new digs

Where the magic happens.



The Peace Corps shelves.



Possibly the most hilarious thing in my room. The nursing students who lived here before me left this up on the wall--and have asked me not to take it down until they can come and retrieve it. Just in case you don't understand it, it's a poster that explains the various methods of family planning. Attached to it are: an intrauterine device, a packet of birth control pills, a vial of Depo-Provera, a condom and a "collar" that is supposed to help you count your fertile days, but which I think doesn't really do anything to prevent pregnancy. "Eso no es muy confiable," I always say. It's great waking up every morning to a diagram of a sterilized man.



The stove that was so much trouble to get.

a stone for a pillow

For the past several days I have been driving both myself and everyone I love crazy with the following conundrum, which I will now proceed to share with you.

Moving is traumatic. Most of us weren't meant to be gypsies. We like to, at the end of a long day, come home to a warm bed, perhaps a cup of a favorite beverage, and some source of entertainment.

For the first four months here, I lived with a delightful family in cell-like room with a lot of hygiene problems. I was glad to leave, but saying goodbye to my family was a tearful and emotional experience. I still miss walking with Ana by the river and letting little Franco into my room to color.

So I moved into the second floor of a really nice building, with an indoor, first-world style bathroom, a proper kitchen, a little balcony, and an area to entertain. After a lonely first night, I settled in and looked forward to enjoying the next two years there.

Until I went to see the mayor with the president of the women's group. After we left the office, she tarried a few minutes talking to him, and then hustled out, grabbed me by the arm and spoke to me in a hushed tone: "Listen, the mayor wants you to move into the apartment next to me. It would be free. You could keep me company. You could move in this afternoon!"

I panicked. The room next to hers is a medium-sized with bright pink walls. For me, especially after an entire floor to myself, it would be smallish. Also, I would have to buy a bed, a table and a stove (at least), whereas in the bigger place I was just borrowing those things.

In the end, I could not find a way to politely refuse the mayor's generous offer, though I would really prefer to stay here. So I will wind up spending a big pile of money on furniture other needs in a place I don't actually like as much. Hey, at least it's free. And maybe it will endear me to the mayor.

When I get depressed about it, and want to start wallowing, I force myself to think of two F-words first:

1. FREE. This will save me about 13% of my income. I have decided to indulge in more travel, or maybe more peanut-butter every month with this savings.

2. FRIEND. I will have a next door neighbor who always loves to chat. This would be different from the current family I live with, who is standoffish. Furthermore, she is an important person in the community, especially with the women and adolescents, who are two groups I really want to work with.

After reflecting on these two F-words, I allow myself to think of any other F-words that come to mind. But forcing myself to consider the positive aspects always makes the glass look a bit fuller.