in which i dance and squeal

Since this blog is occasionally found by people googling things like "buzz lightyear miranova" and "scandanavia bus lines kenya" (I wrote about Scandanavia and Kenya both, not all in one post but in one month worth of archives last summer when I was in Tanzania) and I live in a huge and sometimes somewhat scary city in which I do not want to be stalked, I am a little bit careful about what I say about who and where I am. Really should change my user name, but I'm over it. Maybe later. Anyway, I stopped using the name of the place where I'm working this summer in Liberia. (Sorry, Aubs, I'll email you with the details if you'd like.) So I can't tell you exactly what has transpired, but I will shorten it to say that I found out tonight that I may have worked out a way with a certain organization very close to my heart to be able to afford this Liberia trip. I'm getting some money from the school, but just not enough. Rebuilding countries attract NGOs like flies to rotting meat (yick, meat) and the prices get out of hand. Even Rwanda, 12 years today from the start of the genocide, still has an artificially high housing market, especially in Kigali. You know that no one but NGO and UN workers are paying $1200 for houses in Kigali.

The deal is, it looks like, that I will be working under and for the organization close to my heart, reporting to their West Africa team (although I shall miss the East and Southern Africa people), in partnership with the Liberian organization (ie. also under and for them). If I can clear that with everyone involved, namely the Liberian organization people. If that makes any sense at all without names.

The excitement of all of this (being able to go, essentially), has me skipping and dancing. I have invented several previously unknown dances tonight. I cannot vouch for their stylistic quality, but I was out walking with some friends after drinks with our littlest class from last year and every few blocks I would start jiving to my own little beat of "I'm going to Liberia without entrenching myself even more in debt and working for my favorite organization in the process" dance. It was as scary as it sounds.

Instant message conversation with a friend afterwards, in which I sound rather too much like Bridget Jones:

"love me.
love life.
love africa.
love everything."

It's a nice way to start a weekend. If only I knew what to put in the tenative budget. Airfare - check. Visa - check. Housing? How much is housing?

love life.