The Questions Game

12/13/2008

I’ve hit a writer’s block, not for lack of material but rather how to express it. Shall I discuss the wonders of the Moringa tree? Or perhaps, why I’ve begun to hate fowl? Would you like me to capture the beauties of dusk in my village? May I rant upon the atrocities of bureaucracy or the futilities of modern-day development work? Would you mind terribly if I gloat about how I have the best latrine in Peace Corps Togo? Do you want to hear how I went to my village market yesterday and within 30 seconds of entering was harassed about buying some woman baby clothes or some man saying, “blah blah marriage blah blah” (those are the days that put me in a nasty mood!)? Are you interested in the massive brush fire I witnessed last night from my courtyard and how I visited the snowy ruins today? May I expound on poverty and what that means exactly because there seems to be a discrepancy?

Every time I try to begin, I end up scratching out my remarks in disgust, in embarrassment. Maybe it has something to do with my fear of committing these words to digital permanency, but whatever ails me and retards my ability to express myself, I will try to do better in the future. It is part of my job.

I am no writer.