Here's the thing...

As anyone close to me can tell you that I am not a morning person. This is nothing interesting. There are a lot of people who aren't morning people. But, when I say that I am not a morning person I mean that I cannot function in the morning. I cannot speak coherently. I cannot pretend that I am in a good mood. I cannot pretend that I like my job, the world, or you. The people I love the most just leave me alone. They don't speak to me; they suppress their own chipperness; they might hand me a cup of coffee. I love those people. Anyway, this morning was a good example of the extent to which I am not a morning person. It was about 5am. The mullahs were mullah-ing the morning prayers. I hear a crash. I can't tell if it's downstairs or upstairs. Eyes still closed I think foggy thoughts about what it could be. Something falling off a table, the guard slamming the garage door, etc. And then I get that feeling. If you're lucky you've never had that feeling. The feeling

The sun is sinking into another perfect sunset here on the edge of everywhere. And I am waiting, pacing up and down the office because all of the boys are not back from the field. I am pacing because I cannot lock up the office and go home myself until they have returned. I am pacing because I cannot shake that leftover feeling from Darfur that when people are late then something is wrong. It's crazy, I know. There's no war here. There's not going to be a problem. The cement delivery was just late. That's all. But still...I am pacing.

I have a favourite word in every language in which I have lived for any significant period of time. I might not know the rest of the language but there is always one word that sticks with me. In French, it is: malheureusement (meaning, unfortunately). Unfortunately, I used it so much in my French essays in secondary school my teacher said I could only use it once per essay. Too bad. It took up nearly an entire line, of the two-page requirement, when written in script. In Russian, it is: ksazhelyenyu (also unfortunately). Don't worry, it's not a trend. In Arabic, it is: malesh (meaning, 'I'm sorry' or 'too bad'). In Chinese, it is: xie xie (meaning, 'thank you'...primarily because I never got very far in those Mandarin lessons, but also because I like the szh...sound. It's fun. I'm easily entertained). In English, it is: taradiddle (meaning, 'pretentious nonsense'). The problem is I never did find a good Indonesian word. Our Logisti

The doughnut men are elusive creatures. At about 6am they hit the streets; honking (tooting...whatever!) old bicycle horns and generally making their presence known. They are usually small-ish, wiry men who carry two heavy glass cases filled with doughnuts on either side of a pole that sits on their shoulder. They speed walk up and down the streets hawking their wares. At about 6am, if I am in bed, I loathe the doughnut men. I hear go up our street, down the side street, and then make their rounds on the street opposite. I'm convinced they are in league with the mosques to disturb my sleep. (The first lone Mullah begins his prayer call at 4:30. He goes on for about half an hour until joined by all the other Mullahs who don't end until 5:30) Half hour of blissful peace and quiet and then the doughnut men are out. But this morning, as I follow my mother's management advice (1. guilt; 2. bribery; 3. blackmail; 4. extortion; 5. begging), I reach point 2: bribery and so I need d

Ok, so I find 'those' types of people annoying. You know: 'them'. The ones who spend most of their blog time/space putting up photos of their children, or their neighbour's children. Or their brother's children. Well, let me reassure you that I am not becoming one of 'those' people. However, check out this picture of my nephew, Caden Jack. My brother disavows knowledge of how he got into this outfit and the picture got taken. Then again, maybe it's a slippery slope. Maybe my nephew is going to find himself, inexplicably, in cute outfits for the rest of his life. Maybe this blog is going to become nothing but adorable pictures. Let's hope not. For all our sakes.

Well, sorta wrote..mostly. Until our media department edited it. But you get the idea. On relief web: http://www.reliefweb.int/rw/RWB.NSF/db900SID/SSHN-79YHRX?OpenDocument

Meulaboh sits at sea level and gets, approximately, 10 feet of rain a year. As you can imagine drainage is an important and fairly tricky issue here. Even with drainage ditches the whole city frequently floods with knee-deep murky water in which lurk alligators, monitor lizards, and a miscellany of other moving creatures. (You might not believe me but just this morning our livelihood team was shown a 15 foot python that the community had caught in the recent flooding.) It's not the sort of place where you want to mistakenly drive into a ditch. But we do. All the time. Many of the roads here are built so narrowly that it is impossible for two cars to pass without one of them ending up in one of the 3 foot deep ditches that line every road. In many places you cannot make a right or left turn without making, at least, a two point turn. We got a call at about midnight on Friday that yet another staff person had been driving home and the left front wheel was now spinning freely in a dit

As the Christmas season descends on us so comes one of the best traditions of all time – the White Elephant Gift Exchange. I love these exchanges because, in a way, it mocks everything that consumerism has, well, consumed of the goodness of Christmas. White Elephant gifts are everything that Christmas presents aren’t ‘supposed’ to be: impractical, ugly, and cheap. But in the gift exchange the important thing is the game, the giving, the interaction that friends have while cajoling, arguing, and negotiating their way into possession of a magenta, crystal candilabre that they would normally cross the street to avoid. It’s great fun. It is because of this that I took great delight in finding the White Elephant Gift Haven. That might not be that ‘actual’ name of the store but it should be. I don’t know the name of the store but if you ever find yourself in Meulaboh, Indonesia go down Natsional until the road splits in a round-a-bout. Go left and it’s about the third store on your right ne

My long-time readers will remember my 'brief and frightening reign' in Nyala. [see deluxe wall calendar at left]. Well, good news! The Brief and Frightening Reign Part Duex is on the way. Now, new readers might be wondering what this 'brief and frightening reign' business is all about. Let me explain. No, no, it is too much. Let me sum up. Whenever I get left alone in charge of all other departments with no other authority or support it qualifies as the above-stated reign. Since I'm going to be here by myself over Christmas and New Year the second era of the reign will begin. While I was dubbed Queen of Nyala for the first reign I will be called Czarina of Meulaboh for the second. In honour of this our livelihood advisor just sent me the following Get Fuzzy cartoon. Or, you can see it here a bit better.

I just got some grave news in which I know that you will share my interest and concern. I have just been told that our cleaners AND our cooks will be in training all week. Meaning that we have to clean up after ourselves AND cook our own food. I seriously don't know if I can make it. You think I'm kidding but I'm not. I don't know how to work the washing machine. I haven't made my bed in months...nay, years. And don't even get me started about the cooking. What to do? What to do?

But, neither am I a good person which is why I'll carry on writing this blog. Now, just like anyone who doesn't have kids can tell you how to parent. I can tell you how to sing. No, I take that back. I can't tell you how to sing but I can tell you when someone can't sing. It's more like recognizing one of your own. And there are some people out there who can simply not sing....in key, hasten to add. They seem to do just fine in getting a hold of the microphone and belting it out but they miss the key part. I'm a little bitter because I just got home from a Sunday School Christmas concert here. There were kids. They were cute. They were singing - and sometimes even in key. But, it also went on for a very, very long time. When we arrived half an hour late, to a room roughly the temperature of an industrial oven, they still hadn't begun and that should have been an indication that this was going to last for awhile. Looking through the program it appeared that t

What do latrines and Christmas have in common? Oh, nothing. Except that for Christmas this year I'm going to be building them. Yep, that's right. Me and a bunch of construction guys will be staying in Indonesia over Christmas and New Year to build latrines and houses. I've tried to make all the other programme people feel guilty for leaving by saying helpful things like, 'how can you celebrate Christmas with your families knowing that children have been without latrines for three years!?' But, it's pretty much to no avail. (I needn't mention how hard their hearts must be!) So, over Christmas you can think of me, rattling around in a big, empty, echoey house singing 'Here Comes Santa Claus' at the top of my lungs. I also have a full box of candy canes to enjoy. Who could ask for anything more? (I hesitate to mention that I will be accumulating holiday like it's going out of style and that I will then have a total of 20 days of vacation to spend in