The Hog Queen.

A week ago today, I met Kellan at the airport and hopped a Raleigh bound flight on account of some unfinished business with the Raleigh DMV. [Operation Becoming a Dickens: Take 83648202947573akjdffa;kjldfda;lkjfdakj;l. I would have been indignant and possibly slightly dangerous … [Read more...]

Honey, I Lost the Car.

I made it to Portland! Christy and I stayed up until four AM my time excitedly chatting away, and BLISS. Sitting on her green couch stumbling over our words as they poured out was a relaxing, calming elixir and I wanted to bottle up the feeling and store it forever. Would … [Read more...]

Trollops Are People Too.

You would have understood if you’d only been there-I just know you would’ve. Call it a momentary lapse in judgment.  Blame the relentless heat-Dakar does, after all, feel very much like an oven as of late. Or maybe the stress of leaving this country forever in just seventeen … [Read more...]

Fragments of My Imagination

There are just twenty-four days left in Dakar. My frazzled nerves and scattered mind have made it impossible to tell you just one cohesive story. Brace yourselves. It started with the laundry. I did laundry in the bathtub yesterday, and the murky, rather sinister charcoal color … [Read more...]

Beneath the Mango Tree. [Drop the Chimichanga.]

It all started yesterday, under the mango tree. Jack Johnson likes to sing about sitting under mango trees, but the cynic in me wonders if he’s ever actually done it. However, this story is not about Jack Johnson. This story, I’m sorry to say, is about my derrière. … [Read more...]

Help Me, Emily Post!

Early on in Dakar, I made it clear to my Senegalese friends that no subject was off limits. An innocent victim of cultural ignorance and sheer naiveté, I hadn’t the foggiest idea that over the next two years, I would spend countless hours fielding invasive, intensely personal … [Read more...]