Restless in paradise

It’s Thursday afternoon and for the first time since I arrived I’m bored.
I expected it, planned for it - not very well obviously - and reassured myself that, when this day came, I’d be proactive, pull my finger out and get busy.
I have numerous books. I have the entire series of Grey’s Anatomy and Sex and the City and a newfound obsession for making my own clothes.
It’s sunny, slightly windy and warm. Mt Meru has, today for the first time in a week, broken through the clouds and Africa looks perfect.
And I’m bored.
Not the I’m-just-going-to-sit-and-twiddle-my-thumbs-for-4-hours-til-it’s-a-reasonable-hour-to-sleep sort of boredom that makes staring at a nearby volcano seem entertaining in not romantic. No, that sort of boredom I’d dreamt about during those last stressful weeks at home and have spent the past month enjoying to the extreme.
No, this is the my-legs-are-starting-to-twitch-and-all-I-want-is-to-be-surrounded-by-randoms boredom. That doesn’t work here. I haven’t made human contact for 3 hours (busy day over at Kesho Leo), so between the two lazy dogs and the cat that seems to have lapsed into a coma on my keyboard – I’m entirely without social entertainment.


Heading the half hour into town is out of the question. Not only have I reached the end of my 5 week budget (literally down to the cent), but the dusty Arusha high street hardly lends itself to being inconspicuous. Being surrounded by random people on George street is very different to having every second person vying for your business/money/hand in marriage.
And yet when people begin to filter back through the gate and our relatively full village gets a little livelier (currently us 4 long-termers plus Craig’s parents who are visiting and Warren and Clare who are here for 6 weeks) – well it’s not exactly the lively I’m used to. And after 5 preceding identical nights, the prospect is losing its appeal. Then again, so is another night spent watching soaps in my room craving chocolate before giving in to sleep at 8pm.
Needless to say, nights spent discussing significant world events around Em’s kitchen table – like whether to go to Mona Pub on Saturday, or parting with what is now a months wage on three prawns and a pea size mound of rice in downtown Avalon – well they seem a lot further than 12,000 kms away.
Don’t get me wrong – this is not a sad boredom – I’m still annoyingly yet consistently happy. Just an irritatingly hyperactive one for which I’m struggling to find a cure. I’ve fought the frustrations of the internet here in the wild and have completely exhausted my already limited patience for Facebook and sworn at Skype more times than is polite. I’ve googled recipes for healthy brownies – there has to be a cure for chocolate cravings somewhere, patiently waited the half hour it takes to upload You Tube videos and tried to calm my unreasonably high energy levels with three cups of green tea. It’s a quarter to five and I think I’m screwed. 
Exercise is out of the question. For starters it’ll be dark soon so walking around alone is not advised. And then there’s the one routine I don’t plan on disrupting. The lovely Sarah and I have committed to The Tracey Anderson Method - Mat Routine at 6am three days a week – a habit we’ve fostered for three weeks now. Admittedly it’s working – if you count lack of weight gain and increased hip flexibility as success. But it does leave my evenings free for what could otherwise have been spent attempting – in vain – to remember one or two yoga poses while fighting of asthma-esque attacks from having my face so close to my unavoidably dusty floor.
I could begin yet another project. I mentioned my new sewing skill. Well perhaps it’s more determination than skill. I will take full credit for the determination, though. My latest creation even has a zip. If you were in my year 8 sewing class you’ll appreciate the magnitude of this feat.
Creativity wise I’ve put aside a whopping $50 for a home-deco shopping trip I’ve planned for Saturday morning – but after half an hour staring blankly at my floor imagining my soon to be new woven mat and dust concealer – that too gets tiresome.
You might suggest I study to improve my very slowly developing Kiswahili. Well unfortunately anything that requires a book and endlessly repeating verbs – all of which start with Ku – does little to rally the enthusiasm.
In a parallel universe I’d be sipping cocktails or downing Tequila shots in Bali with the girls. Ironically I’ve never been even remotely inclined to return to what my infinitely wise godfather once described as a holiday in a rubbish tip. That is until now, of course. Now I feel as though that other world has kept spinning without me and Bali is its paradise.
So until some 14-year-old nerd figures out the secret to being in two places at once I guess we’re back to the original plan – be proactive, pull my finger out and get busy. Right – so Grey’s Anatomy or Sex and the City?