1993

Other than the few classmates I had the excellent fortune to visit on my brief round the country tour before I once again departed North America, I don't think many of you know where I am. In the absence of news from you, and after I fill you in on those lucky (so lucky!) few I did manage to drop in on, I'll bore you with the details of my life. And I'll keep boring you with my details every issue until you send me information on your details. (If I were you...)

At the beginning of the summer, I had the chance to spend a few blissful days with Crawford Palmer, his daughter Manot, his little brother Asa '98 and Tig Tillinghast. We puttered around Squam Lake and barbecued our way into the summer. Crawford had just finished another year of husbandhood, fatherhood and basketballhood in Europe--last year Spain, this year who knows? It's like our own little version of Where's Waldo?

So after the summer ended, my wife Jen, and I were treated with the news, finally, that we would be spending the next two years in Lesotho serving with the Peace Corps. Before our departure we embarked on a hasty circle tour of the country, stopping in here and there on friends, family and National Parks.

The first classmate I called upon was Professor Eburne. Jon Eburne and his wife, Hester Blum, are both English professors at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. Imagining Jon in his tweed blazer, leather patches at the elbows, pipe stem peering from the pockets, an armload of fine literature trailing behind and a coterie of rapt devotees is not the hard part of the previous sentence. Jon and Hester showed us the gem of a city they now call home.

From Tennessee we drove to catch up with Matt Bonaiuto and his girlfriend, Catherine, in Washington, D.C. Matt is now working for Big Blue and spends his time traveling the East Coast and supervising training sessions. He gets to visit exotic locales like Atlantic City. Together we watched the finish of the Marine Corps Marathon and vowed to step up our training to prepare for marathons of our own, sometime, somewhere, somehow.

From our nation's capitol we zoomed to Tig Tillinghast's Chesapeake Bay hideaway. He and wife Elise '94 have set up camp on the Elk River. From there they can paddle or row the stone's throw distance to the bay, should they choose, or sit behind a duck blind and watch water fowl descend, if they can keep their two "trained" dogs sedate. When gainfully employed, Tig writes columns for a variety of magazines, ranging from the technical to the sporting and is preparing himself for the quantum leap from the techie page to hunting fiction. Elise is working for some superstar law firm and jetsetting around the country.

Unfortunately, these were the only classmates we were able to visit before we hopped across the ocean to southern Africa. After an interminable training period Jen and I finally were assigned to our new home, Thaba Tseka. We are both working in primary schools here trying to find ways to help local teachers develop more effective ways of educating their charges. So far, so good. We've adjusted to life above 2,200 me- ters. We've learned a bit of Sesotho and are struggling to learn more. We're working on developing connections with our teachers and community. And we're working on figuring things out in our one-room, 20-foot-diameter rondaval. It's nice and cozy.

I repeat my threat of filling this column with my news—avoid that fate by being dutiful gossips. (And don't forget that mail takes a little bit longer to get here—don't delay!)

Thaba Tseka English Medium School, P.O. Box 71, Thaba Tseka 550, Lesotho, Southern Africa; chrisonken@hotmail.com