Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Sweet Caroline



I would like to dedicate this post to anyone and everyone who was recently affected by the bombing at the Boston Marathon, a true tragedy.  To Boston Marathoners, runners, spectators, volunteers, Bostonians, this is for you.

Do you remember the first time you fell in love?  I can’t remember the exact moment.  I’m not sure whether it was when I ran on the esplanade for the first time, on a crisp fall day, feeling the crunch of the leaves beneath my feet while greeting the other happy runners as we passed one another.  Maybe it was the first time I saw the CITGO sign fully lit, the designated North Star.  Perhaps it was my first margarita and shared plate of nachos at Sunset Cantina with my college friends.  It could have been during my first game at the historic Fenway Park, listening to the melody of “Sweet Caroline.”  In the end, the moment doesn’t really matter.  I was in love.  And his name was Boston.  Boston was my first true love.  It captured my heart from the moment I arrived as a freshman at Boston University.

Now, I realize that most people’s first love is not a city.  However, I think this exception is made for anyone who has gone to Boston if only for a day.  I had the pleasure of attending Boston University, and living in Boston for 4 years of my life.  In that rather short period of time, I found myself considering Boston my home.  My family made sure I remembered my roots, especially to sport my Phillies cap, which I always did, but in the end I became a Bostonian.  Maybe it was because some of my closest friends were from the area.  Maybe it was the fact that I really liked the Boston accent (I always tried my hardest to master “Pahk the cah in Havahd yahd”).  Maybe it was because I could find a Starbucks or a Dunks on just about any street corner.  Or maybe it was just the charm of the city.  Boston became a huge part of me, and I was lucky enough to become a part of the amazing city. 

Boston was a first of many for me, and holds a special place in my heart.  I attended university in Boston, I worked in Boston right in Copley Square, and I had some of my best memories in Boston.  Some of my very best friends still live in Boston.  I even had the privilege to run in the great Boston Marathon.  Not once, but twice.  The Boston Marathon is always an incredible day in Boston, for everyone in the city.  Not only do dreams come true as thousands of runners come together to turn right on Hereford, left on Boylston, but the Sox play, and spectators keep the runners up to check on the score.  People from all over the great city come together to enjoy the marvel that is Marathon Monday and cheer on the runners.  Sure my legs hated me as I ran, especially when I reached the top of Heartbreak Hill, but crossing the finish line of what is probably the greatest marathon in America was one of my best moments not only in Boston, but in my life.  Marathon Monday is a magical day, and the fact that this tragedy occurred truly broke my heart.

Being so far from home can be difficult.  Days can be rough and without the comfort of family and friends it’s not always easy.  I’ve discovered, though, that the worst days aren’t when crappy things happen here.  No.  The worst days are when terrible things happen at home, and I can’t be there to help or offer comfort to my loved ones.  It makes me feel helpless. 

On Monday evening, Evelyn, a fellow PCV and very close friend who I attended university with, called me to tell me the news of the bombings at the marathon.  Horror, disbelief, shock, confusion, worry, sadness all overcame me in one moment.  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  Who would do something so awful?  My thoughts immediately jumped to those I knew in Boston.  Five of my friends were running, who thank God all of whom are safe as are their families.  My friends who live and work in the city are also fine.  However, not everyone was as lucky.  People were killed, hundreds were injured, and the sacredness of the Boston Marathon, of Marathon Monday was taken away on that special day.  The joy of crossing the finish line became horror, something that should never happen.

I may not be able to do much from here for Boston, for the city that holds my heart, but I will keep running.  I will do the Comrades Marathon June 2nd in honor of Boston and all of those affected by this tragedy.  I know the people of Boston are strong (they survive Boston winters, after all).  Boston will pull together and get through this.  I hope to be toeing the line of the Boston Marathon 2014 if I am able to qualify.  I will continue to work towards qualifying so that I can again take part in one of America’s finest pastimes.  Whoever committed this terrible act cannot take away the love or wonder of Marathon Monday.  It will live on, and we will always remember those lost during the Boston Marathon, 2013.

Boston, you’re my home.

Le rata,

Meg

Friday, April 12, 2013

Be Prepared


As I quiz my Scouts on different Scout facts, several hands fly up when I ask “What is the Scout Motto?”  “BE PREPARED!!”  the Scouts of the 1st Lekgwareng Scouts Troop shout.  I try to work with my Scouts on different concepts like this, in order to make them more responsible citizens.  The Scout Promise, the Scout Motto, and the Scout Laws (A Scout is to be trusted, A Scout is a friend to animals, A Scout is a brother/sister to all other Scouts, etc.) help to make my kids more conscientious citizens of South Africa, more conscientious citizens of Lekgwareng Village.  I have seen a huge improvement in their behavior since they joined in September.  Never a Scout myself in America, it came as quite a shock to me when Scouts suddenly became a huge part of my Peace Corps service.  In fact, it has become a cornerstone of my service.  Before doing Scouts in South Africa, the most I knew about Scouts were thin mints and samoas.  Like many Americans, I couldn’t wait for Girl Scout Cookies to go on sale.  Now I can’t wait for our weekly Scout Troop meetings every Wednesday after school; I hold them with my counterpart, Sylvia (friends and family, I still appreciate and crave Girl Scout cookies...you all have my address).  In addition to teaching the kids about Scouts and Scouting history, we play games, sing songs, and just have fun.  It’s my favorite hour, hour and a half of the week.

In life, it is usually a good thing to “be prepared.”  After all, “before anything, preparation is the key to success.”  However, if I’ve learned anything in the Peace Corps, it’s that you really can’t be 100% prepared for anything.  Sorry Baden Powell, sorry Mr. Bell, but sometimes you can’t be prepared for some of the things that happen.  You’ve just got to be prepared for what life throws at you and hope you don’t miss.  Maybe that’s what they were getting at?  Be prepared for anything that comes your way?

For the first part of our school recession, I held a Scouts Camp, focused on the Scouts earning their Pathfinder Badge, with four other Peace Corps Volunteers.  (The Pathfinder Badge covers map reading and compasses, camping and cooking, First Aid, Pioneering, Hiking, and observation as a backwoodsman.)  Preparing for this camp was fairly straightforward, although a lot of hard work, tears, and sweat went into it.  I was to prepare my Scout Troop for camping and cooking (each troop, 6 in total, was responsible for teaching a set of skills to the other troops).  Luckily the Scouting Organization that we work with closely is not too far from my site, and came to show my Scouts how to properly set up a tent and go over the other essentials of camping.  I had a meeting with the parents, went over all of the in’s and out’s of the camp, and purchased the scarves so that my troop could be in Scout uniforms.  All of my bases were covered.  I was prepared.  Or so I thought.  The day prior to my camp proved rather emotional.  Without going into too much detail, the camp was almost pulled from my Scouts for no reason at all (I blame it on a power play and red tape).  I was not going to allow this to happen: the kids were so excited, had worked so hard, and they deserved this.  I was determined to make it work.  Following a tearful and embarrassing scene in the hair salon, my Peace Corps supervisor swooped in to save the day, and all was a go.  Can we say Clark Kent?

Again, be prepared.  I question this.  I was not prepared for such a last minute emergency situation.  I reacted quickly, and with the help of a good friend and my supervisor it worked out.  Moreover, I was not prepared for how incredible the camp turned out to be.  Sure, we had our mishaps such as being stranded in town for 3+ hours, but even that turned out to be fun as we played different Scouts games in the Game parking lot.  In the end this camp was, without a doubt, the highlight of my service thus far.  We all go to summer camp as kids, whether on a daily basis or for longer stretches of time.  Yet, I think we take such small, seemingly simple delights for granted.  I know I did.  This was the first opportunity my 12 Scouts had to experience anything like summer camp before, the first opportunity most of them had to leave the village for more than an afternoon.  Seeing the smiles on their faces was worth every tear and every minute of sleep I lost due to the stress beforehand.  I was prepared for a camp that taught my kids some Scouting skills and taught the kids some new songs and games.  I was not prepared for the overwhelming elation I felt when my host mother, one of my counterparts for Scouts, bit into her first S’more after our evening campfire.  Surely it has to be illegal not to have a S’more as a child!  I was not prepared for the pride I felt when four of my Scouts became official Scout members.  I was not prepared to see the reaction on my kids’ faces when they could go swimming (nor was I prepared for the heart palpitations I experienced while making sure they were all okay in the longest 15 minutes of my life as they swam in the nearby river).  The experience was incredibly heartwarming.  Thanks to everyone who made this camp possible, especially to my family who keeps me going. Thanks also to Zach, Kyle, Sean, Howell, Deon, and Colin for being great male role models to my kids, something I obviously cannot do as a female PCV.

As sad as I was to leave my Troop and to leave the camp, I was in desperate need of a break.  I was so ready for vacation.  Nick and I had signed up to run the Two Oceans Marathon, an ultra marathon of 56km.  The race took place in Cape Town, and I was going to road trip down with my second family in South Africa.  I was really excited!  I hadn’t seen Sue or Eddie since Christmas time, so I was looking forward to the time with them, Cliff, and Porsche.  We took our time getting down to Cape Town, and the relaxation, no-rush atmosphere was wonderful.  Just what the doctor ordered.  I was in bliss with tea time twice a day, long naps in the car, and mouth-watering hot croissants.  I even had the chance to go to a pretty unique church service and visit a donkey sanctuary (think retirement home for donkeys).  While I was enjoying the trip down, I couldn’t help but think about my training up to that point.  Had I put in enough miles?  Was I crazy for doing such a long distance (as I type this, I wonder if I am even crazier for my next race)?  Was I prepared for 56km, approximately 35 miles?

Fast-forward, and my alarm, rather unwelcome, buzzed in my ear at 4 o’clock in the morning (I am never prepared for my alarm clock).  Whelp, no matter if I was prepared or not, this was it: Race Day.  It was go time.  I pulled on my race outfit and downed a cup of coffee, hoping it would bolt me awake out of my unconscious state and filled up with some more carbs.   Strangely enough, I felt calm.  I wasn’t nervous, and I slept until we were dropped off with the thousands of other runners donning plastic bags in the early hours of the morning.  (Maybe there should be a rule that races can’t start until the sun has decided to wake up?)  During miles 0-10, I was still a bit worried about my preparation.  I made sure to watch my pace, worried that I was feeling too good and that would quickly go away.  I kept waiting for the pain to set in.  Eventually, maybe around mile 20, I realized I had prepared enough.  I could do this.  Sure my feet felt like they were breaking on the down hills, but I was prepared both physically and mentally.  Despite this, I was not prepared for how beautiful the race was – the view, or maybe the crazy wind, literally took my breath away.  I had heard the race quoted to be “the world’s most beautiful marathon.”  Certainly this had to be an exaggeration.  Nope.  First ultra marathon – check!

The rest of the vacation seemed to follow suit – it was a truly magical vacation.  Utter bliss.  During our time in Cape Town, a group of us decided to go shark diving!  This is something I would never have done five years ago, but I was pumped to try it.  We had a great group going, and the weather was ideal.  Although I was not nervous when the great whites were splashing around near the cage (that was cool!), I was NOT prepared when the tuna head, used as chum, came right in at me.  Woof.  The day before we left, Nick, his sister (also Erin) and I went to Charlie’s bakery.  While Nick had raved about this bakery, I again was unprepared for the deliciousness of the brownie and cookie (I had just done a 56km race so I felt these treats were well deserved) I purchased.  Probably the best brownie I’ve ever tasted.  Like most vacations, I was not prepared for it to be over.  I’m now settled back in the village, and busy with projects for the next term, but it’s never easy leaving paradise…

Before the Peace Corps, I did as much research as I could.  I even tried to learn the local language that we were supposed to speak.  The joke was on us as our group didn’t even learn the language we had been told we would (nor did we go to the provinces we were informed of).  No matter how much I did in preparation, I’m pretty sure I could not be prepared, at least not entirely, for what was to come, for what laid ahead of me in South Africa.  I was not prepared for many things: I was not prepared to fall in love on an airplane.  I was not prepared to get used to bathing in a bucket.  I was not prepared to learn more about myself in an entirely foreign country. I was not prepared to become more confident, finding the courage to stand up for myself and what I think is right, and learn how to be a professional in what can sometimes be a rather unstructured environment.  I was not prepared to make lifelong friends.  I was not prepared to experience some of the hardest and some of the happiest moments of my life.  A lot of things I’ve gone through in country I have not been prepared for (being asked to have a complete stranger’s child, being asked to have a grave site/viewing site in my room, being offered chicken feet and worms as a meal).  No, none of these things I could prepare for.  Can anyone, really?  But, I have learned that not much surprises me anymore, and to always be prepared for what could come.  

As I think about my future after the Peace Corps, it shouldn’t come as much as a shock that I don’t feel too prepared.  I’m doing as much preparation as I can: I’ve started applying to different jobs and I’ve even had two interviews so far.  No matter how much research I do, no matter how many cover letters I send, I don’t feel prepared.  But, it’s a huge transition back.  Many people say the transition home is more difficult than the initial transition to the country of service.  Maybe I shouldn’t feel 100% prepared.  Believe me; I’m ready to be home with family and friends (and Starbucks and JCrew).  I’m ready to have a salary and not to be in the “fish bowl” anymore.  I’m ready to be in a place that doesn’t reach 112 degrees and have humidity of 80%.  But, there are things I’m not prepared to leave and I don’t think I ever will be prepared to leave despite how much time I have: my host family, my co-teachers, my friends, my schools, the kids who yell “Meghanee!!” as I run past, and the simplicity of village life.  The list goes on.  As much as I him and haw about it now, I’m going to miss being crammed in the back of khombis with smiling toothless Gogo’s who carry your bags for you on their heads.  I’m going to miss the little things.  I guess we can never really and truly be prepared for huge changes in life.  We have just got to prepare as much as possible for what is to come, for what can come, and hold on tight, enjoying the ride all the while.

Le rata,
Meg :)