Never Underestimate a Good Eggplant

Tonight I made an excellent eggplant concoction (eggplant, rosemary, tomatoes and olive oil over penne) in my oddly supplied kitchen in my oddly furnished house. Having moved in a little over a month ago, I have yet to buy proper utensils, and so I eat all meals with a spoon and improvise in the stirring of sauces and flipping of vegetables. My stovetop has one setting: burn. I don’t own an oven. Most of my protein consumption comes through peanut butter and processed cheese, and I think it’s safe to say that I’m addicted to bananas and honey. Occasionally, I dilute them with the aforementioned peanut butter or yogurt, but, really, why should I? Did I mention that I don’t own a refrigerator, either? Hence the processed cheese. The roof leaks (sound familiar to anyone?) and there’s a beetle that insists this is his home, even though I’ve carried him as far away as an entire city block. Are there homing insects?

Nonetheless, I love my new house. It may be temporary for reasons that I won’t go into here, but the wonderful comfort of privacy is at last mine! The only thing that wakes me up in the morning is my alarm clock or, if I ignore that and sleep in too late, my host sister inviting me for tea. I’m right next door to the association, so I can hear when the door is unlocked and I can at last go to work (usually around 4:30 PM). I don’t actually hear the lock being turned, but the braying of the lambs as my artisans traipse through the adjacent barn. I keep a schedule similar to the women’s, with the exception that I travel into Oz a great deal more to see my delegate, develop photographs of products, or visit with other volunteers. In the morning, I clean my house and make meals, and in the afternoons I go to the fields - not to pick clover, but to run. Yes, me, running. I’m a total scandal even though I wear long pants and sleeves. There’s something about a woman moving so quickly . . .

For a little while February was terribly unbearable (is that too dramatic?) but then I reminded myself that February sucks everywhere. Clouds and rain aside, it’s the longest month simply because we expect it to be so short! And now it’s March and we have a gloriously long weekend here (two days for the Prophet’s Birthday!). I’ll be at the beach actually being scandalous in my very hashuma bathing suit. High tourist season officially starts this month, which means my women will sell a ton of items at the hotel boutique (inchallah, as they would say). Also, my delegate just returned from the capital, where (inchallah) he presented some of my project ideas to the entire delegation. I promise to share them with you once I have approval. For now, know that I’m alive and well, and doing my best to be happy in my small part of the world.