Viva Botswana

Viva Botswana!
Hello all. I have arrived. A little update.

Temp: Heat, mostly mild, a little cold. My tan is increasing slowly. We are heading into winter here and it will only get worse. Luckily, Jo and I learned about “camping” while we were in Venice, so if it takes every item of clothing I have, I will prevail. I do not have enough warm clothes if you are quite desperate to send me a care package, think polar fleece. I am a size medium or large until I shed my MN winter layer or get a parasite.
Whichever comes first.

Most commonly worn pair of shoes: the electric blue crocs. I am a walking fashion plate.

Impressions: Immediate (glassy haze of confusion at the airport, which I expected and just hung out through and followed the chaos, as I listened to the others’ stories of my impressive sleep and followed along with the group doing yoga)- People will do anything for you to give them American dollars, so don’t worry P-funk, they’ll be plenty of helpers for you throughout the whole country. The next morning: of course we had too much baggage and had to wait for an hour for another small bus and I spent the time reveling in the verging on brisk air. The main way I knew I was in Africa- red soil. I had more flowery descriptions of the colors, but the paper is somewhere else. More on that later.

Country: We stayed in South Africa last night in a very posh hotel where I used the workout facilities (what what!!!), and now we are in a compound type hotel (read gates and such) in Gaborone, the capital City in Botswana. We are on lockdown because it’s not safe for our naïve asses to wander around without being robbed and abused and eaten by lions. We walked across the border and customs in S. Africa earlier today. We have been briefed by some current PCV’s and I am currently only losing my shit about learning the language. We’ll see how this goes. I’ve been pretty calm through the whole thing, which I suspect is shock, the jet lag hasn’t been the worst I’ve ever felt, as I suspected. This however, could be due to the amount of sleep I got on the flight-see flight.


Flight: We got on the plane mostly on time, and my new BFF forever Brent and I had a few glasses of red wine and then he revved up the saddest songs he could think of on the ipod and we sang duets until the Ambien kicked in. I then impressed the entire group by sleeping through the next 11 hours as we landed and refueled in Senegal, I ate a meal (which I vaguely remembered after some prompting- it was waffles) people repositioned me several times, and of course took my picture. …. Whatever. I am a champ.

People: People in the group seem pretty cool, and I think I fall right in the middle of neurosis and neurotic on each end of the spectrum. It’s inspiring to be with a bunch of people with likewise attitudes about things. Most of the people are in (or trying to stay in, more likely) relationships. Good mix of backgrounds and ages, ect.
Thoughts on shaving my head: as far as I’m concerned, still a go. A woman in our group already has hers done, and the estimated date is after the swearing in. I think I’d do it sooner, but I’m not completely ready, and I don’t want to do it during my home stay, because I’ve heard the host family might be offended, and or sad if I get rid of all my hair while I’m with them.

Jet lag: seems to be ok. We’ll see in the morning.

Things I’ve learned: not to use the internet at the same time as everyone else. Gets incredibly slow…and Takes nearly ten minutes just to get connected…
I have hesitated to journal and capture everything in pictures as this is my new home and not a place I am just visiting. I don't know if this will serve me well, but it's my instinct and I shall go with it.
Love you!
Jen

5:20 PM Friday April 18, 2008.

At this time my plane will leave the USA and the next time my feet touch the ground it will be on African soil. I will have left my home and those who know me for land unknown, and a new people. The word again is ready, and it resonates through me. (maybe not packing wise, still, but wtf, right!) Every fiber of my being, even the scared ones, is ready to move forward into the next phase. I take you all with me, and could not have done it without the gifts you have bestowed upon me, whether they be material, monetary, support wise or spiritual. (and I will include all those goodbye drinks in the spirits category, as well as those who could only attend one of about five million goodbye parties in spirit.) I thank you and I love you and couldn’t have done it without you. I take you with me on my journey.

It may be a while before you hear from me again, as I’ve heard internet it spotty in the areas we will initially be in. Know that I love you and am thinking of you, and know you are doing the same for me…

P.S. I've got a great group of peeps and potential friends to laugh with and cry with. I'm a lucky girl.

P.P.S. I also know that you people have got to be ready for the true adventure to start as well. I'm bored by my own continual angst!

Kisses,

Jen

Karleen M Katchmark: The Best Damn Peace Corps Bridesmaid There Ever Was!

Karleen M. Katchmark:

The best damn Peace Corps bridesmaid there ever was…..

So this is a tribute to my sister, whom, although we’ve had more than our share of fricken straight up catfights and freeze outs (let’s not be cliché and say ups and downs, right), has really gone above and beyond through this whole preparation process. She has been my mind when I’ve lost it, following me around as I mutter and babble, keeping track of things I need, hiding things I need to get rid of, and always giving it to me straight. She has documented the whole process and foresaw everything I would need before I knew I would need it. She has been so supportive, and has really stepped it up, even though a small part of me suspects it’s that she’s doing all this as my Peace Corps maid of honor…. As I’ve sort of hinted at the fact that there may never be a big white wedding to make fools of ourselves at….And she has done this all during a time that has been incredibly hard for her (her words... not my own histrionic madness). She has feathered my wings to help me to fly, even though it might have been more comfortable for us to stay closer to the nest. We have grown together in this process, and through supporting each other through our far and distant dreams, have become the sisters I’ve always wanted us to be.

So although she won’t be reading this long and often overly wordy blog until Sean Connery reads it as a book on tape, know that Karly, I love you, and your help and support has meant the world to me.

Today I have left my love....

for two years. I've alluded to the difficult time we've had defining the parameters of what this means for us, and I've shared my open palm theory (not nearly as gropey as it sounds, and has nothing to do with masturbation) with a few people, and figure after that last little entry that expounded on the pain and heartbreak I feel as a result of my choice, I should follow up with the plan, pretty complex, lots of details, lots of ins and outs (an homage to the Big Lebowski for those of you in the way back....) so in poem form (which seems to only make sense) here's what I've got....

I hold my love in an open palm. I keep it wide and flat for him to have sturdy ground with which to stand on and to make choices from. He can fully see me and all my shadows in the lines of my past and future, and I him, for all that we are and all that we want to be, as individuals, as partners. I hold my love in an open palm. I do not keep it cupped, only allowing him to see the parts of me and my world that I want him to see, for in this basin he would not be able to see the beauty of the world around us. I hold my love in an open palm. I do not fold my fingertips protectively, sheltering him from any drafts that might come our way, as the winds and foul weather will come, and in each gust we must figure out how to first stand up to it alone, and then if and how to help each other through the storm. I hold my love in an open palm. I do not spread my fingers wildly, erratically, creating wide unnecessary craters and problems for him to navigate. I hold my love in an open palm. I feel the changing weight, in the heaviness and lightness of him, seeing his struggles and joys clearly, this sometimes building my strength and occasionally relieving my burden. I hold my love in an open palm. I hold my hand steady, I do not shake it and turn it upside down, causing him to reach for and cling to me without choice. I hold my love in an open palm. I do this to remember my own capabilities, and what this hand can be used for, for me, for him, and what my fingers, nails and palm can offer him there, should he desire it, should I choose. I hold my love in an open palm. I do not keep him in a closed fist to hold him in my version of safety, because this would only serve to crush him or suffocate him, making him unhappy by my restrictive boundaries. I hold my love in an open palm, for him to feel the warmth of my love, and the support I offer him and to see the beauty I wish to create with him. For all this, and for everything more, I hold my love in an open palm.

I guess this is all I feel you need to know about what's next for the two of us...


Here's the highlights from the rest of the trip, or really, some more psycho babble stream of consciousness bs....

I have gone from feeling as though I was holding my breath in Minneapolis to getting to California and overindulging in everything including air, to finally feeling a balance of breathing easily. I no longer feel like being so defined by a choice I have made but not executed, trying to answer people’s questions and deal with their pathos. The bride is just ready for the wedding to begin; it’s time to walk down the aisle. The mother is ready to give birth; she tires of people touching her stomach. I’m ready to land in Botswana, I’m tired of feigning excitement and attempting to respond to questions I have no idea the answer to. To take it back to my cheerleading days- “We want ACTION!!!”

Jack and I spent our last weekend together attending a workshop called “Our Whole Lives,” which is a religious sexual education curriculum facilitation training in nearby Danville, CA. It was a nice really lovey dovey experience surrounded by great people and a beautiful flower filled church with nice food and competent trainers, and of course a titillating topic. We both learned a lot, refined personal goals, and were spurred to having several conversations between the two of us that we otherwise might not have come to in quite some time, much less the weekend before I left for two years. For one of the first times we delved into the differences in our religions and where those differences might lead us as a couple, and what our expectations for each other might be in that arena. Jack, being Jack, has always been open to my struggle in that arena, and it never ceases to amaze me that it can feel perfectly right for me, someone who struggles with religion and sometimes denies the whole thing completely, to be so happy and fulfilled in a relationship with a Christian minister. By the middle of the weekend I was sure that there was nothing I would have rather done with the last of our time together, because really it would have been completely unproductive to just plan to spend time alone together to just hold each other and cry… we had enough of that at the airport.

I was continuously surprised throughout this trip how different it was from the last one, when the time seemed so fleeting and tragic, and I would bust into tears at the slightest provocation. I think launching this experience in phases, with finishing everything in Minneapolis that needs to get done prior to going to the Peace Corps has really served me to be able to embark on this trip to California and this time with Jack and E unteathered and able to have sails filled with and energized wind. Knowing that I was returning from this trip to launch into my new life in Botswana with the Peace Corps made me more able to enjoy the time for what it was, a vacation, and thus the tears were fewer. Also all the time Jack and I got to spend together was pure appreciation and gratitude, which left me feeling more secure for the future, or at least for the possibility of our own future happiness, whether that be together or apart.

The Space Between

The Space Between Dave Mathews band

For a refresher on the lyrics that I’m speaking of…

You cannot quit me so quickly

There's no hope in you for me

No corner you could squeeze me

But I got all the time for you, love

The Space Between

The tears we cry

Is the laughter keeps us coming back for more

The Space Between

The wicked lies we tell

And hope to keep safe from the pain

But will I hold you again?

These fickle, fuddled words confuse me

Like 'Will it rain today?'

Waste the hours with talking, talking

These twisted games we're playing

We're strange allies

With warring hearts

What wild-eyed beast you be

The Space Between

The wicked lies we tell

And hope to keep safe from the pain

Will I hold you again?

Will I hold...

Look at us spinning out in

The madness of a roller coaster

You know you went off like a devil

In a church in the middle of a crowded room

All we can do, my love

Is hope we don't take this ship down

The Space Between

Where you're smiling high

Is where you'll find me if I get to go

The Space Between

The bullets in our firefight

Is where I'll be hiding, waiting for you

The rain that falls

Splash in your heart

Ran like sadness down the window into...

The Space Between

Our wicked lies

Is where we hope to keep safe from pain

Take my hand

'Cause we're walking out of here

Oh, right out of here

Love is all we need here

The Space Between

What's wrong and right

Is where you'll find me hiding, waiting for you

The Space Between

Your heart and mine

Is the space we'll fill with time

The Space Between...

This dave mathews song has been running through my head for some time now, and always seems to in times of transition or where I feel confused, where I’m going forward, on a course that is inevitably the right one, but that feels more than a little scary or confusing, or mostly unknown. My friend John Richards has a song, called “Wonderful Unknown” that has resonated with me lately as well.

I’ve been in California for a week and a half, feeling as though I’ve exhaled for the first time in months, feeling like this a place I could be, a place that feels more who I am than the person who left Minneapolis, yet knowing I can’t possibly be here yet, as this place is not ready for me and I am not completely ready for it. And in the end not knowing if this is, indeed where I will end up….

I have been spending time with friends old and new, the past and the future all wrapped up in one twilight zone experience. E took me to wine country and the beach, showing me all the unfamiliar beauty of the terrain and familiar strength I know her to have which is all her own, and how much she has grown since last we got to spend a significant amount of time together. It was exactly what I needed to see, a friend who has left the cradle of MN and made a home and a life for herself far from where she started, and in doing so has grown into exactly the person she is supposed to be, which is herself, but stronger, more sure and confident, and every ounce as caring and wonderful as she’s ever been. (Thanks E, for everything; it meant more than you know).

I met Julie, a new Peace Corps friend, who seems so with it and like minded, as I imagine most of my peace corps comrades will be, yet with enough diversity of backgrounds to make things interesting. It is always so exciting to meet new people who automatically have so much in common and it has given me such pleasure to connect with the people whom I know I will come to depend on for so much.

Jack and I of course have been spending lots of time together, enjoying each other’s company, and tiptoeing around the obvious elephant in the room. Occasionally I will see a shadow pass over his face, and I know he’s thinking of my inevitable departure, the embraces last a little too long, the squeezes are a little too tight, and the sighs are more often and prominent. I’ve begun saying goodbye to the friends of his that know me from when I met them the last time I was out in California, that previous visit being about Jack introducing me to his people, and incorporating me into the life he has started without me here, and that will be his mainstay after I’m gone. I am feeling the concern his people have for him and his wellbeing, I can see the confusion in their eyes as they ask me the general barrage of questions about my journey, too polite without a few glasses of wine to straight out ask me the obvious “how can you leave him?,” or “what are you guys going to do?” The painful personal questions to which we ourselves don’t have any certain answers and the ones we come up with that seem promising, good or achievable somehow ring hallow or untrue, even though they are the only answers we’ve got. I am caught wanting to throw things and scream “Don’t you understand I love him too, more than you, in the very core of my being, and leaving him is like ripping an essential organ from my person asking me to breathe with one lung, it can be done, but it’s tiring and painful? Don’t you think that I, the one who loves him most, know very intimately how this is killing him, killing me? Can’t you understand that I’ve thought this through and time and time again the numbers always add up and the equation is always the same and at the end of the day this is the only choice I can make, for me, for him, for even the possibility of us?” At the same time I want to scream at and shake people I want to look down and to shirk out of the room, the state, the country quietly, with no production, and no fanfare, like the criminal I feel like I am for hurting a man so good so profoundly.

He is a truly good man, my Jack, who has whole heartedly supported me and this journey so totally and completely, putting his own feelings aside to comfort me in my confusion and uncertainty, his faith in me sometimes stronger than my own, carrying both of us through the most trying of times. I simply couldn’t have asked for more or for better and never really believed someone like him existed. He has shared with me in my joys and my sorrows through this whole long crazy trip, and whatever happens with me, with him, with us and the future, I know I have been lucky and extremely blessed to have had this time with him. As I write this on his laptop with a lump in my throat and tears welling up behind my sunglasses, he drives us along a gorgeous sunny California highway, as the snow flies in blizzard like conditions back in MN. He gently reaches over for my hand as we drive, and holds my wrist as I type, oblivious of the love that pours from my fingers onto the keys. This is the fairy tale I live, and the fairy tale I leave.