Sand-colored Skin

Do you ever have those days (weeks/months) where you just want to stay in bed forever and sleep away your life? I do sometimes. These are mostly introvert recovery days combined with being bored in the office for too long. I perk up when my life gets more exciting or kindly friends drag me from the darkness. Literal darkness because that helps with the whole sleeping/brooding thing.

Anyway, it’s good for me to write down the things that make me participate in Life again because I do go back and read what I wrote to remind myself that I really have it pretty dang good. I sometimes realize this after having conversations with colleagues like a recent one I had with Urbain about where I’ve traveled. He was really interested and seemed a bit wistful of my story about swimming in the Dead Sea and climbing the Great Wall of China. I feel a bit guilty over all the great experiences I’ve had that others without such acceptable passports, moderately flexible income, and enabling jobs will not have. I recognize my privilege and admit that it isn’t fair. Then somehow the conversation went back to my lack of a husband, ending with Urbain feeling incredibly sad for me (his words), so then I felt less sad for him (because why should both of us be sad?) and all was right with the world.

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So after a week of brooding Darkness, I emerged into a world of in-country travel to remote locations, which brought with it Chad-style adventures and a few sleepless nights. But of course, I’d already stocked up on sleep, so it wasn’t a problem. I will tell the story with photos and captions because our internet is working now so it might be possible!

Lots of trips these days involve getting out/down and walking because the car/motorcycle can't go.
Thanks to Herve for this splendid photo of me picking my way across a pond.
(Note: this is in N'djamena.)

What happens when the camera man is taking a photo before anyone is ready.
I feel like this is pretty typical no matter where you are or what you're doing.
I'm laughing because Baby Girl is trying to eat my hair.

Then we popped back down to Koudalwa (and beyond) to open this first
Neverthirst/IAS well in the little village of Badel.
Don't worry--the platform on this has been extended and the water is draining into a garden now.

We bring everyone together to do the report.
Of course the women and men sit on opposite sides of me so that I have to
spin around like a ballerina the whole time I'm talking.

We do our reports on the ipad, as you can see here.
Also, Amanda talks with her hands.
Keep a safe distance.

I hate telling people to "smile for the photos"
because it feels exploitative, so instead I make jokes about
how the kids are afraid of the creepy white woman,
and then they laugh. The trick it to get the photo at the right moment.

Taking a photo of the old water source,
a very serious moment for everyone, since
I'm not making jokes and I'm a little concerned that
I might drop the ipad down the well.

Some village-life scenes:

Women pounding grain. They often do it together to the rhythm of a song.
I do have a video of them doing that, but too bad for you--internet is not awesome today.
Guess you'll just have to come visit and see for yourself.

I just thought this guy and his horse were cool looking.
He thought I was a bit weird, but let me take the photo.

And then This happened:

From about 8pm to 3am everyone dug around in the mud and jammed bits of trees under the tires.
It did not work.
I usually get out and help because I like to prove the girl power, but it was icky mud.
So I played the princess card and decided to sleep while everyone else was working,
so that I could drive the remaining 9 hours home while everyone else slept in the car.
I did end up driving most of the way back, but it didn't let the others sleep much because
they are men and they still felt the need to criticize my driving--
"Down shift, down shift! SLOW DOWN! You popped a tire. This is because women don't know how to drive in the bush."
(Oh yeah?! And who popped a tire TWICE on our trip last week, Djibrine?? It was not a WOMAN!)

Oh the beauty of the sun, rising up over the weary travelers and their muddy vehicle!

These were our options--Mud Pond Road or Grass Swamp Path.
We took the road less travelled and that made all the difference.
And we were stuck there for 16 hours...
Robert Frost is an idiot.

Once we realized that we could not dig the car out or pull it out with a rope attached to another rickety vehicle, we sent someone back to the big village for help (we also had no cell reception and no food/water). We sent him at 7:30am, and he didn't come back until 12:30. Amanda amused herself in various ways, usually maintaining her trademark positive attitude until the group of men who came back to "help" insisted on being paid 125,000CFA to get the car out. Everyone involved knew this was absolutely ridiculous, but they said, "You have a nasara with you. You are rich and you should pay us lots of money." Amanda may or may not have lost her temper and yelled at people. OK, she did. Anyway, we negotiated down, which was important because we didn't have 125,000CFA with us to give them. And they lifted the car out with their man power in less than 10 minutes.

Anyway, enjoy photos of Positive Attitude Amanda. There are no photos of Negative Attitude Amanda because when Amanda is angry, her eyes turn red and sparks fly around her head and even if you take a photo, it won't show up on the film...

Standing in front of a mud hole is the perfect time to practice taking selfies.

I got progressively worse at it.

So I climbed a tree

Djbrine and Urbain stayed below

I was comfy though.
We finally made it home at 1am the next day.

Then I had one day of rest before a spontaneous trip north to the Sahara Desert, the opposite side of the beautiful country of Chad. Trip made possible by MAF Chad. I was going to say that I already like them more that MAF South Sudan, but then again, MAF South Sudan flew into a war zone to rescue me, so we're cool now. This was just an over night trip, where I stayed with a friend in Faya, met with a bunch of government officials, and planned a water program. It was fun, even if we didn't get a chance to slide down sand dunes, but I was promised that for the next trip.

I really appreciate this warning.
I promise we did not take off with snow on the aircraft.

I co-piloted. I also look like Princess Leia in this photo-
crazy eyes, cinnamon bun-things over my ears.

We had to wait for parachuters before we could fly.
I really want to jump out of a plane. When I mention this to pilots,
they think it's hilarious to offer to take me up and let me jump out of the plane (but I can't promise you a parachute!).
Pilot sense of humor is not as funny as they think it is--but don't tell them:
you want them to be thinking happy thoughts when you fly so the pixie dust will work.

Faya is the largest oasis town in the world.
Here is some locally-grown fruit:
grapes, dates, and figs.

I really like the desert. I like sand. I like rocks. I like wind. I like sun.

Hiking up a sand dune.

I'm so good at panoramas now.

My bag, sitting inside the porch area of the house.

With my gracious host.

Night-time entertainment--playing Angry Birds on the ipad.

Waking up after sleeping outside under the stars and getting rained on (for real!).
Breakfast of hot milk and fruit. 

Incense burned over coals. You sit by it to make your clothes that you slept in last night smell better.

She looks like she hates me, but she doesn't--she even made me this beautiful covering
that you put over food to keep the sand from blowing on it.
It will come in handy for sure.

I don't care what you think, that it beautiful.

I always play with bullets when I'm in Faya.

Enjoying the scenery.

We climbed up the rock!
And somewhere around here is where he told me that my skin is the color of the sand.
Snow White may have had skin like snow, but I've always liked sand more than snow anyway.

Three days and 1500+ km later, same story.
This time car is stuck in the sand.
I helped get it out and we were only stuck for an hour.

One more trip to finish out the week!

I admired this woman's house and she let me take a photo.
Pretty, non? And she did it without Pintrest! Amazing.

I make origami animals to entertain children. I grew up in Asia.
Photo credit to the beautiful Rhyan who accompanied me on this trip.

She also took this photo of me in action, even after I did only nice things for her.

I feel a particular affinity for the nomads these days and my whole life.
They are also on the move right now, but someday soon we might pick a place to settle down for a few months.

If this seems like a particularly long post, it was a particularly long week. Now those of you who made it through (hi, Mom!) know what I go through (For The Children).

Socializing

Fatime stuffing me with sweets.

Depending on the country you live in, you get one day or two days or three days holiday after Ramadan to celebrate the Eid (or Idul Fitri, the bastardized Bahasa version of the Arabic). This holiday was one I dreaded as a child because it meant I had to dress up in fluffy clothes and pinchy shoes with my hair twisted into painful curls to go house-to-house visiting my parents’ friends. We would sit awkwardly on their couches, eating Idul Fitri snacks, greeting hundreds of thousands of people (Java is one of the most densely populated islands on earth, and there are always hundreds of thousands of people everywhere, all the time) with hands pressed together, in the traditional way. I actually really liked the garlic peanuts and the little cheese cookies. I didn’t mind the orange powder juice we were served either. Also, as children without a TV, it was always kind of entertaining to watch other people’s TVs. But one never knew how long these visits were going to last or how many visits my out-going mother and her slightly more introverted husband would try to cram into one day, and I never liked being forced to wear a dress.

I think my parents realized the futility of trying to photograph
us all dressed up for the visits, so here is a recreation from memory.
Though I got bored drawing ruffles so imagine that Joanna and Marian's
dresses are appropriately bedazzled. Our hair is not naturally curly--
it was a result of maternal abuse.

A nice sample of some good Indonesian Idul Fitri treats.
I miss it a lot.

Since those days, I’ve lived in many other Muslim countries and forced myself to dress up and visit and eat cookies. It’s amazing how long the influence of your parents stays with you. (It’s also interesting to note things that didn’t stick, despite their best efforts, but that’s a topic for another day.)

I tried on Fatime's hair. How do I look? (FYI: I'm the one
in the grey shirt, in case you couldn't tell.)
Also, Fatime told me yesterday that she is going to get me
a "hat" like hers. I'm afraid she means a wig like this one,
in which case I might have to wear it in public for her sake.
Please understand that I'll only be culturally appropriating
African-style hair to make an African happy.

This year I only had one Eid visit, as opposed to the billions of visits I used to have in days of yore (thanks, Mom).  I wore a skirt, but as I buy my own shoes now, I do not currently own any pinchy ones. (If I have to wear shoes that cover my toes for an extended period of time, I will make you suffer with me as I whine incessantly about it.)

I actually had several Chadian visits over the holiday weekend, which is not normal for me, as my all-day job makes it hard for me to carve out time to build relationships outside of work, and also Introvert Amanda often resists most efforts to engage in social activities during time off. But these visits were nice because they were with people I like and they didn’t last long.

The last visit was to a colleague’s house. It was his birthday and I’ve started making cakes for everyone in the office to celebrate. People like it, and then I get to eat cake. Since his birthday was on a holiday, I just went over to his house. I also wanted an excuse to see his family because he has very cute kids, though the last time I went there, his oldest daughter looked at me and burst into tears. She didn’t stop crying until after I left (I mean, I hope she stopped then—as long as I was in the vicinity, she was greatly disturbed in spirit). This time we had fun hanging out and the littlest one came and sat in my lap and squeezed my pasty cheeks and poked my large nose, and I kissed her all over her little face. I also discussed borrowing one of Hervé’s puppies once it is born in a few months. One of his dogs is pregnant, and I want a puppy soooo much. I think if I borrow it and return it when I’m traveling, it should be ok, right? This is a good idea, right? Yes, it is. Shut up. I’m doing it. Anyway…

With Hervé and his two youngest girls who don't hate me.

Hervé's beautiful wife who was in a motorcycle accident after this
and broke her leg. Prayers for her quick recovery, please!

My Eid visit was fairly typical. I went to my friend’s house, greeted all her neighbors and friends, then went into her little room to chat and be stuffed with Chadian holiday sweets. My friend’s holiday sweets included lightly sweetened cookies with the appearance and texture of small roof tiles, some sweeter ones rolled in powdered sugar, and various fried crunchy pancake things. I ate some while I was there and then she stuffed a bucket full of more cookies and filled a plastic bag with the crunchy pancakes and handfuls of candies and two strawberry sodas. I had given her a small bag with some Hershey’s chocolate and some re-gifted jewelry. Not an even trade. In true Amanda-fashion, I ate significant amounts of these sweets, but I didn’t even make a dent. I gave the rest to another friend who has children and isn’t a Muslim, so probably hasn’t made her own stuff at her house.

Bucket of cookies after I'd eaten a few.
I returned it full of peanut butter cookies I made.
(I learned about returning containers with more food
from my mother. When I tried this with my neighbors in India,
I lost so hard. I could not keep up with all the great food they made me.)

But this is true hospitality that I’ve experienced in many countries around the world—being out-given by people who have less than I do. This level of generosity is humbling and inspiring. One of my other friends who visited me over the holiday weekend with two of her children came just to say ‘hi.’ I was sure she was coming to ask for money to fix the giant crack in her house that I’d seen the last time I was hanging out there. In fact, I wanted her to ask me for the money because I wanted to give it to her. Every rainy season there are people here who die when their mud houses collapse on them. My beautiful friend’s landlord is refusing to pay to fix this crack because he is planning to destroy the house and rebuild after the rainy season. In the meantime, he is leaving a family of women and children (her husband is in the military and is currently deployed to some middle of nowhere post) at risk. I ended up just giving her money even though she didn’t ask and she didn’t come for that. In fact, she just came to visit because I’d visited her and brought little presents from America, as I do because I grew up in Indonesia (oleh-olehku di mana, ya?) and also this is another one of those things my parents did that stuck. I brought little bubble toys for her kids, and I told them I’d make more bubbles for them if they ran out of the soap. (When I was a kid, I used to climb up on our roof and blow bubbles down on the heads of people walking by until they laughed or yelled at the weird little white girl to cut it out. So I have lots of bubble experience.) So the kids came over ready for more bubbles (which I provided) and Antani brought me a bucket full of peanut butter (homemade) and a bucket of freshly roasted peanuts (white and black ones from her hometown) and two mangos (ripe but not squishy, exactly the perfect way that mangos should be). And then SHE said to ME, “I can never out-give you.” And I laughed. And I ate half of the peanuts 5 minutes after she left (but she wouldn’t leave without washing the dishes while I was making bubbles).

The black peanuts are really good.
I think she added sugar to this peanut butter, so it is basically candy,
and I eat it with a spoon.

There isn't much of a point to this post. I just have some really nice friends. And I think that it's important to note that there are kind, generous people all over the world.

Someone gave me a bunch of these processed meats.
I gave a bunch away to this family already and they told me how much
they liked them. (Hey-to each his own, right? They could have some Hawaiian blood in them.)
I had one more and when I gave it to Abram, he was soooo excited. How cute is his face?
If you were concerned, he is not from a Muslim family, so the pork issue isn't a problem for him.
I did tell his mother so that she wouldn't let their Muslim neighbor kids accidentally eat it.

When you have a lovely friend who works at the Hilton,
she and the head chef let you try several ice cream flavors,
and promise to make coconut ice cream for you next.
This isn't related. I just wanted to brag a little.