Spy on The Rock

Yesterday I brought women's skirts to a man named Seven on the docks of Alcatraz. Five minutes after meeting, all plans to seduce him were spoiled when he shoved a touch screen gadget slideshow of Milo in my face.
"So...you have a kid?"
"Yes, 5 months old. His name is Milo."
The pictures were cute, as most 5 month old baby pictures are. As he rambled on about Milo's gurgling and smiling skills, I remembered that Milo is a brand name of hot chocolate in Zambia.
Ahh, Zambia. Im 3 weeks into a month long holiday in the States. Peace Corps sends you home for this holiday if you extend your service for a 3rd year.
It has been a busy 3 weeks. It seems as if the efficiency of technological systems distracts everyone from interaction with others and, more frightening, with themselves. Everything is presented with flair and meant to provoke a certain something within me but Im not given the choice or time for the reaction. I thought this was a free country?
Its that feeling in a dream. When things are happening around you. Maybe everyone is running a race. And you want to run. And you remember how to run. But you look down and find your feet are cement blocks.
So i stood with Seven on the docks. His dad is a Peace Corps Volunteer and sent me with a present to bring to Seven. We walked up the gates and Seven flashed his employee badge, saying "This is my cousin Fresh. She is with me." The gate keeper let us through as I giggled because his dad had apparently passed along my nickname, not my given name, but unsurprisingly a man named Seven didnt ask questions.
I had many questions for him though. For instance, how does one become a spy on The Rock?
But of course you cant just come out and directly ask a spy this because they will no doubt deny it.
"So what is your job here on Alcatraz?"
"I maintain the electronics. Mostly the headphones used for the audio tour."
Sure you do. And I live in Timbuktu.
"Would you like to take the audio tour?"
"Uh, duh."
He brought me a set of nicely maintained electronics and disappeared to his lair while I was left to wander the cell blocks solo. Normally, if I had to suggest tips on how to best walk through a deserted prison alone, I would place an importance on opening all senses and walking in a Pink Panther meets Tai Chi crouch. Because you just never know.
But when one is strapped into headphones, sealing off a most useful sense when walking through a deserted prison alone, one should spin with the energy of a Tourettes ADHD teenager in ballet class. Because you just never know.
The tour was educational and not as boring as a PBS special because one of the narrators, a former inmate, was down on the lower level signing books for all the meaningless tourists.
I found Seven in his lair, a former guardsmen office, and we got to talking about his dad and the village experience.
Why does everyone want to talk about the same thing?
The physical challenges. No running water. No electricity. Poor transportation. The bugs! The illnesses!
Because these things are security. To try and survive in a place where they are not assured seems ludicrous, preposterous!
When I say that actually you get over these physical challenges within the first 6 months, people look at me as if Im lying or Im a hero.
During my 2nd week back in AmericaLand I was in the parking lot with my sister at the high school she works at. She pointed at a Hummer and said that a 16 year old was given the car for her birthday. Other people in the conversation talked about how that much money could have been used for "better" purposes. I was stuck trying to comprehend the fact that a person so young could be in charge of such a responsibility.
Your lying. Your a hero......


I've been back in Zambia for a week now. I met Seven's dad on the side of the road. He was sunburnt, lean and smilely. He dismounted his dusty bicycle and gave me a big hug.