i received a letter from my cousin Ryan today. he's currenly vounteering for the peace corps in mkushi, zambia. i think he's been there for about 8 months. i was so excited to get his letter, because i'd sent him a card in early february. and my mind was racing, trying to figure out if he'd got it or not. i think it takes about 20 days to get mail from zambia to here, and vice versa. all the time in-between makes you wonder what's really happening. second-guessing ensues. it sounds like he's doing alright. he was worried about taking his malaria meds because they contain quanine, side effects unknown. I was asking him about art in mkushi and he said that there isn't art in the traditional sense. he says that "living in a place where nearly everything (bricks, guitars, ovens, reed floor mats, tables, chairs, dresses + suits, axes, hoes, houses, drums, to name a few) is made by hand gives me a whole new respect for anything that takes refined craftsmanship." a lot of the time i feel silly writing about my life here, when thousands of miles away he's experiencing things that i can't even begin to grasp or imagine. i'm going to keep writing though. letters are a way of holding on even when you realize you have to let go.
i feel like if anyone could adapt to another culture's lifestyle and emerse themselves in another world, it would be Ryan.
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