Lists and big cities

Jamie-boy here. It’s a cloudy Sunday, March 15th, and we’ve sequestered ourselves inside our little home for the morning. We want to write some emails and get some paperwork ready for tomorrow, when I make a big trip north to the capital city. I’ll spend a few days there, having a few meetings and seeing an orthopedist about an achy leg (from all the jogging—it’s fine, just getting some advice on caring for it while training). And while I’m there I’ll be sending out emails and posting entries like this to the blog, checking various news websites to see what financial calamity has befallen America this week, indulging in big-city food like pizza slices and fried chicken.

This is a “big” trip not because the capital city is so far away; it’s actually only like 160km or so from us. But it takes a long time to get there—about 4 hours, using no less than 4 different public transport vehicles to get to PC headquarters in Mbabane. Compared to PCVs in other countries we have it easy here in the Swaziland, I know, but it’s still a real production to “head in,” especially because we want to get a lot done while there. As is usually the case when I go, Jamie-girl has prepared a list of all the tasks I want to accomplish and the items I need to get while there—PC office things and personal errands, internet tasks, special big-city grocery items, etc. I’ll actually be spending the night at a backpacker’s hostel in town just to have enough time to do everything and make the trip worthwhile.

She makes me the list because I’ve demonstrated a consistent pattern of forgetting to do things, neglecting to get things. I get to the city and maybe it’s all the traffic and people and seeing other PCVs in the office, but my mind goes blank. It’s all quite exciting, this going to town business, and apparently my memory is quite susceptible to excitement. So when I’m the one heading in, I adhere to Jamie-girl’s lists religiously, protecting them from harm or wandering eyes like a pirate guards a treasure map. Wandering eyes: I do not like people to know that I require a list from my wife to get by in the city, and I do not like people to know what items are on the list—it’s private and it’s our personal business and I’m not interested in discussing it with anyone. So I’m rather shy about pulling it out of my pocket to read and check, and I do so as inconspicuously as possible. Telling all of you about the list, in fact, is an oddly public confession. My name is Timothy Cook, and yes, I need a list from my wife when I go to town.

The state of the list will ultimately determine whether or not I had a successful trip into Mbabane. It will be pulled out when I get back home and reviewed; each item will be discussed—especially those items not crossed out. I would sooner lose my money than my list on these trips. I can always just go to an ATM in the big city and withdraw more money—bad, yes, but quite recoverable… but replacing the list would require a phonecall to Jamie-girl, an explanation (not likely to be very well crafted considering my state of panic), an attempt at recreating the list on-the-spot with frayed nerves and strained tones of voice… not to mention the troublesome thought that our private list is floating around somewhere, unguarded in the big city, free for anyone to find and read and perhaps pass around or send to one of those “Found” websites that post that kind of stuff.

This has never once happened to me, thank God. And if you’re reading this, it’s a good indication that I am still in possession of the list and successfully working my way through it: “post new entries to blog.” Check.