I'm about to begin mural 45 on four continents and 21 countries.  I would seriously like to tell you that I've figured this all out.  There are no more surprises.  I've got all this down.  That would not be the truth.  Life and murals are a learning experience.  And, considering the alternatives, I plan to continue learning.

Usually, almost always, I wait until arrival at my destination to plan the murals.  I want local input in the process and that's the easiest way to get it.  After the input, it takes me about a day to plan my masterpiece.  So far, that has worked well.  But, the people in Moldova requested a design early.  I received a cartoon full of kids doing school things that kids do.  It was all I needed to plan a mural at the school for the deaf in Tiraspol.

Or, so I thought.

It was suggested that maybe I throw in something "national" to give the mural a local flavoring.  I usually try to do that anyway.  But, I was warned I couldn't draw anything controversial.  However, anything "national" was bound to be controversial in this situation.  The first mural was in a part of Moldova called Transnistria.  Ask anyone in Transnistria and they will tell you that they are an independent country with their own flag, stamps and currency.  The Transnistria flag (at least the ones I found online) has the yellow hammer and sickle that used to adorn the old USSR flag.  It looks nothing like the Moldovan flag.  Using any flag was going to be flaming controversial.  Okay, no flags.

Maps were just as controversial.  Moldova considers Transnistria a part of their country.  No other country recognizes the independence of Transnistria (not even Russia, even though they've established a consulate there).  If I used a map, it would have to include all of Moldova.  So, once again, no controversy and no maps.

Fortunately, kids doing kid things does not stir up much controversy.  Plans are to have a couple kids signing "welcome" as a part of the design.  I knew I'd have to wait until I landed in the country to learn that bit of information.  Do you sign that the same way in the United States?  The answer is no.  I don't understand why different parts of the world sign differently.  If any language should be universal, I'd suggest signing.  But, it isn't the case. Even the way letters are signed is completely different.

But, there was one little surprise that I never considered.  There was no way to predict what would finally happen.  There was a question about the spelling of "Tiraspol"' in the design.  Should I use the Latin alphabet that I know and understand for the design or the Cyrillic one used by Russian speakers?  Actually, this question never occurred to me.  Like I said, if I waited until I arrived, I think this would have been clarified right from the start.  It's my guess that the decision will be made to go Cyrillic.  Only time would tell, and much to my surprise, it ended up in English!

If you ask me, I thrived while in Africa.  But, I personally think that the job I did required a person with a Peace Corps spirit, and it helped if the Peace Corps experience was also in Africa.  When I was in the Peace Corps, we joked about the possibility of Peace Corps in Europe (or Posh Corps).  It didn't exist at the time.  And, that experience would be nothing when compared to life in Africa.

The Public Affairs Officer at the US Embassy, himself one of those Peace Corps Europe volunteers, had second thoughts about sending me out on location without a vehicle.  Of course, I didn't hear about that until the end of my experience.  It never occurred to me that I should have expected a personal vehicle.   However, embassy folk would never go without transportation.  Peace Corps volunteers, as well as embassy employees, were not allowed to ride on motorcycle taxis.  Yes, I know that motorcycle wrecks killed more volunteers than anything else.  Yes, I know I was nearly one of those statistics - on multiple occasions.  But, I didn't let that stop me.  I rode those taxis, let the wind fly through my hair and enjoyed every trip (if it was fifteen minutes or less).

Other people I know, friends and family alike, would not have eaten the food I savored while in Liberia.  They seriously wouldn't have shared plates or silverware.  But, I found it all a bonding experience.  Okay, I drew the line at snails, insects and swamp dirt, but there was so much very good food.  Throw in as many hot peppers as you like.  There cannot be too many.  Only cook with red palm oil.  Heap on a mountain of rice.  I ate Liberian cuisine every chance I could, even when hamburgers were available (shockingly) in my Peace Corps hometown.

Even my Liberian friends were concerned about me and the heat.  I never adjust to tropical heat.  I sweat more than anyone else I know.  I just had to live with it.   And, my continual "look" in Liberia was damp.  Damp really isn't an accurate enough description.  I dripped at all moments of the day.  Some mornings, I drenched my shirt in the sink to start the day.  I figured it was going to be that way soon enough.  Perhaps pre-drenching would keep me cooler?  No, it didn't help any. 

Okay, I admit that there was one hardship that I found extremely difficult.  I missed my Internet.  Now, my Peace Corps experience was pre-Internet, but that's ancient history.   I missed my instant communication with the world.  There was some access at a few hotels in the interior, but not as deep in the interior where I stayed.  So, I just had to grin and endure.  But, boy oh boy, was it ever exciting when I finally checked my email after a couple of weeks!

I really mean, boy oh boy!

There were two, count 'em, two embassies that contacted me about muraling.  And, they both wanted me in June!  Now, I'm good at what I do, but I can only do it on one continent at a time.  I'm picky that way.  And, I had to commit to the first embassy that asked me.  There was no question.  I just hoped the other embassy would be flexible.  So, as it turns out, I just might get a taste of Peace Corps Europe after all.  The next murals will be in Moldova.  I'm quite sure that I'll thrive there, too.

Now, where was the other embassy?  Aw, you're just going to have to wait until July to find that out.  They were flexible.

During my first few weeks in the Peace Corps, I was sent to a village for an introduction to the country.  I mainly remember my introduction to cassava.  My hosts probably remember how I didn't eat much of anything.  They worried that I didn't eat enough.  

In case you don't know about cassava, it is a skinny little plant with a huge root that is kind of used like a potato.  It can be baked, broiled, boiled, fried, pounded into Play-Doh, grated, sliced, roasted, toasted and even eaten raw.  Every single way is horrible, at least in my very biased opinion.  In those early days,  I vowed that cassava roots would not pass my doorstep the entire time I lived in Liberia.  I never changed my mind.

However, cassava leaves were my favorite Liberian dish.  The crushed leaves are boiled in red palm oil with a whole lot of pepper and your meat of choice.  It's served over a small mountain of rice.  I could eat it every day.  Whenever any Liberian friend asks me what they can prepare, yes, please, it's always cassava leaves.

Cooking preparations in Liberia are not the same as back home.  I can buy cassava leaves in several Asian and African markets where I live.  And, when I purchase those leaves, I toss them in my handy-dandy food processor.  That little luxury, as well as electricity, was a rarity in West Africa.

Seriously, a food processor was not an option.  Everyone I knew used a mortar and pestle.  They weren't the cute little ones that some people have in their kitchens to grind pepper.  They were nothing like what you might see as a decoration in a pharmacy.  The pestle, that is used to pound the leaves in the mortar, is usually five or six feet tall.  If it is that big, you know the mortar must also be a couple of feet tall.  Liberians use their mortar and pestles for serious kitchen work.  Not only are cassava leaves crushed this way, but these tools are also used to prepare rice, which is a part of almost every Liberian meal.

This young girl, on my trip to Tugbaken, was hard at work when I passed through her corner of the village.  Just like everyone else in the community, she had to stop to watch the visiting "nyepluh".  But, the white man was also watching her.  I thought her raised arm was so graceful.  I was so very pleased that she allowed me to take her photograph.

Among the people helping me with the mural project in Zorzor was one of the two professional artists in the community, Gayflor.  And, I was lucky enough to have an invitation to his home one day after painting.  With that little bit on knowledge tucked away, I wandered back to his home on my last full day in the community.

Gayflor wasn’t home upon my arrival but his mama welcomed me onto the front porch.  We shared a plate of potato greens.  Now, when I say we shared a plate, there was one plate and one spoon.  I felt like a true African and welcomed into the family.  This story made my brother's skin crawl.  Sometimes, I don't know how we're related.  He would not have thrived in Africa as I did.

After the meal, Mama pulled out her coal pot, lit the charcoal and was introduced to chocolate no-bake cookies.  It was love at first sight, or, err . . . taste.  The whole family loved the experience!  And, quite an extended family showed up to sample the goodies.

Okay, having a visiting American on the front porch was certainly a little variety to the regular afternoon activities in Zorzor.  And, a tourist with a camera caused even more of a stir.  There were certainly a lot of children who knew how to pose for a camera. I really didn't know who they were or how they were related, but that didn't matter.  It certainly didn't stop them from asking me to "flash" them.  Also, several photographers in town stopped by to eye my camera - and make a few offers.

One family member showed up who didn't ask for her photograph.  However, I loved Gayflor's grandmother.  It was "amor" at first sight.  And, I just had to get a portrait of her.  I wasn't sure if it was going to happen though.  Sometimes, I'm just a little too shy to ask for a photo.  But, I figured out what to do under the circumstances.  I asked Gayflor if he wanted me to take a photograph of him with his grandmother. 

Of course, he did!

Of course, I was very happy to do that for him.

Of course, now you can see why I wanted that photograph so desperately.