One month down

First of all, for your viewing pleasure: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koUWaAr-itY

  So, as many of you know, I recently had my site visit. And many of you are also aware that this visit ended in a personal tragedy at the same as the US suffered a major tragedy of its own. However, this weekend was not all bad. In fact, there is a lot of good to talk about, and writing is the best method I know for coping with tragedy and stress anyway. So, here we go.

On Thursday we had our Supervisor/Counterpart/Host Organization representatives visit come for a workshop. It was great getting to meet my counterpart and get an idea of what my host organization expect from me. Over two days we sat through seminars and bonding activities. I was originally supposed to leave Friday afternoon, but my counterpart decided leaving Saturday would be better, since it would be a prettier drive and allow us to stop in a couple towns along the way. This turned out beneficial, since I finally got my cellphone fully working (especially the internet).

So, Saturday afternoon I arrived in Khorixas, in the Kunene region After a quick stop at the gas station (which I would later learns marks “downtown”, along with the MultiSave next door, the post-office, hardware store, bar, and Pep around the corner, and a church), I was driven to my host family, where I will be living my first 6 weeks at site until my permanent house is liveable. I was welcomed by 4 confused kids, some super cute puppies, and my host mom offering me a plate of goat intestines (not my favorite food, but not bad, though they could've used a little hot sauce). I took an hour to unpack and then my counterpart came back to give me a tour of the town. We drove around for a couple hours, with our first stop being a fried chicken place close to my homestay called Yummy Chicken where we got amazing soft-serve (ok, it was probably just normal soft-serve, but it was super hot out, so it really hit the spot). After that, he took me to his parents home to introduce me to his family (but really because he wanted to watch the Arsenal match). One the game ended, the tour resumed. He showed me how to get to the hospital, the youth center where I'll be working, the shantytown, hike points to Outjo and Otjiwarrongo (where I can go for groceries), camp ground with a swimming pool I might get to use, a few local ministry offices, local government building, the police station, and the soccer stadium, which will be next door to my future house.

Sunday was a slower day. I spent most of it watching TV and soccer with my host family, taking advantage of them having wifi for a bit, did some reading, and playing with puppies. In the evening I met up with the 2 current volunteers in my town for drinks at the nicest shebeen in town and to be introduced to just about every person they met.

Then came Monday. I was woken by a friend of mine, a fellow PST who graduated from Boston College, who was sad to be missing Marathon Monday. After a quick jog and a shower (I think I did maybe a mile before I ran out of roads I knew how to get back from), I proceeded to spend the next hour trying to contact my counterpart. I was supposed to have my first day at my future workplace, and needed to arrange a ride for the first day (since I didn't know how to navigate the town yet) and find out when I should come in. Then my host mom came in, telling me she had something to tell me. Turns out, the reason I couldn't get in touch was him was he had died in a car crash the night before and she was going into work and would arrange the ride for me (she works in a different office under the same ministry). I was frozen and barely remember the next few hours, when I was driven to the center by a co-worker, met people, got a tour of the center and the town from my boss, and read some folders on programs the center runs before leaving because I was feeling sick (the first time I've been sick since I got here, probably the result of shock and dehydration mixing at a bad time).

I stopped on the way home to get some chicken and a drink, but ended up only drinking the coke. By this point, I felt like I was going to vomit. I kept trying to call people at the Peace Corps office, but for some reason I kept freezing halfway through and forgetting how to make a phone call. I tried calling my training manager, but again, I kept freezing. I had told a friend that morning, and gave him permission to tell whoever he wanted, figuring with the rumor mill that is Peace Corps, eventually it would reach the right people. Eventually, I got called by training staff. After trying to eat some dinner (I managed to get a slice of bread and a spoonful of rice down), I decided to try and go to bed. I read for a bit and was about to fall asleep, when I got the urge to take advantage of having wifi to check Twitter. This was right after the explosion at the Marathon. I immediately SMS-ed my friend from BC figuring she would want to know. After exchanging messages for a bit, I fell asleep.

Tuesday, I went to the hospital to shadow the other health volunteer in my town (who I'd met Sunday night). She showed me around and was going to take me to her girls' club meeting at one of the local schools, but it was canceled because the schools had gone on break. So, I met everyone at the hospital and grabbing lunch, I went home to pack. I was supposed to leave Thursday, but since I didn't have to travel to my shadowing, and in light of what had happened at site, I needed to leave a day early. Turns out, this was fortunate, since my host mom was going to Windhoek Wednesday, so she was able to help me get back to Okahandja. Wednesday afternoon, I got back, still feeling sick, so I had a couple slices of bread and went to sleep it off. Thursday afternoon I needed toilet paper and some of my friends were returning, so I went into town for a quick stop at Spar and met them at a bar to catch-up, share stories, and down a couple beers.

Friday morning we were all back together, the whole group and our trainers, sharing stories, our trainers asking about our towns, comparing potential projects. We had a short session and then an informal morning with various staff there for us to chat with if we had issues or just wanted to talk about our sites. The morning had a shadow hanging over it with news from Boston, with those of us who know people there worrying (one person ended up having to go home for the day because she was so upset). After the tea break we had a couple short sessions on the different types of relationships we will experience during our two years and on coping during service. After lunch we got together briefly to write speeches in our language groups that we will be reading at swearing-in in a couple weeks (yup, I'm finally close to making it). When we were done, we went over to the nearby Garden Cafe to celebrate all the April birthdays in our PST and trainers group. Of course, the real reason we were doing this was that one of the girls had had her birthday during site visit, and her boyfriend had contacted the Cafe and bought her a cake. So, we hung out, celebrated, I took advantage of he Cafe's wifi to check in on friends back home. That night my host mom had family visiting, so the house was crowded to the point where I could not leave my room in the morning until everyone awoke because there was no space to open my door. Which was a problem because around 2:30am I received an SMS from my friend (the one who had left early that day) saying they'd finally caught the guy, and because Okahanja is a lot colder than Khorixas and winter had essentially set in over night the night before, I was freezing. So, I read, I wrote some of this, and I took some time to be grateful that these guys were caught before anyone I knew or anyone my friends knew became victims.

Saturday was a sunnier day. I don't know, I mean it's always sunny here, but it just felt sunnier. Maybe it was the news, maybe it was seeing my friend smile again, maybe it was that a few of us had gotten together at her house for a movie day and I finally saw Despicable Me, maybe it was the bottle of rum I'd gotten my hands on, maybe it was that another friend had coxsackie virus (yes, I did include Saturday in this post just to say “coxsackie” and because it's the first exotic African disease in our group that I an aware of).

So, anyway, as I mentioned, winter is setting in, so I need to held to town to buy stuff to cook chicken soup for my host family tonight (they wanted me to cook them something Jewish). We have an American cultural day next weekend, and I will probably be cooking jambalaya (because my American friends want me to). It's a chance for us to share our culture with our staff and host families and show of some of our talents, which in this group don't really exist. Once I move to site, I plan on opening a mailbox at the local post-office, so if any of you want to send me mail, you'll have my address. Later.

Halfway Through Training

  Before I begin, I just want to throw it out there that “Maybe Today” by Carbon Leaf might be one of the most beautiful songs written in my lifetime. That has nothing to do with anything, but I am listening to my iPod as I write, and the song is currently playing, so I have to be me. Now, back to your regularly scheduled program of my thoughts and experiences...

  So, the first thing I have to say is I love my host family. I know this may seem like something that goes without saying, given some of my previous posts, but I've realized this is something that I shouldn't take for granted. Because matching volunteers and families can't have been an easy task for the Peace Corps. And it doesn't always work out. In some cases, it's just a bad fit of personalities, or awkward exchanges with extended family, or a family who doesn't speak the language they're learning, or worse. But in my case, it's great. I love my host mom, and she's been really helpful for me in learning this language. I love my host siblings, who make me laugh and I get to have fun with. And unlike some of my friends, they don't simply sit around the TV all evening. I'm getting fed enough (which is less of a problem as my mom made me think it would be in Africa when I was little) and I'm not getting fed too much (which many of my fellow PSTs are having problems with). My room is small, and there is no AC, but my bed is comfy and I have enough space. Honestly, my only real complaint is the constant “praise Jesus” emanating from my host mom's room 24/7 and the fact that people are loud in the morning before I want to be awake. In the grand scheme of things, if those are my biggest complaints (along with the lack of vegetables in my diet, which gets covered by all the delicious fruits we always have), much less my only real complaints,other than being far from other volunteers, then I think Peace Corps did a d@mn good job placing me with a family.

  One of the more enjoyable parts of the last couple weeks was a class on sustainable gardening by a RPCV from Haiti (we've named him “Compost Peter” because we had a presentation a few days earlier from “Malaria Chris”). He taught us how to make compost out kitchen garbage. He taught us about things in a seemingly barren environment that could be used to improve a garden. And he showed us how to turn a patch of sand into fertile soil for planting. While some of this was stuff I knew already from my time at Fort Dupont, it was still very informative and enjoyable.

  Training is going very well. I sometimes feel like our instructors baby us a little (they give us a handout or put up a PowerPoint and then read directly from it, rather than trusting our abilities to read English). However, it's going well, and I do feel like I'm learning a lot. The resource volunteers they bring in have all been great so far. They know a lot and give us great advice. Last week, we got to participate in what I like to call our first “live fire exercises.” We were split into to groups and had to take turns leading classes to groups of youths at a school and with an NGO. The first course was a flannel-gram presentation on the dangers of unprotected sex and multiple concurrent partners. The next one was on puberty, gender, and healthy relationships. The third one was the one I was set to lead. It was proper use of condoms. And it went really well. For many of the kids, they knew what condoms were, knew why they were good, but had no idea of their proper use. So, after a few games and questions meant to deal with condom misconceptions (see what I did there?), we showed them how to put on a condom (both male and female, something I point out because a specific couple of you will be especially happy to hear about that). We finished with a Q&A and gave out post-it notes so kids could ask questions they didn't feel comfortable asking in front of the class. We didn't have time to answer them, so we're doing that as part of our fourth and final class. Of course, what I have yet to mention was that while the first 2 sessions were meant to give us a chance to practice, my presentation was the first evaluated one. And, like I said, I think it went really well. Which felt good.

  One issue I'm dealing with is balancing my duty as a “medical expert” with not trying to be a cultural imperialist. For example, when talking about things like multiple concurrent partners, making sure I share the facts about the risks without completely bashing their culture, while recognizing also that at times, there are cultural things (especially the gender inequality) that do need to be addressed, if for no other reason than I have been sent here to deal with the HIV epidemic here, and gender inequality is certainly one of the leading factors (along with multiple concurrent partners and unprotected sex).

  For those of you wondering, no, the positive tone of this post is in no way related to the previous one. The truth is, in spite of the event leading me to feel the way I did when I wrote it, I still love this country. It's not America, but that's neither a good or a bad thing. However, I feel like this I what I need, and really feel like I have a chance to make a real difference, even if only minor. Namibia has it's problems, but I am still extremely happy here so far (and if you don't believe me, just ask the former massage therapist in my training group who once tried to give me a shoulder massage, only to end up telling me how relaxed I was). However, I will say that while I have seen billboard and heard radio/TV ads regarding not drinking and driving, there is something missing. These ads never feature an alternative. Not once have I seen or heard anything referencing the value of a designated driver.

  I will say now that this post has been written over several days. By the time you all see this, class four (which I believe is about family planning) will have happened, but I'm only assisting that one, not leading it, so I probably won't focus too much on it. I would share this now, but I want to wait until after my midterm LPI and I receive my sight assignment so I could tell you more about what I'll be doing over the next 2 years. So, just know that everything after this came later.

  I have taken my LPI in KKG. I think I did okay, I certainly think I passed (granted, that just required a level of Novice High). While I struggled, I only said one word in English, and it was “um”. I did have to say “//nau!na tama ta ha” a few times and asked my interviewer to “khawa mi re, toxaba” a few times (“I don't understand” and “please say it again”). Honestly, I was a lot less stressed than everyone else, I think. I don't know, maybe it was just that I realized this was simply a gauging test so we knew how to improve for the real one at the end of PST. But I like to think it's just that I'm naturally a more relaxed person. With sight visits coming up, I think all of us are just going crazy waiting for our swearing in.

  We finally got our sight announcements (a week after Benna's April Fool's joke got everyone's hopes up a little early). So, before I begin, I guess I should make some things clear: Peace Corps wants their volunteers to be flexible. As such, we often get very little info on things and don't have much say. The other night I was studying language. My host mom asked me why I chose KKG, and I replied that I really had no say, that Peace Corps assigned the languages. Honestly, if I'd had a choice, I would've picked Afrikaans. It's the most widely spoken language in Namibia and would've been the most useful, honestly (it's also probably the easiest of Namibia's languages to learn, but that's beside the point). When we got here, Peace Corps interviewed us about what we wanted in our sight and what kind of work we wanted to do, whether we wanted to live in a village or a town, etc. Then they matched what we said with our resumes. And then they fitted us to the program that best matched us. Or at least so they say. Honestly, I wouldn't be too surprised to find a Namibia-shaped dart board in the office in Windhoek (just kidding). The way they announced the sites was actually kind of fun. They made a large map of Namibia out of rope and rocks and put a piece of paper and a rock in the rough location of each town. Then, one by one, we were called up and they said which town we were going to and who we would be working with there and we all walked to our spot. It was cool to see who would be close to us and who would be less close.

  And now, without further ado, it is time to announce where I will be living and what I will be doing. Sort of. I will be living in a town called Khorixas (this part should not be any surprise to anyone who is my friend on Facebook). It's a small town a little south of Etosha. It's got a small Wikipedia page (something I found out not all of our towns can claim). I will not be living in a mud hut in the middle of nowhere. Sorry for those of you hoping I would be. I will be living in a homestay for the first 6 weeks or so (which I wanted) and then (once they finish making it livable) I will be moving into a small flat with at least one co-worked (a female, according the info packet I was given). I will have electricity, water in my house, some form of toilet/hole in the ground with a seat (the form says a flush toilet, but this is Africa, so you never know), and a bath tub/shower (which will probably be closer to a hose and a bucket, I'm guessing). But, at least I have a door (suck on that, CJ). There are 2 other PCVs in my town, and both of the girls studying KKG are within an hour or so of me, which will be nice. My host mom says it's very nice and very safe (which should make my relatives happy to know). The father of her children was from there and much of his family is still there. It's mostly Dhamaras/Namas territory, though there are some Herero I believe. I think I'm the closest in our group to the Atlantic coast. Oh, and for those of you wondering how to pronounce the town, it's “Ko-ree-has”.

  So, what will I be doing? That's a good question. I'll tel you when I have a real answer. I will be working with a local Youth Center. The application for PCV came from the Ministry of Youth National Service, Sport, and Culture, and my position is listed as “Rural Youth Officer”. I'm thinking my experience with soccer might just come in handy here, and for those of you familiar with A's and Aces, there is a similar program called Grassroots Soccer based in South Africa. That's about as much as I know. I may get a better idea once I go for my sight visit, but honestly, it's really going to be my own initiative guiding the next 2 years. Still, it's very exciting. Like, super exciting. I don't think I can put into words how I feel, since it's finally getting real and I'm sooooooo close to finally being a PCV and getting to do what I've wanted to do for so long.

  One thing I want to comment on is the concept of volunteerism. I recently read an article in a newspaper by someone I respect (I will leave them nameless, this who they are is not important). They were talking about white privilege in America and were using the Peace Corps and similar volunteer programs as an example. And they were critical of how we get paid despite being volunteers. So, I want to clear something up: we are volunteers, not slaves. We don't get paid a lot, we are given a basic living allowance, enough to cover living expenses comparable to the average living conditions of the country where we are volunteering. I am not going to become rich as a volunteer. In the US, I wouldn't even be making enough to pay taxes. Certainly not getting paid anything close to what members of our all volunteer military make (which is a road I won't go down, since many of you know my opinion on the amount of money that goes to the military as opposed to foreign aid and development programs, and this is not the forum for that). And no, I'm not asking for more money, I'm just hoping people realize the reality of our situation before they go off on how the Peace Corps is a waste of money spent on satisfying the egos of whites (by the way, just under 50% of my training group are not white, and our country director is African American).

  Also, this past weekend we changed our clocks. We fell back, so I am now an hour closer in time to you all (in America, that is).

  And while none of you will get this, or even understand it, tita ge a JJb xa !gaibahe.

  So with that, I leave you. I go now now.

Changing lanes for a bit

  So, I'm going to get very serious. To be honest, this post has been very tough to write. It's took me over a week to come to grips with the reality of the subject, and a few more days before I could even begin to think straight enough to find the words to express what I want to say. The second is more recent, and I'm still very shaken up by it, and I'm only now starting to formulate actual words for what I want to say. I'm still not sure I'm doing justice to what has gone through my mind on either, but I am certainly going to try, because I think both subjects are things I need to get off my chest, and while I could make separate posts for each, I just feel more comfortable getting both out at the same time so I can maybe move on. Honestly, this post may be a bit hard for some people to read, and I will completely understand if you don't read through it, stop mid way, or just stop now. And I know my emotions may get in the way of my intelligence here, but that can't be helped, because right now, I need to stop holding them in.

Part 1

  The first thing I want to talk about is a stark reality of history. It's a major part of Namibian history, a under-told part of German history, a largely unknown part of Jewish and European history, and a part of history that if more people know about would make a certain 20^th century tragedy even more horrifying than it already is. A little over a week and a half ago (from when I started writing this post), Namibia celebrated its independence day. Its 23^rd independence day, to be exact (I emphasize that because, as most of you know, I am 23 myself, so I just want to put that in context). To honor independence day, our staff gave us a history lesson Namibia was a German colony for a while. The last thing they showed us was a film about the Genocide of the Herero people in the early 1900s. The German colonial period was a time of major oppression for the local populations, and there many who voiced opposition to German colonial rule. This finally came to a head when the German military opened fire on the Herero people living in a town (I believe Okahandja, which, if that place sounds familiar, is where I am currently staying). These people were eventually pushed into a part of the desert where they had no access to food, water, or shelter. The Germans then put up a fence. And thus began the Genocide of the Hereros (a misnamed tragedy, since it would result in the abuse and systematic slaughter of many local peoples, not just the Hereros, though that's where it began).

Millions were put in concentration camps and worked to death. Some of the camps were run by the local German authorities. Many more were owned by private companies based in Germany. These people were rounded up, forced into camps, and worked to death. The whole thing came from a German philosopher who said that for a powerful nation to maintain its power, its need to expand, and once it runs out of space within its borders, it needs to find somewhere else to expand. That somewhere else is what is now Namibia (then German Southwest Africa). On an Island they rounded up many more people, mostly Damaras, I believe, and performed experiments on them, the kind of experiments that would have echoes in a similar tragedy later that century. Experiments designed to prove that some people were simply born inferior to others.

  If this sounds familiar, then all I can say is you are on my page. All my life I've lived with stories of the Holocaust. Of the horror. Of the death. Of the tragedy of my people. As a Jew, it's always made me wonder how such a thing could occur and people not do something sooner. People knew of the camps, of the genocide being committed in Europe. And the only thing that I could say to make it seem “okay,” or at least justifiable that nobody reacted sooner was the thought that this was a blip on the map, a completely unheard-of concept. That this was completely out of character for Germany and something nobody could believe because there was no precedent to believe it. Then I learned about the genocide of the Herero people. This was NOT a blip of the map and it fit exactly with the character that Germans had shown earlier that century. I'm sorry to any Germans or people of German decent who may be reading this, but the Holocaust was not an aberration, it was simply a perfected repeat of what you did in Namibia. And that means that when the first reports of what the Germans were doing to the Jews, the gays, the gypsies, and other groups in Europe, anyone who didn't immediately believe them was at best pathetically naive or ignorant, and at worst an enabler. That's right. They had EVERY reason to believe it, and you should be absolutely ashamed of any relative who says they heard about these events and didn't. Maybe that's my emotions getting the better of me, but the Germans weren't acting out of character during the Holocaust, they were following their own evil pattern. 6 million Jews and millions of other people were killed because they allowed it to, even though they had no reason not to believe that a people who had done it once would do it again.

  Yes, I realize they didn't have the internet back then. I am very much aware that information wasn't quite as accessible as it is today. But that doesn't change the fact that it was available. In fact, the genocide was authorized by the German government and the companies running the concentration camps kept solid records. So did the German authorities in the colony. The Germans have a really bad habit of keeping super good records of the atrocities they commit. There were also photos and books being written based on the findings of the “science” they were conducting. The information was there. People knew what was going on. Except they didn't want to. They chose to be ignorant, and that makes them every bit as guilty for the genocide of the Hereros and later, it means that everyone who claims they couldn't believe the Holocaust was going on because it was completely out of the blue were also willfully ignorant, and that choice means they, in my opinion, are no less guilty than Hitler himself.

Part 2

  Now, there is no easy transition here for the second part of this post. All I can say is that the debate going on in the US regarding gun control, a similar one needs to be taking place in this country about people having the right to drive. Because Namibians are terrible drivers. To make things worse, a common sight are bars with car washes next door and bars with car washes attached. Drinking and driving is one of this country's biggest health problems.

  This past weekend, I had 2 events that nailed this thing home for me.

  I will pause to add a little context here. It was Easter weekend, and many people were off from Good Friday through Easter Monday (thought Peace Corps only gave us PCTs Sunday). For many, it's a family weekend. A lot of people go to church. Of those who don't, many of them drink. A lot. Alcoholism is a huge problem here. It's a huge problem in a lot of places, but this past weekend alone, I believe I read in the news that 16 people were killed in car accidents (it might be more, but I believe those may have only been the confirmed number, and I think I was told that this stat might only include alcohol-related driving deaths). I know of at least one. I'm pretty sure I witnessed a second.

  I'll start with the one I saw. A friend and I were walking to Nau-aib to meet up with a friend and then walk (or in the end cab) to meet some other friends. We were getting ready to cross a street when I saw a car coming. Fast. My friend didn't. She was about to cross when I got her attention. Seconds later, the car sped past us, turned a corner, and then it happened. The noise. I turned my head in the direction of the sound, one I can't put into words, and I saw it, a scene that my words can't do justice for: this car, that had just sped past us, was rolling. I saw it roll over 3 times at least. I saw it come to a stop. I saw a bunch of horrified people run towards it. And I paused. And I began walking the other way. As a former EMT, I was pretty sure I knew what I'd see, and I didn't want to see it. In an accident like that, the majority of the time death is the best outcome. I saw the car roll 3 times. I heard it a few more before it cleared the trees and came into view. It was crushed like a soda can. I didn't need to walk over because I knew what I would see and I knew there was nothing I could do for the person. So I just kept walking. As I walked, I turned back, hoping I'd imagined the whole thing, that I was just hallucinating from all the weird foods I ate the day before. I hadn't. I just kept walking.

  It's Tuesday night now. This happened Sunday afternoon. Every time I close my eyes, I see the whole thing on repeat. I'm still shaken. Even after spending a summer responding to these kinds of things, what I witnessed still haunts me, and I can't shake it.

  But that wasn't the end. I get home later and my host mom's car is gone. So is my entire host family. The house is dark. I go to my room, figuring it was just an Easter thing or something. I lie in my bed, grab a couple Khoekhoe notebooks and my bottle of scotch, take a few sips and begin to study. About an hour later, my host family returns and tell me the story. They'd had to drive to Windhoek. Our neighbor is hosting one of my fellow trainees. Her host father is a truck driver, and was home for the weekend, but was in Windhoek for the day. On the way home, he hit a person who walked in front of the car (I don't know the firm details, this is just what I've managed to piece together). He swerved and pretty much destroyed his car. The person he hit was dead before he hit the ground, from what I hear. Everyone else was fine. Everyone else includes my friend's host siblings, one of whom is 6, I believe. The driver was not drunk, but in Namibia they drive fast (the concept of defensive driving is unheard of here) and at night the winding roads ca be very dangerous. There's a reason Peace Corps tells us to avoid being on the road at night. This helped me finally realize it's not them trying to baby us, it's them trying to keep us alive

  I'm going to stop there. I would like to end on a positive note, but right now, I think it's better I just stay serious. I promise my next post will be more positive (my April Fools Day joke aside, I love this country and am very happy for the most part and have a lot of awesome things to share, including teaching my first HIV/sexual education classes). But for now, I am very shaken up. Very angry. Very confused. And I needed to get all this off my chest so I can begin to recover. So sorry for the dark tone of this article. Sorry for letting my emotions trump my brain. But sometimes things have to be said, and I believe this is one of those times. So I'll just end it with a cliché; please, people, do not drink and drive. You are not invincible. When you get drunk, you put yourself and many other people, people you don't know or realize are there, in harm's way, and when you drive, you make it even worse. Take a taxi. Call someone else. Wait until you sober up. Or just drink less. But don't drink and drive. I am horrified by the events of this weekend, and if I feel this way after seeing what I saw, I promise you, if the situation happens with you driving, someone else who saw it would likely be just as shaken. And your life is worth a lot more than a cab. So stay safe and remember, no matter how hard it can be to believe that something can be happening, no matter how horrifying it is, believe it first, or else we will never be able to claim “never again.” Not for genocide and not for drunk driving deaths.