car accident

I was in a car accident the night before I flew home.

Mark and I were driving to his parent's place for dinner. We were in the express lane on I-15, going probably around 60mph, when we hit some slush or ice and lost control of the car. We spun out across two lanes of traffic, and came to a stop when another vehicle t-boned us on the passenger's side.

I was entirely calm until impact was about to happen, and then I'm pretty sure I screamed. I just remember looking out the passenger window at the car coming toward us and thinking, "Oh dear lord, that car is going kill me."

And then it didn't. I opened my eyes and I was 100% fine. Mark was fine. The lady in the other car and her two kids were fine. She'd seen the slush from our car and had been able to slow down enough so that she was only going 30-40mph when she hit us.

But we were blocking two lanes of traffic in the middle of I-15 and I was terrified that somebody wasn't going to be able to stop in time and that they would hit us again.

Then a police officer came out of nowhere. He was off-duty, just happened to be on his way home, but was in his cruiser. That police officer and the driver of a large tow truck that had also stopped were able to stop the traffic on the freeway for long enough for us to safely get the cars off the road.

Both cars were driveable, so we went to the nearest gas station where we waited for a couple hours until a police officer could make it. 

The passenger side of Mark's car is pretty bashed in. The airbags went off in the other lady's car so her windshield was destroyed. But everybody was okay.

I couldn't stop shaking for the first ten minutes after the car crash, and all I could think about was how lucky or how blessed we had been. I've done a lot of crazy things, but I've never felt that close to dying before.

The police officer that talked to us later that night said there had been a lot of accidents on the freeway that night, and at least one confirmed death.

I woke up the next morning with whiplash. I was so happy to wake up with whiplash.

I safely made it home the next day. Being with the family again has been bomb. Christmas was wonderful. Goodness, it's good to be back.

some thoughts

I'm done with finals. This fall semester of 2013 is officially over. This fall marked the last time I would walk up that awful hill on my way to class and have to stop because the mountains were ablaze with color. It was the last time I would ever come back from summer vacation, strangely thrilled to be back in Provo, weirdly excited to be learning again. I have only one more semester left, and I will be done. Done done. Done with my undergraduate education. It is the strangest.

This has nothing to do with anything. 

This is just a good song. Ya dig?

It has been the most interesting semester. In some ways it has been so stressful. In others, it has been the most incredible. For the past four years, I've known where I wanted to end up, and I knew what I needed to do to get there. I purposefully packed this stage of my life with as much travel and adventure as possible. I worked hard to get good grades, to land the right jobs, to get valuable experiences. 

I have made some of the best friends possible, friends that I genuinely love, respect, and for whom I would do just about anything. They're all over the U.S. and the world now, doing great things like I always knew they would. They dream big, and I am continually inspired by the things they do and people they aspire to be. I sit here in my apartment in Provo sometimes, and I'm like, You guys. Your lives. Don't ever ever stop.

I look back and I wouldn't change a thing.

This semester has been different. For one thing, a lot of my old friends have jobs, are pursuing grad programs at other schools, or are on missions. In short, many of them are no longer here. Furthermore, this semester marks the beginning of the end.

This past summer I tried to decide what I wanted to do with my life. I went from grad-school-is-all-i-ever-wanted to being 90% sure that I wanted to get a Fulbright to Greece. Then I changed that to Korea. And then all of a sudden, I decided that I didn't want to do a Fulbright. I just wanted to go to grad school, the way I'd always planned.

I thought that my dream was to go to Cornell. Then I looked at their program and I just didn't feel it. So I started looking around. I emailed a bunch of schools. Talked to a bunch of professors on the phone. I didn't feel any of it. So I thought, All I really need is a master's degree. I can do just about anything if it's just for two years. Maybe it doesn't matter that I find lipids to be kind of boring. I mean, U-Mass IS a really good program.

And then people started telling me about how it was so hard to get a masters degree because professors only wanted to take on PhD students. So I started thinking about whether I wanted to get a PhD. I didn't. Not even a little bit. But it did start making me worry about whether I'd get into grad school if all I wanted was a master's degree. To top it off, I took the GRE without ever really studying for it, and the end result was less than exceptional. Turns out I still hate math. And I thought, I'm destined to live in a van down by the river and work at Walmart for the rest of my life. 

Then I started talking to NC State. They ended up flying me out to visit their food science grad program. And I loved it. I loved the feel of Raleigh, the other grad students, the faculty, and NC State itself. And oh my gosh, the research. It is groundbreaking, and it excites me far more than lipids ever would have.

I am working on the official application process right now, but it's looking like I'll be going to NC State (if everything goes according to plan) to get a master's degree in food science next fall. I'm thrilled about it. I can't wait to try living in North Carolina, to see what new adventures happen there. It is a weird thing to realize though that after my internship in Minneapolis this summer that I will be driving east instead of west to go to school.

So yeah, this semester has been different. I kind of feel like the work has been done. I'm at where I need to be. My grades don't matter as much as they once did anymore, and so school doesn't stress me out as much as it once did. I'm also dating someone. I don't ever talk about my dating life on this blog because dating tends to be messy and complicated sometimes, but there you go. And for what it's worth, I'm really happy.

I've always been kind of afraid of graduation because I thought that once "real" life started, I wouldn't be as free to do whatever I wanted, to pursue whatever struck my fancy. I realize that grad school isn't exactly "real" life, but it's different than being an undergrad, and I'm excited for it. I don't really know what's going to happen, but it'll be an adventure.

I think I'm totally ready for this next semester to be my last semester.

In other news, I'm flying home tomorrow! I can't wait. It's going to be THE BEST.

happy second of december!

I have a [not so] secret love affair with good a capella music.

In honor of the fact that it is indeed December (and only 23 days until Christmas Day), here is a Christmas song.

I mean, those harmonies! Seriously. The beatboxer is incredible. And the bass, Avi--mind blown. Plus, he looks so happy in this video. That beard. That face. He's so perfectly goofy.

In other news, I had a lovely Thanksgiving break. Laura, Ty, Dan, and I made tons of delicious food and we all ate at Laura's place. Laura's parents were there, as well as one of Ty's old roommates.It was maybe one of the most delicious Thanksgiving dinners I've ever had. Laura, Ty, Dan, and Bryan are basically my family here at school. We're here for each other. They've always got my back, and I've got theirs. Anyways, Bryan was with family in Idaho, but it was great to spend Thanksgiving with the rest of them.

I spent Friday and Saturday hiking and camping at Arches National Park. It was freaking cold. The wood never really caught on fire, so we basically cooked our hot dogs via lighter fluid. And it was cold. Did I mention that? But the hikes were INCREDIBLE. So beautiful. The trails were perfect, except for this one part where I thought I was going to die (it ended up being the best part of the trail though--once it was over). We almost ran out of gas on the way back. We didn't. It was the best, and it was exactly the kind of adventure I needed to get through these last three weeks of school.

Speaking of which, three more weeks of school! That's it!

Three more weeks, and I'll be headed home.

on running away.

I go through certain phases where I can get kind of obsessed with certain poets. Anyways, right now it's Clementine Von Radics, and I just bought her book. I can't get enough of her.

She was kind enough to autograph the small homemade paperback copy of poems she mailed to me. I am silly enough to admit that it made me rather giddy.


Advice to Those Like Me, With Hearts Like Kindling

Darlings, sometimes love will come to you like a fire
to a forest. When it does, be braver than I was. Just leave.
Take only what you can carry. No tears. No second thoughts.
You have hands like tinder boxes, the smallest spark
will kill you.

Get in the car. Pour water on the maps. Avoid gas stations.
Don't look at the flames dancing in the rearview mirror.
Go to new cities, climb on rooftops, and slow dance with
your coldest memories. Wallpaper your home with every
dusty, desperate love letter you swore you'd never send.

Find a stranger with sharp edges and uncharted hips
Press your stories into their skin and forget you ever knew
his name. Just promise me you won't think of burning
or embers. Even when there is ash in your hair. Even when
there is smoke in your mouth.


There was this one time I went to a hairdresser my sophomore year of college. She gave me fringe bangs that day and I was thrilled because I thought that they were edgy and exciting and different, and goodness, I needed different that year (heartbreakingly, fringe bangs don't make your life that much more edgy, exciting, or different).

She also told me about how two years after her high school graduation, she ran away to San Francisco for a year with her best friend. I thought, "Forget the fringe bangs. I need to run away to San Francisco." For a split second, I was so sure that it would solve all my sophomore year problems.

I am an avoider sometimes, a kinda restless wanderer. I sometimes leave with no explanation at all, whether or not it has something to do with problems or love or possibility. With hands like tinder boxes, sometimes I think I'm afraid of what could happen if I stay too long. 

I leave, but it really has nothing to do with bravery.
Part of it was just because I could.
I could simply leave.
Shockingly easily.
Always.

I flit from place to goal to the unknown to what I've always thought I wanted. 
This poem makes me sad because I realize now that I have always chosen to leave
because I thought I was afraid of burning.
Now I'm afraid that maybe that wasn't what I was afraid of after all. 

Tell me that someday there will still be smoke in my mouth.
That I won't be able to wash the ash from my hair.
I would like to know that there was at least one thing that I couldn't just run away from. 
That I didn't run away from. 
That was powerful enough to make me stay. 

I think I would like that. 
I think love is supposed to be like that.

so go downtown (where all the lights are bright)

You know what's scary? Graduate school. It's absolutely petrifying.

Can I just run away to San Francisco and pretend to be a hipster? It seems like it would be easier. I could pretend like I've never aspired to do more than eat clam chowder (#alldaylong) and wander along fisherman's wharf. I could frequent Starbucks. I could write angsty stories and neurotic poems and get those horn-rimmed glasses that everybody seems to be wearing nowadays. I could probably be perfectly happy. Maybe. 

I know I don't actually want easy. I just think I do when it's the middle of the semester and grad school apps are overwhelmingly awful.  But here's the deal, I'm going to grad school . I've decided it's what I want to do. I'll like it. I just need a grad school to decide I'm worth the investment is all. Oh goodness, I'll be so glad when this entire process is over. 

I've eaten my weight in cheese and sausage today. Seriously though, I've probably eaten $40 worth of expensive cheeses of all varieties. That's what happens when you happen to be the 251 lab instructor and it's the week where you get to teach all about cheese. The entire situation is exacerbated when that very same day you also happen to have that one micro lab where all you do for a whole hour and a half is eat more cheese  and all manner of similarly delicious things.

I keep thinking I should feel slightly sick about that, but I don't. I feel nothing but good about this. If we're talking about the smoked gouda, that is. Because

this girl was not born to eat blue cheese. I'm not sure if anybody is ever born to eat blue cheese. In fact, I'm almost positive the consumption of blue cheese could be turned into some sort of extreme sport. 

black and white and grey

A friend of mine (Matt, you always post the best things) posted this article on facebook, and I just happened to see it. It's an interesting take on religion, and I like it. Here's the link if you want to read it.

Maybe it's controversial. People sometimes think that when it comes to God, things are black and white. You're obedient. Or you're not. You have faith. Or you don't.

When I look out at religion, the window starts fogging up with my own breath. And all I can see is how I feel about God and how I feel about faith and how I feel about my testimony even when all that seems to be there is the condensation dripping down the pane. My world is black and white and all sorts of grey--beautiful, beautiful shades of grey. It's not unsettling and it's not murky. It's the kind of grey that almost kills you with its clarity and acuity, even if you don't know what it means, really. It's the calmest kind of a misty day.

It's the kind of grey that lets me respect the way a Muslim prays five times a day. It helps me understand the LGBT community. It lets me appreciate a Buddhist temple. It's the kind of grey that lets me remain strong in my own faith, even when I don't have all the answers.

My world is not all black and white.
Perhaps it should be. I don't know.

Perhaps nothing is more personal than your relationship with God.

So maybe you see God differently. So
disagree with me. It's fine. I dig it. Be singular. Live the most personal religion that ever was.
I'm okay with that. Are you?

home

I bought my plane ticket home the other day. I'm excited to go home. It sounds ever so cliche (please forgive me, do), but there's no place like home.

People don't always know Michigan. It's just one of those states on the map. Truth is, that doesn't really change until you've run down a sand dune in the summer or seen the frozen, rippled edges of Lake Michigan in the winter. You need to experience the brilliance of fall time up north, or walk among the tulips and daffodils in spring. And downtown Holland, be still my heart. It's one of the best parts of Michigan, and I can't help but be overcome with nostalgia every time I even think about 8th street. It's brilliant. The state is brilliant. 

Christmas is easily my favorite time of the year. Christmas lights all over the trees (especially the white lights, which just knock me out). Wreaths and holly. Snow and hot chocolate and the Christmas markets in Centennial Park. The Salvation Army people with their bells. Delicious baked goods. And the music. I live for the music. I am about 97.6% sure that the first Christmas song of the year (played on the Friday after Thanksgiving, of course) is the best song I listen to all year. 

I'm going to be home for Christmas time. Home is with family in a cozy house in the middle of the woods, and I love it. I hope it snows like crazy, because gosh, it's so beautiful.

Our Christmas break is depressingly short this year. I think I'll be home for a mere week and a half. It will be the best week and a half even though I'm super bummed that I'll barely miss Evelyn's dance concert on the 20th. Dance your heart out, baby girl. I'll be rooting for you all the way from Utah.

Chaos.

Once upon  a time, I used to think the idea of being a chaotic, beautiful mess was terribly romantic, in a kind of fascinating and devastating sort of way. 

To embrace hedonism and anarchy and passion with a ferocity that scares away all your old demons with new ones. To languish away on sofas and swear at the banality of the weather. To hold ticking bombs because that soft staccato countdown is the only thing that can still make your heart race with anticipation. To vortex disaster, to make it disappear into the void where all such disasters go as they patiently await you again & again & again.

Here's to choking the dull rankness of unexpressed artistry and unrealized genius with your bare hands around the neck of a glass bottle. Here's to laughing with your mouth [alone], to lying on the bathroom floor [alone] because there's really nowhere else to go. 

But it is not romantic. 
It is not romantic at all.
What it wants is romanticism.

long time gone.

Can we have a quick conversation about how wonderful this song is? I like it. Will you like it too? Say yes!  Like it a lot, in fact. I'll only respect you for it.

Anyways, take a listen. Let whatever musical groove you have melt all over the place. Just do it. 

My sister wrote the cutest letter the other day. 

Dear pumpkin farmer,
Please do not pick me. I am afraid of my inside being scooped! My family is important to me. I have a good friend of mine. You need to keep me here. I do not like to be lit up. Please, I like the field.
From,
Evelyn the pumpkin

If she got any cuter, I think my heart would explode. 

Oooookay, I'm one of those people now. I'll stop. 
Sorry.

good news

I got the research and development internship at General Mills. I got it. I still can't believe it sometimes.

I've wanted this internship ever since I joined the food science program four years ago.

Anyways, I am thrilled. Thrilled about working for General Mills, about doing R&D, and about getting to live in Minneapolis again. Can't wait to see that city skyline! Not to mention the amazing running trails, great food, good music, and the overabundance of things to do and see.

Summer 2014 should be grand!

Imperfection.

Sometimes it takes my breath away.

How beautiful imperfection can be. 

There's something raw and real about rain. About the emotional crack in a singer's voice that comes out only in concert, and not the edited CD track. About the people that fight the entire world for one small step in the right direction. About loss, acceptance, forgiveness. 

This past Saturday I went rock climbing outside for the first time.

As I clung to a cliff face absolutely and 100% stuck beyond belief, I looked down and was struck by how high I was. My fingertips were numb and I could feel my legs and arms shaking. I kept slipping and thank god for the rope, or I probably would have died.

I hate not being strong enough to pull my own weight. I hate being stuck. I hate not being good at something, at not intuitively knowing what to do next.

And then I let go, and the rope took my weight.

It is 100% cheating, and for the first two seconds I hated it.

And then I realized I'd forgotten to put my hair up before I'd started climbing. And the breeze was in my hair and the sun was kissing my face; I looked behind me and I could see the entire valley. And it took my breath away.

Sometimes life ends up being spectacular, even if it's not perfect.

P.S. I did make it to the top, and that moment, too, was pretty freaking glorious.

leading me now.

Because I'm kind of obsessed with it right now. You're welcome.

                                          

I need to go on a hike, run until I can barely breathe. Climb a mountain, a la Sound of Music. A really excellent dance party. Actually, a concert would be perfect--you know, the kind where everybody's dancing like their life depends upon it, and screaming the words to songs that are never more true than in that moment, and everybody's sweating, but nobody cares, because seriously, isn't that what you came for? I want to go to a farmer's market and then cook something spectacular. I need to do something besides sit here and study. I've got this restless feeling in my bones, and I want an adventure.

I'm blaming it on the fall air, and this deliciously moody weather that's just perfect for things like bonfires and guitar music and hoodies and motorcycles. I've never ridden a motorcycle, but I feel like now would be a great time to do so. Anyways, what's important here is that now is not a great time to study for biochem, nutrient metabolism, or food micro. It's not even a good time to do multiple lab write-ups, even if they really aren't that bad.

I just want to have an adventure. 

planting rye.

“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.” 
-Holden Caulfield, The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)

Holden Caulfield may be an angsty teenager with the mouth of a sailor, but behind that entirely relateable and rather endearing facade of youthful apathy and vehemence, he's got this dream, this crazy dream. Goodness, I love that about Holden. I love it. 

I wish more people would just own up to wanting to be the freaking catcher in the rye. Admit that they've got some crazy dream, but heck. They want to do it anyways. I wish they'd do it. 

Anyways, the first month of the last year of my undergrad is just about over, so it's about time I figure out what it is I'd really like to be. Some people tell me to be the Catcher in the Rye, and others figuratively pat me on the head and say, "Darling, there are no little kids to catch. Look, there isn't even a field of rye."

Darling, please. I'm good at planting rye.

back.

I kind of dropped off the face of the blogosphere for a while.

But no worries, I made it back to the good ol' USA on the morning of August 9th. 

...that moment when I finally stepped off the airplane onto the walkway, and all of a sudden it was real and I wasn't in Africa anymore. I put a little makeup on for the first time in a long time in the JFK airport bathroom by the baggage claim and wore jeans (jeans, real skinny jeans!), and I waltzed out of that airport and into New York City and ate a whole NY bagel with cream cheese (not low fat, the regular cream cheese please, sir, and thank you). I checked into a hostel with the cleanest, whitest sheets and took a shower with hot water, no bugs, and an unclogged drain. You're probably wondering why I'm talking about all these inane things, and I guess the truth is that I don't know why either.

People always ask me to tell them about Africa, and I never have the words.

I don't know what to say, so I say stupid, easy things. The things that people expect to hear. I mean, everybody wants to hear about how I went days without showering, right? That's gross and exciting.

And kind of completely irrelevant. Or I feel like it should be.

I've been looking at the white space that used to exist where this sentence is for a while now, and I realized it's because I don't know what to say next. I feel like I should talk about what was relevant from my experience.  Africa seems to be a continent of superlatives, and I suppose so was my experience from the way I talk about it. Like Dickens put it,

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

I had a lot of time in Africa to grow. Faith. Change. Risk. Faith. Patience. Love. Faith. Fear. Possibility. Frustration. Faith. Creativity and Growth and Fear and Vulnerability and Faith. I saw it everywhere and I read it everywhere and I talked it everywhere. I tried (am trying) to live it too. 

I changed, but I changed the way I hope I would change regardless of where I get to go in the world. Maybe I just changed with time. Maybe Africa catalyzed that change and faith and me. Maybe it didn't. Regardless, it's a place that holds a thousand wonderful memories and three months of breaths and heartbeats.

Africa didn't change my life in the sense that I wouldn't be the person I am today if I hadn't gone. I am. I made a conscious decision to be who I was in Africa and I still make those choices today. But experiences don't need to turn your life 180 degrees to be worth it. They don't have to figuratively send you veering off a cliff, or mandate that you do a u-turn in the middle of the highway, or even suggest a turn onto that one forgotten road that nobody uses anymore. Sometimes, they can just be changing. And so you keep on driving on the same road you always planned to drive, and it just feels righter than ever, and maybe you even grow a few inches in the driver's seat. Not life-changing or anything. Just changing. It's good. 

Somehow all of this feels internalized and solid in the depths of my chest.

But I don't have anything left to vocalize. I don't know what to say. So I look at you, and I say

Why yes, hot showers with water pressure are miraculous. It's great having cheese as its own food group again. I guess I don't wear a lot of makeup anymore. Khaki capris can be cute, right? Right? A little bit? No? Fine. 

Zambezi Swimming Team

The second full day we were in Livingstone, we went white water rafting on the Zambezi River. This could be the story of how I almost drowned. Or the story of how I swam with crocodiles unaware. Or of how what I considered to be my unwavering courage pretty much failed me in the face of towering waves. This post is kind of a rambling tale of all the above.

Fair warning: this post has so many pictures.

Anyways. So we got a rafting team together that consisted of the four of us BYU students (Adam, Renee, Whitney, and myself), Hannah (a girl from the states who had just graduated from Stanford), and Neil and Sarah (a funny dude from Ireland and his girlfriend). We had all met each other at Jolly Boys, and we were all feeling pretty gung ho about the whole upcoming experience. We'd met this guy from South Africa who was staying in our dorm and who had done the rapids the day prior. He told us to do the hardest rapids when they gave us a choice if we wanted to have fun. I thought "no duh."

So there we were. Sitting in the white water rafting orientation, feeling super brave and hardcore and ready  to take on the world. Little did I know that the Zambezi was about to own us.

Team Malvin ftw!
So happy and naive.
From left to right: Neil, Sarah, Renee, Malvin, Whitney, me, Hannah, and Adam.

We started off a little before Rapid 7. The water was still too high to start at Rapid 1 (which is basically at the foot of Victoria Falls). So we got to Rapid 7, and it was a little bumpy, but we made it through that first rapid just fine. In fact, I thought, "If this is all there is to it, this might even get a little boring."

Look, mom! Easy peasy.

Then we got to Rapid 8, known as "The Midnight Diner."

Malvin said, "You've got three options here: A (which is the easiest--Class I), B (which is medium difficulty--Class III), and C (which is right through the middle, and the most intense--Class V, with a bunch of Class IV rapids following it).

We all said "C" because we are all young, foolhardy adults and saying anything but C would be ridiculous and embarrassing. We started paddling hard and I began to feel a little nervous.

This is what happened (because pictures are worth a thousand words, right?):

Why does this upcoming rapid look so different than the last rapid?
And what does this mean for my future happiness and well-being?

Is this really--this is really happening. Freaking freakity freak.
Paddle, paddle, must keep paddling. Must. Keep. Paddling.

As a point of reference, our raft is 16 feet long.
Was I scared? There are no words.

Maybe we'll make it. Maybe.

That moment where the god of the sea starts laughing at you.

Is this how it really ends?
I love you all.  I'm sorry. 

This was pretty much at the end of the rapids.
I can breathe again! I survived! I'm alive! I'M ALIIIIIIIIVE!!!!
Malvin climbed on top of the raft and flipped it after we were out of the rapids. 

So yes. We flipped on the second rapid. As soon as I saw that huge wave headed for us, I was so scared that I gripped the rope with all the ferocity (but none of the nobility) of a protective mother and I never let go. But it was 100% exhausting trying to hold onto the raft while huge waves crash on top of you for what seems like endless amounts of time and the current is trying to sweep you away and whipping you this way and that and you're gasping for air whenever your head pops out of the water which doesn't seem nearly often enough to survive. The current was so strong and crazy that you couldn't really swim. You were just at their mercy. And the waves. They kept coming, and coming, and coming...and coming...and coming...and so on and so forth.

Whitney, Adam, and Neil got entirely swept away and made it through most of the rapids with just the assistance of their life jackets, bless their hearts. The kayakers went after them, but got to them when the rapids were pretty much done. But all three of them held onto the kayaks and bobbed in the water until we got the raft to them.

The next rapid was a Class VI or VII (pretty much not doable)so all the rafts skipped it. We walked alongside it on the rocks, and my legs were still shaking from the last rapid. I had been honest to goodness scared out of my mind when I was in the water trying to breathe and not get ripped away from the raft. I thought, "I only have to survive 16 more rapids. Holy crap, what have I gotten myself into?" I also distinctly remember thinking that white water rafting was 100x scarier than bungee jumping.

We made it through the next rapid just fine, and then we got to "The Three Angry Sisters" that was followed up by "The Mother."

We flipped again on the first "Angry Sister." There weren't any cameras at the first "Angry Sister." But I got thrown off (and swept away) far enough so that I couldn't make it back to the raft. A kayak got to me so that I could hold on to something to help with keeping my head above water, but all the rafts got swept on without me. It's exhausting being in the rapids even (maybe especially) when you're holding on to something because the water is constantly trying to take you away. My abs and arms were getting super tired, so he took us to a little pocket of water where it was calmer and I could catch my breath.

The kayaker was going to try to paddle across the river where I could get on land and then walk past the other two "Angry Sisters" and the "Mother" and then get back on a raft on the other side of the rapids. He would paddle and I would try to swim and kick. We kept trying, but the current was too strong and we kept getting pushed back.

The kayaker looked at me and said "We can't make it to the other side, and the rafts won't be able to come back here. It's impossible. We're going to have to go to them through the rapids." And I said, "I can't hold on for that long. I can't. I'm too tired already." He said, "You've got to. Whatever you do, don't let go of the kayak." And he started paddling. I thought, "Crap." And I had a pity party for the briefest of moments before we were in the rapids and I didn't think about anything except for holding on to the metal handle on the front of the kayak and breathing whenever my head broke the water. We made it through the other two angry sisters and the Mother. But of course I made it, and now I'm awfully ashamed of saying "I can't" to the kayaker because as a general rule, I try to never say, "I can't" because usually, you can.

Here are a couple pictures of the Angry Sisters and the Mother. There are fewer people because Hannah had gotten picked up by another raft after she had fallen out and I was obviously not there because I was being best buddies with the kayaker. Now, I obviously did not go through the heart of these rapids. I was so disoriented while we were going through the rapids that I have no idea where in the river we were, but I'm assuming that the kayaker took a less crazy pathway.

They be abucklin' down!

Yet another wave. 

Reunited at last post "The Three Angry Sisters" and "The Mother"! Huzzah!

The second time I flipped was scarier than the first. Mostly because I was being so dramatic 
so extremely tired (which was kind of embarrassing because I like to consider myself somewhat fit) and I didn't know if I could make it back to the raft.

We also kind of did a half flip, where we all slid to one side and two people fell out. But we were able to pull them back in right away and did a pretty quick recover, at least compared to our other two mishaps.

Post wave. Pulling Neil and Hannah  back into the boat.

We were the only raft that flipped (and we flipped TWICE), so all the river guides started calling us the Zambezi Swimming Team. Hardy har har. We are slightly suspicious of Malvin, our guide, and that he may or may not have flipped us on purpose for entertainment's sake (and to make a cooler, more exciting group video). Everybody on our boat was a relatively fit young adult. Riddle me this: how could our paddling have sucked that much more than the boat full of grandpas, or the boat that had a couple kids in it, or the boat that had all those middle-aged, huffing women? Gosh, that's just embarrassing. Or maybe we're using Malvin as our scapegoat, because we don't want to admit that we were outdone by little kids and older folk.

So I just went back and reread what I wrote, and goodness,  it sounds like white water rafting was a horrible experience. It wasn't. It was also super fun. Was I scared out of my mind? Yes. Did that somehow (incredibly) also make it somewhat more fun? Of course (and especially more so in hindsight). And holy cow. The adrenaline every time we approached a rapid was ca-razy. One of Adam's friends is a river guide, and he told us that the Zambezi is on a lot of white water rafters' bucket lists. So I'm pretty proud about having done it. White water rafting ftw!

Also, here are a couple more pictures of us where we might actually look like we're having fun.

Oh, another funny story: So after I'd gotten into the boat after the second time that we'd flipped, we were paddling along the river. And Malvin said, "Look, there's a crocodile!"

I started laughing, because hey, I laugh easily in high-stress situations, and I thought he was trying to make a joke (I also always laugh at people's jokes, funny and non-funny).

He said, "No, really! Do you see it?"

And there was this huge problem and the problem was that I did see it.

It was just chilling on the bank of the river, as chill as a crocodile can be.

I thought, I just spent twenty minutes in a river with crocodiles in it?!?!?

Malvin thought it was funny. "Ha ha, but don't you worry. They are vegetarian crocodiles."

And I thought, "Hardy har har, you fool. Do you not know that death by crocodile is legitimately a fear of mine?"

So yup. That happened.

Needless to say, when we got to one of the smaller rapids and Malvin invited us to swim it (and people did, indeed, swim it), I declined. Noooooo thank you.

Victoria Falls: Round 2

Last year, I wanted to go to Victoria Falls because I was worried that I'd never get the chance to see it again. A couple weeks ago, I just saw it for the second time. Even so, it was an entirely different experience. Last year, it had been the end of rainy season, so everything in Livingstone had been green (more or less), and the water thundering off the falls had been overwhelmingly powerful. It was difficult to even see the falls, and I got soaked from the mist just from walking on the trails.

Dry season seems to have hit Zambia even harder than it hit Malawi, and everything was brown brown brown. The water going off the falls was still powerful, but the mist was so diminished that it was possible to see the falls all the way down the gorge. It was beautiful in an entirely different way. We hit the Falls up the first full day that we were in Livingstone. 

We started the day off by going to Victoria Fall Bridge, where we stepped into Zimbabwe, watched people bungee jump, and took tons of pictures of Adam taking that step off the platform to both bungee and do the swing (brave man!). I decided not to do it again, since I'd barely done it the year prior. I definitely empathized with all the nervous bungee jumpers though!

Bungee jumper getting pulled up.

Adam, post bungee jump. Almost to the platform.

Adam on the swing. 

After Adam had bungee jumped and we'd congratulated him and all that jazz, we walked from the Victoria Falls Bridge to the Victoria Falls National Heritage Site. We paid all our fees and saw the falls! It was lovely and we all had a great time taking photos (we decided to have this photo competition), even though I over (and under) exposed way too many of my photos because I forgot to look at the light meter. In some ways, shooting pictures with a DSLR is the most frustrating thing because your pictures have so much potential to be so good but often turn out so awful, mostly due to incompetence. Here's a bunch of pictures I took anyways!

The group of us at Victoria Falls!
Adam, Renee, Whitney, and me!

The beautiful Whitney Anderson.

Vic Falls.

The top of the Falls.
We just chilled out here for a while, with our feet in the water.

Adam washing his face in pure Zambezi.

Renee and I at the top of the falls.

Whitney and I exploring on the rocks that had become exposed at the top of the falls due to falling water levels.

A fisherman. This man had no fear. He walked right up to the edge of the falls. Crazy, I'm telling you, crazy.

So beautiful. 

tree roots and a mini-falls.

double rainbow.

tree in the midst of the mist.

the falls, once again.

While we were just relaxing at the top of the Falls, Renee, Whitney, and I were suddenly surrounded by tons of children on a school trip. We decided to get out of the way so that the kids could have more space and better enjoy Victoria Falls. But the teacher tapped us on the shoulder and asked if we would please be in a photo with them.  We were slightly flattered and said, "Of course," in so many words. Then she said "Quick, children, gather around the tourists!"

We wholeheartedly adopted our role as "the tourists" for the picture and smiled cheesily for the camera while the kids crowded around us and oohed and aahed over our hair. It was a funny moment. Kind of a reverse of the whole tourist trying to take pictures of "the natives."

We went back to Jolly Boys for a bit after Victoria Falls, and then got dinner at Olga's! Olga's is this entire non-profit Italian restaurant that I had eaten at last year while I was in Zambia. I was so excited to eat there again, and of course, I got the lasagna.

Later that night, we chilled in our dorm at Jolly Boys and met our dorm mates. One of them was this super cool guy from South Africa. Apparently, his family has a farming business, but before he inherits the business, his dad told him to go and see the world. So he's worked as a safari guide at a private game reserve (he showed us some of his videos. so sick), on a potato farm in Texas, and now he's a fishing guard at an island in the Seychelles. We also met this super funny guy from Ireland named Neil who now lives in Germany, and his girlfriend, Sarah. We actually went white water rafting with Neil and Sarah the next day. But that's for the next post!

Lilongwe

This is my last night in Malawi! I be aflyin' home on the morrow.

Well, this is going to be a hastily written post, as I've got to enter in tons of data tonight. Ew. But seeing as how I'm in Lilongwe (and have been here on many a weekend), I figured I should at least write a little blurb on it. Lilongwe is the capital of Malawi. To be honest, it wasn't my favorite the first time I was here. But it kind of grows on you after a while, you know? And now I'm going to miss it.

Lilongwe has three different markets. We probably spent the most time at the corner market, which is where they sell all the neat curios. I was royally ripped off on everything I bought in that market the first time I was there, but now that I can barter (and I drive a hard bargain now), the market is tons of fun. The vendors are funny people, and it's so cool to hear their stories and joke around with them. The only time it sucks is when they're begging you to buy something, but you really don't need anything and don't have the money to buy anything.I have bought a plethora of bracelets and postcards for that very reason as they're both pretty cheap. 

Lilongwe has this really nice part of town--it's got a nice shopping complex, different restaurants, and nice hotels. But in just a fifteen minute walk, you get into the grittier side of Lilongwe--Old Town. It's full of street vendors, small shops, and people teeming all over the streets. There's a nice mosque out that direction, but we never went inside. Apparently, you have to come during visiting hours. We went to the free market and holy crap, it's got everything random in the world. Food, tire rims, magazine, ripped DVDs, clothes, fabric, you name it. I tried taking pictures, but people always want you to pay them if you take a picture, and I can't afford that. So I got a couple sneaky photos, but they don't really capture the life of that place too well. I bought some fabric and am getting pants made by a tailor in Old Town for a super good price--a little over $3. I probably got it for so cheap though because Kevin (our driver friend) talked to him for me. They're going to be the greatest. Anyways, Old Town is more fun ( than the nicer part of town) to visit during the day, but kind of dangerous at night, especially if you're a rich-looking azungu. 

We've always stayed at either Mabuya Backpackers or Korea Garden Lodge when we spend time here. Mabuya's atmosphere is a lot more fun, but Korea Garden Lodge is a little nicer. Mabuya has these delicious wraps made with chapati bread (so it's definitely not L&T, but whatever), but KGL has got bulgogi (definitely not half as good as my mom's, but it's the best beef I've had in Africa). You win some, you lose some. It's all good. I was here for a week while I was prepping stuff for the structured interviewing part of my project, and it was kind of nice. There's definitely more to do than at SAFI (which is out in the middle of nowhere, Africa). 

 As far as restaurants go, Papaya has good, cheap, kinda healthy food. Pizza Inn has more expensive food, but it's good. Good is relative. The first I ate at Pizza Inn (about 2 weeks post-America), I thought the pizza was awful. Now it's been three months, and I think the pizza is delicious. And if you want to splurge, oh baby. Go to India Palace. I'm not sure anymore if it's actually legit delicious Indian food, or if I just think so because any kind of spice is a party in your mouth here. Either way, I love it, and we're going there tonight to commemorate our last night here. I haven't eaten at any other restaurants here. Usually I buy bread and such at the grocery store, or I get a wrap from Mabuya (every time) or bulgogi at KGL.   

In keeping with my haste, here are a bunch of randomly assorted photos from Lilongwe (and a couple not from Lilongwe). 

The rasta artists at the curio corner market.

 I bought earrings and bracelets from these guys the first time I went to the market.
The reason they're so happy is because I paid them twice what I should have.

Part of the nice shopping center in the nice part of Lilongwe.

Spar is also part of the shopping center area of Lilongwe.
It's also where we usually got our groceries (along with Shoprite and People's Cash & Carry).

Basket stand at the free market.
This is part of the market that sells everything. It's past the mosque.

Fish! So much fish. 

Malawian who irons clothes for a living in the Free Market.
He told me marrying a Malawian would be a good thing for me and then offered to be my boyfriend.

Bridges by the street market (between the curio market and the free market)
They're homemade and kind of precarious. I was kind of nervous walking on it.

This is a Bau gameboard, a traditional Malawian game. Renee knows how to play really well. I don't.
I think we were actually using the board to play mancala. 

Driving in the back of the truck.
This is actually on the way to BFI trainings in Kasungu.
But we rode in the back of the truck to Lilongwe a couple times (about 2 hours).

Free market in Lilongwe.

Chickens for sale in the Free Market.

The mosque in Old Town.

The market in between the curio market and the free market. 

Once again, the market in between the curio market and the free market.

It'll be sad to leave Malawi (and Lilongwe), but I am so excited to see my friends and family again! And I'm excited (and kind of terrified) for this last year of college. It'll be an adventure in and of itself--I can feel it already. Welp, we're about to leave to eat our Last Supper, so I must go. Hasta luego!