In this case, as in so many others, the journey is as fabulous as the destination; however, as far as destinations go, Bauya has unequivocally set itself apart. I'm almost two weeks in and can't reiterate enough how “at home” I am here. I'll do my best to share the highs, lows, and everything in between during the last couple weeks, but as always, my apologies for the cognitive mishmash.
Most PCV's refer to the moment of being dropped off at their site and watching the Peace Corps vehicle drive away as being an unforgettable stomach punch. Tears are often shed and various renditions of “HOLY *@$!” are internally (hopefully) repeated over and over again until the shock recedes (hopefully). My experience was a bit different. Alli, Megan, Andrew (Program Manager- the man with the unimaginable task of placing all of us at our sites), and I were headed from Bo to Moyamba to Bauya. Some of the highlights of that trip included my sweet hand-me-down lappa shorts ripping all the way down the middle as I got into the car, the mildly unpredictable driver stopping to buy bush meat (luckily we weren't hungover to the point of near death and luckily I didn't have the runs and luckily Megan didn't already feel like puking, so this was a totally welcomed detour), listening to Andrew get calls from our fellow PCV's who had problems with their houses and then having the pleasure of him verbally dismantling anyone stupid enough to answer their phone, and last but not least, singing along to the Mamma Mia soundtrack (the newest member of the Things I Had No Idea I Liked Club. Other members include mayonaise, Akon, Spam, ALL sweets, waking up early, and English grammar).
Moving along, we dropped Alli and Megan's stuff off in Moyamba and they joined me for the breathless drive to Bauya. Breathless on account of both the scenery as well as the constant fear that the car will be swallowed by the earth. It's the worst road I've ever seen, but it's apparent to me that the good people of Bauya have simply dug the potholes and crevasses themselves to keep this hidden gem exactly that- hidden. On the way, Andrew proceeded to get a hold of my principal and absolutely shred him for not picking up his calls for the past week. Little did Andrew know this was not the most “hambugd” (vexed, annoyed, generally pissed) that he would be that day. It was raining when we pulled up to my house, and while it wasn't in the best shape, it had a roof and it was mine. Liz, for example, wasn't so lucky, and is still living in a guest house while her village scrambles to find her a house before Big Bad Andrew yanks her out of there. Speaking of Andrew, he proceeded to verbally undress anyone who came to greet me for not having my house cleaned up, etc. Again, not a big deal, but he really made it clear that our comfort is his priority; and believe you me, other than Sierra Leoneans, we haven't seen to many of those types of folks. So while his ranting and raving was, in my opinion, superfluous, it was certainly appreciated.
So we proceeded to unpack my things, my many many things, and I stood on the veranda as the car drove away and the girls waved goodbye. My stomach started to drop a bit, but overall I felt fantastic and lucky to have a project to keep my mind off the potentially-impending anvil of loneliness that may or may not have been ready to drop on my head. So I began organizing MY HOUSE- this meant putting my water filter together, hanging my mosquito net, and assembling my stove. As per Fed, the giver of the once legendary shorts and now a legendary rag, I did what I needed to do to sleep that night. Oh right, and fifteen minutes after they left, the PC car returned to drop the Paramount Chief at my house so as to show him the apparently unsightly state it was in. He unnecessarily apologized and ended up helping me hang my mosquito net, a truly humbling moment for me. So I was moved-in enough for the night and ready to dodge the loneliness anvil by going out and meeting my neighbors. Day 1, check.
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