Peace Corps volunteers whould not be allowed to go to fashion capitals like Milan without some sort of makeover intervention in between. There's a reality show idea: fix up the young sloppy PCVs (skinny enough to be on television) so they don't embarass themselves. I volunteer myself. But no, I have my flipflops only and they so far appear to be the only flipflops in country. My best skirt is held together with a safety pin. Don't get me started on M.
No matter, we're used to being stared at and are still living the high life! We might be able to get by without drawing attention to ourselves if we didn't react bizarrely and oooh and ahhh and mundane things. But for 2.5 years, M has only been on a snowy Vienna vacation and in 1 year, I hadn't left Africa. So a few things provoked more impressed reactions from us than they would normal people. These things include but are in no way limited to: grass, flowers, real roads, nice cars, tall buildings, other peoples' clothes, hot water, chairs, airplane food, vending machines, airports, public bathrooms, the perceived cleanliness of rats (do they shampoo them here?), driving ability, prevalence of english signs and speakers, lack of sweat... Then there are things that are actually Awesome, that no one should take for granted: good coffee, cheese, gelato, pizza, chocolate, Monet, the duomo, amazing architecture everywhere, a happy hour in which you get one drink and an all-you-can-eat buffet of deliciousness, and what might be my favorite thing: bookstores!
Coming from Senegal has completely colored the way in which we take in Italy. Sometimes it's silly-- last night I saw a dog out of the corner of my eyes and burst out laughing when I realized I'd assumed it was a warthog. We made kissy noises at the annoying street peddlers, but since many came from Senegal (are we surprised?), they recognized it as a "no" sound. Neither of us has more than 10 words in Italian and are prone to answering in Pulaar or french even though most people speak english. Whenever I wanted to say yes, I'd always say, "Eyo. Oui! I mean SI!" It is nice and strange to be able to hold hands in public. Shorts SHOCK us. I literally started blushing last night when I passed a girl who seemed to be going out in her underwear. I have become a nun.
Speaking of nuns, the cathedral in the duomo made us open-mouth gape for the entire duration of our visit. At first we though of how our villagers would fall over themselves if they ever saw this. We felt depressed on their behalf, thinking about where they are in 2009, while the Italians made these high ornate walls and stained glass glory by the early 1300's, also without electricity or modern technology.
But as I watched the masses file in, light candles, and rub brass emblems, I realized how much I respect villagers' piety. It's easy to be religious in the grand gorgeous cathedral with colored light beaming from the windows, ceilings and carvings and pillars breathtakingly grandiose. The monument of thousands of years of thousands of people's adament belief loom like tactile proof. You don't feel alone and the miraculousness of the structure makes it easy to believe in other miracles.
In my village, kids study faded wooden prayer tablets by the light of a bonfire. They put mats down in the sand and press their foreheads to the dirt. Cows and chickens and babies scream all around in the buzzing heat. They shut it out and one man sings the prayer. Mat and dirt and goats and sun: these are the patrons of their church. They stand and kneel and press their heads to the gorund. This is faith.
(vacation to be continued...)
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