expats I can’t stand

I was at a quiet motel-style place waiting for my field staff to come for the weekly meeting. An Asian looking guy with greying black hair came to my table and asked if he could sit down. I said of course. Always interested in why other people, but particularly non-business people looking Asians, are in Uganda, I asked what he was doing here. Turns out he’s from Ohio, USA, here on a two year Peace Corp volunteering trip. I meet lots of Peace Corp volunteers both here and in Tanzania, so I wasn’t surprised. He just finished his first year and was a bit sick, so they’re sending him to Kampala to get treated. Hence he was waiting for his transport at the motel.

He seemed visibly tired and worn out by his one year in a small town, working as a computer lab technician for the local school. He complained about “the Ugandan people” and how they didn’t seem to care. About how nothing moves and he constantly feels like he’s the only one trying to change anything. About how irrational things seem to be. Sometimes they weren’t able to print enough things for the students and none of the students complained. He said he would be so happy if even one of the students made a small complaint, to show that they actually cared and wanted what they deserve. He said that he was on a bus trip once where the driver ran over a cow and killed it. The cow herder didn’t even change his expression, let alone protest. He said that he just couldn’t understand how people could speak about death and going to funerals as such normal everyday occurrences, as normal as the weather. He felt like people in “this country” just didn’t do enough to improve their own lives. He was pretty fed up and was ready to go home.

These are not new complaints. I’ve heard them all before and at times, I’ve experienced them myself. But there was something about the way that this guy said it that really made me mad. The way he generalized the whole country with a few experiences. The way that he wasn’t willing to think about why people react a certain way, rather than just apply his own American cultural judgements. The way that he seemed genuinely unable to understand or step outside of those assumptions that he grew up with. Of course, I really don’t have much field cred, so maybe I’m not in the place to speak like a professional. But I don’t know what it was that made me so angry from within, but I had to (politely, of course) respond.

I spoke about how I also understood the feeling that it seems like you’re the only one trying to change anything. But really, if you work with a community, sooner or later, you’ll find people who are really enthusiastic for a change. At least in my experience, whether it is in Canada or in East Africa, communities are not homogeneous; there are the movers and shakers, and then there are those who don’t have the energy (probably with a very legitimate reason, like having too many family members to take care of) to contribute. Whether it was the dairy goat project, urban agriculture (even within the depths of the government bureaucracy, there were those super eager agriculture extension agents), or now with the microfinancing, I’ve seen people who take their own time and money to make things move. People who do way beyond what their work requires them, just to make sure that we can help make a change. I really doubt it is luck that I was able to participate in three different projects that were just better than all the others. I think what it takes is a positive mindset to actually find and support those people who can help things move.

I said that I hear people at the markets or on the taxis complaining all the time, not to mention the amount of complaining coming from our farmers. People do complain, in fact, I think it seems like it’s very much the culture to speak if you’re unhappy, whether you’re a man or a woman (which is huge). I said, but people here are very polite, especially with respect to hierarchy and guests. Your students aren’t complaining maybe because you are both a teacher and a foreign guest. It would be supremely impolite to complain.

And as for the funerals and the run over cow, these unfortunate events that I’m not accustomed to seem to happen so frequently here that it would be impossible to be upset every time. I’m not kidding, almost every week, I would hear about someone’s relative dying and that they have to rush off to a funeral. How can anybody function if they had to mourn for a month every time someone passed away in this context? What else can you do but move on with your life and treat it in a (to our eyes) desensitized way?

The more I am in the field, the more I understand the saying that if you don’t think something that some people are doing (especially as a “culture”) is rational, it is only because you don’t understand it enough. Everything our farmers do with regards to planting is rational. It’s just not the kind of rationality that I understand, yet. I think this applies to everything else I experience. It’s much better to at least try to think from other perspectives than to dismiss something as “irrational.” Not only do you learn more, you’ll also be less frustrated.

He didn’t seem too convinced. He did seem to give it some thought though. Maybe I left him with some food for thought. Or maybe he thought I was just crazy. Well, at least I tried to show how I think.

And you know the kicker to his complaints (that really made me mad)?

He said that he felt like Ugandan parents didn’t love their kids. (When he said this, I immediately flashed back to one of the farmers I saw yesterday who was hugging her kid and obviously showing the only kind of dotting love a parent can have unlimited amounts of.) He had some friends who were English and were teaching sign language at one of the Ugandan villages. He said that none of the parents wanted to learn how to say “I love you” or any of those affectionate phrases. They only wanted to know how to order their kids to do things. I had to suck in a few deep breathes, scared that I would come across as an angry bitch.

I said that yes, kids have a lot of responsibilities here. They have to take care of the younger ones and their parents expect them to really do the household chores. But that doesn’t mean they don’t love their kids. It’s just different expectations of what a kid’s life should be. And also, just because they don’t say “I love you” aloud, doesn’t mean they don’t love their kids or families like everyone else in the world. My parents are Chinese and they’ve never said I love you in Cantonese to me before. Heck, I think I’ve never said it to them. Maybe once in English. (I needed to use a different language to break through my cultural ties, even though I’m also Canadian!) I write in every email, but I’ve never had the courage to say it. That’s just how it is culturally and how I grew up. This doesn’t mean, in any way, that I love my parents less.

I don’t know. I’ve met many people who have been in “Africa” their first time and were overwhelmed by what they experienced. I’ve been there and I know how it feels. But I really can’t stand it when people are so deeply ethnocentric that they are unable or unwilling to step outside of their cultural assumptions. I really can’t stand that kind of expat complaining.

Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe he really was just too sick and in a shitty mood. Goodness knows I’m also super shitty when I’m in a shitty mood. But still.


I was exhausted yesterday.

Field visits on Wednesday and Thursday. (I’ve finally visited all four districts!) Field visits are usually already really long days because I have to get up early to get to the field, walk around the whole day in the scorching sun or pouring rain to visit farms, and then attend one or two farm group meetings at the end of the day. Then take a really long trip back home. I still don’t have a car (my guess – it’s going to come in two months) so I’m taking public transport, which you can wait for 5 minutes to 1.5 hours for it to fill up with people and actually depart. One of my supervisors yelled at me about why I didn’t rent a car. But I feel like it’s so wasteful. I really only need transport on the tarmac roads to get to the point where I meet up with my field staff. Once there, I just jump on their motorcycles. You can’t drive a car in the field: the roads are too narrow and the rains can ruin your car any time. I think from now on, I’ll just take a bodaboda (motorcycles for hire with a driver) whenever the wait for the buses (taxis) is too long. Let her think I’m stubborn. I’m not going to waste that much organization money to rent a car for a whole day and then use it for three hours on paved roads.

But it’s worth it. I’m so happy to be out in the fields. Just seeing the farms and talking directly with the farmers. It’s amazing to see how well most of the crops are growing. It makes me almost giddy to see my field staff and the farmers so happy. Of course, and the assurance that the loan will probably be repaid in full this season.

On Thursday though, there was a huge down pour of rain (as is how rainy season works here) right before I was trying to leave. So we took shelter for almost 1.5 hours. It was so cold that even some hail stones came down. I had nothing more than a coat because most of the days are really hot. I really need to get a rain coat. Once the rain lightened a bit, we braved it and tried to get back to the main road. But the road was under construction and water was everywhere. I thought we were going to break our legs because the motorcycle felt like it would flip over all time. Thank goodness for my very experience field staff who has been riding a motorcycle in these conditions for a long time. It was seriously the worst motorcycle ride I’ve been in.

I was shivering by the time I got back to the road and I still had to take public transport back. Waited for so long for the first taxi to a town called Mbale (one hour away from Tororo). Decided I really need food, so I ate quickly. But that meant that it was late and the taxis weren’t filling up as fast as usual. I waited another hour for the taxi to depart Mbale. I got home at 9:30 pm. So grateful that electricity was on so I could have a hot shower (and grateful that I have a hot shower). The moment I got out of the shower, my phone rang and I had to go back to the office to print a lot of documents for the next day. The factory is now open 24/7 because of production deadlines. Poor management, some of them get so little sleep. It took me two hours to get the printer to work (the desktop was so slow it opened 10 pages of pdf in 1 hour. I had 189 pages to print. It took me two hours to figure out how to download the printer driver onto my computer because the internet was so slow). I finally left around 1 am. Got home, fell asleep immediately.

Got up at 6 am the next morning to prepare for the weekly team meeting. Took taxi back to Mbale. Waited an hour because my field staff were all late an hour. Although the silver lining was I talked to an interesting guy at the inn while waiting. Another post for another time. Had a really good meeting. I’m quite happy at how the meetings are going; I think we’re really starting to build a team now. At the end, I was told that the walk to work protests were surrounding Mbale. So I had to wait before I could go back to the office. Luckily I had my computer and lots of receipts to sort out, so I worked the whole afternoon. I left at 4 pm and the streets were eerily quiet with burnt tyre (?) remains. The taxi also took forever to leave. I actually don’t mind because I support these actions against Museveni (president of 25 years).

I took a 15 minute nap once I got home, but I had to get back to the office. My supervisor was demanding a report as soon as possible. Funnily, I was really in the work zone so I got a lot done. My colleague also came back from distribution of inputs to the farmers at 9:30 pm (we work hard here, mh?). We were ready to go by 10:30 pm but we had to wait for a car from Kampala to arrive at the factory because we had to wait for the management at the factory to drive us home (there are no bodabodas this late at night). So I got home at 11:30 pm. I’m still exhausted. But most probably I will work today (Saturday) just so I won’t fall too behind.

Interesting thing happened at the office apparently. It was HIV/AIDS day, so they tested everyone for HIV/AIDS. I heard that only one person (I think one of the labourers working on the production) was tested positive. I immediately asked if they would be fired. Thankfully they wouldn’t be. They’ll just have a private conversation with the doctor. Darn, I missed a free test.


A much needed Easter

I went on a lovely holiday for Easter to the Ssesse Islands with my friends who are living in Kampala. A lake really can’t compare to the ocean, but it was nice to be near a large body of water and be able to relax without feeling guilty.

Small flashbacks…

Arriving in Kampala. Seeing my friend I haven’t seen for almost two years. Going to a restaurant with great ambiance and amazing spinach and ricotta cheese ravioli. All for about $10 CAD. How can I not love this place?

Going out to Steak Out for the first time since I’ve been back. Rock night means great music and lots of people. It started to rain hard. Everyone was cramming their bodies under the roofs. We kept dancing. No crowds, no groping. Cool rain and wet hair. Best Steak Out night in such a long time.

New York Kitchen brownies and cupcakes on the taxi (they call matatus, small buses, taxis in Uganda; a normal taxi is called a special hire) en route to Kasenyi to catch the boat. Decadent.

Being carried onto the boat, princess style. The boats can’t get close enough to shore for people to jump on. So everyone is carried on through the water. Nobody has ever carried me princess style before (or I was too young to remember). It was strange. And I didn’t like it.

Strange man taking photos of the three of us with his cellphone. And then everyone around him laughs.

Arrival at Banda Island.  Strange group of people, with even stranger management. Every five minutes there would be a mention about the free weed (true, as much as you can smoke on the table) and the free banana schnapps that the owner brews at a plantation he owns. 65% alcohol. The place is run down with no proper maintenance. Only saving grace? The five dogs rescued off the streets. The bonfires. The beautiful birds and the beachfront. Not sure I will go back, but it was nice to spend one full day doing nothing. Reading, sleeping in the sun, kayaking, swimming and eating. Life is nice when it’s so simple.

A row of bright light on the lake every night. Curious. Turns out to be night time fishing on Lake Victoria. Unskilled fishermen pouring in from all over the country and neighbouring countries. Pressurized paraffin lights sizzle the thousands of lake flies that swarm towards any light. Dead lake flies fall into the water and become bait for the fish. They scatter their World Bank sponsored mosquito nets and drag in tiny fish that are dried and salted, called daga in Swahili (and something else in Luganda). Boom towns/villages filled with young men who work three hours a day in the night. Alcohol, prostitutes, and lawlessness. HIV infection rates as high as 90%. Over fishing means that the lake is virtually devoid of bigger fish. Just when the World Bank had finished financing a state-of-the-art fish processing facility. And the African Development Bank, without doing more research, builds another state-of-the-art fish processing facility on a nearby island. Such is an over-abundance of money.

Talking about anything and everything.

6 am small wooden boat ride back to the large island, Kalangala. Sunrise on the water surrounded by green rain forests. Boarded the 8 am boat (just about the only thing that is on time in East Africa) to mainland Entebbe. By coincidence, sat next to a woman who looked like she would go into labour any second. She had painful contractions the whole way. She held onto my hand, squeezed it like she wanted all the juice to come out from time to time, and lay her head on my shoulder. She was doing the same to another woman on her left side. Quite an experience. So hard to watch. My friend and I vowed to never have children. Turns out the other woman wasn’t her relative either. I wonder if the same would happen if a woman in Canada was in the same situation? Would she feel too weird to hold a stranger’s hand for support?

Day in Entebbe. Botanical garden full for an Indian celebration (probably?). We went for lunch at a small restaurant. Waited for 2 hours for our huge plates of food. Slept all the way back to Kampala on the taxi. Had a small fight with another taxi conductor at the gas station. Ended with the gas station attendant giving the conductor 1000 shillings more to stop the fight. As much as I hate it that people give mzungu prices, sometimes I think we can’t really differentiate if it is really a mzungu price. At the same time, sometimes I think we (at least those of us earning a salary) deserve a mzungu price. Just the fact that I consider fancy restaurants a steal, means that my income is very high by local standards. I guess my problem with being given mzungu prices is that it’s unfair and involuntary. It’s discrimination based on how I look. I can choose to go to an expensive restaurant or not. But I can’t choose that the vendor sells me vegetables at twice the price. It feels like I’m cheated, somehow.

Humongous ice cream cookie sandwich and fudge sundae. Perfect end to a vacation.

To dog sit, my friend was moving into a really nice house of her colleague’s. I tagged along. Had a simple, but delicious, homemade dinner. Enjoyed the hot and high pressure shower. Enjoyed real cheese for breakfast. Enjoyed sitting in the tranquil garden and chatting.

Owino market. One my favourites in Kampala. A claustrophobic maze of narrow paths on muddy ground engulfed with vendors selling everything you can imagine. Bargaining for second hand clothes is especially fun: “These shoes are second hand, so they’re more expensive.” (That’s because the second hand stuff is actually higher quality sometimes. Second hand brand name sandals compared to generic Chinese made, break-apart-in-two-days flip flops.) Bought a bit too much. Oh well, my hand washing ruined half of my clothes anyways…

New York Kitchen. Everything bagel with cream cheese, avocado, and tomato. Heaven. Too full to have the banana and chocolate milkshake.

Homeward bound on the taxi. Sweet night at home also.

Maybe not the best vacation, but definitely needed. Now back to work.


Why is it so hard to vote in the Canadian national elections abroad?! I don’t have an address you can mail me with. Not even a P.O. Box! Even by the time you send me my vote to my remote town, I won’t be able to vote anyways!

Why can’t I just vote online?! Why is it so hard in this day and age? I should be thankful I have internet!

Can you tell I’m really mad?

If Stephen Harper gets elected again,…I don’t know, I don’t think I can stand to call myself a Canadian anymore.


On second thought, I’m really glad I didn’t take the other job in Tanzania. Just getting one report done in a week is killing me. (Although I’m told I’m actually good at writing reports. I’m fast and accurate? But I really don’t like writing them. Getting me to sit down and write for three hours is really hard unless it’s something non-boring) I hate reports. With a vengeance. With steam coming out of my ears. I’m so glad I have field visits tomorrow and the day after.


Work Woes. Part 2.

2. Farmers (and people in general) keeping problems a secret until they are on the verge of being discovered.

I don’t know if it’s a trust thing. Or is it a culture thing to keep problems hidden (trust me, I know how it is. Saving face is huge in Chinese culture). But in any company, project, program, etc, it’s impossible to function when your own staff are keeping problems hidden from you. Last season, we estimate that only one-quarter of what was contracted to be farmed was actually planted. This isn’t even including what was planted, but was reported to be a failed harvest. Problem is, we didn’t really have a proper monitoring system set up last season, so we can only rely on the honesty of the farmers. And when there’s a huge loan to be repaid, honesty levels drop through the floor. The point is, though, that none of this was brought up until one month before we were supposed to collect the harvest. All along, for 5 months, our field staff were told that everything was going very well from the farmers. Even when my supervisors and visitors from the Bank came, the farmers still said everything is going well. No problems mentioned. Frankly, we didn’t really have any reason to not believe them before. Until this disaster harvest was revealed when we actually went out and collected.

Or that the farmers never complained that they were missing inputs from last season’s start until the end of the season. The inputs are actually bought with their own money (which has been lent by the bank), and they didn’t report that they didn’t get them. Would you just keep quiet for 6 months if the store didn’t give you what you paid for? I don’t really understand it. Maybe the farmers didn’t know how the program is supposed to work because it was the first season. Maybe the farmers thought it wasn’t a loan and just a handout so couldn’t care enough to complain (although technically they would still be losing money if it were a handout). Maybe they thought some of the leaders took the fertilizer/seeds as ‘a little something’ so they didn’t dare complain. I don’t know. Either way, the problem was kept in the dark and now we have to struggle to handle both last season’s and this season’s problems because of belated complaints.

Complaints are good! We need them on time!

I find it very often that people here would just say everything’s well, even when it’s not. Just like in Tanzania, the reply to “how are you?” “how is your work?” “how is everything going?” is always “fine.” Even with my field staff, when I phone almost every day to check on them, I have to ask very specific questions about what activity they were doing to get a picture of how it is going. If I ask “how is it in the field” the only answer would be “it is fair (fine).”

This takes asking the right questions in the right way to a new level for me. It’s not only when asking complicated questions to break them into simpler bits, or asking sensitive questions in a culturally appropriate way, or asking the same question in different ways to compare answers. It’s being cautious and digging deeper for almost anything that is reported to me. It’s to be aware that there are probably problems lurking everywhere, and my field staff know it, but aren’t reporting until the last minute. It’s also to request our staff to be cautious about what the farmers are reporting. Does it make sense? If not, ask more questions.

I’ve made it very clear that we need to be brutally honest within our team, or else the project will fail. If there are any problems, I want to hear about it immediately. Each weekly internal team meeting we have, I make sure the field advisors report about their week of activities and problems encountered first, rather than me talking. I think this is a bit against the culture, as most of the meetings with farmers that I have gone to, the field advisors talk for an hour before allowing any questions from the farmers. I’ve already seen some improvements in that when I call, the field advisors voluntarily tell me more problems than before. And during the team meetings, there is a lot more discussion about the problems we have encountered and how we can deal with them. I hope that we can continue to build this culture within the team, and hopefully eventually to the farmers.


Work woes

Since I haven’t written anything of interest to anyone lately (those ranty, stream of consciousness posts are more for myself than anything else), I thought I would do a brief job update post. Not that I have much else in my life recently. Other than reading news and blogs and books. Plus, as much trouble as it is, I actually enjoy my work.

Recap: the scheme I work with is basically trying to link small scale (minimum and mostly 1 acre) farmers to loan and selling services. So we partner with two large companies – a huge, multinational bank and a huge, multinational agriculture commodity trading company. The bank provides the loans for agriculture inputs (fertilizer, seeds etc), we bulk buy the inputs for lower prices (and to hopefully prevent the farmers from misusing the money), deliver it to the farmers, the farmers plant and grow, and finally the trading company buys all the outputs. The farmers repay their loan through selling to the trading company. My organization is the facilitator/mediator. If the scheme were working perfectly, we don’t even need to be in the picture. But since it’s just starting up, we run around trying to nag all the partners to do what they’ve agreed to do. Our current biggest problem is just like the sub-prime mortgage crisis – the farmers aren’t repaying their loans. The whole scheme falls apart. There are, of course, many, many valid and non-valid reasons…all of them headaches.

So recent problems:

1. Fertilizer thieves

There are basically two kinds. First, the group leaders give the members less than they applied for as a loan and sell the rest for personal profit. So much for the ‘”African” community spirit’ that is often touted in development literature. This is allowed to happen, with farmers fearing to complain, because there is such a large culture of ‘kickbacks.’ It’s natural that the leaders take their cut. I would too if I were in power. If we didn’t let the leader take their cut, there would be future benefits because you’ll be kicked out of the group. Some of the farmers in a particularly problematic group actually started complaining. The next morning, the group leader had called a meeting. By the afternoon, every single one of the farmers changed their complaints. This even happens at a higher level. The factory I work at gets business from a certain UN agency. Apparently for every contract awarded, said agency officials would come and ask for ‘a little something.’ Of course, the factory has to pay, or else no future business.

Second, the individual farmers that face cash flow problems and decide to sell their inputs. Problem predicted, but still hard to understand. One farmer sold his inputs to buy a mattress. Others to pay school fees for their children. There is no concept that this is a business loan, to be used to grow your business, so that you can buy 10 mattresses at the end of the season. No, cash flow is such a huge problem in these communities that anything that can give immediate cash is much prized. (Hm, does that mean money here has a larger discount value than back home? Or maybe I’m just mixing up my finance concepts.) Fundamentally, I don’t think the farmers understand the value of the agriculture inputs. They don’t understand how much it is worth at market price because they applied for the loan in aggregate (and to say the truth, we haven’t been very good at communicating exactly how much the loan is. Part of the problem is that our field advisors are afraid to say how much it actually is, I think.), so they don’t hesitate to sell the inputs at a much lower price to solve their cash flow problems. They also don’t understand that these inputs (improved seeds and fertilizer) will actually increase their yields by 6 or 7 times. There’s huge value in investing in your agri-business. But they’ve never seen that before and for farmers, seeing is believing.

So because of all this, I’ve spent a significant part of my time here chasing after fertilizer thieves. Confiscating fertilizer in markets (and nearly getting mobbed by the crowd – people are angry when you prevent them from making handsome profits), following the police around for investigations (much more boring than you think), and just generally being concerned about the safety of our field advisors (because they are the targets when people don’t get their illegal profits).

2. Farmers (and people in general) keeping problems a secret until they are on the verge of being discovered.

3. Training our own staff in changing mindsets. No more NGO give-aways.

4. And I can go on, but let me explain 2 and 3 next time.


Woke with a big headache this morning. Felt feverish. Texted colleague. Fell back asleep.

Woke up to knocks on the door. Lucy (my colleague’s domestic helper) came with delicious lunch. A minute later, colleague (M) arrives to see how I am. Apparently she told the other people at the factory, hence the delivered lunch. She also brought a chocolate bar. Felt so cared for that I get home visits. M says she had to come – I had no family in Tororo, what was I going to do if I was really sick?

So different than our ‘you deal with your own problems’ kind of society at home. At the same time, I think it’s nice to be independent; I surely would call if I really needed help.

Nothing substantial in this post. Just stream of consciousness.

Funny, I started out wanting to write a post about how much I miss various things from home. Most of all a kitchen where I can cook stuff I like with ingredients I know. And good friends. And a place to hang my hand-washed but still dirty laundry. And someone special. And walking around the house without getting dusty feet. And going outside for long walks without the whole town knowing. And soul mates. And not standing out. And snuggling down with a good book. And bike rides around the city. And those people I really miss. And bagels from a certain shop near a certain bridge. And good sushi. And friends.

I guess the homesickness is still hovering near my shoulder.


Sorry for the long absence my dear blog. Work is just crazy. No other way to describe it.

But for once, things non-work related.

I spent the last weekend in Kampala (the only time I ever got off!) with an amazing friend I met in Norway, who’s also working in Kampala. It was so nice to meet, chat, go to New York Kitchen (OMG – the brownies), have shisha, and go dancing. I really wasn’t ready to go back to Tororo by Sunday. Hence I might be going again this weekend (especially since my friend is leaving Uganda…). I know, I know. Once a city rat, always a city rat.

Kampala’s so much nicer than what I remember. It’s so much cleaner. Less crowded. Nicer people. I really don’t know why. Maybe it’s just because I’ve gotten used to life in east Africa. Cold water showers don’t even faze me now.

Even more than the city comforts though, I really, really enjoyed seeing my friend again. So much to talk and discuss. There aren’t many people who understand how I see development. She does. Grab on to those friends, I say. Rarer than diamonds. Life is unfair when they make all the cool people live far away from you do (and that’s part of the reason they’re so cool – they’re always moving to new places!). Teleportation should just be invented already.

Ok, I’m ranting. But I’m tired. And there’s lots of work tomorrow.


I’m not really sure how life outside of work will be for the next few months. Tororo is an amazingly small place. And the people I know currently don’t seem to have a lot of friends outside of work, so the knowing people through other people kind of thing doesn’t work…

Not really sure. Maybe I just won’t have a life outside of work. Maybe I would just spend my time here hermitting – reading, meditating, thinking, writing, walking. It does sound a little bit attractive right now as I’m so overwhelmed with life in general. But I spent the last weekend alone and I’m already craving more human interaction. What happened to the introverted side of me (which I greatly enjoy in alternating cycles with my extroverted side)?

Sigh.


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