Clothes enough to last 5 days and then repeat. All dirty, loved and in need of a serious washing machine.
My computer inside of its waterproof case (2 ziplock bags cut and duct taped together to make it long enough)
Charging devices for one phone, 2 ipods, the computer and an outlet adaptor to actually use any of it
At least one book I haven’t started and probably won’t
A notebook full of ideas, letters, plans, memories, and garbage
My planner, sporting a picture of my grandma and me on the front and baby Benja on the back
A medicine kit with hardly any drugs, just some tampons, aspirin, Neosporin, band aids, razor and soap
No less then 5 headbands
The little bit of make-up I’ve been using since 2008
Assorted Tanzanian jewelry
One red camera that is not used enough in travel
A bottle of shampoo, borrowed face wash, toothbrush and paste
The deodorant that Chris and Michelle sent to me last year
Sunscreen I found in the Peace Corps office, and never actually use
Glasses or sunglasses, depending on what is on my face
The yellow and blue shawl from my Aunt Marg, which triples as clothes, towel, and in-bus dust shield
Assorted random papers, newspapers, work papers, receipts, you know- paper
Always, at least, one bit of mail I plan to send tomorrow…or the next day…
My backpack is heavy. It’s always stuffed to the May Not Zip point. I won’t put in under the bus because it will be ganked and I will be shattered. It never fits in the racks above the seats in the bus, so it’s usually under my feet serving as an obnoxious and unnecessary 12 hour footstool. It’s dirty no matter how much I wash it, and I do wash it, I mean, at least 2 times a year. After a long bus journey I dread more then anything putting it on and lugging it to wherever we’re going. By the time I arrive I’m inevitably rocking matching Left and Right red stripes on my shoulders. It’s full of a lot of stuff. It’s full of a lot of memories. It’s the best and worst thing ever and I’m glad that my days of filling it up with all that stuff and all of that anticipation of a new journey are not over.
It’s my bag.