Two Shakes

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Two Shakes



A couple of months ago, I was hiking along the trails in my village an encountered one of many sheep here in Kilimanjaro. (If you ask, people will tell you they don’t like lamb’s meat, and they don’t harvest wool. Curious choice of livestock.) Alas, I encountered a mama sheep and her lamb, in no rush to remove themselves from the steep trail.





Mama looked at me bitterly, “Go ahead… cook me.”



I thought of the braised lamb I had shoveled by the forkful to my eager mouth in Barcelona. When she turned back to her own four-course meal of mountain shrubs, I was captivated not by her meatiness, but by the trophy that hung from her rump.



Hear me out. We have a lot of free time. Spotty electricity sometimes provides opportunity for distraction, but otherwise, I am left alone to my thoughts. This isolation inside the mind allows for many great and terrible things. If one thought she was running from her demons to live peacefully on a mountain side across the seas, she quickly finds that her demons, too, have requested vacation days (approximately 27 months worth) from their American haunts.



Welcome to the mountain, where you’ll be all alone in the wild. Alone, 'cept for your demons.

It takes the first year to accept they’re there, and the second year to face them. From social anxiety to identity crises, body dysmorphia to obsessive fears of impending death by bus-ride, emotional connection to inanimate objects, or angry outbursts at chickens, let's just say I (along with every other PCV) am now a demon-slaying ninja. This sheep, however, was not a demon. She was just, well--a sheep.



Hanging there from her spotted backside was the most glorious tail known to sheepskind. It was huge and heavy and lumpy with fat--Like a large, raw chicken breast covered in marshmallow fluff and vibrating in ripples as it hung from behind her. Every time she had a thought, it twitched, quickly, and then went back to hanging carelessly.



“There’s a stupid human on the trail.” Twitch.



“This flower could use a dash of salt.” Twitch.



“Can you see I’m standing here?” Twitch, Twitch.



This tail..I had to touch it. I crept over to mama sheep and reached out to cup the wooly lard in my palm.



TWITCH TWITCH TWICH.



My life…it had changed forever.



I laughed out loud on that mountain trail, and then laughed again at my laughing. I’d had similar moments- giggling to myself at how chilly the water from the falls felt between my toes, or bursting into hysterics at finding myself in a deep hobbit squat, clawing into care-package goodies like a starving rat. They say our character is reflected in who we are when no one’s watching. Yikes.



This moment, as weird as it was, seemed to directly relate to my circumstances. I’ve heard people refer to ‘two shakes of a lambs tail," my whole life.



As in, “Biscuits’ll be dun in two shakes ofa lamb’s tail! Fetch the butta!”



I never grasped the concept until I watched that tail shake, shake, shake, rippling away quicker than I could count.





I think of that sheep and her little lamb every time I add up the days left in Kilimanjaro. 10 Days left on the mountain, a handful of days in Moshi and Arusha, and then just a few days in Dar es Salaam to ring the ceremonial bell that officially ends my Service.



Reflecting, I wouldn’t know what to say to the girl that came to Tanzania more than two years ago. She was me, but not in full expression. This was a crucial part of my recipe that was still missing. Peace Corps called me, anxiously, until I found myself miserable enough in corporate America to write the application. Now, the single most monumental experience of my life will be over in just two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

With grants closed, solar dryers built, potatoes harvested, and profits flowing into the Mama’s Crafting Initiative, my work here is finished. It's been two villages, four USAID based grants, and numerous secondary projects. I even won the "Most Peace Corps" superlative from my class at our Close of Service Conference in January. After wonderful holiday travels with my family and even more adventuring in Mafia Island with friends, the last 6 weeks were spent teaching mamas how to bake chocolate cake and anticipating reintegration in the USA. The chocolate cake is easier to manage.

For my numbered days in ville, I'll share meals with my friends in the village more frequently, recognizing the comfort in rice and beans, or the sweet smell of jackfruit from a neighbor. I'll relish in picking the papayas from my trees and eating the black beans from my own garden. I'll cherish the filthy feet I earn from hiking across the mountain to visit another volunteer, or the reality of primal fear when trekking the territory of scorpions and Black Mambas.

Feelings of disconnection leave me anxious about my return home. As much as I’ve idealized the day I’ll land in Raleigh, now that flights are booked, I feel somewhat numb. I’ve spent literal years missing people, places, foods, and now in these last precious moments, it just seems so unfamiliar. What is home anymore? I’m overwhelmed at the thought of seeing everyone I love, but more overwhelmed at the thought that they’ll know I’m overwhelmed. I don’t like the idea of explaining “all about Africa,” to everyone I meet, but I less like the idea of people blabbering on that the ketchup has run out when I’m drooling over the fact that ice is in my glass. I’m not saying that righteously—part of the reason the breadth of this experience pains me is because I can’t do justice to the people, the places, and the resilience of Tanzania. I don’t like explaining, because you’ll tell me I’ve made a difference when the reality is that I could have done so much more. I don’t like explaining because I’m coming home to running water and accolades while the people that kept me alive are staying behind. And it’s even more challenging to explain because those people--they’ll be just fine.

While I struggle with this reconciliation of experience and identity, I also feel an immense sense of pride in my personal journey. Aside from the impact I may or may not have had, I know that I have become bigger. I take up more space in this world. I stand alone, or among others, and function well. I have learned to be humbly profound and profoundly humble. This feeling of significance, ironically, doesn’t come from successes or achievements. It comes from the knowledge and experience that in between failures, downfalls, and lapses in character, the world still offers herself to me as a loving teacher in her classroom that is life. If I do not hide myself in shame, that classroom, no matter my failures, will continue to nurture me with its lessons. Our breadth comes not from what we do, but from what we are willing to learn. In Peace Corps, the lessons are so condensed that a short two years fundamentally transforms a person’s presence in the world. After the painful growth spurts, we simply take up more space.

This huge, tutu-ed elephant that’s been balancing on my head (me, a tiny rubber ball at a circus) is taking her curtsy. I can look at her now, observe her mass and grace, and appreciate her value, feeling relief at my weightlessness while tearfully bidding adieu. How can something so permanent end so definitely?

It’s difficult to hold back the tears that come from a strange sensation of sadness, relief, anxiety, and accomplishment when I say out loud, I did it.



Here on the Pare Mountains, each hike, bucket bath, and hand-washed shirt reminds me, “only a few more times.”



In 10,000 miles and less than 3 weeks-- in just two shakes of a lamb’s tail-- I’ll be gone.



For a short, short now,





Keti

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Comments

[Mary Yatsko]

Two years in Tanzania
I have vicariously enjoyed your stories and as I finished reading your latest blog entry I too felt a tear and a tug at my heart as you must say adieu. ❤️ GM

[Lynne]

You've got this upcoming transition <3
Dearest Kate: Don't explain what you want or explain what you want--do and say whatever feels best to you and whatever you need as you're getting ready to leave for the U.S. and once you get here. And please know that anytime you want to go hike and say whatever you want to say or not say anything at all, I've got you <3

[Home and Away]

Well done!!!
You have changed...and for the better. Reentering life in the States will be more culture shock than when you went to Tanzania. When I returned to the States I had to study the fast food menus for minutes to see what they offered before ordering.