I was recently sitting on an unnecessarily long bus ride when I had a little moment of self reflection and saw how much I've changed in a year. Before Joining Peace Corps my personal bubble was really really important to me. Don't get me wrong I still don't really enjoy being touched (Sydney), but I can apparently tolerate it now. To paint the picture of this story let me start from the beginning.
5:00 AM - My alarm goes off and I make sure all of my belongings are in check for ~week away from site. It's still dark outside and relatively silent.
5:40 AM - I leave my house to get to the village stand at 6 in case the bus shows up early. I make my way through the cashew farms and overgrown grasses that are wet from a recent rain. Good thing I wore a flannel over my t-shirt because I'm not used to this morning cold. It's a 20 minute walk through some "forest" areas until I get into the village, and then to the stand. The bus doesn't arrive early so I wait for about 30 minutes alone while the few people moving around in the village greet me.
6:30 AM - I get on my bus and mistakenly take one of the smaller seats so my knees are shoved against hard wood, but it's only 100 miles so I can deal right? Haha. The road from my village to Mtwara is not exactly a good road. The rainy season has washed away parts of the road and it's now incredibly uneven. Throughout the first hour of my ride we stop at every nearby village to pack people onto this bus that should hold maybe 50 people (I'm garbage at estimations, but I'm trying). Every stop you more people cram in and there is always at least 4 people touching you at one moment. It gets to the point where you think more people can't possibly cram in, but oh are you wrong. There are laps that havent been utilized!
About 4 or 5 hours into my trip my legs are dead. The mom standing next to me is holding a chicken that continues to breath into my ear, and stare me down whenever I turn my head. Asshole. Chickens are honestly the worst, but that's an entirely different topic to discuss. Another hour in and I am convinced my legs will never move again. I've had so many butts in my face/on my arms/smothering my head that I think I should be paying more for this trip.
By this time the sun is in full shine and it's heating up, but nothing I haven't experience before. I don't even need to take my flannel off because for awhile I think I'm acclimated completely to the Mtwara heat. Then it rains. The windows are all closed because god forbid this drizzle of rain gets someone wet. The moisture and sun mixture does wonders for the ~80 people on this little bus and we heat up real fast. I regret the flannel. People are resting their arms literally on my head and the damn chicken is still touching my ear. Alas, the girl standing behind me gets sick. She pukes into bad (very elegantly I might say) and the potential nightmare is over. Until she decides to hold the bad directly on my right shoulder. Chicken on the left, puke bag on the right, booties in the face. This trip has to be close to ending though because it's been 6 hours. HA.
The bumping and people falling onto me continues for another 2.5 hours. At this point I've listened to so much Beyoncé that I am feeling immortal.
3 PM - I stumble off the bus with bruised knees and potential vomit on my shoulder. Grab some fresh juice from a kid selling it at the stand, get myself some food finally, and make my way to the training center.
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