I HATE PETER WHO IS AN UNGRATEFUL AMERICAN IN AFRICA

Hey Peter,

What's up? I wrote you a strongly-worded email to tell you how I felt about the many emails I have gotten from you over the last couple of years. I wrote to express that I was fed up with your complete and total lameness. Since we graduated from school, I’ve been working my ass off to pay my bills and keep a job. As have many of our mutual friends. You, on the other hand, have been cavorting around African countries for over a year without a care in the world and every couple of weeks you feel the need to send long involved emails to an extensive list of people about your travels.

This wouldn’t be so bad though, Peter, if I thought you actually were appreciative of this experience. It turns out, Peter, you are not. You are a spoiled, rich person who can’t quite understand why some of us would be tired of receiving emails that rub our collective faces in the fact that we may never be able to afford to have such a fabulous African experience. All of us want some version of what you've been able to live and it drives me insane that you seem to take it for granted with such a cavalier-entitled-American-citizen attitude.

Here’s an excerpt from your latest email where you deign to COMPLAIN about your life in Africa:

"The simple joys of anonymity I haven’t known for a year. Soon I will no longer be "The White Person Walking Down The Street" who draws all sorts of awful attention from children with outstretched palms to men making hissing sounds and loud kissing noises. Ugh.
How I long to be ignored, unseen.
How I long for cocktails, real cocktails, not ones made with rotgut liquor that comes in plastic baggies.
How I long for the concept ‘the customer is always right.’"

You then go on to say:

"Ahhhh, sweet Western society. Sweet materialism. Sweet vanity. Sweet selfishness. I can’t wait to eat without feeling bad for the entire restaurant staff. I can’t wait to shed these disgusting, modest, unrevealing clothes I’ve taken to wearing."

Well why don’t you just go fuck yourself Peter? This was an experience you chose to have and if it sucks so much just come home. But don’t take time to send wretched emails to all of us back in the states about how your life is awful because you can’t get a proper cocktail made. I swear Peter, if I ever see you again, I’m going to backhand you back to the dark ages you apparently perceive Africa to still be in.

So I sent you this strongly worded letter and admitted within it that some of the impetus for the letter was envy and jealousy and also disgust. I really wanted you to respond strongly back. Support the case that you were not just some ungrateful American in Africa. I really really really wanted you to tell ME to go fuck myself. Peter, you are so fucking oblivious that you wrote this:

"I guess I'm just sick of thinking about it all, all the senseless and preventable death all the ignorance that could be cured, being surrounded by this visceral tragedy day in and day out. Just ready for a break, that's all my email was supposed to conjure. Cavalier is just my style of writing. My boyfriend is here, so I might even end up living in this continent and raising kids here! Gasp. I am actually not leaving for another couple weeks, but I’m heading either tomorrow or the next day down south to Mtwara and then inland to do a little safari-like trip to Lukwika on the Ruvumba River, so didn’t know when I would get a chance to sit down and write my "good-bye" email. I’m not actually going home quite yet. Will spend a couple weeks in London and then I’m going down to Germany and then (hopefully) sailing in Croatia… we’ll see."

Really, Peter. Really? You send me back an email to tell me about the other cool adventures that you are about to embark on. Adventures that I don't have the money to have and that I'm already murderously jealous of. I hope you have a fantastic time sailing in Croatia. And then I hope you drown.

I hate you Peter.

Fuck You. Please die.