An Extraordinary Morning

The neighbors are out and everyone is talking. An hour and half ago it was just another ordinary day. The church bells were rung and the village was lively. The neighbor across the street was sitting on her porch rocking her infant grandchild. Children in perfectly ironed uniforms and shined shoes were walking down the street towards school, umbrellas in hand. The roosters were crowing and the goats were making noise while the mother chickens were leading their chicks to nowhere in particular.

I had my usual breakfast; a banana and biscotti with a cup of black coffee. I took my shower, dressed, put my hair in a ponytail and slipped on my flip-flops. I flipped the music on and turned on the computer. I was catching up on the news and preparing for the Junior Achievement class I will be teaching this afternoon. It’s a rainy morning. Coming from California I am still enjoying every drop I hear on the aluminum roof. Then it happened. The knock . . . the knock that changed this ordinary day into an extraordinary day.


It’s my landlord, John. He apologizes for coming unannounced and I see a host of workers behind him. They were carrying ladders, large boxes and tools. They have been working on the house since June. They added a room to their own place downstairs and extended my balcony upstairs. They had my apartment painted and a few cracks patched. If the smallest thing is wrong, they fix it immediately. They constantly tell me that they want me to be very happy here. I am.

When my boys were coming for a visit last March John said, “Oh, we must get hot water for them”. I responded that my kids did not expect that kind of luxury. When all the work was done on the house, I thought the subject was dead.

“They are here to install a hot water system today”, John said. Are you kidding me? Did I really just take my last cold shower this morning? On some level I will miss the small sacrifice of taking a cold shower. There are only a handful of homes in my village with hot water. Many don’t have water in their homes and use one of the bright blue public facilities throughout the village. It is there that they wash dishes and clothes and take showers. .I got used to cold showers and it was part of my sacrifice that says, “I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer”. Maybe every once in awhile I’ll take a cold shower as a reminder of how much I’ve been given. . . or maybe not.

Just like that, in an hour and a half, it’s done. A new solar heating system rests on the roof. I look over my balcony at Elizabeth and say, “Elizabeth, you are making me look bad. People are not going to think I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer!” She smiles.

As I speak with Elizabeth, the workers are eating their lunch. It is barely noon. The neighbors come to talk and there is a crowd of people in front of the house. The workers break out a large gallon bottle of rum and poor themselves large glasses of rum and coke. It’s time to celebrate a job well done and let the sun do the rest of the work.