The one in which the universe puts our heroine where it wants her, in Seronga

We entered the putridly lilac painted room and sat in the horseshoe shaped arrangement of chairs (“blue chairs for trainees, white chairs for everyone else,” the main man intoned repeatedly, as if we couldn’t hear him from out the door and down the hallway.) In the front of the room was lined with a small map, a long table, and a easel covered with a sheet, the likes of which we have grown to know and fear throughout training (It seems everything in Botswana must, absolutely must, be done on flip chart paper. They hand it out daily to facilitate the creation of endless numbers of unintelligible and illegible artistic group project renditions of whatever point the trainers are trying to encourage us to illustrate. We collectively hate the large white paper.)
We herded into the room, with a group of this size, everything you do has the effect of both herding and group mentality. We settled in and waited together anxiously, all 56 of us, and when I say anxiously, I mean you could feel the electricity in the room. We could have lit up some big ass building in NYC with our nervous energy. The powers that be began their speeches, all cultural formalities with the exception of prayer observed, and none of which I was paying attention to, choosing instead to sink into the numbness and mind wandering that I often retreat into while they talk at us in training. In my pocket today was a piece of smooth blue sea glass, collected in the early morning on Pismo beach on my last trip to Cali, with my dear friend E. I sometimes carry it with me here, to bring me comfort, as a small thing to rub as a worry stone when I'm anxious. When I don't have that I often take a small piece of pewter in the shape of a shell with a copy of the labrynth that was a souviner from the cathedral in san Fran, a shell being the sign of pilgrims and wanderers, reminding me that it is solved by traveling.
Suddenly, there was movement in the front of the room as they pulled back the sheet which had been covering not a flip chart, but a map filled with little tiny variously colored numbers. They informed us, as though we were the studio audience of some cheesy game show, us that we had numbers tucked into the bottoms of our chairs. I reached under my chair and I pulled my out my orange card. Number 16. Ok. The girl two seats away from me had the deadly number 56 (the last one).
The process began and I dutifully wrote down everyone’s name and location. My number was called and I went up to the table and searched for my name. I found it packed with a ginger cookie. I thought my name would also have my village name on it, so I immediately thought, foul! My number now became five. I looked at the map, searching through the areas I was expecting, the ones in the south, in the east, the ones surrounded by other people. The space grew. “It’s up and to the left” someone helpfully called. There was number 5. Seronga. All by itself. In the delta. Near the water. The only water. In the country. The place I specifically didn’t want to be, after reflecting on my lack of appreciation for wildlife and disinterest in the wilderness and camping. The place many others wanted to be. I flashed “the crowd” a look of shock and found my way back to my chair, that of the number 16 card. The rest of the announcements went by in a blur. I was able to note when some of my friends got the places they had wanted, the places they had lobbied for, and others walked away from that map with the same look on their face that I did.
It seems that the big water is calling her wayward daughter home. The girl from the land of 10,000 lakes returns to the water, in the country I least expected it. I can only take this as a sign of good things to come, despite my initial hestitancy. Where there is water there is always life, and for me there has always been inspiration. I will be getting my wish to live a life of simplicity, and solitude, and get to know where my edges and center are. There will be big bugs, snakes and the like but I will survive. I can't help but see the irony in be placed in the main place in the country with water and lots of wildlife, some things I have never fully appreciated in the life I left in Minnesota that were also available a plenty. I guess the time to reconcile it all has come.

So know that although I won't have internet as often, I will do my best to keep in touch. I have a post office in Seronga, (I will get the new address up next week, until then hold off on sending things, the peace corps will hold them for me, but I will be two days out of the office in Gaborone). so I will love to receive letters, and hope to have many pen pals. I've been told I won't have electricity (I'm so looking into solar power!!!!) but there is a generator at the clinic where I work, so perhaps I can write at night and recharge in the day? I've found that writing has become a major stress reliever for me, and am finding this may be increasingly a larger portion of my calling.

I'm scared of and nervous about this new reality, but after much thought, I realized that if fear is all I'm up against, than I have no options but to go forward, as I've done things I've feared before, and come out the other side. It is with this attitude that I continue on my two day journey to Seronga. I have met many people at my stop in Gumare, and they all seem kind (and speak English!!!!). The delta is supposed to be beautiful, and a coveted area for eco-tourism and wildlife excursions (if this encourages anyone to come visit, you are, of course all welcome, my traditional roundaval is your roundaval.) I will report back once I get there. I love you all, and despite the new additional distance, I feel you with me as I go.