I'm not sure who first likened so-called "cultural shock" to one of nature's most basic forms - waves of water - but the analogy well describes the travelers' adjustment period.When most people prepare to visit and then finally arrive in a foreign environment, they're a bit nervous, anxious as to what they will discover:Odd local customs? Strange food?New (and maybe complicated) forms of transportation?Curious accommodations?Perhaps the simple discomfort of the unfamiliar?Inevitably, the traveler encounters all of these factors (and many more) which make the destination unique.But should the stars align and the journey unfold peaceably (or be met by wild enthusiasm, or a great attitude), the traveler begins to relax, and Phase II of so-called culture shock finds her riding the wave's crest.She is upbeat, excitedly exploring the surroundings and happily discovering there are even similarities between the place where she is and that from where she has come.

Yet the wave inevitably breaks, crashing hard into the surrounding waters.So, too, does the traveler's positive experience plummet, for a time.The new setting becomes familiar and thus less exciting; there's also bound to be aspects of the culture that can strike a person as very off-putting.Entering my third month at site, I am finally surfacing from this third stage of adjustment, having exhausted myself muddling through September.

I spent August happily settling into my new house, meeting my neighbors, and becoming involved at the local health center and my village's secondary school.Though I got quite sick my first week at site (I couldn't keep anything up or down), the nuns who oversee the health center took care of me, letting me stay in the convent (with electricity and running water!) until I recovered.Once on my feet, I started spending my days observing the main activities at the health center.Primarily, these include antenatal clinics on Tuesdays and Fridays, and under-five ("U/5") clinics on Wednesdays.During antenatal clinics, we weigh pregnant mothers, take their blood pressure and give them anti-malarial drugs.We also give "health talks" encouraging them to take care of themselves during their pregnancies.Similarly, we lecture mothers with children under five years of age at the U/5 to use mosquito nets, cook balanced meals to prevent malnutrition and to use soap after using the "chim."But instead of weighing mothers, it's the kids we weigh to see if they're on track with physical development.It's a critical service, but also very amusing to watch.We literally have a scale hanging between two trees; we then wrap the kids up in a cloth and place them on the hook.It's especially funny the older the kids are - the five-year-olds are pretty much able to just grab the hook and hang with their hands.

Thursdays I spend with the Health Surveillance Assistants (HSAs) whose job it is to go out into the "field" as we call it and conduct mobile antenatal and U/5 clinics.We also follow up with specific villagers who need immunizations or who may have had a malnourished child.Typically, we bike to a neighboring village anywhere between 5-10 miles away.

I also began teaching Life Skills at the village secondary school.Peace Corps provided us with a curriculum, which emphasizes HIV/AIDS prevention but also decision-making, relationship/communication skills, female empowerment and goal-setting.I teach a class of Form I students, which is roughly equivalent to a high-school freshman in status (though not in coursework - it's unfortunately a much lower level).They range in age from 12-18, and their English is limited at best.The challenge for me has been to prepare my lessons by translating as much as possible into Chichewa in advance.Many of the HSAs have been kind enough to help me to do this on slow afternoons at the hospital.

In the evenings, I just started wandering over to other peoples' porches, inevitably being fed supper.I got to know my neighbors, I played with their kids, I enjoyed many a beautiful sunset and the cooling sensation of the breeze after increasingly hot days.

But somewhere towards the end of August/beginning of September, the novelty of it all wore off.Little things could make or break my day.Once, after a weekend trip to Blantyre in order to restock supplies (there's a rest house for PCVs there, when we need to get away from it all), I discovered I had left my toothpaste behind.In the Western world, no big deal.In an African village, with the nearest grocery store 20-plus miles away, my situation was problematic.After just using water for the morning, I decided to set out on my bike during my lunch break in the hopes that maybe the little grocery in a neighboring village stocked it.I was hungry, it was hot, and though I didn't know it at the time my bike was broken (more on that later).And I didn't even know if I could get the toothpaste.Plus, going into another village meant the attention of villagers unaccustomed to seeing me.So for a distance of maybe 6 or 8 miles, I also had to patiently smile and wave at dozens of children screaming "Azungu (white person)!"Now I've never been big into Colgate (always been more of a Crest girl, myself), but when I finally arrived, and the tiny, 25ml tube was available, I nearly cried.

Overall, I would say that it really wasn't the inconveniences of village life that got to me.What really happened was I essentially began developing social anxiety.I couldn't take walking through my village to get the health center each morning with everyone stopping to stare.And I do mean stare - the sound of farmers' shovels hitting the ground went silent and women intently balancing water on their heads all paused as I went by.I found it annoying that I was still a spectacle after a month of living there.I remember once, I made the mistake of buying produce from the women who sit across from the primary school every day - just when class let out.50 school children in their bright blue uniforms hovered behind the seller, watching me make a 10 kwacha (15¢) transaction for tomatoes.

Then there was the day I helped distribute mosquito nets with the health center.UNICEF had donated a few hundred, to be given to families with children under five, as they do every year before the rainy season when malaria is most prevalent.I set walking that morning with the HSAs, only to realize along the way that I recognized the route - we had been there the day before conducting a U/5 clinic.It seemed almost insulting to ask - surely there was a reason? - but why couldn't we have done this yesterday?Well, because this is another activity, one suggested.I couldn't believe that was the rationale for the one-and-a-half hour walk.Unfortunately, that wasn't the worst of it.The system the HSAs devised for distribution was chaotic at best.Each HSA took a list of names with women who, according to their records, had young children, consistently participated in the clinics and were therefore qualified to receive one of the nets.Apparently, there weren't going to be enough to go around - and the women seemed to know it.They quickly formed crowds around us and thrust their identification in the HSAs' faces, who then struggled to locate each woman's name on the list.After almost two hours trying to help locate unfamiliar Chichewa names, I suggested we switch methods - why not tell all the women to sit, we'd call out their names and they'd come forward?But I either wasn't making myself understood, or the HSAs were hesitant to change their method - I still don't know which.It didn't matter; they just shook their heads and kept going.For another three hours, I assisted/watched helplessly.It became violent when, in the end, the HSAs started shooing persistent women away, throwing their identifications on the ground to signify they should give up.The women, in turn, began shouting and pressing themselves closer to us.At one point, they started yelling at me:one woman said, in Chichewa, "Maybe if we ask in English, she will give us more nets!"So the women started chanting, "Nets no cost! Nets no cost!" assuming that, because I am white, I was from UNICEF and it was therefore me withholding them.Needless to say, it was not a fun day, to put it exceedingly mildly.Did I mention the one-and-a-half hour journey back, after it was over?

But if there's anything I've learned - well, I've learned a lot, so maybe I should say the most critical, soul-awakening thing I've learned - is that God gives grace.He gives it every day, but you recognize how unique and therefore remarkable it is when you need it most.

I had the fortunate coincidence (or, more accurately, God knew what sort of grace I in particular I needed) of meeting an American researcher named Marie at my market one day.After a long morning of walking with my Malawian friend/co-worker Isaac (who had assured me he knew a "shortcut" of only an hour) and completing my shopping for things like candles, tomatoes, eggs, cabbage, etc., we were just about to face the journey back when Marie came up and introduced herself - having spent nearly two months living behind the market and never seeing any other foreigners, she wanted to know who I was and what I was doing there.She invited us to her house for lunch, and while Isaac returned I wound up staying the weekend to relax, watch movies, and pick up my birthday mail when the post office opened Monday morning.

Marie quickly became a good friend, someone I could share frustrations with, as well as the beauty of Malawi.At a time when I was beginning to experience the true isolation and loneliness that accompanies PC service, I knew there was always someone I could call or make plans to meet.Marie also proved a lifesaver in a very important respect - my bicycle.After weeks of berating myself for not being able to ride it that well (I assumed I wasn't as fit as I believed) and taking hours to bike the 10 miles to the market, Marie happened to be moving it one day across the porch at her house. She noticed a considerable amount of resistance, and asked me what was wrong with it. I said I didn't know; I know nothing about bikes, having not ridden one since being approximately eight years of age. Turns out my front brake had gotten misaligned somehow (probably when PC transported us to site) and it had essentially been locked on all this time. In addition, Marie diagnosed that my seat was too low, my handlebars too high. I still cannot believe the difference Marie's repairs have made. I can now make it to the market in about an hour. I am eternally, eternally grateful.

In addition to Marie, I learned as time passed there are a number of PCVs who have been in-country for a while located near me, and - now that it's a much easier time getting to the main road - I can easily get a hitch to meet them in Zomba for a quick lunch on a Saturday.

It's smaller miracles, too, which remind me that I'm begin cared for from above.A few times I've gotten letters or care packages from home on days I didn't know how I could possibly get myself to smile or relax, or even (maybe especially?) feel inspired again (special thanks to Meg and Emily for their keen book selection).Sometimes the miracle takes the form of a conversation.One of the nurses and I were chatting one afternoon as we were about to head home for the day.At the end of our talk, he told me that everyone at the health center was enjoying getting to know me because I am "open" and "friendly".For an introvert like me, who can (and felt as though I had been) struggling mightily with "small talk" in a foreign language, this meant a lot.

God wasn't content, though, to just let me sit back and appreciate all this.He also made plans to help me cultivate my faith in a deeper way (though having someone miraculously show up and know lots about bikes is pretty convincing).Turns out, the Lutheran church I attended while growing up in Wisconsin, which is part of a bigger confederation of Lutheran churches nationwide, does quite a bit of mission work here!Thanks to the efforts of Pastor Kuschel, I was able to connect with the pastors and their families here.I met the Wendlands and the Lawrenzes briefly the last time I was in Blantyre for lunch; they've kindly welcomed me into their homes and on Sunday, to their church.Though I'm not allowed to leave site every weekend, when I am in town I look forward to this chance to further strengthen my faith within this Lutheran community.

Finally, the ultimate pick-me-up after a tough week: my family and Alex are able to call my phone through Skype pretty consistently. I am so grateful for a decent connection.

Overall, I feel incredibly blessed to be in Malawi having this experience.Already, I think I've become a changed person mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually.And this is only the beginning - knowing I will experience so much more growth and, even more importantly, impact the health and well-being of those in my village (even if just in small ways) is daunting, to be sure, but also very moving.