Sarah Goes to Moz

It was quite a long journey (~26 hours) but we finally made it to Mozambique. Some great things have happened over the past few days, so instead of giving you a play by play of the journey over here, I’ll highlight some moments. 

Baggage Claim in Philadelphia

Via the “Moz 25 facebook group” I learned who would be landing about the same time I did in Philly for Staging. Once I got to baggage claim, I group messaged those peeps letting them know where I was. One person responded that he was on his way to baggage claim too: His name is Zachary and he has long hair (per fb). I was really confused when, moments later, a very tall man with next to no hair approached me, asked if I was with Peace Corps, and introduced himself as Zack. Turns out, same Zack, different hair. 

It’s surprisingly easy to pick out PCVs in the Baggage Claim area: we are all wearing shoes that belong in Colorado, hiking backbacks, and guaranteed to have two giant suitcases along with the packs. Our lives stuffed into 100#, in whichever way we could. 

One dude there had my exact same REI 45L pack (which I picked out solely because it was green and on sale), and I yelled to him across the room asking if he was Peace Corps even though I already knew the answer. 

I shared a cab with a girl named Kirsten and it was nice to know that we were feeling about the same mix of excitement, anxiety and uncertainty. 

There were 5 of us in total that met at the airport that day, and it was the first time I had felt like I was with “my people”. I liked it. The faces were familiar even though I had never seen these people before. 

First Session in Training

The first session in training we learned a lot about Peace Corps history and current statistics. 

The idea of the Peace Corps was first spoken of by John F. Kennedy on October 14th, 1960 during a late-night campaign speech at the University of Michigan. On March 1st, Kennedy signed the Executive Order and the Peace Corps became an official thing. That’s less than 5 months since the idea of it was ever spoken. Today, it takes years and years and years to make any new idea a thing, and this happened in less than 5 months. That’s pretty freakin’ special. The Peace Corps was formally authorized by congress that same year in September and within just 2 years over 7,000 PCVs were serving in 44 countries.

I also learned that this year, 2015, Peace Corps received over 20,000 applications and accepted about 3,000 of those. Whoa. There are many people who want to be in my shoes but aren’t, because Peace Corps saw something in me specifically. That’s a great feeling. 

We “Get It”

I’m not exactly sure when this realization happened, but I’m really glad it did. For the first time since March when I accepted my invitation, I am amongst a whole bunch of people who know what I’m doing and where I’m going, and do not have the inclination to ask “why”. While everyone surely has their own reason for wanting to serve in Peace Corps, the "why" question doesn’t get asked. We are with “our people” now—people who are willing to put their lives on hold for two years in order to do good on another continent. Yes, it’s true that I have a lot to learn about the 62 other people that are in this hotel with me right now, getting some rest before our second round of shots tomorrow morning, but I can already relate to them on a very real level. We all have something in common that immediately connected us, and that thing will stay true for the rest of our lives. I’m extremely thankful for that.

Airplane Movies

The flight from JFK to Johannesburg was 14 hours. I slept for the first four (typical). Then I watched Pitch Perfect 2 (hilarious albeit cheesy movie—highly recommend!). I was scrolling through the list of other movie options and found Birdman and American Sniper. Both are movies I’ve heard great things about and wanted to watch. But I was sleepy too. In debating whether or not to watch or to sleep, I thought to myself “I can just sleep now and watch them on the return flight”…

Wrong.

The return flight isn’t for over TWO YEARS. There will be other “New Releases” out by then.

The return flight will not take place for over TWO YEARS.

The return flight is NOT BOOKED YET. 

Whoa. How’s that for a change of mindset? I’ve been saying, “I’ll be in Mozambique serving in Peace Corps for 27 months” over and over and over again since March. But that little movie situation on the airplane made it real. In a good way, but also a “whoa” way. This is real.

PS: I didn’t watch the movies. I slept. You shouldn’t be surprised.

Anxieties and Aspirations

One of the activities we did during staging was getting into groups and drawing pictures that represent some of the groups’ points of worry and hopes for success throughout service. There were lots of common ones. Below are lists of the things that showed up multiple times, and my additions to the activity are highlighted in purple.

Anxieties:

• Getting sick (illustrated by green vomit spewing out of sad stick figures)
• Disease (illustrated by mosquito)
• Lonilness (illustrated by sad stick figure by itself)
• Dihhrea (illustrated by a toilet)
• Language Barrier (illustrated by a stick figure with a word bubble with question marks)
• Shots/Mediciation (illustrated by an Rx bottle)
• Being a bad teacher (illustrated by a confused stick figure)
• Robbery (illustrated by a stick figure with a hood)
• Living with a host family (Illustrated by a house)

Aspirations

• Not dying (illustrated by a dead stick figure with a circle/slash through it)
• Adopting a puppy (illustrated by a cartoon puppy) note: Zack wants to adopt chickens and Ariana wants to adopt cats
• Distributing family portraits to families (illustrated by a stick figure family portrait)
• Adventure (illustrated by mountains)
• Being a good teacher (illustrated by a not-confused stick figure)
• Making new friends (illustrated by lots of stick figures)
• Good weather (illustrated by sunshine)
• Starting up “mathlete”-esque competitions for students (illustrated by mathematical operations symbols)
• Finishing the Mozambican Marathon (illustrated by a Finish Line)
• Beach/Ocean/Scuba Diving (illustrated by a scuba diver)

I agree with everything on those lists (and you can probably guess that the aspirations I added are unique to me). When you’re in a room with over 30 other people who have similar worries and similar hopes, your worries seem more bearable and your hopes seem actually possible. That session was probably the most beneficial for me because it made me realize that these near-strangers, who I know now as  “my people” and who will become some of my best friends and eventually my family, are on my team. And I’m on theirs. And I feel really good about that.

My Life in Luggage

Packing was way harder than I thought and I brought way too many clothes. Like, I’m pretty sure I packed at least double what the packing list says. Why? Because I like options. And if you know me, you know that I change my clothes at least twice before I leave the house—pretty much every time I leave the house. And yes, I wear workout gear in public a lot. And still. Gotta have options. There were a lot of things I needed to pack too. I would guess in terms of weight, it’s about 55% clothes 45% non-clothes. Some notable non-clothes things I brought and know that I will use a whole bunch:

1. A frying pan. Pretty much every current PCV over there said to bring one. I barely use a frying pan at home, but I imagine that’s going to change really quickly. The things I currently know how to cook via a frying pan: eggs; grilled cheese; broccoli. I know they don’t have cheese, so at least one of those things will be impossible. Hopefully my host mother can teach me a thing or two, or else broccoli eggs (egoli? breggs?) it will be (assuming I can access either of those things). Good thing I already know peanut butter is easily accessible, eh?
2. A tent. Tent sleeping isn’t fun to me. You sleep on the floor. And you don’t have air/heat or even breeze really. And there isn’t much room for anything besides 1.5 humans (and I usually share a tent with Dave, so comfortable isn’t exactly the word I would use to describe that situation). But one volunteer said that she pitches her tent [insert frat joke here] in her front hard to get stay cool. Where I come from, a tent is the hot option, and sleeping inside with air conditioning is the cool option—but we ain’t in Dallas anymore. Her house doesn’t have much breeze so she sleeps in her tent to escape the heat of the house. When I read her Facebook massage saying that, I said, “mom, we gotta go get a tent”. And we did. I will likely use my yoga mat as a mattress on those hottest nights, so thank you Lululemon, in advance. A tent as the cool option and my yoga mat as the most comfortable sleeping option…life is about to be very, very different. I’m weirdly excited about opposite-of-comfy sleeping situation.
3. The biggest container of parmesan cheese you’ve ever seen. And here’s a secret: I don’t even like parmesan cheese. Current PCVs say to bring it whether you like it or not because you will not only start to love it, you will start to need it. Food there is bland and this will be the closest thing to “normal food” I’ll have for the next two years. Thank you, Steven, for the great gift. (LOL! In what world does parmesan cheese=great gift?!).
4. Peanut butter and Nutella. Do I really need to explain myself? Didn’t think so. #nom
5. Knives. When I told Lauren that current PVCs recommend I bring really sharp knives, her response was (and I quote): “OMG that’s sooooooo scary!!! Are you enrolled in self-defense classes?!”. No Lauren, I mean for cooking. Hahahahaha. Apparently, you can’t get nice knives there. That’s all. I won’t need to stab a perpetrator to survive (I hope). This need for a knives makes me realize I will be cutting up food stuffs to make meals. I hate doing that. Like seriously, homemade salads are the bane of my existence because cutting veggies is the worst task ever. Looks like I’ll either be eating potatoes like apples, or I’ll have to suck it up and use the knives. And if you’re a Mozambican reading this—don’t even think about messing with me. One of the knives is huge and I’m not afraid to use it.  #kiddingkindof

Oh, and shoes: Brooks running shoes, Vibrams (brand new, because I wouldn’t make any new friends with my old stinky ones), Tevas (aka hiking sandals), Birkenstocks (aka teaching sandals); brown flats; black flats; flip flops. 7 pairs of shoes. For 27 months. That’s less shoes than I bring on a vacation to the beach. In this sense, I won packing (but probably backed 3 more pairs of shoes than most other volunteers). 

Acquiring the things I need and packing them was a huge task, given my inability to make decisions, my desire to procrastinate, and the questions I have that just simply cannot be answered until I get there. I finished packing around 9pm on Sunday, the night before I left for Staging. We tried weighing the bags before we got to the airport but my mom’s scale changes what it says based on how you distribute the weight in your feet, so the thing was as good as worthless. She leaned a certain way (holding the bags) and we thought we were in the clear—until we got to the airport.

Bag #1: 54lbs. Well, shit. That was the lighter of the two and I thought for sure it was under weight. In a panic I open the bag and start taking heavy things out. I give my mom back about 50 packs of chocolate vegan Advocare protein powder and lots of nail polish and weigh again. 49.5. (Don’t worry I still have some protein powder so I won’t starve). Note: the nail polish was for future kiddos, not my high maintenance girly self (ha!). 

Bag #1: 57lbs. DOUBLE SHIT. Shit the size of Lucy’s shit. I don’t have 7 lbs to spare. Like, I need everything in this bag. My mom tried to sweet talk the lady at the counter but 7 pounds is 6 too many to be overlooked. Shit shit shit shit shit. I gave mom two bottles of shampoo, two bottles of conditioner, two containers of face wash and two tubes of toothpaste. Weigh again: 53 lbs. Better but still need more. I shove some shoes in my carry on. 51.5 lbs. One bar of soap. 51 lbs.  “Good enough” says the lady. Thank. Goodness. 

[Please imagine my mom and I at the airport. My mom came prepared with a giant trash bag in case this exact scenario happened. Mom standing there holding a Glad Stall and Sturdy and me dumping my gateways to cleanliness and sustenance in it like I’m willing to be dirty and hungry forever. We were also in everyone’s way so people were saying excuse me and stepping over my piles of stuff and I was cursing them under my breath. I will look back on this in about 2 months and think it was hilarious but right now thinking about it still stresses me out. That betch should have let me on the plane with 11 extra lbs.]

Guys, I overpacked by 11lbs. ELEVEN. Not like, four. I over packed by double digits. That’s hilariously Sarah. My “I literally need everything that’s in these bags” very quickly turned into “get this shit outta here, I gotta get on the plane!”. And now, I firmly believe that I have everything I need. 25 pairs of underwear and 8 sticks of deodorant and everything else is moot. Am I right? (pretend to agree, I leave for the airport in approximately 9 hours from right now so there’s no going back). 

Finally, after all that nonsense and checking and rechecking and triple checking that I have all the things, I realized yesterday that I forgot something pretty freakin’ cruicial: hair ties. I. Forgot. Hair ties. Are you kidding me?! I am an athlete. Athletes don’t workout with their hair down. Shit.

Thank gosh there is a target next to our hotel so I just trotted my little booty over there and grabbed some. 

Now I’m ready. Here I go. In 9 hours I will leave for the JFK airport and 5 hours after that I will board a plane whose return flight doesn’t happen for 27 months. And I will have everything I need, and likely many things that I don’t. 

PS: Here is my luggage situation. Two 50b bags and that hiking backpack weights about 25. 125# for two years. Is that a lot or a little?

Adios, Dallas, It's Been Real. #hashtag

Let me start by saying this post does not specifically have to do with my future Peace Corps experience, but everything to do with my journey to get there. 

On Saturday morning, I left Dallas. 

Driving away, it felt like no big deal. The idea that I may not ever live in Dallas again doesn’t seem real. When, I think of “home”, I think of Dallas. It has been my home for four very formative years. I’ve learned a lot and I have grown a lot and I have created a lot of memories that I won’t soon—or ever—forget. 

Four favorite Dallas memories in no particular order

1. Women's US National Team vs. New Zealand at Pizza Hut Park (before Toyota took over). This seems so cliche because I like totally loooove the USWNT, but it was more than just soccer. Jason (my first Dallas boyfriend but definitely not my last harharhar) and I decided to sit in the GA section near the Budweiser Beer Garden. It was a hilarious shit show. We were standing in the front row behind the goal next to like five giant foreign dudes who were HAMMERED and yelling expletives at the keeper. They would yell something completely inappropriate and then crack up laughing at their disgustingness. It. Was. Awesome. Let's not mention that the game winning goal by Alex Morgan was scored during stoppage time any EVERYONE WENT NUTS. We definitely went to the Londoner and made friends with a bunch of Red Bull employees after the game. Winning x3: drunk giants; game winner; new [hyper] friends.

Front row seats with drunks. I approve. 

2. My 27th Birthday. I know, seems typical. But this birthday was AWESOME. On my actual birthday (Earth Day), United Way hosted a staff service project. Lots of employees spent the afternoon cleaning and gardening a safe house for victims of domestic abuse. I was in a group that wrote encouraging Mother's Day cards to the residents and put together care packages. It reminded me how wonderful it is to work for a mission-oriented non-profit. That evening, Dave took me out to Reunion Tower for a beautiful dinner (even though the secret peanuts in his dish almost killed him) #oops #stilllovepeanuts. If that was the end of the story, it would have been a wonderful birthday. But here's why it made the list: Dave rented a 10-person boat on Lake Lewisville the following Saturday. My good friends Liz and Austin came in from Houston and me + 9 others packed the boat with booze and enthusiasm and went out to sea! I, of course, had a sash and a crown and I acted like the princess I was born to be. And let me tell you: I make a damn good princess.

The creator of the party. #thanksdave

Typical: Him composed; me cracking up

3. Girl's nights with the Bachelor/Bachelorette/Bachelor in Paradise. I did this with Lauren and Rachel separately through my four years, and then finally we made it through this past season of Bachelor in Paradise the three of us, without missing a week. I pretty much never cooked anything good to eat during these shows, but I sure as hell did enjoy some wonderful food. Lauren and Rachel are great cooks and I always brought veggie chips and sparkling Izze, like a champ. #notwifematerial The best part was just catching up on a weekly basis: talking about work, clothes, boys; girls we hate because they're pretty and skinny; girls we hate because they're ugly and fat; and girls we hate for no reason. Sometimes, we talked about the things we love but bitching about the things we hate is way more fun.

Check. Out. That. Spread. #nom

4. The day I got Lucy. I dragged Ryan with me to drive 1.5 hours out past Fort Worth to meet "Lexi", a dane picked out for me by the Great Dane Rescue of North Texas as a good match for my lifestyle and what I was looking for in a dog. I had already met one dane, Ruckus, and he was cute and nice but not for me (how many times have you said that to a dude after a first date?! Am I right?). So I passed on Ruckus and was excited but skeptical to meet Lexi. Would she be my dog? Well, after a long drive on a Sunday morning, plus a stop at Target to get a leash--oops I forgot that--and cash--oops forgot that too, we pulled up to Lexi's foster home. She was out back and I looked at her and I looked at Ryan and he could tell by my eyes that this is my dog. I then learned that she was a fellow vegan and that sealed the deal: we were meant to be. Before we got home we ditched the name Lexi, replaced it with Lucy, gave her lots of pets and reassurance using a voice fit for speaking to an infant, and we were in love. I truly believe it was mutual. Minus the fact that she didn't poop for three days and then let it all out on the only rug in my cement-floored apartment. (I forgive you Lucy, but let's not bring it up again. #shitloadofshit) Ever since I brought her home, Lucy and I have made more joyful memories than any human besides for my mom and my cousin Kate. She's my best friend and the most snuggly and loyal animal I have ever loved. 

Some of the first Lucy/Sarah outings

My going away party was incredible. 

Over 20 of my friends came to send me off with love and joy. The most special part was that they all whole-heartedly believe in me. They believe that I can do this. I can sell everything I own, quit my job, and get on an 18 hour flight to a foreign country that won’t return for 27 months. At times, I’m not sure I can do it. But their kind words and strong pride in this next chapter keeps me confident. 

I can’t possibly write the way I feel about every person that contributed to my Dallas experience, or else this post would be forever long and nobody would read it. So I’m going to take the most special friends that I met in Dallas and describe them with a “My friend that…” phrase.

Laura: My friend that you travel through multiple chapters of life with. #sticktogether

Rachel: My friend that listens intently and never passes judgement. #goodbadugly

Lauren: My friend that never lets you go hungry. #veganbananabread

Roneshia: My friend that calls you a “hot mess—mostly in a good way”. #wecantberoommates

Tracey: My friend that makes any piece of clothing look trendy. #tightsandboots

Elise: My friend that just loves everything. #todayisagreatday

Caitlin: My friend that is part mentor and part girly girlfriend. #workplayrepeat

Andrew C.: My friend who works hard but plays way harder. #beerpong

Noemi: My friend that dances to her own rhythm, in the best way. #om

Landon: My friend that sees no limits to success--yours or theirs. #surewhynot

Lyssa: My friend that believes in the journey, not the final destination. #dowhatyoulove

Dafnee: My friend that is beautifully unique. #cantstopwontstop

Andrew W: My friend that spends all his free time outside doing activities. #dogsandbikes

Ashley: My friend that appears to be over-the-top compassionate about dogs...unless you're a dog person. #somepeoplejustdontunderstand

Ryan: My friend who you can sit with and talk a lot or not at all, and either way is wonderful. #anythinggoes

Dave: My friend who you can talk about poop with and both think it’s equal parts disgusting and hilarious. #shart

Liz: My friend that absolutely 100% understands my desire to see the world. #wanderlust

Talia: My friend that used to be your boss and you’re so glad she’s not anymore so you can actually be friends. #finallyfbfriends

Nailah: My friend that is always peppy and cheerful. #youcandoit

Brittany H.: My friend that inspires me to get off my ass and live my dreams instead of just talking about them. #peacecorpslesotho

Really, there is so much more to each friendship than what I listed above. But even with just a small statement of each consider this: If you had one friend who represented each of the individual snippets of qualities I listed above, you would be a very lucky person. 

I am a very lucky person. 

Thanks, Dallas, for all these special people (+ dog) and the beauty they have brought into my world.

Going Away Party Photos

Fun tidbits with Sarah commentary. Enjoy.

Over the past few weeks I’ve been gaining tidbits about what's to come.  A small glimpse into PCV life. I've picked out a few random and odd things to write about based on what current Moz PCVs have said. This is going to be a fun and sassy post, so enjoy.

“There is a huge lack of trashy reality TV over here.”

Oh gosh. I may not survive. Screw running water, reliable electricity, JIF, and wifi. I can deal with that (maybe?). Without ANTM, The Bachelor, Keeping up with the K’s, or Say Yes to the Dress. I. Don’t. Know. If. I’ll. Make. It.

Now…how to substitute? Books? Like reading? Who does that? (Okay actually I do, but that’s beside the point). Nothing beats sitting down to watch too-skinny girls ugly cry about #firstworldproblems after a long day’s work changing the world. Am I right?

Recently I’ve been getting together on a weekly basis with my friends Rachel and Lauren to watch The Bachelor in Paradise. We (okay fine they) bring fancy snacks and we drink sparkling water and care way too much about fake love. And it is awesome. I knew I was definitely going to miss Lauren and Rachel, but it just recently dawned on me that I will seriously miss the trash too. Shucks!

“The floss Peace Corps gives us kind of sucks.”

After years of hearing dentists say, “flossing is really important”…”you need to start flossing like right away”…”make flossing a habit”…”flossing is necessary for healthy gums”…etc., I finally obliged. For the past 6 months I’m proud to say I’ve flossed basically every day. And I soon learned that not all dental floss is created equal. Let me be clearer: every type of dental floss sucks and hurts and makes my teeth bleed except for Oral B. I was already planning on bringing a two year supply of tampons, and now it looks like I’ll be bringing a two-year supply of Oral B Dental Floss as well.

I should be impressed that Peace Corps even gives us dental floss at all, but instead I'm pissed that it's the shitty make-your-gums-bleed kind. Damnit.

“They do sell rope here, but it’s probably not the best for jumping”.

So, here’s what I gather from that statement: Rope is needed there by people enough that they sell it. But people use it for reasons other than exercise. The only other needs for rope I have witnessed in my recent life are:

Climbing up mountains (I don’t do it but some of my friends that are cooler than I am do).

Securing the trunk of a car because furniture is sticking out the back of it. (Shout out to the Craigslist shoppers who took all of my furniture off my hands!)

Tying a hammock to a tree. And sleeping in it. Because sometimes people with money like to pretend they don’t have money so they go camping and it’s “fun”.

A rope swing found alongside some river in Austin, TX. A high school aged boy found it and was swinging on it and flinging himself in the water. He was wearing jeans and seemed quite reckless.

So, of the four uses of rope I just listed, I can’t imagine that any of them are reasons for selling rope in Mozambique. So then, what is it used for? I want to know, but I can’t until I get there so I’m letting my imagination run wild.

Hopefully people create intricate pulley systems on the regular in order to move important things to high places. I would be down with that.

Oh. And while I'm on the topic: Double Dutch. I’m going to make that a thing, guaranteed.

“You do NOT want to be stuck on a chapa in the middle of nowhere with diarrhea.”

Excuse me? What is a chapa? Why would I be stuck there? And in the case that this unfortunate circumstance does happen, WHAT SHOULD I DO?!

The hilariously unfortunate thing about this statement is that it hits close to home. My advice on this subject to somebody else would read: “You do NOT want to be almost climbing onto an elephant and realize a bowel explosion is in your near future”. Yup that’s a thing that happened to me in real life. Luckily I found a makeshift bathroom and nothing embarrassing happened...that time. Based on other PCV comments about Imodium, etc. I think this will continue to be a concern while in Africa.

Social scrutiny by bubble guts isn’t ideal. But it appears that the threat will be real.

In response to "How easily accessible is peanut butter"? (That was literally the first question I posted):

"Some PCVs make their own".

They also said that jars of it are available in some cities, which is promising--I won't starve. But making your own peanut butter...hmmm...when I read that I immediately thought about the type of person that would make their own peanut butter here in the states; in my mind, here's what that looks like:

Doesn't own a car. Bikes everywhere.

Makes their own clothes. Some people think they are trying too hard to look like they aren't trying, but actually they just really aren't trying.

Perhaps dread locks....Okay fine, for sure dread locks.

Hiking sandals. The type that every.single.person in Colorado wears but it looks funny in Dallas.

They make their own hummus, too. Duh.

Scoffs at any music on the radio. "Pop" music is repulsive.

Practices yoga, but on their own, not in a trendy class taken over by matchy-matchy Lululemon gear.

So, I'm not this person. And I don't think every PVC is or will turn into this person. But what happens if I come back in two years--after making my own peanut butter in order to not completely starve--and I am like this? There is true potential for this and I can get totally get on board.

Minus the sewing part. No way. And I will always love the Backstreet Boys #forever.

In response to whether or not there are opportunities to buy clothes in Mozambique:

“No underwear!!!!!”

Okay then. I appreciate the straight to the point answer. Now I know to pack a gazillion pairs of underwear and prepare my mother to send me a gazillion more over the next couple of years. Aerie size M undies with no animals on the butt or crotch because honestly who buys those? (If you do I’m totally judging and probably stop doing that because you’re a woman and women should wear sexy underwear not cartoon underwear thanks bye).

But let’s think about this for a second: You cannot buy underwear in Mozambique. Like a person can’t. So what do people do there? Not wear underwear? I mean, ok. Maybe if I wasn’t raised being taught the importance of underwear, I’d be cool with it. But that’s just not true. And now I’m just hoping that I unthink this fact. Mozambicans don’t wear underwear. Like, I could be making a false inference based on that question/answer and I really hope that I am. But what if I’m not…

Every person I meet I’m going to be like “is that person free-balling? But seriously. Are they?”…”Sarah, don’t do additional research with your eyes to find out. That’s awkward.”

…

“…I’m pretty sure that person isn’t wearing underwear. Now I’m uncomfortable”.

-OR-

“Hey, I think that person is wearing underwear! WOOHOO!” but then what happens if I just blurt out “WHERE DID YOU GET THOSE UNDERWEAR IF YOU CAN’T BUY THEM HERE!?” and then that person’s all like…uhhh we were just talking about my personal garden and the great sweet potato that I grew why are you a weirdo?

Right. Sweet Potatoes.

Pretty much, life is going to be different in a way that brings out how hilariously awkward I am. Mozambique here I come. *thumbs up*