankly, a little boring, I don’t see the point in being anywhere less than three years. What can you really accomplish in a year? Two? That’s just enough time to figure out what you’re doing, then you have to start all over again.

The norm, however, seems to be two to three years for most of my friends and colleagues, though. Which means that a couple of years ago, we went through one big endless year of farewell parties as most of our close friends moved on. Now, after 5 years in Malawi, the second wave is beginning.

And it seems, my friends, the tide is taking us out with it. In just one week, we are leaving Malawi.

My heart breaks just a little bit even writing those words.

We knew we would be leaving soon. I had extended my contract through the end of the year, but my feet have gotten itchy again, and it’s too hard to see everyone else leave and feel like we’re being left behind. So we made a conscious decision, come what may, we would be leaving Malawi by the end of the year, even if that meant moving back home to the U.S. to mooch off of our families.

As it turns out, we’re not having to couch-surf just yet. One of our senior advisers is out on maternity leave, and she asked if I would cover for her during the 7 months she will be out of work. I agreed, and so next week we are moving to Dublin (that’s Ireland, in case you were expecting yet another remote developing country).

Ireland. I know, right? How totally different can you get from Malawi (apart from Finland)? We’re expecting a total and completely new way of life, but that’s part of the excitement. After all, how much longer do we have that we can still traipse off to Europe for a few months if we want to?

I guess you can expect a whole new class of misadventures from us as we navigate immigration, find a place to live, and apparently the hardest thing, open a bank account. These may sound like menial tasks, but they scare the bajeezus out of me. I’m pretty sure I can’t just smile my way into getting a driver’s license in Europe, the way I can here.

Wish us luck as we make this big leap, friends. I will try to keep you up to date on this newest adventure in our lives.

Quiet now

I just thought I would pop on and let you all know that things have settled down here in Malawi, at least for now. After two days at home I got incredibly stir-crazy, and convinced my office to let me go out to the field on Friday, and it was as calm as you could ever imagine. All the supposed damage to the city center had never happened, and while everyone seemed a little more tense than usual, I never felt in any danger. So it seems that at least some of the news reports were overblown. Never again will I turn to twitter for news!

What is clear, though, is that 18 people lost their lives during the two days of unrest, and that is a horrible, shocking tragedy. Lots of fingers have been pointed, but no one has taken any responsibility. In the cities, at least, the protests seem to have had the effect that people are even more frustrated now.

In the meantime, things have gotten back to normal. Which means no fuel at the filling stations, regular black-outs, and high prices on everything from tomatoes to tires.

For us, we are just looking forward to the arrival of my dad tomorrow, who is coming for a two-week visit. And then beyond that, trying to figure out where we go now, as it looks like we have officially, finally, and somewhat reluctantly decided that I will leave my current job at the end of this year. We have been here five years, and given all the difficulties of life lately, and all the friends who have already left before us, it is finally starting to feel like enough.

Coming up Short

The order of the day in Malawi is shortages. It seems just about everything is running low these days – fuel, electricity, forex, drugs…A friend recently saw a news story in the local paper bemoaning the “shortage of models,” which is apparently crippling Malawi’s fashion industry. Half the time, we don’t even have powdered milk for our tea in my office. Life is certainly more difficult these days.

Of course, there’s also my critical shortage of time. And the shortage of words to describe just how insanely busy I have been. Swamped. Overwhelmed. Engaged. Occupied. You see? I have run out already.

But today I’ll try to squeeze out a few words in between bits of my hastily eaten lunch, banking on the likelihood that my 2:00 meeting will be late.

Of course, of all the shortages in Malawi, the biggest news is probably the fuel shortages. For weeks now, there just has not been enough fuel in the gas stations. At any given time, only a handful of stations will have fuel. You can tell which ones these are by the lines of cars stretching in every direction trying to get in, or the rush of people jostling with their jerry cans. The other stations sit empty, traffic cones placed in front of the pumps to indicate that they are dry yet again.

Of course, the fuel shortage is not just annoying for commuters, it is dangerous to the economy. I heard that at one point, even the fuel tankers were running out of gas, unable to make it back to the port in Mozambique to resupply. Naturally, a booming black market trade has sprung up for those who don’t have the time or patience to spend 6 hours waiting in line. The last few times we had major fuel shortages, the government blamed Mozambique for having problems at their port (oddly enough, though, Mozambique itself seemed to have plenty of fuel. Hmmmm.) Now, apparently, the problem is that the government has created sooooo much prosperity through its canny economic choices, that the fuel suppliers can’t keep up with the demand created by all the newly rich Malawians buying new cars.

As for us, we’re no longer so concerned about running out of fuel – Jorge unexpectedly sold our car on my birthday this Monday. In the morning, I had a car. I come home from work, no car.

Huh. I guess that’s one way to deal with the problem of the worn-out clutch and the bald tires we needed to replace. Kind of genius, actually.

OK. OK. I get it.

Yeah, so I know I have been AWOL. It hasn’t been an easy couple of months. But that’s no excuse – when has my life ever been easy? I think I deliberately prevent it from becoming so…

But then I checked Facebook the other day and saw this:

"Chris J. is wondering if his favorite sister-in-law-in-Malawi will ever blog again..."

Alright, alright. I hear you people ( all 5 of you who still read this blog). You want posts. So post I shall.

(But nuts…what should I say?) I guess I can start by saying why I haven’t been on much. And it’s not just that I haven’t been writing – I haven’t read any blogs in ages either. At work I’m usually too swamped, and at home…well, at home I’m swamped too. That’s life as a working mama.

And it isn’t just that – I just have felt lately that the only things that come to my mind to write about are so….negative. For example, there’s the growing number of articles in the Malawi newspapers blaming women who are raped, because their short skirts and exposed thighs “force” men into assaulting them. How about the government up and changing the flag (which I thought was very nice) in a dramatic show of government will ignoring the opinions of the people? And I’m increasingly depressed by the poverty wages paid to hard-working Malawians – our housekeeper was recently offered 6,000 Malawi Kwacha ($40) per month for full time employment at another house (he declined, naturally). Aid workers hardly pay much more, despite supposedly being here to ‘help’ the people.

The US is no better a topic for discussion – the percentage of Americans who believe that Obama is Muslim nearly doubled in the past few months, and Republicans STILL have the balls to suggest that the way out of financial crisis is to lower taxes and bankrupt the federal government (seriously, haven't we learned?). It’s all too depressing for words sometimes, so I just keep quiet.

Then of course I have my own work frustrations, for example a horrendous trip to Uganda last month, the rapidly rising cost of living in Malawi (it’s WAY more expensive in Africa than people think) and my shrinking wages as the Euro tanks, working hard every day for little recognition or reward.

I like to think of myself as a pretty positive person. After all, I went through chemo and radiation with hardly a peep of protest. It pains me to complain on this blog. A central value of my childhood was “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” So again, I just keep quiet.

But it’s not all doom and gloom around here. After all, I do have just about the best family any woman could ask for. How many women, after 6 years of marriage, still get two dozen roses on a Tuesday afternoon from their husband, for no reason at all? And even though Milo is fully TWO in all of its glory (and being potty trained on top of all that), he still charms me every day with his tremendous capacity for love and unsuppressed joy. And there’s even more reason for happiness around the C. household now, as our little family will grow to 4 soon, sometime at the end of this year.

(You like how I snuck that in there?)

But I have heard the people, and I will respond to their little plaintive pleas. I may need some help on coming up with topics, though. So, anyone want to suggest what you would like to hear more about? Got questions for me? Post them in the comments, and I’ll try to start writing more. After all, this is a two-way street folks – you want blog posts? I need validation. Comments. Lots of ‘em.

Just popping on to say hello before I leave for dinner tonight. This has been another typically full week at the house. On Monday we went to a terrific Hash walk through the Lilongwe Wildlife Sanctuary. Milo was enraptured by the huge hyena pacing back and forth behind the fence, taunting it by yelling "doggie! doggie!" The hyena did not seem amused. We also got a close-up view of Bella, the stunted and half-blind lion, rescued from an Armenian circus.

Yesterday my wonderful husband took me on a death march around our neighborhood for an hour and a half. That's what I get for enlisting him in trying to help me get out and moving. Then it was off to choir practice.

Tonight it's off to dinner for a friend's birthday, tomorrow we are hosting a going-away party for our dear friend Lillian, Friday we have tickets for a St. Patrick's Day concert of traditional Irish music, then Saturday we are planning to head off for a lake weekend. Whew!

But by far the most exciting thing about this week is that one of our favorite people, Cassandra, arrives tomorrow for a 10-day visit! HOORAY! I can't wait for the girl talk to start...

Milo is getting so verbal lately. When Jorge picked me up from work Milo just yelled "Hello mama!" Like a real person! He also tried to pee in his potty today, that was pretty exciting. He missed of course. Then 30 minutes crawled into my lap so he could pee all over my legs. Sigh.

Well, that's the news from Lilongwe.

My status

It took me a looong time before I *got* Facebook. I even meant to write a blog post about how inscrutable I found the whole phenomenon. Maybe I did write a blog post, it's hard to keep track after three years (!) of blogging from Malawi now.

Usually, when I get on Facebook, I can't think of anything to say in my status update. Everything I'm doing or thinking always seems too banal, attention-seeking, or private. And yes, I am aware of the irony of blogging about having nothing to say.

But today, I have so many status updates I could write! So instead of flooding your facebook home page with them, you can read them here:

Gwyneth....

• Can't wait for the two loves of her life to get home tomorrow!
• Is feeling really guilty and sad that, as one-third of the entire soprano section, she will not be able to sing in her choir's first performance Saturday.
• Really does not want to write a proposal right now. Or even worse, draft the accompanying budget.
• Will be spending most of the holiday season fighting off mosquitoes in Nsanje.
• Is relieved that, slowly but surely, everything is getting worked out for the first big district-wide survey she is going to manage. Almost everything is ready now!
• Still wants to throw her annual Christmas Dessert Buffet (Now With Cheese!!) party, but just can't think how it is even logistically possible at this point. And who would show up anyway, with their gas tanks all empty of Christmas cheer?
• Wishes she could see Milo's reaction when he sees our Christmas tree tomorrow...:-)

We had a wonderful weekend. It was almost as if we had a life again.

We finally found a babysitter – the next-door neighbor’s housekeeper – and she comes over in the afternoons a couple days a week. It gives Jorge a chance to go off and run errands or check his e-mail without worrying about what to do with Milo.

The great thing is that she will also stay over at night, so that we can now go out on dates again! Before this weekend, my husband and I had only been out on one date since Milo was born. On Friday night the babysitter came over, and Jorge and I went out for a lovely dinner at a romantic little Italian place. After that, we drove over to the international school, which was hosting an art fair – they had assembled works, good and bad, from artists and craftsmen throughout Malawi. I bought this (it looks more muted in person):


Then, not content to go quietly into the night, we went to a friend's birthday party at Kumbali Lodge (where Madonna stays when she's in town. What, namedropping, me?) After that we finally went to bed, and I didn’t even have to get up to feed Milo!

On Saturday morning we went to breakfast at a friend’s house. Jorge normally runs with a group on Saturday mornings, and afterwards they have breakfast. This Saturday, however, there was no run, so we just got to eat instead. Our friend Marcel has an amazing home, complete with a crocodile pen. Jorge couldn’t resist dangling Milo over the enclosure, but I got video, so I can show Jorge’s mom. I can hear her now: “Jorge, Nooooooo!! Noooooo, por Dios!!”

That evening we had dinner at Cassandra’s. Her brother is a professional chef. Tasty.

On Sunday morning, Jorge ran in the annual Lilongwe Half-marathon, and I manned a water station. I was nervous about Jorge running so soon after his accident, and he planned to take it easy, walking some of the way. But once he got going, he just decided to run the whole way. He was a bit slower than usual, and a bit more sore afterward, but I think it was probably good for him, in the end.

After the run, our friend Ann hosted brunch, with homemade bagels. Mmmm.

And last night, I became an official member of the Lilongwe Photo Club, a group of camera geeks that gets together monthly to view photos, provide constructive criticism, and eat. The eating part seems to be taken the most seriously. I was a bit intimidated because everyone else has these cool artsy photos...and I have pictures of my baby. At least he's cute. See?:

Happy Thanksgiving

I had a cute post laid out yesterday, but then realized that I forgot the pictures to attach. So you will just have to wait on that, and read this boring, newsy post instead.

Our entertaining season seems to be in full swing now. Last night we had friends over for gumbo and potato salad (with real andouille sausage brought all the way from LaPlace, Louisiana. Mmmm) followed by bananas foster. The ice cream here is very weird. I guess because of the African heat, they have come up with a way to magically make ice cream that never melts. It just turns into the consistency of whipping cream when you leave it out. Very strange and suspicious. In Ghana, they had chocolate that wouldn't melt. That's just not right either.

Anyway, on Saturday we're having our big turkey day. We learned from last year and bought two turkeys this time. Because having leftovers is one of the best parts of the holiday.

Then, next Monday, we are hosting our first hash. I'll tell you all about the hash next week. Anyway, it just means more work for me!

As for me, I'm heading off to the field again tomorrow. (Thanksgiving is not a holiday here, naturally). I will be in Chikwawa (about 6 hours South and fun to say!) until Saturday, when I have to race back for the Thanksgiving preparations. It will be nice to get out of the office, though.

And baby is still doing well. Likes to kick. I am halfway through the pregnancy now, and I'll be going for an ultrasound in one hour. Maybe then we'll know if it's going to be a Tonka or a Tonkette!

Raise your glasses...

...and toast to the fact that I am now entering my 4th year in remission.

It was three years ago that I got the good news that there was no more Lymphoma in my system. That first year post-treatment was pretty scary. The second year I got nervous every time a test was due. Now, three years on, I'm starting to feel pretty confident that I kicked that whole cancer thing in the patookis. It deserved much worse, let me tell you.

Anyway, I was looking for a graph that would show how my chances of getting sick again decrease over time. Instead I found this:



Basically, what this means is that the chance that the Lymphoma will come back drops very low by the time I make it to about 7 years - but I'm already past the most common recurrence period.

The bad news is that 40% of people who get Lymphoma kick it within 25 years, usually due to secondary cancers caused by the initial cancer treatment (ironic, no?). This is why health insurance policies want 3,000 dollars a month to cover me, and why life insurance providers refuse to even give me a quote (I have tried). From their point of view, I am a ticking time bomb, ready to blow up in a blaze of medical bills and abandoned dependents.

But let's keep this all in perspective, shall we? After all, this study was done on people who got sick in the 60s. For all I know, they were injecting patients with rocket fuel back then.

For what it's worth, I feel like one of the lucky ones.

IN OTHER NEWS, tomorrow Jorge and I fly back to the U.S. for two weeks! We have a whirlwind trip planned to New York, Pennsylvania, Los Angeles, and New Orleans, where we will see numerous friends and relatives, but have too little time to actually hold a conversation with them. We'll just whizz by and yell "Hey, you look great! Love the hair! Gotta go now!"

I'll be better, I will!

Sorry I have been so AWOL this month. It's been pretty crazy with work. And I haven't really had all that much to write about. But look, I have given it some thought and it turns out I have lots of news to share with my dear friends and family:

We had a nice weekend - we went out to the Dam, where a half-marathon was organized. I helped set the course (and got lots of neon yellow spray paint all over my hands. It ain't easy trying to spray paint bushes), and Jorge WON THE RACE! My baby is fast! I will put up some picures once I get off my butt and charge the camera battery.

My brother-in-law is coming to visit in a few weeks. I'm very happy to see a loved one again, and excited to get to show a bit of Africa off to someone who's never been before. Your first time here, everything is so exotic and new. Jorge is busy arranging their trip to Tanzania, where they will go on a safari to the Serengeti and Ngorongoro, then continue on to Zanzibar. Lucky devils.

I'm off to the field for a few days this week, so I'll be gone again. I'm going to the very bottom of the country, 9 hours away, so it will be a tiring drive. But it's nice to get out the field every now and again.

Finally, Lilongwe seems to be in a bit of a crime wave at the moment. There's been a number of house and car break-ins, and the worry has been robbing me of my sleep. I have been assured by our operations manager that my house is one of the last ones in Lilongwe that someone would want to break into, though, because of the security systems. So I try not to worry, and you should too.

Well, that's the news from the 'Lawi.

Daredevil, Part 2

As I mentioned in my last post, I’m afraid of many things: dogs, cancer, getting hit in the head by sports equipment, spiders, just about anything that lives in the ocean, small aircraft, being lost, angry youth, falling out of boats, being burgled or mugged, elephants, divorce, electrocution, early-onset hair loss…

Most of these fears, I realize, are a bit irrational, so I just get on with things and try not to think about them.

But there’s one thing that terrifies me that I can’t avoid, and which really is quite dangerous: African motorways.

Someone recently told me that Malawi has the highest rate of fatal car accidents per car on the road. For example, India has a lot more car deaths than Malawi – but India has a LOT more cars.

Over Easter weekend, there were two serious incidents involving expats – one was killed when a tire blew out and the car drove off the road. Four more people were injured in a collision when the driver swerved to avoid a bicyclist. Just two days ago one of the health workers that my organization works with was hit and killed by a truck while walking down the road.

It’s not just Malawi, either – Ghana was a nightmare. I remember very frequently sitting petrified in a big UN car, thinking how ironic it would be if I survived cancer only to be killed in a freak accident involving a goat, bicycle and minibus.

The “freeways” here are crumbling, twisty, two-lane roads, with no shoulders. You share the roads with potholes, pedestrians, bicyclists, livestock, and semi trucks. And everyone drives about 85 miles an hour.

For my part, I make sure no one I ride with ever goes too fast, and chide them (or when Jorge is driving, scream) whenever the driver makes an ill-advised attempt to pass another vehicle. We’ve also taken to saying a prayer every time I go on the road with my coworkers (In Malawi, you pray before everything). This makes me feel a little better, actually. At least we’ve got that base covered, you know?

Daredevil

My mom got cancer when I was 18, and I did the whole cliché live-for-the-moment, each day like the it’s the last, party like it’s 1999 thing.

Then I got cancer myself. It gave me a lot of time to ponder the meaning of life, sitting around waiting for chemo to finish, watching buoyant college kids hugging Bob Barker on the Price is Right. And what was my deep, meaningful realization?

I really, really like being alive.

I’m sure that doesn’t seem like such a profound thing. You probably think everyone feels that way. I just don’t think other people feel quite as strongly about it as I do. I just can’t stress this point enough: Life = Good Stuff.

So, having figured this out, I have become a bit of a nervous Nellie. Even the remotest chance of losing life or limb is too much for me.

Odds of getting hit by lightning? 1 in 240,000. I still head inside the minute I hear thunder.

Shark attack? 1 in 11.5 million. Think about this next time you see me waist deep in the ocean, scanning the water for phantom fins, before I bail 10 minutes later.

Take two weeks ago. A friend owns a big 16-seater tourism truck, and he took us for a ride up hills, through villages, and down overgrown rural roads. It was a beautiful day. Everyone loved it. What was I thinking?

• I’m going to fall out the back of this thing and end up with a permanent brain injury.
• The truck is going to flip over, fall off this cliff, and kill us all. Do I have enough time to jump out the back first?
• We are never going to make it across this bridge.
• We are going to get stuck in the mud and have to walk back in the dark, and will probably get lost for days, or attacked by angry villagers.

This is slightly ironic, because everyone tells me how brave I am. I’m constantly in situations of potential harm. I work in war zones. I swim in bilharzia-ridden waters, and towel off surrounded by malarial mosquitoes.

I eat cheese made from unpasteurized milk.

Maybe I haven’t ever given up on that whole livin’ life to the fullest crock. I just grit my teeth, obsessively worry the whole time, and then get home and think “well, that wasn’t so bad after all.”

Anyway, here are some pics from the most recent life-threatening adventure:

The vagaries of being an expat taxpayer

The U.S. is the only country I know of that requires you to file taxes even if you don’t actually live there. I know people who haven’t been back home to the states in some 10 years, but are still diligently filing their returns every April.

Today is tax day, and I haven’t even begun to start the process of estimating my taxes for this year. There are a lot of little rules and regulations regarding American citizens who live abroad. What I’ve been able to glean is:

• I must report all the income that was paid to me by a foreign agency (I get paid tax-free by my employer)
• If I am in the US for fewer than 30 days in the last year, I don’t pay any taxes on the first 80,000 of my income (hehe. The “first” 80,000. I want that job.)
• On the other hand, if I am home for more than 30 days, I owe Uncle Sam all the taxes I didn’t pay during the year.

In 2006, I was home for about 6 weeks. Bugger.

So now the tricky part is: How much did I get paid last year? I didn’t save all of my paystubs, and my bank account that I got paid into has been closed, so I have no record of my income. I think I’m just going to give the IRS a ballpark figure and hope they don’t audit poor broke aid workers like me.

The good news is that next year we’ll be totally tax-free. I just have to figure out how file for an extension today before the internet goes out…

1,372.5 hours down....

Just one and a half hours until Jorge is back!

I had a depressing dinner the other day, though. With a divorcee telling me that 80% of her friends who got married in their twenties are now divorced, and how none of her married friends are happy. Stupid lady (actually, she's very nice, but still...).

I pointed out that my parents were married for 30+ years and seemed pretty happy about it to me. My sister is going strong at 10. Aunts, uncles...seem OK to me too. So, based on empirical evidence, I can say that a happy marriage is not a statistical impossibility.

Now, I do make a point of asking long-married couples how they managed, and they pretty much always tell me the same thing, which is along the lines of: "Oh, there were months when I just couldn't stand him, and I wondered why in the hell I went and got married in the first place. But you stick it out during the tough times, and it's worth it."

I think I can live with that.

Taking my own advice for a change

About a month ago, I joined the gym. I was hoping to lose a bit of weight before Jorge got back, but alas, those 8 Cadbury Creme Eggs and 2 pounds of cheese I ate in Ireland seem to have de-railed my plans. Given that I advise people on health and nutrition FOR A LIVING, this was a serious lapse for me, but it was only one week, after all. And I'll be back to eating healthy again once I polish off the additional two pounds of cheese I brought home with me.

I know most of you will find it very difficult to imagine a gym in sub-Saharan Africa, but they do exist. I have hit the gym in Eritrea, Ghana, and now Malawi. Alas, Darfur still hadn’t opened one during my stay there, but I’m sure it’s coming.

My gym has two treadmills, three bikes, and about 8 weight machines. There is a sauna and steam room (which are only heated on request) and a hot tub of dubious hygiene. Overall, it’s small, but well-equipped and clean. It’s located in a very nice hotel opened by the Malawian president 3 years ago.

What you may not know is that every African capital has at least one swanky hotel for visiting dignitaries (Lilongwe has 3!). There’s been a trend for quite some time among African heads-of-state to build ostentatious, Western-style luxury hotels, intended to proclaim to the world that the country is no longer a backwater. And when these hotels get out of date they raid the treasury request the funds for a new one. Often these hotels are blocks away from slums full of poverty and squalor.

But for a gal in need of a bit of firming and toning, who needs politics, right?

Oh how special those three little words are…

“No abnormal lymphadenopathy”

What, were you expecting love and romance? You need to be ALIVE for those other three little words to mean anything!

I have been on pins and needles all day after getting a message that the nurse who is handling my case needed to speak with me right away. Urgent messages always ring off alarm bells for me. So all day I’ve struggled to get any work done at all, little worst-case scenarios running through my head.

15 minutes ago I got a phone call – the nurse had received the report on my CT scans, but they were sealed and addressed to my oncologist. She wanted to know what I wanted her to do. So of course I had her open the envelope and read the report to me. You thought I was going to wait another week?

The tests showed no tumors, no swollen lymph nodes, so signs of cancer at all really. I’ve just come back from the ladies room, where I went to do the happy dance in private. I feel so light and relieved, knowing I’m now going into my 4th year of remission. Each year that passes, the chance that the cancer will return diminishes, although I know that I will never be completely free from the risk, and the fear, of relapse.

So here are three more words for you:

I love everyone !

The world is so beautiful today, even with the rain and rubbish I see out of my dingy office window. To be born in a time and place where I have the opportunity for a long and healthy life…I just feel so blessed. If I had been born just a generation or two sooner, I probably wouldn’t have even made it to 30.

Although, that thought brings me back down to earth. I am alive now because I got about 150,000 dollars worth of top-quality medical care from the US government. I live in a country where the average life expectancy is 37, and where most people don’t have access to treatment costing hundreds of dollars or less.

Earlier this week, after leaving a meeting with a donor, I asked “Why is it that we don’t think twice about spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to treat critically ill children in the West, and yet we have to fight to justify spending 200 dollars to treat a dying child in Africa?”

Nonetheless, I sure am glad it was me who got that treatment. I will not let my liberal guilt ruin my mood today. It can come back tomorrow. Tonight I have some celebrating to do.

Lucky me!

I have a strange relationship with luck. I would never consider myself a lucky person. I can wipe out an entire blackjack table in 4 hands. Luck likes to knock me around sometimes, then comes right back and picks me up, as if to let me know who's in charge. Everytime something bad happens, some good fortune will come along to alleviate the situation. For example:

• I got cancer while unemployed with no health insurance (OK, extreme example). BUT, it was the cancer with the highest cure rate, and I ended up getting free health care through the Louisiana Charity system after a friend at Tulane Hospital stepped in for me.
• Our house got flooded in Hurricane Katrina. BUT, we only got 2 feet, because the levee breached on the other side of the canal. We got quick FEMA aid, and the landlord fixed the whole place up for us within 3 months.
• The US immigration service lost Jorge's green card. Twice. BUT, it finally came, 9 months late, on the day before we evacuated New Orleans and stopped getting mail for 6 months.

I could name other examples, but you get the picture.

So anyway, small example today:

Over the weekend, I went to the ATM with my new bankcard, which I've only used once. Silly me, I forgot the PIN number. After a couple of efforts, beep beep beep, oops, there went my card.

Now, given that it took about 2 months for the bank to give me the ATM card in the first place, I was a bit worried about how long it would take to get another. So today I went in to the bank and explained my situation. I filled out the form for the replacement card, and when the woman assisting me looked at the application, she said, "Oh, but we already have a card for you." They dug through the unclaimed cards, and it turns out there's been an ATM card sitting at the bank for 2 months, waiting for us to pick it up. I got my PIN number 10 minutes later, and now I'm all set.

So today was a lucky day. I hope that means I'm going to win my Super Bowl bet!