I’ve always had dogs growing up as a child, but that came to a screeching halt when I left for college. The reason why was simple. I could ‘t have a dog at most of the apartments I lived in, and I worked too much to provide the amount of time a dog deserves and needs. Eventually, when I stop moving around (if that ever happens), I will have a dog.

Low and behold, in late September I was walking outside into the backyard, and I see a puppy chained up to the once-vacant doghouse. The chain was several sizes too big and would have been better for locking up a motorcycle instead of a Cocker Spaniel. I immediately lost my shit. We never expected to have a pet in the Peace Corps! I ran inside to ask my host family where the dog came from, and they told me our neighbors gave him to us. The dog also shared the same name as U2’s lead singer, Bono. The similarities end there though because Bono the dog does not possess the singing ability or the desire to rid the world of HIV.

I ran back out to play with him and pet him, and I noticed that something was wrong with his stomach. It was extremely swollen, hard, and protruding from his sides unnaturally. He had some difficulty in breathing and was wheezing a little bit. I thought that he was suffering from bloat, and was afraid that what Rawan wrote about was going to happen all over again. Fortunately, Bono didn’t have bloat. He was just extremely overfed, and his stomach shrunk down to normal the next day. Unfortunately, Bono being overfed would become a common occurrence.

Typically, dogs in Georgia are not fed very well. You will see many stray tags with colored tags on their ears indicating that they have been given shots. The dogs will be lying on the sidewalk conserving energy or hovering around patrons of restaurants for table scraps. Most of the dogs in my city are extremely friendly, and will almost instantly fall in love you if you pet them. Keep in mind that Georgians do not touch these stray dogs, and you will set off the “weird foreigner alert” if you show any kindness to the strays. Dogs are infrequently kept as pets for companionship, but you will see them in villages to help heard cows and other animals. Village dogs, in my experience, aren’t very friendly and were a constant stressor in my life. The Peace Corps had to teach us that we should pretend to pick up a rock to scare away aggressive dogs. Those dogs often aren’t fed or treated very well, so it was common to see them starving hungry.

Bono is not going hungry in Georgia. My host family lets no food go to waste; they feed all the old food to the dog. Nothing goes in the trash. Bono eats almost a half a loaf of bread every day, triple-fried potatoes, and whatever random thing that wasn’t eaten. I tried to tell my family he’s eating too much, but they’re unaware of the fact that dogs don’t get “full.” They keep telling me that he’s so hungry, and I keep saying he’s getting big. Then, my family laughs and says, “Yeah, he eats a lot.” To top it all off, our neighbor uses Bono as her garbage disposal too, so he’s eating two households worth of old food as a 5-month-old cocker spaniel. That’s like shoving the population of China into the state of Texas. It’ll fit, but it’s going to need some rapid expansion.

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Flash forward nearly two months later, and Bono is the same loveable dog I met months ago. He knows how to sit, lie down, and bark on command. He also loves sitting on feet (very weird). Oh, he’s also really fat now (surprise…surprise). His entire body is a love handle, and he runs a 15-minute mile. Rawan and I recently moved into our own place sans Bono, and I was Bono’s only source of exercise… God help that poor, chubby dog. He was getting fat when I was there. I don’t even want to imagine how fat he’s going to become now. It’s a real possibly he could become the fattest dog in Georgia.

After nearly three months, my school finally started last Friday. And it couldn’t have started soon enough because I was running out of things to talk about on here.

My school is great, but there’s one big problem. The teachers I work with are too nice. When the Georgian language teacher is not showering me with compliments about my looks (Justin looks like a handsome Georgian man.) and 3rd-grade Georgian language skills (Justin’s Georgian is great!), the other teachers are peppering me with little jabs of kindness left and right. I’m not talking about one or two teachers either; the kindness crew is six strong and growing. They feed me. They make my tea. They always give me directions on how to get home. They disregard my reminders that I know how to get home by now because I’ve been living here for 3 months. I’m like their big, bald, 28-year-old Peace Corps man-child who can’t make it on his own.

One of their common tactics is paying for my bus (They are called marshutkas here.). Marshutkas run almost all day, and many people use them to get around; they cost about 20 cents. Not much right? So I will be sitting in the window seat with a rando Georgian sitting next to me because it’s a bus, and random people sit next to each other. Gee, Justin can you explain more obvious things to us? At this moment a teacher I work with will hop on the marshutka. The teachers I work with always get off before me because I don’t live close, and right before they get off, they look back at me and smile. By this point, I already know the deed is done, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. The teacher will say, “I’m paying for you; it’s my treat!” and hop off the marshutka. I can’t stop it. They won’t let me pay them back either. They are the Antonio Browns of paying for bus fare-flawless execution and quickness.

How can I pay them back? I got peanuts. Literally, I’ve got peanuts. I’m in the teachers’ lounge offering teachers my nuts during every free period. I’m pitching peanuts like peanuts are paying me more than peanuts. I’ve won over a few teachers, but progress is slow. I’ve tried telling them that peanuts are a great source of protein, niacin, and monosaturated fats. It kinda gets lost in translation, so I just say my nuts have lots of vitamins.

Last week I got back from the YMCA. I got myself clean. I had a few good meals and an overall fun stay at the YMCA. The “Y” didn’t have everything, but I did get to hang out with all the boys… at the Peace Corps’ annual BUILD camp!

I’m sure you’re wondering, “Justin, what does BUILD stand for?” Well Clifford, BUILD is an acronym for Boys United in Leadership Development. We help facilitate a weeklong camp for teenage boys with Georgian counselors; it’s edutainment at it’s finest. Boys learn how to improve their communities, their health, and their professional careers. Overall, it was a great camp, only two kids went to the hospital (concussion & high fever) and food poisoning was minimal.

Observation: Georgian Kids are Way too Competitive

Georgian kids go nuts for competitive games. They basically become Michael Jordan going for his fourth ring. They are going for the win at all costs, and they will put their bodies on the line for the “W.” Let me use the story of how the first kid got hospitalized as an example. We were playing “extreme bingo,” which, in retrospect, was a terrible idea. Extreme bingo is a myriad of teamwork-based challenges where you have to go under and over a limbo rope creatively. One particular challenge required getting one person over the limbo rope without touching the rope. In theory, I imagined the boys working as a team to lift one of the boys over the rope and help lower him down gently on the other side. Confidence was high with this belief-I can’t stress that enough. Confidence was so high that I rejected the initial limbo rope height. “Lets put the rope higher and give them a challenge,” I said. We moved the rope up to five feet. Guess which hospitalizations story this will be. I remember my thought process exactly, and it went like this:

I’m holding the limbo rope. One team is boosting up their scrawniest kid on the back of another kid. Great! They’re working as team! Wait… Why is human stool kid getting up from all fours? He’s boosting scrawny kid higher. Oh dear God, that scrawny kid is up high; he’s up seven feet standing. Scrawny boy is losing his balance, and he’s putting his hands on the human stool’s shoulders for support. Whew…He’s balanced now. The rest of the four boys that aren’t part of the scrawny boy human stool combination are getting behind both of them. Why isn’t anyone on the other side of the rope to help lower scrawny boy down? This doesn’t look good. IS ANYONE ELSE SEEING THIS RIGHT NOW? The pack of boys are flipping scrawny boy over the rope. Oh god he’s cleared the rope and falling. THUD! He landed flat on his back. It’s so painful; I’m cringing watching him writhe. I’m looking right in the eyes of the other counselor holding the rope, and I can tell were both thinking the same things. We should have kept the rope low.

If you’re concerned with the kid’s health, have no fear. The concussed kid ended up being okay, and we took the proper measures to notify his parents. He left camp with a cool, cold cloth on his head, a trip to the doctor, and a story to tell.