Wandering Away

Wandering Away

Somewhere along the path of self-discovery,
you start to believe in things like fate.
every person you meet,
every fellow hostel-mate,
is a sentence,
a paragraph,
a chapter
in the story of your life.
they teach you something


People are always coming and going and even though it’s hard to make lasting relationships in a place where everyone is a wanderer, the meaningful connections I’ve made in the throes of this crazy Peace Corps life are immeasurable. I wouldn’t trade those experiences for anything. (Not even for a bar of Hershey’s Almonds, or a big fat burrito from Chipotle…which is saying a lot because if you caught me at the right time of the month, I would trade my first born baby for both of those things).


The other day, I was engaged in a conversation about dating and I told someone that I’m more “aggressive” with boys in Uganda than I was in the states. This came out wrong (as does most things when I’m talking about boys to boys) but it really made me think about how my mentality towards dating has changed.

I have never had trouble making the first move and in the states, dating was something I did when I was bored. When I got tired of the whole school-work routine, I would find a guy to keep me occupied. Sometimes, it really was as easy as that. As a result, most of my (short-lived) relationships were born out of convenience. While I was signing my life away to the Peace Corps and as I critically examined each of the 14 boys in my cohort (all of whom, by the second day, felt like brothers to me), I thought I was also signing away any chance of romance.

Living in a country where you don’t speak the local language fluently and are constantly labeled as an “outsider” can show you how rare it can be to find someone who understands you completely. Because of this, when you do happen upon another being who can keep up with your banter, it’s hard to just let them walk away. Living in a foreign country also makes you realize how short life can be so when you are bantering away with someone and you don’t know how long they’ll be in the same space as you……you tend to give in to spontaneity. It makes me wish I upheld all my past relationships with the same vigor.


I’ve been a Peace Corps Volunteer for 17 months now. That’s 17 months of butchering the local language, laughing awkwardly and mastering the art of becoming your own best friend. 17 months of failures and successes, of extreme highs and extreme lows. During those 17 months, my life has changed drastically. I can honestly say that right now, I am the happiest I have ever been. I get to teach. I get to travel. I get to use my creativity to try and make an impact on the world. I am living a life that I’ve dreamt of for so long.


Necessary Sadness

April 4, 2016

How To Be Sad – Peace Corps Style

When that familiar ache first saturates your heart, ignore it. Give yourself a pep talk and go about your day. Remind yourself of all the good things in life: the way Gladys calls you “dear” (“deah”), the ritualistic morning hugs from Marian, that pivotal moment when you see a pupil’s face light up with recognition.

When the ache starts to throb, dive into your projects; the things that make you happy. Work all day and then bring your work home with you. Spend weekends making posters of the menstruation cycle for an upcoming workshop. Take on more classes and spend all your extra time working on the library. At night, when you think about all the reasons for that ache in your heart and you feel your eyes well up, go back to thinking about the layout of the library. When you’re still awake at 2 a.m., drown out the voices in your head by writing lesson plans.

Eventually, that ache will start to twist and you won’t be able to stop the tears from escaping.

You will cry for a whole night, hoping for the brief respite of slumber which never comes. You will emerge from your bed the next morning and gaze at your reflection in the mirror. You can try to give yourself a pep talk but inevitably, your voice will break and you will have to tear your red-rimmed eyes away from the broken girl in the mirror.

Make a cup of overly-bitter instant coffee and sip it until the physical exhaustion lifts. Text some of your Peace Corps friends. Sob to your sister over a phone connection filled with distorted voices and static. With a layer of love around you, head to work. When you get there, your teachers will take in your puffy eyes and your stuffed nose and diagnose you (wrongly) with a fever. Use this as an excuse to leave work during break time.

Spend the rest of the day in bed.

The aches, the throbs, the twists. You have never had a sadness manifest itself so physically before. Lose yourself in that sadness. Feel each individual tear slip down your cheek; feel the chilling trail it leaves in its wake. Let the tears slip into your mouth and taste the salty mixture. Go to the place where your heart lies and make yourself delve into the agony that comes with each shaky breath.

Feel It. Taste It. Hear It. Recognize the intention behind every single emotion. Know who you are in that moment until the sobs don’t sound like they’re coming from a phantom version of yourself.

Eventually, the tears will subside and the only ache you will feel is the one in your throat. Light some scented candles and take a warm bath. Revel in the feeling of warm water cascading down your worn-out body. Slice up a cucumber for your swollen eyes, put on some soft music and lie in your bed. Drift off to sleep knowing that you just overcame something great – a necessary sadness.


My home in Western Uganda lies on the foothills of the Rwenzori Mountains. Surrounded by rolling hills of tea plantations so verdant that it mocks any preconceived notions of Africa, is the community of Kyakatara. I live here as a Peace Corps Volunteer but I have been welcomed as one of the Batooro people. The people of Uganda are known for their friendly demeanor but it is the unparalleled sense of compassion of Gladys and Marian – my counterpart and supervisor – that has made my job as a Peace Corps Volunteer one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life so far.

When I arrived at Kyakatara Primary School to serve as a Literacy Specialist, one of the first things I noticed was the disparity between the number of male and female pupils in upper primary classes. Marian, who is also the head teacher of the school, explained to me that menstruation brought on a slew of new obstacles for girls in the community. We agreed that the fact that pupils were missing school due to something as natural and beautiful as getting your period was unjust.  I worked with Marian and Gladys to come up with ways to mediate this problem. They understood that females were the backbone of the community and they were passionate about empowering girls to stay in school.

We decided to conduct a needs assessment and sent out a sexual reproduction survey to 60 girls from P6 and P7. We found that female pupils who have started menstruating missed 3 to 5 days of school every month due to improper sanitation methods, embarrassment and shame. They had little to no knowledge of the menstruation cycle.  With these findings, we developed a workshop on sexual reproduction, a portion of which would be dedicated to teaching girls how to make Reusable Menstruation Pads (RUMPS) from cheap, local materials. Since we would be conducting separate workshops for girls from P4-P7, we planned to mold participants from the first workshop into facilitators for the next workshop. We wanted girls to leave the workshop feeling empowered – not weakened – by their bodies.

The entire staff, males and females alike, joined us in preparing for the workshop. Teachers gave up their break time and spent their weekends cutting out pad shapes out of bed sheets, assembling needles and threads, and measuring towels for RUMPS kits. Their enthusiasm never faltered.

On April 6, 2016, 55 female pupils from P6 and P7 came together in a girlsDSC_0053-only workshop to learn about menstruation. They were given the opportunity to ask questions about reproduction, sexual intercourse and sexually transmitted diseases in a safe space. As Gladys taught them how to make their own RUMPS, the room transformed into a flurry of activity; the excitement was palpable. Each girl received enough materials to make two pads and they showed them off proudly with radiating smiles. A sense of ease permeated the room and as I looked around for possible facilitators for the next workshop, I realized I was standing in a room full of leaders.

You can find more pictures here.