Spain?!

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For a long time I've had absolutely no desire to go to Europe. So it's surprising to me that I'm now in Spain for the second time this year. How on earth did I get here?

Two days ago ...

3:30 AM - Leave Bamako with about 10 other volunteers
8:00 AM - Get to Casablanca; Take fellow volunteer Julie to the train station to meet up with my friend Zak in Rabat; "Your mother is looking for you!" -- Police officer at Casablanca Airport
9:00 AM - Try to get back into airport to make my connecting flight: "You're coming from Bamako ... you lived in Guinea ... you speak some Arabic ... and you're American? I'm sorry but that's a little weird." -- Royal Air Maroc ticketing agent
12:00 PM - Leave Morocco
3:00 PM - Arrive in Madrid with my friends Brienne and David
3:05 PM - Cheese. Ham. Thank the Lord.
5:00 PM - Brienne's bag is stolen!
6:00 PM - Sit in bus station
1:30 AM - Take bus to Granada
6:30 AM - GRANADA!

I'm in David's friend Rosie's apartment now. It's crazy and beautiful. Everything. We immediately fell asleep. David use to live in Granada and speaks fluent Spanish, and likes to take charge in situations, so he's been doing everything for Brienne and I. We haven't talked to one ticket agent, food vendor, or money exchanger. David is taking care of everything. And it's wonderful. I'm exhausted. The idea of struggling in a new language and culture right now is horrifying. I'm overwhelmed by everything in life right now, and being in Rosie's apartment with running, clean water and a hot shower is just adding to it all.

I feel dirty here ... split ends, hairy legs, wearing pagnes ... I have open wounds up and down my calves. One of the other volunteers said I look like a leper. My worn, African clothes don't belong in this country. Brienne and I make an active effort to look as normal as possible every time we leave the house. I know I shouldn't give a damn about what other people think of my clothing, but I've spent two years attempting to integrate into another society and a large part of that was conformity. Individuals (in the true sense) don't survive long in West Africa, you have to fit in and appearance is a large part of that. So being here now, I feel like I'm offending everyone around me by not wearing the right clothes and shoes.

I am hungry though, which is good because maybe it means my amoebas are on their way out!


Photos are courtesy of Brienne Schreiber, cause the power cord for my camera was either in the Casablanca or Conakry airport ... along with an entire section of my luggage that somehow got ripped off ...

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