My DHL parcel arrived from home last week. I nearly hugged the DHL delivery man when he turned up at my office. I think I scared him a little. I’ve lost quite a lot of weight since arriving here (cooking never was my forte!), meaning most of the clothes I brought with me no longer fit. To avoid continuing to walk around in trousers that displayed my underwear to all and sundry, my lovely family posted me a box of clothes that I’d left behind at home. Along with enough sweets and chocolate to keep me going for the next 10 months. It was the best day ever. Although if I eat everything that was in the parcel I won’t be needing the smaller clothes anymore, so it could have been slightly counter productive. I also now have wellington boots to wear when the rainy season strikes. The whole city has open drains running along the sides of the roads, which are already quite full in places. The thought of walking along in my flipflops once they are overflowing in the rainy season didn’t fill me with much joy. My wellington boots will be my new best friend.
The other day a couple of us were talking about how the reality of being here compared to our expectations when we first applied to do a placement. We had similar dreams of long work filled days followed by sitting under African skies drinking gin and tonics, talking about lots of important intellectual things, and listening to the world service. And the reality? We’re living in some sort of news vacuum. Trying to keep up to date with what’s happening in the world is a daily struggle. I can’t get radio reception on the solar powered radio I brought with me in My Squat – I’m too far down in a valley to get any sort of reception, including mobile phone and internet 90% of the time. Sitting under African skies? Well, yes. Technically. The pollution makes it difficult to make out any stars, but if you squint carefully you might catch a glimpse of one. The gin and tonics? Not on a volunteers allowance. I am however slightly concerned that I might develop a beer belly. Although we did treat ourselves to a carton (yes, a carton) of ‘Don Simon’ table wine on Easter Sunday. The carton claimed it was a product of Spain. We found that difficult to believe. If you tried to ignore the fact that you were swallowing vinegar it didn’t taste so bad. And as for the intellectual conversations? Well in my case this was always going to be something of a pipe dream. A lot of our time is spent discussing our latest physical afflictions that make us more attractive (!) as the days go on. My newest development is the hairs that have started sprouting from the tops of my feet. I seem to be turning into some sort of hobbit. VSO showed us numerous DVDs about the importance of exercising caution before entering into any sort of relationship whilst on your placement. They needn’t have worried. I’m a walking contraceptive.
The Easter weekend passed in a happy haze of chocolate and angel delight (courtesy of my DHL parcel!), beer, Uno tournaments, karaoke and Nigerian dancing. We went to a karaoke bar with two friends from my office on Sunday night. It was an eye opener. Jenny and I did an awesome rendition of ‘Manic Monday’. Thankfully the bar wasn’t that busy at that stage. A woman in the toilet asked me if she could buy my hair. I’m embarrassed to admit that I very nearly asked her how much she would pay for it before deciding that perhaps wouldn’t be the most sensible idea I’ve ever had, and quickly leaving the toilet. We spent over 2 days allowance on pizza in a lovely poolside bar on Bank Holiday Monday. The bar was also playing possibly the worst English film I’ve ever seen, and yet I was still glued to it. It was a good day.
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