Back to Africa!

I get to go back to Africa in August for an international health rotation!

I leave on Sunday (...um...if my travel visa gets processed...fingers crossed, breath held, lucky penny clenched...) First, I'll be in Johannesburg, South Africa, for about a week to attend an international pediatric conference. (Jeffrey Sachs might be there! Millenium Villages! Nerdy swoon of admiration!)

After that, I'll be back in Ghana for the subsequent few weeks to work with a non-profit organization called Kimoyo and to volunteer with Unite for Sight again.

Oh, Ghana! Home of this guy:

And home of the two best business signs I've ever seen in my entire life:

It's nice to know that my raging case of dysentery on the last trip to Ghana was apparently an act of divine intervention.

This? Welllll...It's either a very unfortunate abbreviation, or a cause for very deep concern about the inventory at this establishment.

And home of the most candid marriage proposal of all time, courtesy of this guy in the middle. He turned out to be named "Black Pepper," maker of African drums, part-time teacher of dance to German tourist groups. Cool dude, actually. Alas, it simply wasn't meant to be. ;-)

"Hey. You! I want a white wife. You be it. What's your name?"

And home of Unite for Sight!

I can't wait to go back there! I'll probably be out of touch until the end of August. Have a great month!

German Autobahn meets Virginia

Best. Road sign. Ever. I especially appreciate his exceptionally good posture. If you're going to take the family tractor out for a spin on the highway, you must realize that all eyes will be admiring you and your classy wheels as you go zooming by at 2mph. Therefore, it is important to set a fine example by sitting up straight, wearing your best straw hat, and responsibly holding your tractor wheel with your elbows at right angles and your hands at 10-and-2. Well done, Tractor Sign Man. I salute you.

Edge of the world

The Appalachian Trail practically runs through my backyard! Suddenly, I'm inexplicably tempted to postpone my life for 6 months and become a sweaty, smelly, unkempt, skin-cancer-prone "through hiker." True, you can smell them coming long before you see them, but the people who hike the whole 2175 miles from Georgia to Maine just seem to be generally awesome and unusually wise. They're totally marinaded in deep thoughts, and zen, and body odor, and insight to life's great mysteries. (Perhaps the majority of their expertise relates to granola bars, sleeping bags, and GI illnesses, but that falls into the category of life's great mysteries, doesn't it?)

For lack of 6 months, I'm trying to get out and hike bits of the AT whenever I get the chance. Here's the first excursion. I went along with two great transition year residents (Amanda and Jaimie) and their husbands (Bjorn and Matt), plus Jaimie's vocal 2-year-old son who rode in a carry-on backpack and served as noisemaker/bear repellant. I'm not kidding about the bear repellant comment: as soon as the kid got quiet because he fell asleep, we came straight into a black bear sitting on the trail getting fat on wild raspberries. Jaimie screamed and it ran away, but we were within 50 feet of it before we noticed it or it noticed us.

We hiked to McAfee's Knob, which is one of the most stunning, most photographed spots on the whole AT. You come up to a ridge after about 4 miles of uphill hiking, turn a few meters off the trail, and suddenly it's like arriving at the edge of the world -- nothing but gray rock and blue sky. The view of the valley is stunning from the edge of the cliff overhang.

Me and Jaimie -- first timers on the Appalachian Trail

McAfee's Knob

Nukes and Ninjas

Hi. My name is Sarah, and I'm a weirdo magnet. *Whew* It feels good to get that off my chest. Remember the laundry room lady who told me all about her bra preferences and her methods for protecting her undies from petty theft? Or the guy on the bus in Cleveland who told me all about why the impending end of the world is intrinsically connected to the sagging economy, Egyptian nuclear technology, and the gay olympics? The one on the inner city subway train who politely offered to pee on me? The all-camouflage-clad dude with the all-chrome teeth who wanted to know where I lived, apparently so he could help take my trash to the curb every Thursday? (I never told you about him? Well, take my word for it: weird.) The very disheveled woman who walks her dog past my house every afternoon? The one who inexplicably knows my name, and says she should give me one of her numerous BMW's because I should be her daughter? These people find me. Single me out and talk to me. Tell me their intimate business. Offer advice, cautionary predictions, urine, and cars. In the latest episode of this, I was walking toward the gym downtown a few days ago. As I passed the public library, I heard a voice way off in the distance along a row of park benches. At first it just said, "Eaaaaaah. EAAAaaAh!" like a larynx that had grown rusty from years of disuse. Then it said, "Wweeeaaaayt. WAYyT!" like a tongue just learning to form words for the first time. "WAIT!" it repeated, with all the joy and urgency of someone who has finally cracked the code and figured out how to communicate with the human race around him. "WAIT! I love you! Wait! LOVE!" So...um...either I have a soul mate and he sleeps outside the public library, or... I am a weirdo magnet. With years of consideration, I've concluded it's a genetically heritable condition because my Dad totally has it, too. Except he's more like a supermagnet. After all, he found the lady who thought she was a Native American medicine woman, demanded that everyone call her GrayFox, swore that ninjas were attacking the roof of her trailer at night, and insisted that she had given birth to hundreds of children in her sleep but they all grew up and scampered away before she awoke in the morning. Compared to that, my magnetism is (thankfully) weak sauce at best.

Virginia Shur Is Purty, Ain't It?

I've been here less than a month, and I think I'm inadvertantly starting to pick up a drawl already. Oh dear. That means I'm on pace to be driving a beat up old pick-up truck with a confederate flag in the back window by December. I'll do my best to fight the good fight and continue sounding like a decent Arizonnesota resident, but it's going to be hard. I actually noticed my insidiously developing southern accent during a weekend hike. Our group came to a lovely waterfall sheeting over a soft green mossy bluff, and what I meant to say was something along the lines of, "Wow, what a beautiful waterfall." Sadly, I'm afraid that what actually came out of my mouth was, "That shur is purty." But it's just as true either way you say it: Virginia is an unbelievably pretty place to live. Here are some pictures from the hike, including the "purty" waterfall, and also the much bigger and badder waterfall at the end of the trail. The pool at its base is a great swimming hole (as evidenced by the wee little fleshy blobs you see in the last photo, each of which is an over-sunburned, under-clothed local out for a swim).

I Hope...

One of God's greatest gifts to us is that life always moves on. Regardless of what happened in the past, and regardless of what is happening in this instant, there's a future beyond it because life will move forward.

This has been on my mind because he's getting married Saturday. You know who I mean. It's beautiful that life has moved on for both of us, putting us each in a happier place than we were before. It's beautiful that I can watch him moving on but not feel any bitterness; only hope.

I hope they have so much love and joy that they can't comprehend it all.

I hope they laugh together.

I hope that when they cry, it's together instead of alone.

I hope they grow old together, and look beyond the wrinkles to see that he's still handsome and she's still pretty.

I hope the personal demons he struggled with and the secrets he kept are in the past, and he starts this fresh and clean.

I hope he can give her what he couldn't give me.

I hope she can give him what I couldn't give him.

I hope they build windows into each other

instead of walls between each other.

I hope they have a song, and that they dance.

I hope they have children.

I hope they have hilarious inside jokes that no one else thinks are funny.

I hope she is proud of him, and I desperately hope he is proud of her.

I hope they protect each other, and find their safest place in togetherness.

I hope she is never afraid.

I hope they know that moving on is beautiful.