in the words of nutter, "call me"

under a tree in the Kaedi compound

The locals tell us the heat season peaks this coming week. My internal body temperature tells me if it gets much hotter, I’ll loose mental and physical capacities. The hours-long training sessions atrophy butt muscles, twist spines, and run over into meals that start late anyway. The successful trainees are those who no longer mourn certainty and punctuality. Our dearly departed friends have no place here in Mauritania, in Peace Corps.

And neither do expectations in general. Today, in fact, I shared a chuckle with my APCD about expectations. As CBT site announcements draw nearer, trainees are expressing elaborate wishes for certain locations and particular languages. Aw and I concluded that expectations were good for exactly two things: securing your own disappointment and establishing your naivete. How could Peace Corps possibly cater to the language preference of one trainee out of sixty? Similarly, how could a trainee have a location preference when she has seen all of 100 square feet of a country? Expectations seem futile and frustrating and I plan to avoid them entirely. The expression “come what may” is my mantra, flexibility is my strength.

I called home for the first time since I landed on continent. The conversation was too short, the calling card too quick. One call for one minute blew 1000 ougiyes, about four dollars. I will buy more cards when my wallet allows and will look for calls from people stateside when my hope allows. For reference, my number is 011 222 609 3915 as dialed from the states. Of course, no expectations.