Chicken Little

Hi everybody and Happy Holidays!

It’s currently a chilly 90 something degrees here in B-town. Bundle up! Cold season is so delicious, but it’s not nearly as cold as it was last year – hope that’s not a harbinger of the hot season to come. Either way these days I’m barely sweating and it’s fabulous.

I just got back from a 10-day long trip to NDJ for the new class’ swear-in and my mid-service medical and dental checkup. You’ll be glad to know that according to Dr. Cyrille Detter (which is pronounced alarmingly like “serial killer”), I am in perfect dental health – no small feat with all that sugar tea! I have been so lucky to stay as healthy as I’ve been. I have an immune system and digestive tract of steel!

As I think I mentioned in the previous letter, Patrick and Darren’s (my 2 closest neighbors) birthdays both fall at the end of November. Patrick and I had planned to meet up on the Friday after Thanksgiving, hope a ride to Mondo (Darren’s village) and have a birthday bash. Well, on Thanksgiving after school, I went to the market to find a ride for the net day. It turned out that Djibrine, who is a chauffeur from a village near Mondo, was going straight to Mondo on Thursday, tout de suite! I hemmed and hawed (the Haberkamps had invited me over for T-giving dinner and I didn’t want to stand them up) but decided to go for it – making the trip in one shot with a nice chauffeur that I know seemed better than doing it in stages with a possibly lecherous jerky chauffeur. So I scurried home to pack my bag, scribble an apology to the Haberkamps, and then sit and wait. Tout de suite never really means tout de suite. You’d think I’d know that by now.

Finally at 2:30 or so, we were off. We stopped in N’Gouri at 6 to pick up Patrick, who was surprised, delighted, and not packed. P hurriedly crammed stuff into his bag, forgetting his camera and a few other essentials. We surprised Darren with a “Happy Thanksgiving” at 9:30 when we finally got to Mondo. There is such a sweetness in seeing friends after being alone but not alone at site for months. It’s impossible to describe and I think you’ve got to experience it to really understand.

We had a riotous good time in Mondo. D’s parents had sent him goodies for a pirate-themed b-day bash, so there were pirate masks, skull and crossbones tattoos, banners, and telescopes galore. Darren had made a bucket of ginger beer with a recipe from a Peace Corps cookbook. Ginger, limes, sugar, and yeast left to ferment 24 hours – it was really sweet and zippy. We tried our best to get silly off of it, but to no avail. We decided to let it ferment another 24 hours, which turned it into a bitter lime flavored swill with the meanest aftertaste kick you can imagine. I gave up on it, but Patrick kept trying. We finally all threw in the towel (or raised the white flag, to continue the pirate theme) and decided to dump the hotel mini bottles of rum (from D’s parents) into a big bowl of Tang. Pirates aren’t known for their discerning tastes and neither are Peace Corps volunteers.

The highlight of our stay in Mondo was our attempt at chicken killing. Darren is a recovering vegetarian and declared that he would do the slaying. We borrowed D’s host mom’s knife, which was about as sharp as a tongue depressor. Patrick held the chicken down while Darren sawed and sawed at it’s neck, barely making a knick. I gave play by play on the cassette tape Darren was making for his parents. Finally, Darren broke the skin and we stepped back to let the thing die in peace. “Good job, D!” “Well done!” And then “Hey guys, why isn’t it bleeding?” Right on cue, the bird jerked to life and flapped and flopped around as another chicken ran squawking, feather puffed, to fight the almost-dead one. It was a gruesome spectacle. “C’est fini?” yelped Darren. “Non!Ce n’est pas fini!” yelled Darren’s host sis Fatime as she grabbed the bird and the knife and finished it off.

After I plucked Chicken Little, the boys grilled him whole over a fire. But they must have cooked for about 5 minutes because when we sat down to eat him; you could practically see the little salmonella bugs waving at you. So we hacked him apart, with a Swiss Army knife and recooked him in a wok over Darren’s little kerosene stove. So, for dinner that night we had leathery chicken, undercooked Spanish rice, and a can of glazed carrots from the states so packed with artificial sweeteners and preservatives that we shuddered as the chemicals coursed through our blood streams.

The week in N’Djamena was not the raucous funfest we’d thought it would be. P found out (and told us) on Tuesday that he has to go home because of a health issue. We are all shocked and very sad (I say it in the present tense because it continues to be true). In a group as small and tightly knit as ours, it is a huge blow to lose someone. It’s especially painful for Darren and I, as we three were the northwest trio. Even though we saw each other maybe every other month, we sent notes fairly often and those notes mean a lot when they’re all you’ve got. We tried to give him a good sendoff – we “roasted” him (told stories about him and made fun of him) and each illustrated our favorite P moment for a little book. Luckily, almost all of us were in town, so he got to say goodbye to all but his best friend, Michael, who couldn’t make it. It’s a sad deal for all involved. I know he’ll land on his feet back home and be just fine, but he’ll be sorely missed in Chad. His site was the hub between our sites: Mao, Bol and Mondo. I can’t get anywhere without spending the night in N’bouri. So though there are 4 of us up here, we basically can’t get to each other’s sites, meaning we basically have no neighbors now. What I mean is P in the only one I ever saw because I have to through N’gouri to get anywhere. To go see the others would be out of the way and would require a week because of transport. Does that make sense? Anyway, the point is that I now feel a lot more isolated than I did before.

I think I mentioned previously that I’ve started an English Club and a Girl’s Club. The English Club has been fun but a classroom management nightmare. Since it’s a more informal atmosphere and no other adults are around, the kids go WILD. Yikes. I’m going to have to find a Chadian adult to help keep them in line or else quit the club. Its nuts. The Girls’ Club has been quite challenging. I mean challenging like cleaning up a train wreck (a cargo train, of course – no one injured except the conductor (i.e. me), walking away dazed and but not bleeding. I had 10 girls the first meeting, 35 the second and 8 the third. Guess which one was the disaster. I was trying to do these really thought-provoking, self-reflective activiti4es, which went over like a ton of mud bricks. Finally I was talking to Mary yesterday and she said, “It’s got to be enjoyable for them. It shouldn’t be like school. Keep it simple!” Duh! Of course! Simple! Ohh, why didn’t I think of that? So I’ve got a simple, enjoyable, yet slightly thought-provoking session planned and I’m crossing my fingers that the next train wreck can be avoided.

My best friend, Molly, is a second grade teacher in mid-Missouri. I’m partnered with her class for the PC World wise Schools programs which connects US classrooms with PCVs. Molly sent me a packet of their letters, which are hilarious. They’re very concerned about me and snakes. They think I’m a very nice person because I’m friends with “Mrs. Heckenberg.” Only one kid asked about how I go to the bathroom, but you know it was on all of their minds. I sent them an email about bargaining at the market when I was in NDJ and Molly said they asked, “Why can’t we bargain Like Miss KVR?” during a math lesson. Pretty cute.