A while back I got into trouble for verbally sparring with an overgrown frat boy with too much testosterone and too little personality when I told him that "guys like him were the reason I left Texas."  It probably doesn’t surprise you that I’m not very good at holding my tongue in a match of wits.  

While I would like to make this post all about the over-primped Rick Perry wannabe instead here are some very good reasons to like Texas, in no particular order.

Number 1: The Bloggess.  Her blog makes me laugh all the way on the other side of the planet when I’m thousands of miles away from friends and family.  Her latest story is no exception and epitomizes why I love Texas.  And roosters.  

Number 2: Old 97s.  Possibly the best band ever.  While I’ve heard them referred to as show tunes I would just like to clarify the only show tunes they are singing are from Walk The Line, the Johnny Cash story.  I’ve been watching them live in concert for approximately 13 years now and they never fail to meet my expectations and are always the right mix of a little bit of country and a little bit of rock and roll.

Number 3: Dallas.  Even though Dallas is typically known for big hats and blonde hair there is more than meets the eye with this city (fortunately), including an awesome Arts District, great restaurants (including Tex-Mex and vegetarian!), and shopping.  I always lean towards the great little antique shops in Lakewood for a relaxing Saturday afternoon experience but if you are more high fashion there’s an influx of high end retailers at the posh malls.  

I guess I didn’t realize everything I missed about Texas until I came home.  While I don’t see myself sticking around permanently it is nice to get back to my roots and enjoy the simple pleasures of being home.   

While I  await test results confirming that I either have a) an alien baby gestating in my stomach (because that’s where alien babies live as they drain your life force out of you, obviously) or b) an intestinal parasite throwing a party up in my colon/appendix/liver I decided to entertain myself by taunting the interwebs.  Because that’s what I do.  

As I combed through my junk mail folder (Yes, I check my junk mail. No, I don’t have a life.) I came across this gem:

"Dear Sir/Madam, Help me carry out my last wish. With your help, i want to donate to the needy, the poor and motherless baby’s homes. I am very sick suffering from breast cancer. Reply if we can work together.

Regards Judith Alexander"

Normally I ignore missives such as this but instead I decided to see what would happen if I responded.  

"Wow, Judith.  What a pleasure to hear from you.  I can’t believe how selfless and wonderful you are as you lay dying.

Yes. A million times yes.  I live to hear from wonderful people like you and my friends in Nigeria who are doing so many noble acts with money they’ve freed from tyrannical dictators.  Please, tell me how we can work together to donate to the needy, the poor, and the motherless baby homes.  Guide me with your self-sacrificing compassion."

What response did I get? An automated reply telling me that my taunts were for naught as "the email account that you tried to reach is disabled."  Awesome.  I can’t even harass people trying to bilk me for my hard earned cash anymore.  What is the world coming to? 

Instead I’ve resorted to kitty porn: Hot Dudes With Kittens.  Thank you interweb rogues; now I know what hitting rock bottom looks like.  

It’s May 23rd, which means 1 of 2 things. Possibility 1: The “rapture” was just a ploy for God to jest at us as he sits, twirl his mustache, and laughs maniacally.  OR Possibility 2: Texas is heaven and I will spend eternity with longhorns and rednecks.  I prefer to believe the former.  

As the end of the world is no longer nigh and fire and brimstone have yet to rain down on us I wanted to focus on the zombie apocalypse, which was briefly placed on the back burner during the speculations of the “Christian” apocalypse.  But as there are no pending apocalypses in the foreseeable future, zombies can once again regain their rightful place at the forefront of the end of times.  

Fortunately the government is FINALLY taking this threat as seriously as the rest of us as indicated by the CDC’s zombie attack emergency preparedness plan.  I am using the Zombie Appreciation Month to prepare myself for the impending war. If you choose to end up something other than zombie bait you might consider referencing the following books to ready yourself for the fight:

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.”  We don’t have to go into this war unprepared when we have the Bennet sisters to instruct us in ancient practices and martial arts.

Dawn of the Dreadfuls, a Pride and Prejudice prequel by Steve Hockensmith.  A teaching tool, which shares important facts such as zombies are persistent little buggers who WILL hump their way towards you like a massive, rabid inchworm. 

Dreadfully Ever After, a Pride and Prejudice sequel by Steve Hockensmith.  One can only hope for the best and hope that a nasty little zombie nip won’t cost Mr. Darcy his life and his head, especially as it looks so much better attached to his body.  Cross your fingers and hope that the CDC is working on an antidote. 

Theories of International Politics and Zombies by Daniel Drezner.  While imminent survival is vital it is also important to consider how the undead eating the brains of the world’s most prominent leaders will impact, uh, life?  One can only hope that the White House has a copy of this on hand for vital tactics and strategies for kicking ass and taking names.

So Now You’re a Zombie: A Handbook for the Newly Undead by John Austin.  Eventually someone you know will be nipped by a rampaging zombie and a how to guide on zombie-ism seems like a smart fall back option.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith.  One might naturally assume that with the rise of the living dead that other creatures of the night might raise up to join in the apocalyptic fun.  Not to mention hunting techniques can be extrapolated; such as, beheading always causes death to a vampire, zombie, or the nosy neighbor down the street to whom you are tired of explaining why you are constantly sharpening your axe when you have no trees.  

I wish you good luck as you embark on furthering your mind with the necessary pursuits of knowledge of the undead.   

I’m not sure why but somehow my friend, Deals, has become my blog muse.  Unfortunately this was not the muse I was looking for, THAT muse is 6’4”, buff, and says things like “While you’re busy being brilliant I’m going to be busy in the kitchen cooking, then I’ll scrub the bathroom floor, and finally, just because you look exhausted, sitting in front of the computer wearing your fingers to nubs, I’ll give you a massage.  Because you deserve it.”  THAT muse position is still up for grabs.  I’m accepting applications now. 

In the meantime I’m somehow inadvertently stuck with Deals as my muse, and she doesn’t even cook, clean, or live on the same continent!  Could it be because we both find the most bizarre, twisted stories funny?  Or is it because I love the way she treats her dogs like babies and babies like dogs?  Or maybe it’s because when I have absolutely no inspiration I can send her a facebook message or skype with her and end up with blogging gold.  I might add that she doesn’t even realize how much inspiration I take from her; if she did she’d make me pay her.

With that being said I’ve been in a funk lately, mostly due to life and everything else, and I haven’t been able to find humor in anything, let alone a blog.  But in true Deals fashion she brought inspiration when there was none.  She is the cornerstone of my zombie apocalypse, she is willing to throw a party with a stripper/miniature golf theme, and she puts up with my one-sided skype conversations about latex fetishes.  What more can a girl ask for in a muse?

My latest inspiration came way of her dog, Woo.  I’m pretty sure Woo is Deals blogging muse considering the number of doggie predicaments that find there way onto her blog much to Woo’s embarrassment.  

Woo: My ear feels a bit puffy, mommy.

Deals: Suck it up soldier; no one gets anywhere from whining like a little girl.

Woo: But I am a little girl!

Deals: Details, details. 

Woo: Did I mention my ear hurts, mommy?

Deals: You’re going to make me take you to the vet aren’t you? 

Woo: …I have to pee…

Deals: Of course you do.

(Meanwhile at the vet)

Woo: Why are you starving me, mommy?

Deals: Just wait; next is a BATH. Wa ha ha ha!

Woo: NOOOO!

Deals: Then a big needle is going to come and stab you in the ear and drain that sucker.

Woo: Wha?!? Don’t you love me anymore, mommy?

Deals: …

Woo: I have to pee.

Deals: Hold it!  Hold it!

Woo: I’m feeling sleepy, mommy.

Deals: That would be the roofies I slipped into your waterbowl.

(After the roofies have done their job)

Woo: Wha? Where am I? Where’s my mommy?

Deals: I’m here sugarplum.

Woo: Hi mommy.  I had this awful dream that you didn’t love me and you made the big bad vet come and stick a needle in my ear!

Deals: That’s terrible, I can’t believe it!  Then what happened?

Woo: Wait… what’s this around my neck? Is this another one of your crazy costumes? It’s not Halloween yet.  You promised!  No more costumes til Halloween!

Deals: Well Easter is just around the corner.

Woo: Why is there tape on my ear?  Why can’t I scratch my head?  Waitttt, it wasn’t a dream, the call is coming from inside the house!  Daddy, daddy!  Save me, save me!

Deals: No one can hear you scream, Woo.  No one can hear you scream.

I realize I’ve maintained a bit of a radio silence this past month. Rather than bore you with the details I’ll just tell you that 

1) I completed my Peace Corps service (which means that I no longer have to censor my blog, yeah for silver linings!) 

2) Rather than head back stateside immediately I opted to visit Nairobi for the time being, and 

3) life goes on despite the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.  

But, do not fear, I have not forgotten about you.  In penance for my silence I’ll share with you what’s been heavy on my mind lately.  It’s a difficult subject, one prone to debate, and due to its controversial nature I’m confident that it will play a key role among the issues raised during the 2012 election season.

The Zombie Apocalypse.  

Recently my friend accused me of not having put much thought into a zombie apocalypse action plan.  I, of course, set the record straight and made it clear that not only am I prepared should things get undead, but my action plan is laminated right next to my fire escape route. 

This being said, the rise of the undead is inevitable.  We all know this on an instinctual level and that’s why you won’t find anyone in a graveyard after dark.  Naturally.   

Step One: Recruitment.  When the apocalypse hits there won’t be time to bumble around and phone a friend.  Preparation is vital.  Know your apocalyptic army and engage in battle.  Might I suggest you recruit the following allies:

1. Vampires.  A natural enemy of zombies as they vie for sole undead status.  Clearly they are the key to win the war of the undead. 

2.  Don’t forget the benefits of werewolves.  Half human, half bite-y.  They have an incentive not to see their race obliterated by the undead.  Don’t underestimate their rage. 

3.  Unicorns.  Unicorns are the natural enemy of zombies because they can poke them in the brain with their horn.  Can you think of anything else than can use an appendage to kill a zombie?  I didn’t think so. 

4.  And finally, bears.  Because what’s a war without bears?  ‘Nuff said. 

Your best chance for survival is in a place where all of these are easily accessible.  If not, don’t worry; your un-death at the hands of ravenous zombies will not be in vain as it will give the rest of us time to prepare to wage war with our army of destroyers.  Thanks in advance.

Step Two: Emergency Kit.  You’ll want to keep this somewhere easily accessible.  Your best bet is to keep it near your bedroom door for a quick escape. 

A.  Keep your load light; you don’t want to lug around a heavy chainsaw just for decapitation purposes.  Not to mention, what do you think happens if you suddenly run out of gas mid-battle? That’s right… zombie bait. 

B.  Keep it simple.  A sword is key for close encounters but don’t forgo the benefits of a firearm for long distance kills.  As few people are adept at accurately aiming at the brain it’s important to carry lots of ammunition. 

C.  Newbies. Your personal survival is ensured if you make sure that you can always run faster than your slowest team member.  If they are all quick like bunnies, don’t be afraid to shoot one in the leg, this is war after all.  Casualties are inevitable.

Step Three: Rules of Combat.  Follow these simple rules and (hopefully) you’ll survive the onslaught of the undead

1. Strike to kill, remember, she’s not your mom/sister/girlfriend anymore.  Maiming her will only make her more angry and limp after you faster. 

2. Always kiss your children/spouse/cat goodnight even if they’re already asleep.  That way you can ensure they are still breathing and haven’t turned into zombies.  It that happens, consult Rule 1. 

3. Get fit, or at least find someone less fit to join your army.  I’m pretty sure this is what Darwin had in mind when he coined “survival of the fittest”. 

4.  Be prepared for anything.  Zombies are tricky bastards.  The undead are unpredictable.  If they were predictable they would still be dead.  It’s common sense, people.

5.  Hit hard and hit often.  A delicate tap on the head isn’t taking anyone down, especially not an angry, carnivorous zombie.  Beat the crap out of that zombie until you’re good and sure he’s dead, otherwise, you’re dead.

6.  And finally, never forget, the zombie may be gone, but the threat lives on. 

While this is a good general guide you may need to get specific for your location.   This is why I’m working on a detailed plan to eliminate Africa’s zombie threat.  With our proclivity to use traditional healers and magic to heal the sick I’m pretty sure it’s just a matter of time before the dead rise up and revolt.  Thus, you will hear the battle cry “Ex-pats unite!” 

No worries, I will keep you abreast of my plans for holding down this continent.  You just focus on holding those undead suckers off on your side.  And, while you’re at it could you procure a boat so you can come save me?  Just in case.

Imagine being woken in the middle night by the following conversation:

Guy: “Swallow, swallow.”

Girl: “I can’t breathe!”

Guy: “Hold your breath; come on its not that bad.”

Girl: “I almost passed out that time!” 

Guy: “Come on; swallow!  You’ll feel better.”

Of course some people might be driven to therapy from the mental images forever seared on their brain but I believe that when you have a problem you talk it over with your priest, or your porter, or the mute elevator porter at your men’s club then you take that problem and crush it with your mind vice…  But for lesser beings like curly haired men and people who need glasses, therapy can help.

I am posting a letter on behalf of a fellow Peace Corps volunteer who is helping an amazing woman, Beata Negumbo, achieve her goals.  Beata was accepted at Colorado State University to study food security and sustainable agricultural development.  While she is short-listed for a Fulbright Fellowship among other scholarships it’s impossible to rely solely on grants.   If you have the inclination please contribute to Beata’s Scholarship Fund through the 501(c)3 Impact A Village.  Your tax-deductible donation will make a difference not only in Beata’s life but in the lives of the people she will serve once she completes her degree. I can tell you from my interactions with her that she is one of the most impressive people I have met.  She truly will be a future leader for her country and this opportunity will only help her grow towards that goal.   

Lindsay’s letter:

After a low turn out at one of my Amnesty International events in college and a constant news stream about the worsening genocide in Darfur (despite our demonstrations and letter campaigns), I felt down and frustrated. A friend bought me ice cream and served it with some insight. He said, “Lindsay, you can’t change the world, but sometimes you can change the whole world for one person.” I always wanted to join Peace Corps, but that conversation solidified my desire. I wanted to make an impact on individuals, because, well, that’s the only way it’s really done.

When I got here, it became clear that Beata was that person.  Beata has a deep compassion and desire to help others that I have rarely seen, which is extraordinary considering her life experience.

Beata grew up in a small village in Owamboland, Namibia, a country known as “Southwest Africa” during apartheid and occupied by South African soldiers until she was 12. She remembers hiding in the bush on her way home from school as military planes flew overhead. Sometimes they would drop leaflets describing the next restriction such as no walking after dark.  Other times they would drive tanks onto her homestead, burn the crops, and beat her family members. When she was in 2^nd grade she was questioned at gunpoint by white South African soldiers to determine if opposition soldiers were hiding on her homestead. It blows my mind to think that while she was going through this, I was 5 years old, sitting in my p.j.’s eating cereal and watching cartoons. As life would have it, 20 years later our paths would cross.

I met Beata through the Ministry of Youth, where she works as a Rural Youth Development officer. She recently graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Agricultural Management from the University of Namibia. Though government work is a standard job in Namibia it does not provide many opportunities for advancement. Rather than allow her current job options to dissuade her, Beata decided she wanted to study further so she can focus on the field she’s passionate about; food security and sustainable agricultural development.

You can imagine how difficult it is for anyone to apply to graduate school, but applying for schools while living in a rural Namibian town is 10 times harder and more expensive.  However, Beata persevered and it paid off when she was admitted to an Integrated Resource Management Masters Program at Colorado State University!

Beata is searching nonstop for grants, scholarships, and student loans.  Unlike 3/4 of international students whose wealthy families fund their education, Beata’s family members are subsistence farmers and unable to contribute towards her expenses.  I hate to ask people for money (and Beata hates it even more which is why she doesn’t know about this), but nothing has meant more to me than to help change the life of this incredible woman.  You, too, can help change the whole world for one person by making a donation to Beata’s Scholarship Fund at Impact A Village.   When you donate please be sure to note that the contribution is for Beata’s scholarship on the PayPal form’s comment field or send an email to lisafwadeATgmailDOTcom.

I’ve come to find that living in a developing country means that while things might appear to be the same on the surface they often vary from what one might expect in the States.  Usually the similarities lull you into a false sense of security until BAM! you are forcibly reminded that this is, not in fact, America. 

These interactions typically encompass mundane daily activities such as grocery shopping, banking, or doctor’s appointments.  While most of the time you continue on with your day some interactions remain seared on your brain… a memory that even with the onset of dementia in later years will never be forgotten.  This is the story of such a memory. 

Once upon a time there was a volunteer.  We’ll call her “Lindy”.  She was excited to leave her town for a trip into the big city… a trip to Windhoek!  A trip to the capital means free accommodation, restaurants, movies, and shopping.  A luxury, especially when the most exciting thing in your town is the free Internet at work.  So Lindy eagerly made the three-hour hike to Windhoek while avoiding thoughts of the real reason she was making this trip, her annual medical exam. 

Nobody likes medical exams, especially female volunteers.  This means a trip to the gynecologist, a fate to be avoided, even in America.  But, alas, it was inescapable.  Her time had come.  Despite her nervousness she walked into the doctor’s office with an air of confidence.  “There’s nothing to worry about”, she thought, “I can do this.  It’s easy, just a routine exam.” 

Her nerves quelled, she waited for the doctor in the examination room.  After a short wait, the doctor entered with a comforting smile on his face and instructed her to disrobe and prepare for the exam.  “This isn’t difficult, I’m ready!” she thought as she glanced in the mirror to provide herself with a bit of encouragement. 

Why don’t we take a short intermission from this tale to comment on another story, that of a young man who surmounts all odds with his courageous actions… kind of.  Imagine this young man has embarked on a terrible first date, he’s downed a few drinks, but he knows there is no connection with his date, which leaves absolutely no chance for a second date so he makes an excuse to go up to the girl’s apartment.  Basically he crosses his fingers and makes one last ditch Hail Mary effort.  He asks for a drink and once she leaves the room, he strips naked and waits.  When she comes back, she laughs.  She’s so charmed by his confidence and bravado she sleeps with him.  Boom.  That is called the naked man, a courageous if not foolhardy attempt to elicit sex from a woman he would otherwise have no chance.  It combines the element of surprise, and let’s be honest, a little pity.

Now, let’s return from our interlude to continue our present story.  Lindy casually sat on the exam table waiting for the doctor to return.  The doctor, prior to briefly stepping out of the room, asked Lindy to please prepare for the exam by disrobing and getting onto the table.  Lindy, ever a people pleaser, was now perched on the edge of the exam table expectantly waiting his return.  But as the doctor returned to the room, the once unflappable doctor turned red in discomfort as he looked anywhere but the exam table. 

He stared at the ceiling tiles as he asks if Lindy would be more comfortable wearing the paper robe during the examination.  Lindy, mortified, realized that she had overlooked the discreet blue paper robe lying next to her on the chair.  She had inadvertently done the naked man.  A former act of courage by desperate men was now no more than a humiliating faux pas that would cause her to go down in Peace Corps medical history as an icon… or at least in infamy.

 

This is why no one understands my sense of humor. I might as well be living on another planet. With midgets. And miniature golf.

Me: So I hear that you are uber-busy with deb parties and weddings but I’ve decided to plan a group date for you guys so you can have an awesome time and then skype me and tell me all about it so I can live vicariously through all of you!

P.S. You can’t say no, it’s a done deal. How do you feel about strip clubs?

Deals: Strip clubs? Really? After your LAST experience? ;P

Deals: And, yes… my life has had much drama in it lately. Last week’s snow days were a much appreciated break from everything. It felt good to be at home for a change. I haven’t seen the crowd in awhile and I miss them. You might be the perfect excuse for a get together.

Me: I think it’s always important to get back on the horse after traumatic incidents involving strippers… or at least try to inflict trauma on friends so that I’m not the only one who needs serious counseling. I do this because I care. I’m glad I can be the catalyst that brings you guys together for a group date. If you aren’t down for a strip club how bout Putt Putt? I don’t think there are any strippers there. At least not at this time of year, they might get frostbite and I don’t know if that’s covered on their medical plan.

Deals: You are awesome.

I realize it may appear as though I gave up on my 2010 resolution of being more adventurous half way through the year, as I haven’t posted updates on my exploits.  Don’t worry, I’ve quietly accomplished my goal and have one massive update to share my amazing adventures!

August…

One adventure I was determined to accomplish before I left this country was riding a donkey cart.  Despite my co-workers inherent warnings I persevered and success was mine when one spring day I found two donkeys hitched to a cart enjoying a leisurely lunch mere blocks from my home.

Setting: The heart of Otavi’s location surrounded by curious onlookers, two goats, and a turkey. 

Participants: Myself and 3 surprised donkey cart owners

Mission: To ride on a donkey cart, preferably one that goes really, really fast (at least donkey fast)

Courage: Medium, what are the odds of being killed by an errant donkey?  My guess… it is substantially lower than being in a vehicle accident.  Honestly, how would you rather leave this life, in a crumbled heap of metal courtesy of a drunk driver or trampled by a donkey?  My vote, every time, is death by donkey. 

Injuries: None, though my fingers were a bit stiff after I pried them from the side of the cart.  Who would have thought those suckers actually do go donkey fast. 

Level of Intensity: Medium, though I could see it increasing should the donkeys stage a coup and attempt an escape.

Probability of a Repeat Performance: Very high, I plan on mounting one of those babies again, preferably one that sports a Toyota cart; because, who doesn’t want to tool around in something that classy.

Degree of Coolness: Very high, why else would half the neighborhood stand outside on a Sunday afternoon and watch us take a spin around the block?

September…

One kudu, two kudu, three kudu, four.  This adventure basically fell into my lap as I ever so kindly agreed to help a fellow American procure volunteers to participate in his game count.  Over a period of three days and five 8-hour shifts, 20 volunteers counted the animals that strolled past their waterhole.  All in all; a success.  Now I just have to resolve myself to the implications that said lodge owner now knows how much game is available for hunters to shoot on his land. 

Setting: 20,000 acres on the outskirts of Otavi

Participants: Myself and 19 fellow volunteers

Mission: To count game animals, hence the name, game count.  Catchy isn’t it?

Courage: Low, as there was a very slim chance of being attacked by wild animals in our safe, little brick hidey-holes

Injuries: None, other than my blood sugar dipping very low after sitting in a hide for 15 hours.  Although I’m sure my co-counter considered smacking me a few times as my hunger increased and my patience decreased.

Level of Intensity: Low; we hoped to see a leopard as there had been one in the area the previous evening chewing on a dead kudu mere feet from our door but alas we made due with kudu, wildebeest, hartebeest, dikdiks, giraffe, waterbuck, amongst other game. 

Probability of a Repeat Performance:  Medium, I enjoyed watching the game in their natural habitat but as I’ve seen the majority of these animals on multiple game drives it wasn’t particularly new.  Although, I was interested in gauging the animals’ behavior as they gathered at the waterhole without external stimuli.

Degree of Coolness: Medium, it’s not too often that you are afforded an up close experience with indigenous African animals

October…

Setting: Dune Seven between Swakopmund and Walvis Bay

Participants: Myself and two friends

Mission: To sandboard, or more accurately, bellyboard, down Dune 7

Injuries: None, other than an impromptu panic attack, that incapacitated me as I sat halfway up the dune with my head between my legs.

Level of Intensity: I didn’t really consider sandboarding to be a particularly strenuous or difficult activity but I soon found that it is more difficult than I first anticipated to a) walk to the top of a dune of scorching hot sand, b) hold a flimsy piece of cardboard level so that I can both lie down on it as well as steer it down the dune, and c) not get the wretched excuse for a sandboard buried into the sand every 10 feet.

Probability of a Repeat Performance: Nil.  Unless my next trip includes seasoned professionals and a board that is not made from a thin piece of corrugated cardboard

Degree of Coolness:  There probably would have been a much higher coolness factor had I not had a panic attack and also managed to get down the dune in one smooth go. 

November…

As I already dedicated an entire blog to machine guns and Waterberg I won’t bore you by retelling the tale.  Instead, here’s a short recap of our rhino tracking experience…

Courage: I didn’t find the mission particularly daring though I managed to stand my ground while my fellow “trackers” ran screaming like little girls to hide behind the man with the machine gun.

Injuries: While I walked away unscathed I can’t necessarily say the same for the boys, they may have acquired a few bumps and bruises as they dove to the ground in fright

Level of Intensity: I’m guessing relatively high for the dozing rhino that awoke to find himself stared down by a bunch of tourist trackers

Probability of a Repeat Performance: High, as this is one of the more unique ways to experience wildlife in its natural habitat I would definitely try this again… perhaps a leopard next time?

Degree of Coolness: High.  For me, that is.  For the boys, I’m not sure you can get any less cool than whimpering for your mommies as you hide from a sleepy rhino.

December…

Basically my entire holiday was an ongoing adventure that included being serenaded by a makoro poler, gazing at a pride of lions as they devoured their morning meal mere feet away, trekking through the bush to view some of the oldest San (Bushmen) cave paintings in existence, snorkeling and kayaking in the clear blue waters of Lake Malawi, tossing fish into the still waters hoping to catch African fish eagles diving for an afternoon snack, scrambling up cliffs to jump in the warm lake currents, learning to balance while paddling a dugout canoe, and straddling a horse bareback as we cool off together in Lake Malawi.

Setting: a small dugout canoe on the beach of Nkhata Bay on New Year’s Eve

Participants: Myself and four friends

Mission: If yoga has taught me anything it is that my balance needs some serious help.  I don’t even know how I can walk upright without falling over.  Thus trying to balance on a dugout canoe AND paddle is a feat in itself. 

Courage: As the experienced canoers (that’s a word, I swear!  If not, then I’ve just made it one.  There.  It’s simply one more thing I can add to my CV, creator of words.  Impressive, isn’t it?) were smart to keep us close to the shore it was virtually impossible to drown in the shallow waters thus increasing my courage tenfold. 

Injuries: While I did manage to swallow huge mouthfuls of water every time I flipped over I think the only thing I likely contracted was bilharzia, a small price to pay for a memorable holiday.

Probability of a Repeat Performance: High, that is once I work on my balance and manage to paddle more than 2 minutes without tipping over.

Degree of Coolness: Medium, I probably would have gained a bit more respect from my friends and canoers (see how I did that?  Using a new word twice in one paragraph totally makes it legit!) had I not fallen half a dozen times.

I originally set this goal for myself knowing that life in a small, Namibian village is tough and it’s necessary to make time for activities that will bring joy, happiness, and maybe a little bit of terror into life.  Honestly, what is the point of working so hard if you don’t have memories to look back and smile on?  So, if you haven’t made your 2011 resolutions I encourage you to consider bringing a bit of adventure into your own life.  Don’t let yourself be dissuaded by excuses.  I managed to accomplish all of these adventures despite the fact that I have no personal transport, a limited volunteer budget, as well as work and time constraints.

Recap of my fabulous 2010 adventures:

January: Surf a wave before being thrown to the mercies of Poseidon

February: Obtain a lock of hair from the mane of a lion

March: Experience history in the making at Namibia’s 20^th Independence Day celebrations

April: Glide through the air on a microlight

May: Survive the Divebomber aka Carnival Ride of Death

June: Straddle a camel gracefully

July: Allow a tiny stabbing needle to permanently ink my back

August: Utilize a donkey cart as a mode of transport

September: Learn to count as high as 50… game that is

October: Surf a dune before being thrown to the mercies of the unforgiving sand

November: Track a white rhino without hiding behind the guy with a machine gun

December: Paddle a dugout canoe with grace