Two Hundred Roads Diverged...

Before my volunteer training group came to Tanzania, we were asked to name reasons why we chose to sign up. Some people came for the altruism, some as a career move, but a surprising number claimed that they’d signed up in order to have two more years to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives. Its interesting, the decisions we make based on the fact that we have nothing better to do (this was my rationale for co-inventing drinking Scrabble in college). While hangovers only last a day, or two at the worst, a Peace Corps contract lasts twenty-seven long months. It’s not really one of those “nothing better to do” type of choices, and yet so many of us found that to be our primary reason for volunteering. Ironically, while the past two years that we’ve been here have helped us to grow as people, they have not helped us decide what direction we choose for our lives.

Case in point: my graduate school application process. Over the last six months or so, I have spent a horrid amount of time on Bukoba’s lethargic internet researching viable options for pursuing a master’s degree. Initially I opted away from physics, remembering the grueling late-night study sessions with Ivan; physics made me want to cry. At some point, I found that Peace Corps offers fellowships opportunities with a number of universities. The only problem is that each university has its own specific degree program to be followed in conjunction with the fellowship; I had my choice from education to engineering to public service management. While variety is the spice of life, what I found during my time poring over these programs is that they were too diverse and too many. I couldn’t choose. I’m not sure I joined Peace Corps to “find myself” or to put off deciding what path my life should take, but as I neared the end of my tenure, I realized that the path in front of me is still hazy. The programs which appealed to me included political science, urban studies, international studies, and international business. It took me two months to narrow down my choices to a top five.

Then a friend clued me in to a fellowship program offered through the National Science Foundation which offers unbeatable benefits and a chance to study cutting edge technology. For example, nanotechnology has held my interest since I was in my early teens and read sci-fi stories about its possibilities. Through this NSF program, I could try to manifest those inchoate dreams into a semblance of reality. Again, there were numerous schools and programs which I had to spend weeks sifting through. By this point, I’d used about four months researching all these graduate school options, and I was pretty burnt out. Trust me, trying to find all the logistical information for these programs with limited internet access and time was an unmitigated frustration. Whenever I see tourists in the internet cafés here, I try to guess how many minutes it will take before they begin complaining of the sluggishness of our networks. The average is around five minutes. At least I had some ten schools that I planned on applying to. Now here is the true indicator that I have no idea what I really want to do- the programs I plan to apply towards are remarkably disparate. In my final listing, I have an international business school, an advanced physics laboratory with emphasis on terahertz technology, several political science choices, and a program through MIT that focuses on integrating emerging technologies. Yikes.

Oddly enough, I’ve found myself drawn more and more towards the business school option. My closest high school friends were incredulous and stunned when I told them I’d joined a fraternity. I’d imagine most people who know me will be just as flabbergasted by this new propensity of mine. Why business school? To be honest, I suppose the main reason would be to ensure that I’ll be able to support a family when I need to. I once asked my longtime roommate and great friend Nate Fisher what he thought were some of my character flaws (long story…). His first answer was that I am too prone towards wanderlust. I know that about myself, and I know that at some point I will have to choose between my desire to inveterately jump from one job to another, one country to another, and the demands of raising children. When the time comes that I settle down, I don’t want to be in a position where I am unable to provide for my family due to my past choices. Hence, business school. To be honest, I’m eager to try my hand at business, economics, and management.

With this in mind, last weekend I went to Kampala to take my GMAT, the test required for admissions into business school. For those of you planning to take the GMAT, study hard; it was one of the hardest tests I’ve taken in a long time, much more so than the GRE. Fortunately, ever since those Iowa Tests of Basic Skills which we had to take back in elementary school to prove that the American education system works, I’ve had an uncanny ability to do well on standardized tests. The GMAT was no exception, and my score was in the 99th percentile. This means that I should be able to get some scholarship offers! Or at least, my high GMAT score will offset my low GPA (thanks a lot, fraternity). As soon as I got my results, I went to a fancy Indian restaurant where I drank cold beer and ate palak korma (that’s Hindi for “bombastic creamy spinach creation”) in celebration.

I’m still planning on applying to some of the other programs I mentioned, but at this point it looks like business school is in my cards. My hope is to be accepted to an international MBA program so I can combine my inclination towards travel with such a useful degree. Wish me luck in admissions huh…?

One last thing…while I was in Kampala, I found a Mexican restaurant. Jodi and I made fish tacos once, and I’ve created some sort of burritos, but I haven’t had true Mexican food in a long time, and I miss it. The restaurant was called “Fat Boyz,” how great is that? Fajitas were on the menu, and I was getting pumped up to have some legitimate delicious food. When I ordered, the waiter looked at me for a while, then looked at the menu, then back at me. After a full minute or so, the light turned on and he said, “Oh you are wanting the chicken fajitas then!” However, I had pronounced “fajita” as fa-hee-ta. The waiter said fa-jite-uh. As soon as he spoke, my hopes for deliciousness began to ebb. When the food came, he proudly announced the arrival of my fa-jite-uhs. At this point, I tried explaining that in Spanish the “j” is pronounced more like an “h”, to which he responded, “This is a Mexican food called fa-jite-uh. In English, it is called The Sizzler.” Wow, awesome. The next time you go to a Mexican food joint, try ordering The Sizzler and see what happens. If you get slapped, blame it on the guy in Kampala.