Ten Yori Shu wo Homeage yo.

I moved to Japan at a sensitive time, spiritually. I grew up in the Lutheran church and am a follower of Christ. But I find myself often still shifting to 'figure it out.' When I moved to Japan, I had spent the previous year and a half attending an Orthodox church, of all places. But that's another story.

Yokohama Orthodox Church, our current parish

Orthodoxy is crazy different than the Protestant world. It took much adjustment, and I remember even experiencing something similar to culture shock. The Orthodox church I first attended regularly had inquirer's classes - a time when our priest was available to field questions and discuss orthodoxy. This was helpful to understand the differences, but there were still times of emotional adjustments - those times I would feel in over my head. I remember leaving in the middle of one of the Lenten services because it was just too much, too overwhelming. A friend of mine noticed and checked in later. He understood that I was freaked out. He said this was good, and it meant I was paying attention.

I was at a good place with Orthodoxy when we got married. That's a good thing, since we were married in an Orthodox cathedral. By three Orthodox priests. With less than a handful of Orthodox in attendance out of the 225 friends and family that were there. And I was then married to an Orthodox man. I was engulfed.

I say I was in a good place, but I still felt very new. We both (my recently converted husband and I) still had a lot to understand. I thought moving to Japan to fulfill military orders would mean a hiatus in our progress. That we wouldn't have the chance to continue pursuing Orthodoxy. I thought we would have to pick up where we left off when we moved back to the States.

Fortunately, I was wrong.

Who knew that we would be so welcomed at a tiny little Japanese Orthodox church? Who knew that we would be able to attend liturgy every week and still have the opportunity to learn about Orthodoxy? Who knew that I would be chrismated and convert at this church? And who knew our son would be baptized there as well?

This church has become a family indeed and we are once again engulfed in Orthodoxy.

We currently know the liturgy in Japanese better than in English (koei wa chichi to ko to seishin ni kisu, ima mo itsumo yoyo ni, Amin ... ).

We have lunch with this wonderful group of people after liturgy every week. Matushka (the priest's wife) hurries to finish her meal and grabs Steven so I can have a rare two-handed meal. He's been spoken to in English, Japanese, Arabic, and Russian (only a few of the nationalities represented).

This week, Miki San put on and tied my shoes for me since I was flying solo and already had Steven in a carrier on my abdomen, making it tricky to bend.

When I wasn't able to attend after Steven's birth, they sent Curt home with blessed bread for me. They also did this after I had my wisdom teeth taken out.

I am regularly invited to lunch out with the ladies I call my obachans, my pseudo-aunties from this church.

We are supported and blessed and we are in it. We are living Orthodoxy in a way that has little regard for language barriers and differences of background.

God blew this whole thing out of the water by allowing us to remain in the Orthodox Church AND grow in it, despite being in a land foreign to us. We have truly been provided for, and this community will honestly be difficult to leave. We've already talked about how much we dread it. This church, that is no bigger than our house, has brought to Orthodoxy two out of the three of us, leaves us walking on air every week and has truly been a treasure.

Silly me for thinking that the limits that I see actually mean something.

Sunny Side Up.

http://commons.wikimedia.org/

Out here in Yokosuka, our ships are forward deployed. This means that, contrary to stateside ships that might deploy for 9 or 10 months, our schedules are more sporadic. They go out for a month here, two months there, then six weeks, two weeks, or even 8 months. A schedule exists, but is very much subject to change. And often does change. Multiple times. It's hard to argue what's more difficult, so I won't get into that. ;)

My husband just left on our longest deployment of the year. It came up quick - he was only in port for three weeks. But I am determined to be looking at the shiny side of the coin, despite the inner protests of my cranky-navy-wife side (be easy on her, she had a tough week of long hours and dinners alone). So I think it's time to take a look at the up sides of having a deployed husband. I know, I know! Why would I even scrape the barrel to find such heinous ideas?? Because there are indeed some benefits to a deployment. They're what help us get through, despite our longing (and counting down) for homecoming day.

Just bear with me. I need this today.

So without further adieu, here are the positive aspects of deployment.

1. Deployments provide the perfect time to set goals.

Your life suddenly shifts. There's a clear break that includes an adjustment phase after which your life is pretty different. You suddenly live alone, have way more time on your hands, and if you have kids, will act somewhat like a single parent. There's a clear break in what your life looks like because one day BOOM! Your husband is gone. It's a great time to set some goals, hunker down, and work for them. Homecoming also provides a clear deadline.

I realized early on that I needed deployment goals, whether he'd be gone for 1 week or 3 months. It's good for me to have something extra to focus on. In the past, I've learned to make crepes, contacted 'X' number of people in the African ecotourism industry to plan our future, planned trips around Asia and Australia, read books I'd been intending to read for years, and cleaned our window screens. It's wonderful, because goals can be of any kind.

My goals this time around are: (1) learn to knit (will be starting that one tonight!), (2) research lodge management in East Africa, (3) look into a trip for the end of this tour, and (4) organize our photos.

2. It forces you to pursue community like your life depends on it.

Because at times, your emotional well being does depend on it. We have wayward connection to our husbands. Between technical difficulty on the ship's end, his watch schedule and him not knowing what's going on or really what day it is, you're never guaranteed to actually be able to contact your husband. You need to learn, to some extent, not to rely on him. And often, it's pursuing connection with other people that actually gets you out your door, for bible study, women's brunch, and so-and-so's Pampered Chef party.

We all realize we need other women to rely on, so we cohere quickly. And honestly, it becomes your second family. Even in times when our husbands are around, we find ourselves needing each other. For support when dealing with the sometimes-frustrating process of getting orders. For making meals and getting help around the house after our babies are born. For figuring out how to change our Page 2's or get command sponsorship or read an LES (trust me - don't ask!). For reading the kanji on your heater remote, so you don't have the A/C on in the middle of winter.

I saw this in action during the last deployment. My husband was gone for a month and we had some snowy weather move in. Even though we're from Minnesota, there are some places that just aren't prepared for that much snow. It was a Saturday night and our house kept losing power. No power = no heat. I was starting to get nervous after the sun went down and I had an infant to keep warm. I also feared that even if the power came back on, we would lose it again in the middle of the night. Our heaters have to be turned back on manually, so if I didn't notice the power loss, things could get cold fast. I called a friend of mine whose husband offered to brave the weather to come get me and my three-month-old so we could bunk at their place. Luckily, our power came back on after an hour and we stayed warm through the night, but having their support (and the opportunity for a plan B) made me feel safe again.

You learn that community is essential for surviving the Navy.

3. For the most part, the challenges are worthwhile.

Now, I would also argue that a married couple shouldn't be apart. But that's perfect world stuff. When having to brave a deployment, it turns out you learn a lot and become more self-sufficient. You don't have your husband to do everything. You have to kill all the spiders, do the yard work, figure out how to buy the right Japanese light bulb (doesn't it seem like there are thousands??), and take the cat to the vet. You just have to figure it out, and I don't know if many other Navy wives are like this, but I always have an I-am-woman-hear-me-roar moment at the end of a challenge. And you know, it feels pretty good. I also know for the future which light bulbs we need and how to effectively (and single-handedly) get our 15 lb cat into his kennel. Not easy. But remember that I am woman. Rarh!

But I would also like to officially state that Curtis Gaynor is the official spider killer (or benevolent outdoor-releaser, because I do not care what he does with them as long as they are gone) in this household.

4. You appreciate your husband a helluva lot.

When your husband comes home, it is an absolute JOY to have dinner with him and hold his hand and have a face-to-face conversation and watch him play with your kid. You know, normal everyday stuff. We become wonderfully low maintenance, and that's just nice for everybody.

5. The homecoming is romantic. Movie-style romantic.

You know the climax of a good romantic comedy? That part in the movie when you are completely captivated and would be sincerely heartbroken if everything didn't turn out? When your heart is beating fast and you can hardly breathe? That's what it feels like to see your husband pull in after months at sea. It's a momentous day.

Our last homecoming was delayed, and day to day, I had no idea when my husband would be able to come home. I found out a week after the originally scheduled return that the ship would be arriving the very next day. Since we had a napping infant, we decided that he would just come home when he could instead of us coming to meet him on the pier. Well, our son woke up last minute and we rushed out the door to surprise him (texting him all the way for updates on when he'd be coming home; tricky, tricky!). Holding our son and walking onto that ship to find my husband was a wonderful moment. Made me feel like a giddy teenager. 

6. Our men bring home stories.

I'll admit, some deployments are boring (oh great, you did this exercise and that evolution ... ), and some sailors and their wives aren't interested in talking Navy once he's finally home. But if your husband's command does any big time Navy stuff, it makes for great stories. We're talking about the big stories in internationally news and things connected to the world climate. My husband has become so good at telling me stories (at least the ones I'm allowed to hear, heh heh) like it's a great novel playing out. And honestly, it makes me a little proud knowing what significant things my husband was involved with. 

7. And if they're gone for long enough ... separation pay!

We get paid more if we're separated from our husbands longer than a certain amount. It's like, "Sorry you never see your husband, but here's some money." But hey, I will not say no to that. :)

Navy wives? Did I leave anything out? How do you stay positive when your man is gone?

Photos for my Sailor

Technology fails us at times. And for Navy spouses, that can mean our only lifeline to our husbands. But! If you learn to run with it, you can learn greater patience. And actually get to talk to them when you have more time under your belt and a shorter countdown until you get to see them again. Celebration, woo!

My husband will be a stern father. But for now, our 3-month-old son is far too cute (and young) for discipline. Whenever he deploys, it's now even more challenging for us. Yes, I can manage the house by myself for a while. I can make life work. But what's harder is the plain old separation. It's apparent that we miss each other more and he misses his son immensely. This is where daily photos come in. My husband loves them and turns into the most proud and irritating father on his ship. He tells me how he saves the string of photos of our son I send him, and shows it to everyone he runs into. I can imagine. 

Well, Curt can't view any of my photos I've been sending him. So lucky for him (and unlucky for the people around him), he's going to get his string of photos right here all at once. Enjoy, babe.

It's All About Steve(n): Our Birth Story

I gave birth to our first child 18 days ago, a boy that looks just like me and whom we named Steven Bruce, after our fathers.

I’d like to share my birth story, because I think childbirth is misrepresented in our culture and has become something women fear and dread. Why wouldn’t they? Besides the common practice of things like epidurals and planned caesarean sections (which puts the idea in our heads that labor can be unbearable), we are exposed to the horror stories of other mothers.  It was the worst pain I’ve ever experienced and Trust me, get the drugs!  Have you ever heard a woman tell you that her birthing was an amazing experience?

Maybe I’ll be the first.  I will admit that labor was labor indeed, and it was no walk in the park.  But I did not experience unbearable pain.  It wasn’t something that I just got through and barely survived.  It was difficult – the hardest work I’ve ever set out to do.  But excruciating?  Not at all.  In understanding the purposefulness of my body, I was able to embrace the sensations I felt and have a healthy (and swift!) birthing.  It was an incredible experience of being awed by my body and by my own strength and control.

Curt and I prepared for labor well; we primarily focused on the Mongan Method of Hypnobirthing (trust me, not kooky like it sounds), but also delved positive experiences and tools from Natural Childbirth the Bradley Way and Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth.  But the most important tool we utilized was practice.  Every single day, I would listen to a hypnosis script or we would go through one together.  Sounds bizarre, yes, but it wasn’t something that put me into a trance.  Rather, it was something that taught me how to relax thoroughly, to be in control of my relaxation and focus, and to achieve a sort of dream-like state, like when you daydream.  Even with practice and the knowledge on the Mongan and Bradley Methods, an important part of my preparation was actively battling negative stories and comments that I heard from some of the people around me.  We tried to use positive language – avoiding words with negative connotations like “pain” – and focused on positive birth experiences of other women.

I was able to stay active the whole pregnancy, which helped me avoid lower back and hip pain.  In the last few weeks of my pregnancy, I could feel my body changing, as my hips started to shift. I started to get pretty sore and achy.  I also fatigued easily.  I would walk to the food market five minutes from our house, buy minimal groceries, walk back home and be completely expired.  That’s why I guessed that labor was imminent when I got a sudden burst of energy those last couple days.  It seems nature knows what we need, when we need it.

I had been having a tightening sensation for a couple weeks, during which my belly would rise up out of my abdomen and become more squarish than round, and it would feel very tight and hard.  Saturday evening, the 12^th of October, I had more of these sensations with my thighs tightening up.  I now know that these were contractions, but I wasn’t certain at the time since they were just tight, and not uncomfortable.

The last few days of my pregnancy, I had trouble sleeping due to soreness and heartburn, so the night of the 12th I slept on our couch downstairs.  I woke up frequently – you know, pregnant bladder – and at about 1 am, I felt something start to come out of me.  Then it rushed out of me and I had no doubt in my mind that my water had broken!  I won’t tell you what I said – I was startled and exclaimed something that is not good for my young sons ears ;).  I rushed to the toilet and called Curt on my phone.  Yes, seriously.  That’s how I got his attention since he was sleeping on the 3^rd floor and I on the 1^st.  From there, I could barely get off the toilet; fluid just kept coming and coming as I relaxed.  We set me up on the couch comfortably and on top of garbage bags and towels, and Curt started to pack the final items in our hospital bag.  We planned to labor as much as we could at home, since that was the most comfortable and familiar place.  The surges (calmer hypnobirthing word used for contractions) started coming right away, and in a way that they hadn’t before.  They were uncomfortable, yes, but I wouldn’t necessarily describe them as painful.  They required a lot of focus on relaxation.  While Curt was busy running around, I timed them myself and breathed deeply and slowly.  They were only a few minutes apart and anywhere from 30 to 60 seconds in duration. 

After my water initially broke, we had a snack for energy.  But as my labor progressed, I couldn’t keep anything down.  I had read stories of vomiting during labor, usually as you are late in dilation, and it’s not cause for concern.  Curt told me later that he was shocked, but my acceptance (and embrace! It felt good!) of it let him know that it was ok.

We had decided beforehand that when deciding to go to the hospital, we would take into account the frequency and duration of my surges, but also my emotions.  Bradley speaks of emotional sign posts – women typically start labor excited and cheerful, get serious when they realize the work that their body is doing, and experience self-doubt when they are exhausted near the end.  The 2^nd emotional signpost – seriousness – is the most appropriate time to go to the hospital when you want to labor mostly at home, since you will have progressed quite a bit and will spend the minimal amount of time laboring at the hospital.

So we labored at home!  My surges were very close together – about 2 minutes – but I was still cheerful and excitable.  We spent most of the time on our rocking chair with Curt on the ottoman rubbing my thighs with each surge.  Oof, they were tight!  I’d say the intensity of my surges was moderate at this point.  My body was definitely going to work, and they required deliberate focus.  I was still vomiting small amounts frequently and even having a hard time keeping water down.  Time stood still; we spent about three hours in this setting, but it felt like much shorter.

We moved to our living room, where I could sit on our bench or a birthing ball.  Apparently, it was here that Curt realized I hadn’t laughed at any of his jokes in about 20 minutes, so he knew I was entering the serious phase.  He told me later that he was making jokes on purpose to see where I was at emotionally.  He suggested that we go to the hospital, and I complied.  It was 0530 when we left home, four and a half hours after my water broke. 

We live just outside the naval base, so we were able to get to the hospital in about 5 minutes.  We worked our way up to the maternity ward on the 3^rd floor (after having a surge in the parking lot – I used Curt as a jungle gym), and they helped us into a triage room.  We asked them to contact my midwife, Genie, but praise the Lord Almighty, she happened to have duty that Saturday and was still on the ward.  That was one of my major concerns going in – that neither of the midwives I had been seeing would be able to attend the birth.  I have nothing against obstetricians, but they often take a different approach than the one we were hoping for.  Also, I had never met any of them.  Genie came in to the triage room while the nurse was checking the baby’s vitals and my own.  I was so relieved to see her face!  She checked me and announced that I was fully dilated.  Amazing!  I had been thinking about my dilation, but didn’t let myself hope for anything above 5 centimeters, let alone ten!  I attribute this fully to staying relaxed.  When you do so during surges, your uterus is able to pull your cervix up more efficiently.  When you’re relaxed, you’re not working against your body’s ability to pull that muscle upward and “open the door” for your baby to pass through.

So we were in business, and I was immensely encouraged by full dilation.  It was a push I needed to start the next phase with full gusto. 

The delivery room started off with a bustle.  There were blood draws and a hep lock insert (a port for intravenous fluids, so they had a way to give me an IV, but I wasn’t constantly hooked up).  There were questions about medicinal allergies and diseases in the family.  This was a more hectic scenario than I was hoping for with our birth, but because of how our labor had gone thus far, I felt in complete control.  I put people off.  “Sir, I’m having a surge and need a minute … ok, please go ahead.”  I was able to put up a gentle hand and close my eyes to signal a gentle back off for a second!  And even later on, when I was in the heat of the pushing phase, I was able to gently push away a nurse with dobbler monitor (heartbeat monitor for baby) with a “Can’t concentrate … “.  She respected me and immediately backed away.  These moments of taking control, not just with the hospital staff, but in my own body and experience, allowed me to shed the idea that labor was something that was happening to me.  I was in tandem with my body’s purpose and was not taken captive, but was working alongside the process.

The pushing phase was long.  Curt and I were all over.  I laid on the bed and breathed while he rubbed my thighs (they were still tightening with every surge).  We stood.  I leaned.  I squatted.  I used pretty much every function of what we came to call Bedimus Prime.  The bed into just about anything we needed.  The very end of it came down about a foot and became a sort of birthing stool, with options for attaching a bar to brace yourself.  I was so thankful to have the freedom to move, to go with what my body wanted, since I didn’t have medication and my legs still had feeling.  I used gravity and was able to shift things around to work baby down.  I was also able to feel and listen to the sensations of my body.  Push now.  Ok, not so much.  Now relax; let yourself regroup for the next surge.  Just breathe.

The pushing phase took longer than expected because I was still figuring it out.  I could practice breathing and relaxation before the birth, but practice birthing a child?  You don’t exactly come across that experience every day.  Hard to prepare for.  For a while, I was letting instinct take over – which was good – but not realizing the intention I had to set for myself, the work I had to do.  I had to breathe baby down, yes, but I also had to watch for that time when I needed to give a push.  We just needed a little more. 

This is where our midwife was clutch.  She stepped in after a bit of time and offered fantastic suggestions.  And in between each surge, we were able to expound those suggestions and get them set in a way that agreed with my brain, in a way that I could not only understand but also implement.  The application had to be there.  My confusion was how to relax my body while also giving energy – pushing – to the process.  Through the difficulty, I started to become discouraged.  Not only because it was really difficult to get my baby boy’s head through a place that had a lot of stretching to do, but also because I wasn’t convinced I was making progress.  What I needed was encouragement and affirmation.  I needed the emotional support.  I needed to be told that I was doing well and making progress.  This is the point where I imagine most women would have started thinking they needed medicinal support. Never in my birthing process did I think about turning to medicine.  The thought just never occurred to me. Stalling during labor was disheartening, but with the support of my husband and midwife, I was able to keep my courage and my control.

What we finally came up with to help me understand the pushing phase was the idea that when I felt a surge, I would take a big inhale and then a slow exhale while focusing downward, and then give a long, suspended oomph at the end of each exhale.  Each time, it helped to give a low-toned and long oooooomph.  I pushed for a while in a squatting position, then changed to a semi-sitting position while pulling my legs back.  But the last few surges, I felt the need to be on all fours.  I would strongly inhale and then slowly exhale while shifting my pelvis back and down and giving my oomph.  His head felt so low, and was hanging halfway out for the last bit.  When he finally came out, it was a little bit of a shock!  I’d been at it for so long, but the moment he was born just kind of came upon us.  Since I was in an optimal position, his head and shoulders came out together. It happened in just one push.

Since I was kneeling, Genie said, “Grab your baby!” and I was able to reach down and grab our new-born baby boy; I was the very first one to hold our son.  The room erupted with energy; it had been quiet and dim, but nurses jumped in right away, cleaning and aspirating the crying, slimy baby in my hands.  I was helped onto my back with baby against my stomach.  Genie went to work on me since I had a lot of bleeding.  Because of this, she couldn’t delay cord clamping and cutting. The placenta was delivered swiftly.  I had two small tears that Genie quickly repaired, and everyone rushed out of the room to give us time with our new baby.

The next hour and a half was pure bliss.  I could not believe the creature wriggling around on my chest was our son!  He moved around, rooting to be fed.  It was amazing to watch his instinctual behavior when he was just minutes old.  I just stared at him as he crawled around looking for food.  He found it alright, but didn’t quite latch on his own – I think he was still feeling a little disoriented.  After watching him and getting to know him a bit, we decided to name him Steven Bruce, after our fathers.  The name suits him well.

A corpsman came in and helped Curt give Steven his first bath.  They also weighed him – 8 pounds 7 ounces!  Bigger than both Curt and me at birth, by at least a pound.  Haha, that fact made me proud, not just that our boy was fat and happy, but that I was able to get a baby that size out!  One thing I learned throughout my pregnancy is women’s bodies are amazing.  They can birth 11 pound babies vaginally.  They can birth breach babies vaginally.  They can birth when things are stuck, like the shoulders. 

Fortunately and unfortunately, I was anxious to see Steven get his first bath and take some photos.  This was two hours after his birth and a little too soon for me to get up.  I walked back to bed after snapping some photos, started to feel woozy, and fainted!  Luckily, my favorite nurse, Alea, was standing next to me and caught me perfectly.  She swiveled me around onto the bed and called the obstetrician on duty.  Thus began a somewhat invasive and very painful pelvic exam and a Pitocin drip.  This is synthetic Oxytocin, the hormone that contracts your uterus; it can cause the blood vessels in your uterus to constrict and aid with excessive bleeding, which was my problem.  I also had orders to pee or get a catheter.  Fortunately, Alea saw that a catheter was the last thing I wanted and advocated for a few extra hours at a bathroom attempt before a decision would be made.  I’d never been so excited about my own urination, difficult as it was. 

We spent about 4 hours in the delivery room after Steven was born, but were finally able to move into our postpartum room and enjoy our new baby.  We made calls to middle-of-the-night Minnesota, got some rest and ate lunch.  We relished the day – for the good labor and delivery experience and for our new baby.  We couldn’t believe how cute he was (is)!  We’ve been home for a little over two weeks; recovery is going well and we’re learning, day at a time, to be parents.  Steven is growing more alert and our schedule is solidifying. And it turns out Byron is pretty good around children.

My Holy Discontent

Photo credit: Nick Brandt

Today is the first day of Great Lent in the Orthodox Church. I was planning to write about my experiences with Great Lent and how Orthodox Christians view, meditate on, and eventually celebrate the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus.

But an issue has been making my heart sore, and today it came full swing. I often try to care about things, but often my real motive in that is to be significant and tell myself that I'm doing significant things. I sit here in Japan, but I have painful tears running down my face for what's happening to wildlife in East Africa. Surprisingly, poaching is at an all-time high, and at least one African elephant is being killed per day. Hunting elephants and rhinoceroses is illegal by international law, yet these invaluable animals are being killed for the immense rewards of their tusks and horns. They are being sent to East and Southeast Asia, to the part of the world I live in myself, for the sake of medicinal myth and pursuit of good health and fortune. We could feasibly lose the African Forest Elephant altogether - poof, gone - for the sake of a false belief.

Photo credit: Nick Brandt

I can't help but fall silent. And somewhat frozen.

In 2008, I was introduced to the work of photographer Nick Brandt. I fell in love with his style and his photographs captivated me repeatedly. The photos at the top of this post are the ones I originally saw that year. To revisit them and to learn that the vast majority of these elephants have been killed (bottom and top left in 2009, top right in 2010) is more than heart-breaking.

What do you do? Just what is the thing that you should do when you feel so much for something? What do you do when things are so dire? And for the love, what are we doing?

Please peruse the organization that Nick Brandt has founded in response to what he's seen. The Big Life Foundation has employed about 280 rangers to defend over 2 million acres of land within Amboseli and Tsavo National Parks. Trust me, I've been to both of these places, and losing elephants there would, of course, change the nature of the whole ecosystem. But I think, and maybe even more importantly, we'd be losing a creature so valuable and beautiful to our world.

Come on safari with me someday. I'll show you elephants.

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Sawa Sawa

Photo credit: Jackie Jeffery

People just blow my preconceived and long-maintained notions out of the water. I've often been intimated by any sort of professor I've had. They're just such brilliant people that (seem to) have it all together. I think no matter what a university faculty member teaches, they're bound to have an interesting story of research or time spent abroad or entire dissertations that they've struggled through. I think professors are either true to the professor facade - wearing sweater vests to the core and being unintentionally too brilliant for the rest of us to even comprehend ... OR they're essentially hippies who wear clothes they can get dirty, have wonky hair, and are passionate not just about the subject at hand, but also about teaching and creating future researchers and enthusiasts.

Such is true for the faculty I had in Tanzania and Kenya. We had John Mwamhanga, a man as serious about teaching us life lessons as the socioeconomic issues of East Africa. He even went as far as to give me marriage advice when he learned I was close to engagement. It got a little awkward when he started talking about "going at it again" in the bedroom. We had Bernard Kissui, who works with lions in Tarangire National Park and whose voice would hit high pitches and even squeak when he was talking about something he was really passionate about. We had Shem Mwasi, who named himself Chui Kubwa (Big Leopard) and told students to kindly shut up when they were talking too much. Then there was John Kioko, who made us hold elephant dung to understand the texture and taught us about trees whose nuts looked ... well, like nuts. He called them by their nickname, Testicle Trees. He also saved us from experiencing an elephant charge a mere 4 days after arriving in the country.

These people are still blowing me away, and I'm not even their student anymore. I've been seeking their advice for how on earth to get back to Africa. I have received only support and constructive ideas from them. Mwamhanga even told me that I need to continue to believe in myself, and identify myself as a safari guide! "You need to say 'I am a safari guide!'" Kioko offered to help us get a business transferred over to Tanzania. They all want updates as I progress.

When your faculty are this supportive and approachable, it is a blessing beyond many others. Hallelujah.

 

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Erp?

I gotta admit. Today, I got nothing. There are times I stare at this blank screen, and nothing comes out of my mind. I'm just blank. Inexpressive. A little mundane even, at times. You know that feeling when your husband is across the world from you, and you just want to leave him alone because he's in transit, and you're in a sea of Japanese people?

Oh, sorry. Haha. Probably not.

I actually appreciate this sea of Japanese people right now. And at most times, actually. I don't know what it is, but it's sometimes less lonely to me than being in a sea of Americans. Because with Americans, there's more to be done, socially. I should be making conversation, making some new friends. There's opportunity here, take advantage! So if I chicken out, I just end up lonely AND guilty. Phew. Not fun. But in this wonderful sea of Japanese folk, we're hanging out and there's nothing more. I'm literally 24 inches from a young woman with pretty pink shoes shuffling around her iPhone. And you know, that will be the extent of our interaction. Or maybe she'll say, "Sumimasen" as she passes. But really, that'll be it. Ah, no obligation. Yet I feel like I'm with her and with that woman over there in the heart earrings, and that old man who's doing absolutely nothing but enjoying a cup of joe on a Saturday evening. And even though I have ear buds in and I'm listening to blues (maybe that's my problem), we're just together. Thanks for keeping me company, guys. ;)

My current remedy for my melodrama while my husband is away (besides friends, of course; they are primary): personal goals. Learn to sew. Crochet more. Consolidate my cookbook (seriously, am I a housewife or what?). Volunteer more at the zoo, and expound on my work there. Work towards Africa, make more friends there, research my options. Learn Japanese, for crying out loud! And maybe French.

Phew. Welp, it seems like I did have something afterall. Boom.

 

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