I spent a warm evening outdoors in Dallas looking at the waxing moon, smelling the intoxicating scent of my plumeria (or was it the intoxicating scent of my gin & tonic?). I looked at stars. Golly, Burkina Faso Trainees, we’ll spend our first few days in-country under the full moon of the African sky. I like looking at the night sky. I cannot wait to see what constellations are brightest in my new host country. Then comes those first, long-anticipated mornings in-country. Will there be the smell of coffee? Outside Ouagadougou, will there be the scent of plants and of the earth? Will there be the scent of . . . . OK, let’s not go too far here imagining the scents.

In Botswana they say, every single morning, “Africa is waking up.” And I never tired of those words and the lyrical Setswana accent. The phrase somehow encompassed the unique early morning experience of Southern Africa: the smells (mmmmm), the magical light . . . the whole shebang. What will we say in Burkina Faso? Afrique se reveille? So many questions.

I think about the wonderful friendships I’ve formed while volunteering with my HIV/AIDs clients and ESL students. How we’ve exchanged greetings and goodbyes in so many fashions and languages. How we’ve laughed together and how much I’ll miss them all. Will my new friends dearly enjoy laughter as much as I do? However, before I wax too philosophical, another question looms before me: how large and plentiful are the bugs in the loo under that anticipated full moon? We can only speculate.

When we Texans see a spider of a certain size and color, two words come to mind: Brown Recluse. So there it was, in the sink of my seldom-used guest bath. Kathy, it’s not a Brown Recluse. Not unless it’s a Myth Busters moment and it’s “undercover.” Hide in plain sight, be neither brown nor reclusive. It’s there in the middle of the sink! First clue: not reclusive. So pick it up with tissue and suggest that it relocate outdoors. OK, I can do this. What scary spider?

And now for something genuinely scary: The National Security people called me. I saw that 202 area code and got excited. Are they the NSA, or is that a myth? Whatever and whoever, it’s freaky. That was yesterday – I think I’ve been in denial; the conversation is just coming back to me. I asked if there was any problem. No, just confirming birth name. Hmm. Is that Sinn Fein donation coming back to bite me, as Rusty promised it might?

I read the handbook, A Few Minor Adjustments. Nothing is new to the PC. Nothing! I read it so it must be true. They’ve seen it all. In fact, they’ve already prepared for it all – for fifty (50) years. Nothing that I can do or feel will be unique to me. Doubt? Country-shock? Fears? Sinn Fein donation? Not new. I stand on the shoulders of giants, all of whom preceded me in successful service, and who experienced the same emotions . . . and brief shudders about large spiders. Right. But did they bring a flat iron? We can only speculate.

I love a mouse, I really do. They’re cute -- adorable, in fact. Notwithstanding the potential for disease, who doesn’t love a mouse? I’m not talking rodents of unusual size; I’m talking little field mouse. But is there a limit to my mouse love? One occasional mouse-in-the-house is a charming prospect. But let’s face facts. There is never, never-ever just one mouse. They come with their mouse friends, they come with cousins . . . with complete mouse strangers. Mice are not socially clickish. So at what point must one draw that line in the sand, or at the threshold, so to speak? I’m not sure that I can kill a mouse. Rat, yes; mouse, no. Thus, what steps can and should ensue to politely suggest that the mouse-back guests go on their mousy way? What mouse measures should be considered? A pied piper? The lure of an off-premises mouse house? A mouse-dominium? We can only speculate.

Now as we all know, a biscuit, in French, is pronounced bis-kwee. No, I didn’t call my cat bis-kwee; he was Bis-Kit, pronounced, biscuit, just as it sounds. My friend, Curt (who, to my knowledge, speaks nary a word of French) does a terrific Jacques Cousteau imitation, complete with the incredibly perfect accent. Curt’s best Cousteau-imitated phrase, in response to almost any question posed by the late oceanographer, is, “we can only speculate.” So Curt would say of Bis-Kit, in that fabulous accent: “Little bis-kwee, the shrimp of the sea. Where does he go to? We can only speculate.”

Insert Cousteau-French accent and work with me here. “Why do these delightful creatures risk their lives to protect their young? . . . we can only speculate.” For many years, my family and friends have oft’ had occasion to mimic Curt’s Cousteau-phrase: we can only speculate. And when it came time to name my blog of a SSA PC journey to a Francophone country, the choice was obvious -- We can only speculate. There you have it. Lost a bit of its mystique, hasn’t it?

Is the Peace Corps staff marvelous, or what? After completely digesting the Volunteer Handbook, I immediately recognized the need for approval of this blog. I received a very kind response almost immediately (next business day), which even included some tips and a few observations about my ludicrous packing list. Yes, I realize it’s crazy; but how kind of the PC staff to offer great suggestions. And chances are the flat iron won’t be anywhere near my suitcases (which are all soft-sided, naturally). But, hey, I keep dreaming. So my new plan of attack, when the packing actually commences in a couple of weeks: pack it; then lift it; remove it. Deduct, and repeat this process.

The best packing tip I’ve heard (probably from some PC publication or RPCV’s advice): pack it all and tote it around your neighborhood looking like an idiot. If you can carry it all, fine. But be certain to recognize that the stares about your bizarre behavior may be comparable to those forthcoming from your host country. Is she about to topple over? Who would try to tote so much luggage? Is that a flat iron we see protruding from that bag? We can only speculate.

Self-doubt sets in, which is absolutely natural, I realize. The language! What about PCTs who are already learning the local language(s)? And no, I don’t mean practicing their French. What if I absolutely can’t learn the language? And I don’t even know what language that might be. I have brief (about two-seconds), very occasional (but increasing in frequency) concerns. Not true moments of panic – not yet, anyway. And, happily, I do know one thing for certain: I’ll set no records in Peace Corps history for most incompetent (though I might rank right there with the runners-up). When it comes to learning the language, will I be the most dense in my group? Possibly, but I won’t be the worst ever. How am I going to learn the language? Take a tape recorder? No, that’s probably not realistic. How about video with sound? Cumbersome, at best. A small notebook and pencil tied around my neck? We can only speculate.

Hey, I might fit right in, because my French is totally conversational. Well, I can read it, but I’ve never been able to write well in French. Oh, who am I trying to kid? I can barely spell basic words. However, in a country where a large part of the adult population may be illiterate, I should fit in nicely . . . just under the literacy radar. Remember, French is a second or third language for many Burkinabe. And illiteracy in no way equates to uneducated. So we won’t expect each other to write; perhaps we can agree on that. Should be simple, non?

I called Air France. They know how to pronounce the name of the capital of Burkina Faso. Ouagadougou. WahGaDoGoo. And now I can spell it without even thinking. Of course! The beginning “O” is pronounced like any O that begins a word in French – like a W. So, technically there’s probably a hint of an O-sound as one’s mouth begins to form the W, as in Oui.

So I hit the ground in Ouagadougou on 23 June 2010, and am quite anxious to meet my host family. Will I be old enough to be the grandmother of my host mother? How many hand gestures will I develop to begin communicating? Will their French be as rudimentary as mine, and will we enjoy many hours of laughing at my language skills. In sincerely hope so, but we can only speculate.

There’s a vacuum in my head. OK, I know . . . there probably has been, always. But it’s noticeable to even me, now. It occupies the space where 10-months of waiting, wonder, and worry were. Now I’m paralyzed. Paralyzed and broke. New laptop, chargers . . . short-wave radio that receives the BBC, so I can stay current with the Open Championship this summer. St. Andrews, you know. I’m still staring at the magical PC Invitation kit. As promised, it’s a kit. Sure, I’ve done the passport/visa part; made my travel plans (6:45 a.m. flight to Philly). But have I done anything else? Nothing! I’m paralyzed . . . just staring at the television with old French lessons. Staring and repeating an occasional already-memorized idiom may not count as preparing for over two years abroad.

Should I have a garage sale? Should I organize and bundle-away my N-scale trains? Have I decided on a garmet for the Peace Corps patch? Shouldn’t I read everything possible about Burkina Faso? If I sleep with a French book under my pillow, will it help? Or shall I just sit, enjoy air-conditioning, and stare with the expression of a deer-in-the-headlights? We can only speculate.

Never end a sentence in a preposition, no white after Labor Day, blah, blah, blog.

Thanks to all my readers for your very kind compliments; and to those who I’ll be meeting in less than five weeks, I am wildly excited. To answer some of your questions, the top photo on the blog is me in the Kalahari in Botswana last year (the Makgadikgadi Pans, to be exact), on what we call ‘Meerkat eve,” which coincided with the full moon of May (one month before their winter solstice) when the sun set and the moon rose almost simultaneously. Three-hundred-sixty degrees of nothingness. Breathtaking. The photo of me, avec pith helmet, was taken at Duba Plains in Botswana, seasonal home of the famous Dereck & Beverly Joubert (“Relentless Enemies” and swimming lions of the Okavango). And the image you may occasionally see of me and Rusty on the termite mound was taken at Duma Tau, near the Angola border in Northern Botswana. So what will the wildlife be in Burkina Faso? Rusty tells of hippo pools and serval cats. As for my own upcoming adventure with the local wildlife . . . we can only speculate.

Hours of paperwork later . . . I conclude that if you can't maintain your sense of humor, you've probably volunteered for the wrong 27 months. I’ve seen so many wonderful Aspiration Statements on PCJ, and mine surely pales in comparison; so I won’t bore anyone with posting it. I declare: it was less than one page. And what was the gist of my Aspiration Statement? "I can’t imagine . . . I have absolutely no idea . . . we can only speculate."

Reminder: Wikipedia does not equal research. However, Wiki says that Burkina Faso was populated early, between 14,000 and 5000 BC, by hunter-gatherers in the northwestern part of the country. My PC packing list was begun by this hunter-gatherer about four weeks ago. Need a sleep-aid? Then read the list. Notice what’s not on the list: food . . . and a great deal of clothing. I’m taking the word of the PC and bringing very few clothes. They can be bought in Burkina Faso, or can they? We can only speculate.

As the homework begins today, with the Aspiration Statement and resume updating and paperwork galore, just a quick observation: all life is about relationships. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s relationship-building. Relationship-building is, arguably, the biggest thing that I’ll bring to the Peace Corps party. Whether it’s a meeting with an NGO or an evening at home with friends . . . it’s all about relationships. And speaking of party: relationship building can require entertaining. A meal, a dance party . . . I’m just sayin’. OK, I concede, “for cocktails” probably won’t be on any invitation for the next 27 months. And the cocktail shaker is staying at home. However, the monogrammed linen cocktail napkins definitely are going. Because proper entertaining knows no borders. How does one entertain properly in Burkina Faso? Might I introduce to Burkina Faso one of my favorite institutions on the African continent: the grand ol’ safari tradition of sundowners? What would Alton Brown do? We can only speculate.

It’s official. Burkina Faso, June 21 staging. Just breathe. What was that June 22 departure stuff?

OK, so I’m sure I heard it in some type of movie about the president, or maybe in some film where someone is carrying missile codes in a metal briefcase. You’ve heard it, too. Someone is talking into the transmitter on their wrist saying, “the package is rolling.” In my world, this refers to my Lakeland Terrier. It simply means that she’s on the move. As they say of the wild animals in Botswana: “mobiling.” Maybe off to the dinner bowl or after a squirrel. Next month, however, the package is rolling, and on June 21, Jill the Pill is rolling to Rusty. Twenty-seven months, Rusty dear, while I’m in Burkina Faso. The package is rolling . . . toys, bowls, leashes, vet records, all in tow. Simultaneously, I’ll be rolling off to Burkina Faso in the SED program. Will I stop pacing long enough to read the long-awaited Invitation Kit? As I ripped into the UPS package, did it really play an official Peace Corps anthem, or was I dreaming? We can only speculate.

Where is it?! In retrospect, I’ve spent too much evening-time in the past five weeks awaiting beddy-bye-time, so that I might hope again the following day for word from the PO. Now that I know an invitation kit is floating around somewhere in UPS-world, I don’t want to close my eyes. There’s too much to do. Too much to think about. Alas, modus-can’t-sleep has only resulted in way too much time speculating: where in the world is the kit? And what will it say? Some speculate Swaziland; and indeed, Swaziland is the only PCWiki SSA listing for 22 June. But it’s not a Francophone country; and I could never be so lucky as to be plopped into the middle of Southern Africa . . . so close (relatively) to Botswana. Now we all know that the PC is never wrong; so when the PO’s eMail said “June 22 departure,” she could not have been mistaken. But similarly, PCWiki is the bible (i.e., never ever wrong); and it lists only Swaziland with a June 22 departure. But, come on, kids: define departure. I’m guessing, Burkina Faso, with its 21 June staging/departure. June 21?! Yikes! Will staring out the window affect the timing of UPS, or is that the equivalent of a watched pot never boils? Is it safe to go to the backyard to water the azaleas? Will Jill the Pill act as sentry for the arrival of UPS? We can only speculate.

I used to be a one-window kind of person. One Internet Explorer window was quite enough to keep me occupied. Heretofore, this poster-child for multi-tasking did not multi-task on the internet. I’m a simple soul . . . or merely simple-minded. But those days are history. PCWiki (usually more than one page at a time) and PCJ are always up-and-runnin’. Because one never knows . . . at any moment someone might update the PCWiki Timeline with the mysterious late June departure. Refresh, refresh, refresh. At any moment PCJ will snag a new blog entry with some Applicant’s announcement of receiving the 22 June invitation. Who knows, it might even be mine! And I’ll know, as soon as that UPS truck arrives – I’ve been waiting since late Friday. Good-golly, we're five (5) weeks from June 22! So I’m awake before 6:00 a.m. because that UPS driver might get a wild hare and want to get on the road extra early today, right? Bringing the elusive invitation kit, right? We can only speculate.

Il y etait une fois I planned for the Millennium celebration for five years. Because, after all, one simply doesn’t decide spur-of-the-moment where to spend New Year’s Eve 1999/2000. Not if one plans to be abroad . . . it simply cannot be done. Space booked years in advance (opps, showing my age again). Hogmanay? Paris? London? Nope, we chose Jubilee in Rome, the Eternal City. Now I mention this because I’m the quintessential planner. Right, I know, I know . . . nothing during PC service can be planned with certainty. But when your philosophy is that life is a journey and every moment brings something to be enjoyed along the way, you embrace the anticipation of every step. After all, it’s all part of the journey. Yes, even in my worst OCD-state I’ve tried to embrace the uncertainty of the PC nomination process. Butterflies in my tummy are my new best friends. Well, maybe not. But I’ve learned to appreciate simple everyday things as I’ve never done before. The wet, button-nose of a terrier. A bed with layers and layers of down. Hot water with the turn of a lever. A flush toilet (too much information?!). My point is: with an invitation in the mail, more fun stares me the in the face: the packing list! This will keep me occupied until the magical “kit” arrives, at which time I may spread it on the floor and roll-around on it. Or repeatedly run my fingers through the mounds of paperwork. And as I prepare the packing list (as if it hasn’t been started already, right – who am I kidding?), I can evaluate the placement of the official Peace Corps patch. Hat? Safari vest? My new saree? We can only speculate.

For anyone out there who hasn’t yet completed your interview, please don’t be as silly and naive as I was (or as I was about to be).

I had the idiotic notion that I’d appear at my interview bedecked in my Meryl Streep Out Of Africa khakis. I was going to look oh-so ready for Africa. Starched white shirt, khaki skirt, bush boots . . . you get the idea. And yes, I actually own this outfit – more than one, in fact.

True, the mere recollection is embarrassing, and equally humiliating to put in writing. What stopped me? I just happened to attend a public PC event the night prior to my interview, and I happened to ask what was appropriate interview attire. I was told: completely professional business attire. No, not business-casual, and certainly not my khakis (starched or not!). And so it was business suit, heels and all. There’s your tip of the day. How naive was I? We can only speculate?

For those whom I’ve mercifully spared the roller-coaster ride that has been my PC-Nominee existence for the past ten (10) months, and to answer some of your questions, the Peace Corps loves acronyms. Read the other blogs at PCJournals and you’ll get the idea. Now for this gal whose pet peeve is abbreviations, it’s been a tough but necessary adjustment. I don’t do LOL, OMG, et cetera - I refuse! But for blog purposes, here’s a quick overview of the Peace Corps’ acronym jargon:

• PC is obviously Peace Corps
• PO - Placement Officer or Placement Office (they're in Washington, my recruiter is here in Dallas)
• PCT - Peace Corps Trainee (what I’m about to become). No, this isn’t an official PC Volunteer – that’s PCV, which can only occur after the successful completion of three months of in-country training and the swearing-in process. I'm nowhere close to PCV, or am I?
• SSA - Sub-Saharan Africa
• RAS - A brilliant acronym coined by another extremely clever blogger meaning Restless Applicant Syndrome. Great googly-moogly . . . aren’t we all?!
• OMS - The PC's Office of Medical Services
• SED - Small Enterprise Development
• BA - Business Advising program
• BD - Business Development program
• ET - Early Termination, which happens if you can't learn the local language (obviously not French) or cry about eating camel lung (could that be true?!), and which I will not do voluntarily
• NGO - Non-governmental organization
• CLEP - (for you youngsters out there) College Level Examination Program. Yes, I had to (what we used to call) “CLEP out” of college French for my Francophone nomination. Hey, I took my dog to Paris – that counts, right?!
  
  Why would anyone take a dog to Paris? When will my invitation arrive? Where am I going, and when? We can only speculate.

Let the games begin.

Another late-night eMail advising of a status update. What is the deal with that?! Who cares! I've been invited, but of course I don't know where and I don't know when. Shouldn't my PO have called with all those last minute questions and requests? Or did I come so highly recommended that there were no last minute questions? Right. Is the PC so anxious to fill these mysterious June 22 spots that they're rushing-out invitations? Am I even scheduled for the June 22 staging? Why isn't the Francophone SSA position departing on 22 June listed on PCWiki? Is the inviation in the mail? What are the answers to all these questions? We can only speculate.

Sally, this one's for you (and your sweet mommy). Four carved-in-stone rules that my best girlfriends and I live by:

• No patent-leather before Easter. Don't care what current faux-fashionistas say, we're all traditionalists.
• No white after Labor Day (the exception being, naturally, winter white)
• Lipstick, always!
• A lady never walks with a cigarette in her hand. Period!

• My complete Erno Lazlo skincare collection, along with my Kinerase.
• A.B.'s Good Eats: The Early Years. Don't leave home without it (Becky, Rusty, Sally: you know what I'm talkin' about).
• My Moulton Brown and Temple Spa aromatherapy, along with that groovy stone box of balm that we bought in French Lick.
• My Clarisonic. Believe me, I'll find a way to keep it charged.

I just read an eMail from my PO timed at 6:14:33 p.m. tonight, 10 May. It's a bit late in the day, but very, very welcomed. My PO would like to know if I'm available for an earlier departure (late June to Francophone Africa) . . . versus my original nomination to SSA with a July departure. Well, YES, absolutely. Talk about out of the blue!

All my weeks of analysis and over-analysis of when I could reasonably expect to hear about the Mali or Benin program . . . and then this! Think I'm a bit excited?! And I cannot possibly imagine what program this might be? Am I still being considered for small enterprise development, or am being considered for something entirely new? We can only speculate.

Of late, weekends have but one implication for me – 64 hours incommunicado with the PC placement office. Sixty four hours between 4:00 p.m. CST on Friday and 8:00 a.m. on Monday. Sixty four hours with no need to check eMail or look for that special area code on incoming phone calls. So what does one do to cope during this black-out period? This is a list of 10 ways to pass the time:

• Organize the sock drawer – riveting!
• Pet and hold a dog (in my case, Jill the Pill, world’s best Lakeland Terrier). Tell her that she’s loved and will be missed.
• Pick a garment onto which the Peace Corps patch will be sewn. (though I’m resolved not to attach it until I receive an invitation; thus it rests in a beautifully organized sock drawer.)
• Update the tunes on your iPod(s).
• Become proficient in telling Les Trois Ours. Well, maybe Les Trois Petit Cochons - I’m not certain that bears have any significance to children of SSA.
• Read the packing lists of other volunteers at the PCJ site (I love the discovery of what other volunteers are packing).
• Work on your own packing list (and finally give-up the idea of taking that flatiron).
• Volunteer, even when you think you cannot possibly fit one more volunteer hour into your life.
• Memorize a generic recipe (perhaps cookies), which can then be adapted with locally available ingredients. Thanks, Alton Brown.
• Wonder when was the last time you had a life that didn't include PC-induced OCD . . . we can only speculate.

A few months ago I lost the last fish in my aquarium, a noble but elderly pink gourami. I wasn’t there when it lost its life, but my father speculated that it was suicide. In any event, the large aquarium has been unoccupied for months . . . just filtering itself, full of sparkling clean water. Why would I get new fish? I’m leaving on a Peace Corps journey, right?

Well May 1st arrived. May 1: proclaimed by me for months as the “outside deadline.” The date by which I’d know. And in my mind this date was quite a “conservative” estimate/deadline. May 1st -- the date by which I would hear something from a placement officer. And yet, nary a word.

Yesterday I uttered aloud the possibility of getting some new fish. Just tossed that notion right out into the universe. On the other hand, why would I get new fish if I’m leaving Texas in mid-summer? I could not possibly just “bail out” on my fish commitment. Then, bam! I realized: it’s like finally washing your car . . . it inevitably rains the next day. Like getting in the shower . . . and the phone rings.

It was all so simple and suddenly crystal clear . . . just like my aquarium water. Get fish, hear from the placement officer. How could I have been so blind? And following the generous offer of a friend to care for my fish in her aquarium, why not? Why not, indeed!? And thus I have ten happy little goldfish, though they are not all gold. I ask the Petsmart clerk why some of the fish aren’t even remotely gold. She said, “for the same reason that we don’t all have the same skin color.” Good answer.

So, is it a sign? Now that I have ten new little responsibilities, will the placement office contact me? We can only speculate.