Life Goes On
May 7, 2007
Nothing much has changed here. It’s the same old place with the same old faces. I always come back with high expectations, but they never seem to measure up to the truth.
The truth is that there is nothing to talk about here. Everyone does the same thing every day; they get up, go to work, come home, go to the club, and go to bed. Occasionally folks will head out to the river or Kayes or somewhere similar, but in the end there is still not a lot to talk about. It’s only idle chatter and small talk. That gets really old after a while.
We did go to a great party on Saturday night, though. Ellen organized a hobo party at the club. We dressed in wife beaters covered with mud and I carried a bindle. Carrie wore a tiny little skirt and carried a basket of junk. We ended up winning second prize; a bucket full of soap, toothpaste, and laundry detergent. At the end of the evening we all jumped into the swimming pool.
That’s it for excitement here. There really isn’t a lot to do. This is especially so now that our car is in the shop. We dropped it off there before we left at the end of March and it’s still there. Apparently there is an issue with parts. I hope they get it running soon as it is the only way we have of getting out of our village at all.
So we sit and count the days. In exactly sixty-three days we will be on a plane bound for Bamako; that beautiful cesspool of poverty. Hopefully we will get some vacation time before heading back to the states to pack our stuff and move to Venezuela.
Right now we are having issues with our paper work. It seems that we didn’t follow the proper steps to get the visas necessary to work in Venezuela. The consulate sent back all fourteen documents and their translations because they don’t recognize the County Clerk’s notary as legal. In the meantime, our new school is breathing down our necks to get it done. It is very difficult to convince them that we cannot do anything from here. We don’t have access to a fax machine, a notary public, or Spanish translators. It sounds like the worst case scenario is that they will get us a tourist visa until the paper work goes through and then they will have to send us to Aruba for the final pickup (wah).
Nothing to do but sit and sweat, or sleep and sweat, or walk around and sweat, any way you look at it, the outcome is the same; sixty-three sweaty days until we leave here for good…
MJR
Nothing much has changed here. It’s the same old place with the same old faces. I always come back with high expectations, but they never seem to measure up to the truth.
The truth is that there is nothing to talk about here. Everyone does the same thing every day; they get up, go to work, come home, go to the club, and go to bed. Occasionally folks will head out to the river or Kayes or somewhere similar, but in the end there is still not a lot to talk about. It’s only idle chatter and small talk. That gets really old after a while.
We did go to a great party on Saturday night, though. Ellen organized a hobo party at the club. We dressed in wife beaters covered with mud and I carried a bindle. Carrie wore a tiny little skirt and carried a basket of junk. We ended up winning second prize; a bucket full of soap, toothpaste, and laundry detergent. At the end of the evening we all jumped into the swimming pool.
That’s it for excitement here. There really isn’t a lot to do. This is especially so now that our car is in the shop. We dropped it off there before we left at the end of March and it’s still there. Apparently there is an issue with parts. I hope they get it running soon as it is the only way we have of getting out of our village at all.
So we sit and count the days. In exactly sixty-three days we will be on a plane bound for Bamako; that beautiful cesspool of poverty. Hopefully we will get some vacation time before heading back to the states to pack our stuff and move to Venezuela.
Right now we are having issues with our paper work. It seems that we didn’t follow the proper steps to get the visas necessary to work in Venezuela. The consulate sent back all fourteen documents and their translations because they don’t recognize the County Clerk’s notary as legal. In the meantime, our new school is breathing down our necks to get it done. It is very difficult to convince them that we cannot do anything from here. We don’t have access to a fax machine, a notary public, or Spanish translators. It sounds like the worst case scenario is that they will get us a tourist visa until the paper work goes through and then they will have to send us to Aruba for the final pickup (wah).
Nothing to do but sit and sweat, or sleep and sweat, or walk around and sweat, any way you look at it, the outcome is the same; sixty-three sweaty days until we leave here for good…
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 9:07 AM
1 Comments:
Dear Mark,
You know I am so much older than you! What is a wife-beater and hope that's not something you use ever! What was the costume that won first prize?
Where is life different than what you describe? We do what there is to do: one event follows another: place and circumstance change, some much grander, others more painful. And, when we breathe in, we sense the pain of each person we see and know -- unfullfilled dreams, loss, dashed hopes and other griefs; when we breathe out we share our own laughter, imagination and hope. We share what we can and it's good, especially when we create fun as you do.
I love you. Sweat and all!
Love,
Linda
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