I’m re-running some old posts from my trip to Africa with Compassion. This post was originally published on February 13, 2008.
Please do not call me courageous.
Several of you have left very lovely comments about how brave I am to be taking this trip, and I feel like, in the interest of transparency, I should come clean.
While it is true this trip has been profoundly life-altering, and my perspective is changed forever, there is also a very substantial part of me that would sell my soul for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese right now.
I cannot even bring myself to look at pictures of my children, because my heart aches when I think that they are on the other side of the world.
I miss my husband so awfully that I cry when I think of him. I can tell that my brain will not allow me to fully process the things I’m seeing until I’m with him again.
We are taking a little puddle-jumper plane trip tomorrow, and it scares me so badly that I think I will only get through it with the help of pharmaceuticals.
I wish I could tell you I am adventurous and outdoorsy, but I cannot deny the moment of panic I felt when I realized this was the bathroom at our site yesterday:
And, demonstrating that I am not at all a sophisticated international traveler, I have messed up on these blasted electrical converters and I did this to my curling iron:
I melted it. Into two pieces. It was smoking so badly I thought the room would catch fire. That would’ve certainly left a lovely impression of Americans.
So, brave? Not quite. I’m a lonely, homesick, hungry goofball who has learned that sleeping under a mosquito net isn’t quite as Hemingway-esque as I thought it would be.
A lonely, homesick, hungry goofball that is in love with these people.
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And, I might say, a goofball who has been missing her blogging peeps. After a longer hiatus than I ever imagined, I’ll see you back here in the morning with a sparkly big plate o’ mediocrity! You won’t want to miss it…