Priority Use

This letter was just too ridiculous to be true. As I was re-reading what I’d written before packaging it in it’s little red, white and blue international, par avion, air mail envelope I realized that it was surely a keeper and somehow needed to be documented. I wonder if it’s humor will be lost on those who, well, aren’t me. I’m willing to find out.

Dear friend,

What a process sitting down to write you a letter. I first decided that I wanted some m&ms to accompany my letter-writing, which meant getting out my keys to unlock my suitcase which all seems a little ridiculous considering they’re, well, m&m’s, but given that someone has been taking my stuff from hidden places inside my own paid for room, I have been keeping everything under lock and key. Then, as I pulled out my suitcase, I found several termites—with wings and without—attached to the bottom wheels and fabric, so I had to smoosh them with toilet paper, dispose of their carcasses and sweep the floor to be rid of all evidence for good measure. I was finally ready to curl up on my bed and write when I found another termite—on my bed, this time—in it’s little termite house wiggling around. So, I had to flush him down the toilet. Now I feel as though little bugs are crawling all over my skin and I can only hope that it’s not actually heroine withdrawal and that this letter distracts me enough so that I forget that anything every happened and I don’t spend an endless night itching off imaginary bugs.

I’m going into town tomorrow to go to a café with K to help her grade English exams that her students took yesterday. She has to get them done tomorrow because on Friday she’s going home for 17 days. I’m actually pretty jealous. It’s strange. On one hand, I’m totally content here and over the past several weeks, I’ve finally begun to feel as though I’m making progress—though this feeling is far from constant—and I really wouldn’t especially rather be anywhere else. On the other hand, I’m just ready to be done. 15 months sounds like more that I can handle. It’s such a weird emotional ride. I think I may just need a break.

I’ve been really sensitive lately which is likely not a good sign. About an hour ago, G asked if I could change the time of my aerobics class from 5:30 to 5 to accommodate the baile folklórico group that has reserved the space from 7pm on, but “would like” to be able to arrive at 6:45 and I wanted to cry. The feeling still hasn’t exactly left. To make matters worse, I asked her to buy me an avocado yesterday. This morning she brought it to me and it was very obviously a bad one, with a huge black spot on the skin and soft like rubber balloon filled with flour and a seed that moved around when the fruit was shaken, though she denied it’s apparent badness. I just opened it to add to my salad and was able to salvage about 25% of it, as expected. The rest was deeply spotted with brown and black and had a very, very unappealing flavor of soft, tasteless fat. It actually really offended me. I would never have bought that sort of thing for anyone, especially given the fact that I’d paid her for it before hand. Perhaps she honestly thought it was a good one (I just showed it to her and she still claims it’s fine and even that she “likes” them like that. Whatever.), but I just generally feel taken advantage of. That no one really cares that I’m here or values the “work” that I’m doing. That it wouldn’t really matter if I left—aside from the fact that G wouldn’t have anyone one take care of KF when she has something to do in town, or that people would miss making fun of the stupid mistakes that I make in Spanish. Llevar or Traer...I don't really give a crap. Sometimes I just want to be absolutely rude, ridiculous and conceited and yell “do you have any idea what I’m giving up to be here?? Do you have any idea what kind of education/experience/knowledge I came down here to share??” The problem/reality of it is, though, is that I’m not exactly sure how to respond to these questions myself. It’s just generally a frustrating experience.

To make matters worse, I may have broken my toe. Probably, not though. I wouldn’t be as lucky. Today when I was washing the dishes after the milk distribution while feeling slightly sorry for myself, I banged my foot really hard on a cinder block sticking out from underneath the stove. In case it wasn’t broken to begin with, everyone keeps stepping on the same exact toe—three people to be exact, in only 5 hours time. Talk about literally feeling walked all over. Now it’s sore and black and blue. I sort of hope it’s broken. Maybe that would mean I’d get med-evacked to the US long enough to recharge my batteries and get some Indian food. Although that would be a problem for my aerobics class with finally started yesterday.

The aerobics class was a big hit and appears to be the most successful project yet, which only adds to my frustrations. Everyone is asking me in their really practiced guilt tripping sort of Tican way which I can’t hold the class more than twice a week. I should be flattered, but it’s just another source of “ahhh.” “You ·%&!!? think I joined the PC, live in a termite infested bedroom, have a bazillion itchy bug bites—turned scars—all over my body, eat nasty hot dog bread and have to throw my used toilet paper in the TRASH CAN so that I could teach aerobics 5 days a week!!!!” “Go take a freakin’ walk!!!!!” Ha. I truly believe all that I am writing to you, but don’t worry, I have a sense of humor about it all. It really is comical when you think about it. I’ve also come to the conclusion that I am still learning a lot of valuable information about development first-hand. Mainly that there are a whole lot of social factors that matter just as much as infrastructure, economics, government, etc in making “development” actually work. And that termite -infested houses that are only 20 years old really don't help the matter one bit.

Dammit. I just found another termite. I’ve been on and off staring at it for the last 30 minutes writing this letter trying to decide exactly what it was. It didn’t appear to be moving, pegged to the wall in front of my face. I kept trying to decide if it had gotten anywhere every few words when I’d look up for verification. Well, I just looked up and it was gone. Meaning it was exactly what I thought it was. Sigh.

Well, enough is enough. I think I might just call it a night. Alls well that ends well, right? And, perhaps that the termite fell off the side of my wall and is likely dead upon my floor is a good sign and a good way to end the day.

posted by Lisa Lovely  # 11:09 AM