I played an amazing game of soccer the other day. We extended our playing area by roughly 20 ft, so there isn’t the micro soccer – everyone flock to the ball – feeling. I like our new style of play a little bit more than the previous. Not that I don’t like knocking over kids like a bowling ball everytime I try to move, but this way the teams can actually use tactics and the winner is generally the better “team.” Also my favorite student, Pelimliwa, and I are an unstoppable force on defense. It definitely helps having someone on the team other than me who isn’t concerned about being the hotshot goal-scorer. Although as I write this I am remembering that I scored one of the two goals and had the assist on the other. Not bad for a defender. We even have our battle cry of “je suis là!” whenever an attacker comes or one of us makes a break for the goal.
I am also beginning to realize why no one here has long hair…sweaty hair + dust and bugs = no beuno.
Friday, November 26, 2010
ChitChat
Colin and I had a nice walk this evening, no there isn’t anything more manly that we could have done together, so yes we went on a walk. And I think that I have decided upon a final return date back to the states. But I am not going to tell you yet. Yes, I know I am a dickfor…(high-pitched voice in the background) “what’s a dickfor?” It’s for peeing stupid, any other questions? Nope, ok good.
But yes, I think I know when I am going to come home. Among other things, I have come to the realization that I will not live anywhere that has a summer longer than 4 months. I need cold weather. It was roughly 55 degrees the other morning when I woke up and I was walking around in shorts among shivering Africans. They’ll eventually get the last laugh when the heat comes in February, and we are talking African equatorial heat (120+).
In mass today, at a local Parish celebrating ChristRoi, I came to the realization that the local language wasn’t singing praise to the god of cheese, but rather that their word and pronunciation of Christ sounds like queso. I am going to hell.
Also the first thing that I am going to eat when I get back to the states has been narrowed down to a Quesada, a crème filled bismark, or a cheese steak.
But yes, I think I know when I am going to come home. Among other things, I have come to the realization that I will not live anywhere that has a summer longer than 4 months. I need cold weather. It was roughly 55 degrees the other morning when I woke up and I was walking around in shorts among shivering Africans. They’ll eventually get the last laugh when the heat comes in February, and we are talking African equatorial heat (120+).
In mass today, at a local Parish celebrating ChristRoi, I came to the realization that the local language wasn’t singing praise to the god of cheese, but rather that their word and pronunciation of Christ sounds like queso. I am going to hell.
Also the first thing that I am going to eat when I get back to the states has been narrowed down to a Quesada, a crème filled bismark, or a cheese steak.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
School Update
So the teaching situation hasn’t gotten any easier. My lost 6th student decided to start coming to class again. He’s only 2½ weeks behind the rest of the class. On top of that half the class no longer has books (a.k.a. in class assignments correspond w/ talking or copying answers and homework is basically nonexistent at this point). And sadly, it all has to do with money. The students haven’t paid the tuition yet, and thus lose the books. But there isn’t any money to pay with so for the foreseeable future, my teaching career becomes slightly more interesting.
AutoVisa
There are around 10,000 students at the University of Kara. The campus is roughly the size of the College of St. Benedict (where there are 4,000 students who split time between SJU and CSB). Class sizes generally fill an auditorium (500+), and that goes for each of the 4 grades (1st, 2nd, 3rd, and Terminal). Tuition is 25,000 CFA = $50 or a tank of gas for a Suburban. At around 6h30 there is a flood of students of all ages walking to school. At the university it is the same situation as the overcrowded public schools. If you come early you’ll get a seat, if you’re late – it’s going to be a long day. For those students who have money, they can leave later and take a moto to School. Those with a little less money can cram (and I mean cram, think of a Tokyo subway picture) into one of the 7 university busses that pick up students as far as 20 km away. And for those with even less money…as mom would put it, “that’s why God gave you legs.”
Of the 10,000+ university students in Kara, all are placed in a lottery system for an Automatic Visa to the United States. Of them, a small percentage is chosen for an interview at the embassy and of those, the ones who are deemed worthy are placed into yet another lottery. When all is said and done, 5 are selected. Christian’s sister Judith happened to be one of them. She leaves sometime around the new year and is going to Washington DC. She told me that she wanted to see snow while she was in the United States. I told her to wear about 5 coats when she gets off the plane because chances are good that it’ll be on the ground by the time she lands. I am sure there is a perfectly good explanation as to why the AutoVisa begins with the new year, but it must be good if they are they are throwing students, who have never seen a day below 50, into the dead of winter on the Patomac.
Of the 10,000+ university students in Kara, all are placed in a lottery system for an Automatic Visa to the United States. Of them, a small percentage is chosen for an interview at the embassy and of those, the ones who are deemed worthy are placed into yet another lottery. When all is said and done, 5 are selected. Christian’s sister Judith happened to be one of them. She leaves sometime around the new year and is going to Washington DC. She told me that she wanted to see snow while she was in the United States. I told her to wear about 5 coats when she gets off the plane because chances are good that it’ll be on the ground by the time she lands. I am sure there is a perfectly good explanation as to why the AutoVisa begins with the new year, but it must be good if they are they are throwing students, who have never seen a day below 50, into the dead of winter on the Patomac.
Happy Turkey (or monkey) Day!
I have pretty much decided that monkey is going to be my Thanksgiving meal. There aren't very many turkeys here and I don't want to eat chicken on Thanksgiving. By the time you get this, Texas will be getting ready to hang up their helmats on the broken horns of Bevo as the only bowling that they will be doing is with a ball and pins. And Nebraska should be doing their pre-gameday drills and clearing their minds of the past week's madness. I won't even begin to comment on the game or anything dealing with it, I will get too worked up. So heres to one last shot at putting the pesky Buffs in their place - jumping half a continent to play with the beach boys. GBR
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Welcome to the 5th World
During the vacation + monk stuff (i.e. retreat) up at SJU over the summer one of the one of the novices was talking about the differences between 1st and 3rd world countries. He then went on to say that there is such a thing as the 4th world. And that is where the people living in a 1st world country have 3rd world practices. Sorry Newark, NJ, but he was referring to you. I am going to take it a step further and explain a 5th world.
There haven’t been too many people who can honestly say that they have even been there, I am not even sure that I have. But the 5th world is where someone who was raised in a 1st world country goes and lives in a 3rd world country. And this isn’t something where you can boast about having been there and back, especially if you only visited an impoverished place for a few weeks. Yes the “living” there is difficult, but a few weeks just isn’t enough time to be completely immersed in a culture and have your entire way of living, everything that you have ever known come crashing down on your head until all that is left of what you have lived are your memories, friends and family, and occasionally faint glimpses of the life you once had.
I will digress for a moment. There is a quote that I have more or less lived by when it comes to religion and it is, “Going to church and calling yourself a good Catholic makes about as much sense as standing in your garage and calling yourself a car.” While it may be true, there are more things that define a good Catholic and a car than simply their location. And I am by no means putting myself on a pedestal. Hell, it took me 22+ years and three continents before I started going to church on a regular basis (without my parents). That is also not to say that there aren’t some special circumstances that are helping my current streak (accessibility – I live about 20 ft from the chapel entrance, it’s a conspiracy I tell you; time – I have a boatload of time on my hands, so why not go; dependence - my stipend depends on it – to name a few). But at least I am going. As for the talking to God piece, I get more quality “God” time in helping other people and using my gifts and talents to create a seemingly better world. I guess you could say that I am a car parked on the street, not perfect and most likely roughed up by the elements, but a working car nonetheless.
Pulling it all back together, you need to completely experience something like the 5th world in order to have a greater appreciation for and understanding of it. And in writing this I am thinking that I haven’t even fully experienced this yet, but knowing that I will still be here for at least 6 more months and that is enough to make me think that by the end of my time here I will have. Even just knowing that everything that was once familiar is still a half of a year away is simply mind-boggling. That also makes me think that the 5th world is as much of a mental place as it is virtual. And as I stated earlier, the longevity of a stay makes the experience. I will say that having lived here, even for this short of a time period I have a much deeper appreciation for the easiness of the life I once had….running water, reliable electricity, internet, air conditioning or at least a fan, medicine and the EASE OF MIND knowing that I would be relatively safe if something happened to me, my bed and blanky, a plethora of nutritional and non-nutritional food, a mode of transportation, leisure activities, reliable access to news sources, ESPN, friends , family, girls, and last but not least sterile bathrooms.
Welcome to the 5th World.
There haven’t been too many people who can honestly say that they have even been there, I am not even sure that I have. But the 5th world is where someone who was raised in a 1st world country goes and lives in a 3rd world country. And this isn’t something where you can boast about having been there and back, especially if you only visited an impoverished place for a few weeks. Yes the “living” there is difficult, but a few weeks just isn’t enough time to be completely immersed in a culture and have your entire way of living, everything that you have ever known come crashing down on your head until all that is left of what you have lived are your memories, friends and family, and occasionally faint glimpses of the life you once had.
I will digress for a moment. There is a quote that I have more or less lived by when it comes to religion and it is, “Going to church and calling yourself a good Catholic makes about as much sense as standing in your garage and calling yourself a car.” While it may be true, there are more things that define a good Catholic and a car than simply their location. And I am by no means putting myself on a pedestal. Hell, it took me 22+ years and three continents before I started going to church on a regular basis (without my parents). That is also not to say that there aren’t some special circumstances that are helping my current streak (accessibility – I live about 20 ft from the chapel entrance, it’s a conspiracy I tell you; time – I have a boatload of time on my hands, so why not go; dependence - my stipend depends on it – to name a few). But at least I am going. As for the talking to God piece, I get more quality “God” time in helping other people and using my gifts and talents to create a seemingly better world. I guess you could say that I am a car parked on the street, not perfect and most likely roughed up by the elements, but a working car nonetheless.
Pulling it all back together, you need to completely experience something like the 5th world in order to have a greater appreciation for and understanding of it. And in writing this I am thinking that I haven’t even fully experienced this yet, but knowing that I will still be here for at least 6 more months and that is enough to make me think that by the end of my time here I will have. Even just knowing that everything that was once familiar is still a half of a year away is simply mind-boggling. That also makes me think that the 5th world is as much of a mental place as it is virtual. And as I stated earlier, the longevity of a stay makes the experience. I will say that having lived here, even for this short of a time period I have a much deeper appreciation for the easiness of the life I once had….running water, reliable electricity, internet, air conditioning or at least a fan, medicine and the EASE OF MIND knowing that I would be relatively safe if something happened to me, my bed and blanky, a plethora of nutritional and non-nutritional food, a mode of transportation, leisure activities, reliable access to news sources, ESPN, friends , family, girls, and last but not least sterile bathrooms.
Welcome to the 5th World.
Festival of Sheep (Pt. 2)
Time for a few awkward moment stories…1) I don’t think there are too many whit folks who have showered outdoors in plain view of every passerby on the main road to the university. Not only that, but there were two of us and we both have long hair (the likes of which most Togolese have never seen in person let alone touched, which seems to be a point of amusement for the kids and even some of the women – not that I should ever need to, but if I ever get in a scuffle with a Togolese woman I always have the line in my back pocket, “but my hair is real, and it’s got bounce!”). Also the showers are private peeing stalls, if one feels the need to be descrete about it, which isn’t often. But I reminisced about the Seinfeld episode where they get into an argument about peeing in the shower…”IT’S ALL PIPES!” With that said I let it flow.
Well that was the only awkward moment, but there was one other time when I felt just slightly uncomfortable. That is your one and only warning. So the morning after spending the night, it was kind of chilly out for Togo (a brisk 60 degrees), and I was walking around outside at 6 in the morning when I realized that I had to poop. Nothing too bad right, just nature calling. Well there isn’t running water here, and unlike the monastery there isn’t any real plumbing where dumping buckets of water (when there isn’t running water) down the toilettes acts like plumbing. Here, there is a hole in the ground. But it’s classy. There are cement slabs where you stand and a nice little slot where you squat. Not that I was that curious, but I looked down and my initial reaction was that there was a giant glistening rock that you poop on and then dump water on to wash everything down the hole. Then I realized that I was one of the first one’s up that morning and there wasn’t yet water in the barrel to use for the daily chores. The rock wasn’t glistening. There was no rock. I was pooping into a maggot hole. At least they keep the smell down and there’s no water required!
Ok moving on. The next day, Colin and I visited with the family a little and then took off for the cyber to get our internet fix for the week. I got most of my work done, but the ESPN college football site was glitchy so I only got half of my scores (not including the Temple-Ohio game ) But I did manage to get the main scores and the game notes of the Big12 games for the past week. Let’s just hope that the Blackshirts can hold yet another QB to career lows in just about every category. And not that anyone in the BCS/AP/USA Today reads this, but TCU is the best team in the country. I don’t care how badly Boise beats up on the weak WAC foes, or how good their statistics are. TCU’s defense has been the most impressive week in and week out. Read the game log of the game against SDST (who is actually a decent team, believe it or not – they are two plays from being ranked in the Top 15). And there are only 2 teams who have held a Top 10 team under 10 points: Iowa against an overrated Michigan St and TCU against Utah (who can be argued to have lost twice to TCU considering they had nothing to play for against ND a week after getting pounded by the best team in the country – if Virginia Tech lost twice to Boise, then I think it’s fair to say the same for Utah). Sorry, I can’t vent my frustration at the ESPN writers so I figure at least someone will see this and maybe if I can get it right from across the great big ocean then someone sitting in a pressroom in the same country can do it.
Anywho, we finished off our day with a birthday meal for Christian (he turned 21 on Tuesday) followed by some more walking and talking and finally the 30 minute moto ride back to Agbang.
Well that was the only awkward moment, but there was one other time when I felt just slightly uncomfortable. That is your one and only warning. So the morning after spending the night, it was kind of chilly out for Togo (a brisk 60 degrees), and I was walking around outside at 6 in the morning when I realized that I had to poop. Nothing too bad right, just nature calling. Well there isn’t running water here, and unlike the monastery there isn’t any real plumbing where dumping buckets of water (when there isn’t running water) down the toilettes acts like plumbing. Here, there is a hole in the ground. But it’s classy. There are cement slabs where you stand and a nice little slot where you squat. Not that I was that curious, but I looked down and my initial reaction was that there was a giant glistening rock that you poop on and then dump water on to wash everything down the hole. Then I realized that I was one of the first one’s up that morning and there wasn’t yet water in the barrel to use for the daily chores. The rock wasn’t glistening. There was no rock. I was pooping into a maggot hole. At least they keep the smell down and there’s no water required!
Ok moving on. The next day, Colin and I visited with the family a little and then took off for the cyber to get our internet fix for the week. I got most of my work done, but the ESPN college football site was glitchy so I only got half of my scores (not including the Temple-Ohio game ) But I did manage to get the main scores and the game notes of the Big12 games for the past week. Let’s just hope that the Blackshirts can hold yet another QB to career lows in just about every category. And not that anyone in the BCS/AP/USA Today reads this, but TCU is the best team in the country. I don’t care how badly Boise beats up on the weak WAC foes, or how good their statistics are. TCU’s defense has been the most impressive week in and week out. Read the game log of the game against SDST (who is actually a decent team, believe it or not – they are two plays from being ranked in the Top 15). And there are only 2 teams who have held a Top 10 team under 10 points: Iowa against an overrated Michigan St and TCU against Utah (who can be argued to have lost twice to TCU considering they had nothing to play for against ND a week after getting pounded by the best team in the country – if Virginia Tech lost twice to Boise, then I think it’s fair to say the same for Utah). Sorry, I can’t vent my frustration at the ESPN writers so I figure at least someone will see this and maybe if I can get it right from across the great big ocean then someone sitting in a pressroom in the same country can do it.
Anywho, we finished off our day with a birthday meal for Christian (he turned 21 on Tuesday) followed by some more walking and talking and finally the 30 minute moto ride back to Agbang.
Festival of Sheep
So Tuesday was the Muslim New Year. But the new year for just about every fully grown adult male goat wasn’t exactly what I would call “happy.” Basically the only thing shown on the news that night was Imams sacrificing goats with steak knives. Wait, TV? As in a working television with world news? I guess I should probably start from the beginning…
Colin and I were invited by our friends, Christian and Judith (whom we met in Kara at the mass with the Primate and once again at the Jubilee), to come visit them in Kara on Tuesday since it was a Muslim holiday and there was no school. On a sidenote, it’s nice teaching at a Caltholic school in a Muslim country…more holidays! Anywho Colin and I decided that it would be a worthwhile decision to go in on Tuesday and break from our normal routine although I was a little bummed that I wasn’t going to be able to see the result of the Temple v. Ohio football game. It doesn’t sound like much, but the game was a Tuesday night game and decided who would get to play in the MAC (the same conference where Turner Gill made his name at Buffalo) title game against Northern Illinois. I decided that it was a small sacrifice to pay.
We figured that in order to get the most out of our time with our friends we would call a moto and let him know what time to pick us up at the monastery in the morning so that we could leave right away. We even planned for Africa time and told him to meet us earlier than we wanted to leave. As it turned out, he never showed. Even after I called him two more times…each call was an hour apart. So much for getting in early. Colin and I went off on each other. It was a nice little shouting match that stopped occasionally to say “Bonjour” in cheerful unified voices before going back at it. In the proceeding hour of waiting for our friend and another moto to come from Kara to pick us up we came to our senses and made good. We even drew attention to the fact that the entire time we were arguing we were standing behind (I was grabbing onto) a steel grate window of the monastery looking out over the entrance. We were caged and it finally got to us. That microcosm explains a whole heck of a lot about how we both felt over the past few days (weeks for me).
The motos finally arrived and we sped off to the city hoping to salvage some part of our previously disrupted plan of a day. I had planned to meet with two people (one of whom was a professor who unecessarily canceled his entire morning agenda, which I didn’t know about until after the fact) in order to translate a recommendation for a program that I am applying to. The brilliant minds behind the French Teaching Assistantship make the application in French with an English translation (just so no one screws up), but they make the recommendation forms solely in English (as if they don’t trust the French professors who are supposed to be writing the recommendation to correctly fill out a multiple choice questionnaire on an applicant’s English and French skills). I think for the most part this is just a formality for me as seeing that I am currently teaching English in a francophone country, but a formality that needed to be done none the less. Let’s just say that all said and done it took roughly an hour and a half to finish something that I could have had done in about 2 minutes. In case you didn’t know, computers aren’t exactly a top priority for many people here (including academics). For example, the French professor who is the head of the literature department at the University of Kara can type (through no fault of his own, this is just to show the differences in needed skill-sets for related positions) at roughly the same speed of a middle school student in the states. Typing and using computers just doesn’t carry the same weight here, or better yet, there isn’t enough money in the education system to allow it to carry the same weight as it does elsewhere.
After finishing the translations (for which, if anyone from the Assistantship happens to see this blog, I made sure not to comment on the responses or aid in the decision), I sped off to meet up with the others at the Palais de Congres for a drink before walking through the city. While walking and chatting, we were invited to spend the night at their house and happily obliged thinking that a night away from the monastery would do us some good. It did, let me tell you!
The rest of the night was spent walking, chatting, and meeting the family. And not that I need any extra incentive to go into Kara, but Judith has a rockin body; just throwin it out there. Also father of our friend liked us so much (or maybe just the fact that I had a camera and took a picture of him – never underestimate the power of a camera) that he took us out for drinks…twice (once before lunch and the other after supper)! He is the headmaster of a local public school in which he has roughly 100 students per classroom. Good God, that’s a lot of kids for a grade school class. 3 to a desk if you get to school early enough and standing room in the back if you’re on time…And the girls’ tuition is cheaper in an attempt to encourage them to pursue and education, which I thought was nice.
That night I slept with a fan on, I was cold, and it was glorious.
Colin and I were invited by our friends, Christian and Judith (whom we met in Kara at the mass with the Primate and once again at the Jubilee), to come visit them in Kara on Tuesday since it was a Muslim holiday and there was no school. On a sidenote, it’s nice teaching at a Caltholic school in a Muslim country…more holidays! Anywho Colin and I decided that it would be a worthwhile decision to go in on Tuesday and break from our normal routine although I was a little bummed that I wasn’t going to be able to see the result of the Temple v. Ohio football game. It doesn’t sound like much, but the game was a Tuesday night game and decided who would get to play in the MAC (the same conference where Turner Gill made his name at Buffalo) title game against Northern Illinois. I decided that it was a small sacrifice to pay.
We figured that in order to get the most out of our time with our friends we would call a moto and let him know what time to pick us up at the monastery in the morning so that we could leave right away. We even planned for Africa time and told him to meet us earlier than we wanted to leave. As it turned out, he never showed. Even after I called him two more times…each call was an hour apart. So much for getting in early. Colin and I went off on each other. It was a nice little shouting match that stopped occasionally to say “Bonjour” in cheerful unified voices before going back at it. In the proceeding hour of waiting for our friend and another moto to come from Kara to pick us up we came to our senses and made good. We even drew attention to the fact that the entire time we were arguing we were standing behind (I was grabbing onto) a steel grate window of the monastery looking out over the entrance. We were caged and it finally got to us. That microcosm explains a whole heck of a lot about how we both felt over the past few days (weeks for me).
The motos finally arrived and we sped off to the city hoping to salvage some part of our previously disrupted plan of a day. I had planned to meet with two people (one of whom was a professor who unecessarily canceled his entire morning agenda, which I didn’t know about until after the fact) in order to translate a recommendation for a program that I am applying to. The brilliant minds behind the French Teaching Assistantship make the application in French with an English translation (just so no one screws up), but they make the recommendation forms solely in English (as if they don’t trust the French professors who are supposed to be writing the recommendation to correctly fill out a multiple choice questionnaire on an applicant’s English and French skills). I think for the most part this is just a formality for me as seeing that I am currently teaching English in a francophone country, but a formality that needed to be done none the less. Let’s just say that all said and done it took roughly an hour and a half to finish something that I could have had done in about 2 minutes. In case you didn’t know, computers aren’t exactly a top priority for many people here (including academics). For example, the French professor who is the head of the literature department at the University of Kara can type (through no fault of his own, this is just to show the differences in needed skill-sets for related positions) at roughly the same speed of a middle school student in the states. Typing and using computers just doesn’t carry the same weight here, or better yet, there isn’t enough money in the education system to allow it to carry the same weight as it does elsewhere.
After finishing the translations (for which, if anyone from the Assistantship happens to see this blog, I made sure not to comment on the responses or aid in the decision), I sped off to meet up with the others at the Palais de Congres for a drink before walking through the city. While walking and chatting, we were invited to spend the night at their house and happily obliged thinking that a night away from the monastery would do us some good. It did, let me tell you!
The rest of the night was spent walking, chatting, and meeting the family. And not that I need any extra incentive to go into Kara, but Judith has a rockin body; just throwin it out there. Also father of our friend liked us so much (or maybe just the fact that I had a camera and took a picture of him – never underestimate the power of a camera) that he took us out for drinks…twice (once before lunch and the other after supper)! He is the headmaster of a local public school in which he has roughly 100 students per classroom. Good God, that’s a lot of kids for a grade school class. 3 to a desk if you get to school early enough and standing room in the back if you’re on time…And the girls’ tuition is cheaper in an attempt to encourage them to pursue and education, which I thought was nice.
That night I slept with a fan on, I was cold, and it was glorious.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Diary of a Vegetarian
I made it all of one day on the veggie diet. It’s not gonna work here. I am just going to have to revert to my old ways of being a super picky eater when it comes to meat…but I have and always will be a fan of PETA (People Eating Tasty Animals).
The next bit of news that I have for you is that grading papers for ETL (English as a Third Languga) students is not fun. No fun involved whatsoever.
Also today I was proposed to by a 10 year-old girl and a 45 year-old woman. I think I am going to have to find a way to close the gap a little bit.
Lastly I was looking through my football magazine, again, and I dumbfounded myself with a stupid yet interesting question… “who is the best 4 win team in the nation: Texas or Notre Dame? You can look up their records and scores if you’re really intrigued by the question, but it stumped me for a while. I would have say that ND is the better team, but Texas has a better shot getting another win (unless the Florida Atlantic Owls suddenly decide to pull a Baylor and become the little brother school from the bigshot state to make a name for himself). But I don’t see either making it to a bowl this year. And if Texas doesn’t sacrifice Bevo to the football gods on Thanksgiving in order to right the ship for next season, at least they’ll be able to use the horn for hooking their helmets ‘cause they ain’t gonna be needing them for a long time!
The next bit of news that I have for you is that grading papers for ETL (English as a Third Languga) students is not fun. No fun involved whatsoever.
Also today I was proposed to by a 10 year-old girl and a 45 year-old woman. I think I am going to have to find a way to close the gap a little bit.
Lastly I was looking through my football magazine, again, and I dumbfounded myself with a stupid yet interesting question… “who is the best 4 win team in the nation: Texas or Notre Dame? You can look up their records and scores if you’re really intrigued by the question, but it stumped me for a while. I would have say that ND is the better team, but Texas has a better shot getting another win (unless the Florida Atlantic Owls suddenly decide to pull a Baylor and become the little brother school from the bigshot state to make a name for himself). But I don’t see either making it to a bowl this year. And if Texas doesn’t sacrifice Bevo to the football gods on Thanksgiving in order to right the ship for next season, at least they’ll be able to use the horn for hooking their helmets ‘cause they ain’t gonna be needing them for a long time!
Nietzsche
The current background on my computer is a picture of a Nebraska football helmet being clasped and raised by the facemask next to the Nietzsche quote, “and those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” I have been called every kind of crazy for being a Nebraska football fanatic. But for me and about a million others, it’s a way of life.
But football aside, this quote is second only to “learn the rules so you know how to break them properly (The Dalai Lama’s 18 Rules for Living – Rule 5).” I can’t exactly argue with a guy who is on the brink of total consciousness. Two more rules that I will share briefly due to the fact that I am constantly thinking of them and working on them as much as is presently possible… 12 A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life. Yes, and it’s what I hope to emulate after this year of volunteering. 17 Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other. This one’s still a work in progress, but as soon as I find her – game over.
But football aside, this quote is second only to “learn the rules so you know how to break them properly (The Dalai Lama’s 18 Rules for Living – Rule 5).” I can’t exactly argue with a guy who is on the brink of total consciousness. Two more rules that I will share briefly due to the fact that I am constantly thinking of them and working on them as much as is presently possible… 12 A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life. Yes, and it’s what I hope to emulate after this year of volunteering. 17 Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other. This one’s still a work in progress, but as soon as I find her – game over.
Gameday
It’s Saturday night and I am sitting in my room listening to music instead of watching football. Not that I would be watching the Husker game considering it doesn’t start for another SIX hours. By the time you read this the game will be long over, but just know that even for a game against Kansas the anticipation and anxiety of not being able to watch is killing me. What’s worse is the game won’t be over until after I wake up tomorrow morning. Not gonna get much sleep tonight. In other news, pre-game food consisted of Togolese cheese (which is made from a type of bean – still don’t know how it qualifies as cheese and not sure if I want to) and boiled cornflower. I was offered rat, but politely declined. Also just about all of Agbang knows that its gameday for me because of my red bandana, which I only sport on gamedays. GBR
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
My Little Bro is AWESOME!
I don’t know what the monks are going to think of the poster that my brother is sending me, but frankly I don’t care…the signed Nighthawks Cheerleader poster is going up and staying up until I leave!
Celebrate Good Times...Come On!
Today was the jubilee celebration for the monastery. Three monks made their final vows, which was nice. The food was spectacular, which is great now. But tomorrow when everyone leaves and we go back to boiled cornstarch and gumbo I am not gonna be a happy camper.
As promised there were a ton of people here, and as shocking as it is most of them only came for the free “concert” that followed lunch. The concert was actually pretty cool all things considered. Concerts here consist of the lead singer having a sing-a-long with their own CD, which is being blasted through two speakers that were shipped special delivery from a vintage 1970’s Woodstock concert. But they worked, which is more than I can say for a lot of things here. There were four singers in all, one of whom I have already referred to in this blog. While her table manners still need a little work, she is much more down to earth than I initially gave her credit for.
Before the concert even got started there was a ton of commotion and a lot of it was centered around my camera. I have more pictures than I care to look at right now of kids posing and doing goofy things. Even the adults were trying to get my attention. If you ever need a conversation starter, try explaining the difference between a film camera and a digital camera to someone who has never seen yet alone used anything more technologically advanced than a lightbulb. And when I wasn’t getting pulled in every which direction by a group of kids/adults who wanted their pictures taken, I was being heckled by the older girls in mine and Colin’s class to go and dance. As it turns out, I was the only one of any of them who ended up dancing.
If you are ever in a situation where you are the only thing not like any of the others and you are surrounded by a group of children, don’t shake hands with a snap of the finger with one of them and expect to not have to do it with all 25 of the others.
After listening to the music for a little while and laughing at some of the Germans/Austrians trying to dance, I figured that it was my turn to go and make a fool out of myself. Basically, the dance that I did is one that young girls perform as their final initiation before being able to be married – it’s not to hard to see why they perform this dance either. All you do is alternate lifting your feet and stomping the ground to the rhythm of the music or clapping while at the same time slapping your ass to the same beat. I felt like a penguin on epinephrine. Not only that, but I was wearing my very vibrant Togolese pants…make that an out of place penguin on steroids. It didn’t matter, I had a blast! And the crowd loved it, especially my students who will probably have a whole line of jokes ready to go tomorrow morning. Luckily for you there were enough cameras and phones about that I managed to get a few pictures of myself. I will put them up so long as I have no superenlarged photos of me dancing hanging in my room when I come home.
Just in case you were wondering there is no such thing as any man whatsoever dancing with the cute little girl in Africa like in all of the older Hollywood movies. BIG Cultural Taboo here.
As things were winding down, I spied Colin talking to a friend of the monastery and his sister. They are college students in Kara and want us to go in and hang out with them. Finally, peers! Next step…night clubbing.
The afterparty was fairly exciting as well… I was messing around with some kids and picked one of them up, spun him around, and managed to explode the grape drink packet he had in his pocket. 1 pair of pants injured in action for the night. Later at dinner, after I had showered and gotten cleaned up wearing a newly washed pair of pants; I was on the receiving end of a tray full of beer. The nun who was serving my table (the one with all the Germans hence the beer) hadn’t had much practice at lowering a tray full of drinks in her line of work. 2 pairs of pants injured in action within 30 minutes of each other. I also got a nice lesson in leaving died cotton clothing in a bucket full of soapy water with white and non-died clothes. I think I got most of the blueish green tint out of my shirt and boxers. If not, my new Sunday best is going to be Togolese pants and a tie-dyed t-shirt.
As promised there were a ton of people here, and as shocking as it is most of them only came for the free “concert” that followed lunch. The concert was actually pretty cool all things considered. Concerts here consist of the lead singer having a sing-a-long with their own CD, which is being blasted through two speakers that were shipped special delivery from a vintage 1970’s Woodstock concert. But they worked, which is more than I can say for a lot of things here. There were four singers in all, one of whom I have already referred to in this blog. While her table manners still need a little work, she is much more down to earth than I initially gave her credit for.
Before the concert even got started there was a ton of commotion and a lot of it was centered around my camera. I have more pictures than I care to look at right now of kids posing and doing goofy things. Even the adults were trying to get my attention. If you ever need a conversation starter, try explaining the difference between a film camera and a digital camera to someone who has never seen yet alone used anything more technologically advanced than a lightbulb. And when I wasn’t getting pulled in every which direction by a group of kids/adults who wanted their pictures taken, I was being heckled by the older girls in mine and Colin’s class to go and dance. As it turns out, I was the only one of any of them who ended up dancing.
If you are ever in a situation where you are the only thing not like any of the others and you are surrounded by a group of children, don’t shake hands with a snap of the finger with one of them and expect to not have to do it with all 25 of the others.
After listening to the music for a little while and laughing at some of the Germans/Austrians trying to dance, I figured that it was my turn to go and make a fool out of myself. Basically, the dance that I did is one that young girls perform as their final initiation before being able to be married – it’s not to hard to see why they perform this dance either. All you do is alternate lifting your feet and stomping the ground to the rhythm of the music or clapping while at the same time slapping your ass to the same beat. I felt like a penguin on epinephrine. Not only that, but I was wearing my very vibrant Togolese pants…make that an out of place penguin on steroids. It didn’t matter, I had a blast! And the crowd loved it, especially my students who will probably have a whole line of jokes ready to go tomorrow morning. Luckily for you there were enough cameras and phones about that I managed to get a few pictures of myself. I will put them up so long as I have no superenlarged photos of me dancing hanging in my room when I come home.
Just in case you were wondering there is no such thing as any man whatsoever dancing with the cute little girl in Africa like in all of the older Hollywood movies. BIG Cultural Taboo here.
As things were winding down, I spied Colin talking to a friend of the monastery and his sister. They are college students in Kara and want us to go in and hang out with them. Finally, peers! Next step…night clubbing.
The afterparty was fairly exciting as well… I was messing around with some kids and picked one of them up, spun him around, and managed to explode the grape drink packet he had in his pocket. 1 pair of pants injured in action for the night. Later at dinner, after I had showered and gotten cleaned up wearing a newly washed pair of pants; I was on the receiving end of a tray full of beer. The nun who was serving my table (the one with all the Germans hence the beer) hadn’t had much practice at lowering a tray full of drinks in her line of work. 2 pairs of pants injured in action within 30 minutes of each other. I also got a nice lesson in leaving died cotton clothing in a bucket full of soapy water with white and non-died clothes. I think I got most of the blueish green tint out of my shirt and boxers. If not, my new Sunday best is going to be Togolese pants and a tie-dyed t-shirt.
A Night at the Movies…
So there are about 3 or 4 Togolese Children who now think that penguins talk, sing, and tap dance. And that’s not to say that they knew what a penguin was beforehand because I had to look up the French word of the animal for them. I can’t wait for them to get to college and be on the wrong end of a conversation about the capabilities of penguins. Yes, I did screen a legally copied (for my personal records) version of Happy Feet for some of my students. And yes it was the first actual film that they have ever seen. They were captivated. Not that they could understand anything that was being said or sung, let alone the nuances of the family relationship and the Elvis archetype of a father. But they loved it, and I feel that my nights will soon be taken up with playing reruns of the few films (again, legally copied and not reproduced or sold) that I have with me.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
African Power
I was skeptical when I heard rumors about Black Magic ruining cameras if any pictures were taken of this tribal dance. Don’t worry nothing happened to my camera and there will be many more photos to come. But Black Magic is not the reason why there will not be any photos of African Power. No, there will be no photos of this because I was told that the dancers can become very aggressive if they see a camera (so much so that some of the monks have witnessed cameras getting taken and smashed against rocks). I wasn’t willing to take the chance, not until I knew it was going to be worth it.
But it is very easy to see how something like that can come to pass. This dance would be equivalent to something straight out of a nightmare for anyone who is unfamiliar with Togolese culture (me included). The dance essentially included every male person including young boys wishing to secure their power (this dance happened to be performed in front of the president of the country, so naturally there were a lot of them). And every single participant had a black painted face, a shirtless back, and a combination of an antler helmet, knives, spears, machetes, arrows, metal noisemakers, maraca-like instruments, and frogs.
As I said - African Power. The dancers were huddled together in a large circle and jumping up and down to the beat of the overwhelming drums. Not only that, but they were brandishing their weapons as well. Those with knives and machetes either cut themselves or mad large cutting motions all over their bodies. Those with arrows either pierced themselves and let the arrows hang or continued to make the piercing motion on either their arms or necks. All of this, again, is being done to the beat and rhythm of the drums. If you weren’t doing one of the previously mentioned actions, you most likely had a half-dead frog (not the nice little green kind like Kermit, the large, ugly, fat, lumpy one that you see on the NatGeo channel) hanging from your mouth and probably another one or two skewered on your spear. Hanging from your mouth is a little vague so please allow me to go into further detail. Upon arriving most of the frogs were hanging with a leg or two in the mouth. By the end of the dance, there was no frog. The little critter was generally pulled (between the teeth and one hand) apart into roughly 4 or 5 pieces with each one subsequently being placed next to the others in the mouth. The parts looked like long slimy teeth. And then yes, the frog would be eaten throughout the course of the dance.
So imagine this image…a college aged, black guy with black face paint, a double or quadruple 3 ft (apiece) long antler helmet, a serrated spear, and a quartered frog hanging from his mouth. Multiply that by about 60 and vary the age range by about 15 years on either side, through in some deafening drums and a mosh pit. Voila. African Power.
There were also men climbing trees and jumping on the branches to the beat of the drums which created a powerful scene of the shimmering leaves moving to the beat of the dance. These trees were roughly 3 stories high and hung over a mosh pit of people with spiked antler helmets and every other crude weapon imaginable.
Can you imagine stumbling upon something like that while on a nice little stroll through the African bush? Holy Shit it was intense. And I couldn’t get enough. The German priest who was with us was actually challenged by one of the dancers (he speared the ground leaving the end with the semi-dead frogs up in front of our faces). He was waiting to see if we had as much power as him and could take a frog. Luckily it wasn’t me who was directly challenged because I probably would have done it and deeply regretted it tomorrow as I later found out that most of the dancers take a local medication that allows them to eat the frogs without getting sick. But omg, it was hard not to get swept up in it all, and part of me wishes that I had jumped in and taken the challenge from the priest (who politely declined to accept and waited for the dancer to move on).
Did I mention that the Togolese president was in attendance? As president it is his job to preserve the culture and attending a dance is a great way to do that. I caught a glimpse of him, and I didn’t have to wait in line for 2 hours to go through a metal detector to do it. Nope, I think he figured that having a regiment of specially trained soldiers with M50s loaded onto the back of military jeeps would deter just about anything. I think he was right.
But it is very easy to see how something like that can come to pass. This dance would be equivalent to something straight out of a nightmare for anyone who is unfamiliar with Togolese culture (me included). The dance essentially included every male person including young boys wishing to secure their power (this dance happened to be performed in front of the president of the country, so naturally there were a lot of them). And every single participant had a black painted face, a shirtless back, and a combination of an antler helmet, knives, spears, machetes, arrows, metal noisemakers, maraca-like instruments, and frogs.
As I said - African Power. The dancers were huddled together in a large circle and jumping up and down to the beat of the overwhelming drums. Not only that, but they were brandishing their weapons as well. Those with knives and machetes either cut themselves or mad large cutting motions all over their bodies. Those with arrows either pierced themselves and let the arrows hang or continued to make the piercing motion on either their arms or necks. All of this, again, is being done to the beat and rhythm of the drums. If you weren’t doing one of the previously mentioned actions, you most likely had a half-dead frog (not the nice little green kind like Kermit, the large, ugly, fat, lumpy one that you see on the NatGeo channel) hanging from your mouth and probably another one or two skewered on your spear. Hanging from your mouth is a little vague so please allow me to go into further detail. Upon arriving most of the frogs were hanging with a leg or two in the mouth. By the end of the dance, there was no frog. The little critter was generally pulled (between the teeth and one hand) apart into roughly 4 or 5 pieces with each one subsequently being placed next to the others in the mouth. The parts looked like long slimy teeth. And then yes, the frog would be eaten throughout the course of the dance.
So imagine this image…a college aged, black guy with black face paint, a double or quadruple 3 ft (apiece) long antler helmet, a serrated spear, and a quartered frog hanging from his mouth. Multiply that by about 60 and vary the age range by about 15 years on either side, through in some deafening drums and a mosh pit. Voila. African Power.
There were also men climbing trees and jumping on the branches to the beat of the drums which created a powerful scene of the shimmering leaves moving to the beat of the dance. These trees were roughly 3 stories high and hung over a mosh pit of people with spiked antler helmets and every other crude weapon imaginable.
Can you imagine stumbling upon something like that while on a nice little stroll through the African bush? Holy Shit it was intense. And I couldn’t get enough. The German priest who was with us was actually challenged by one of the dancers (he speared the ground leaving the end with the semi-dead frogs up in front of our faces). He was waiting to see if we had as much power as him and could take a frog. Luckily it wasn’t me who was directly challenged because I probably would have done it and deeply regretted it tomorrow as I later found out that most of the dancers take a local medication that allows them to eat the frogs without getting sick. But omg, it was hard not to get swept up in it all, and part of me wishes that I had jumped in and taken the challenge from the priest (who politely declined to accept and waited for the dancer to move on).
Did I mention that the Togolese president was in attendance? As president it is his job to preserve the culture and attending a dance is a great way to do that. I caught a glimpse of him, and I didn’t have to wait in line for 2 hours to go through a metal detector to do it. Nope, I think he figured that having a regiment of specially trained soldiers with M50s loaded onto the back of military jeeps would deter just about anything. I think he was right.
Release
I have no release here. In the states I took many of the things that made me happy for granted. That is not to say that there aren’t many things here that do not make me happy, because there are. But, I have no release.
Previously when I had an overabundance of distress I would fall victim to my adrenaline junky side. That is to say, I played sports. I worked out. I did physical activities that would clear my mind in the action and replenish my energy afterwards. This was my way of channeling and venting. If I was upset, I focused that negative energy towards something positive. I can’t do that here.
I mean, I cannot physically release myself. There are no weightrooms, no basketball courts, no baseball diamonds, no hockey rinks, no rock walls, no racquetball or tennis courts, no football fields, no pools, no lakes or substantial rivers, and most importantly no equipment. I guess all of that pales in comparison to the idea that even if there were release points such as these I would have to drastically change my eating habits to use them. I can barely get enough calories into my system as it is (playing soccer a few times a week on a dirt patch, yoga, minor bucketfullofwater lifting). Anything more strenuous than that and it would take me a month to recover on my current nutritional intake.
I was a hardcore athlete and solely because it was fun. There was nothing material to be gained from any of the sports that I participated in (crew in particular), it was all personal. I enjoyed it and it was good for me. It is such a huge part of who am that I have come to realize that I need to do something in order to hold on to it. I will not allow myself to forget who I am.
Just to keep the thought out there… there are no release points for my distress and there are no girls AND I am now a vegetarian. Not that anyone is keeping score, but AFRICA-3 : Greg-2 (1 because I am still here and 1 because of the previous post)…eh make that 3½ for Africa, that whole vegetarian thing really erks me.
Previously when I had an overabundance of distress I would fall victim to my adrenaline junky side. That is to say, I played sports. I worked out. I did physical activities that would clear my mind in the action and replenish my energy afterwards. This was my way of channeling and venting. If I was upset, I focused that negative energy towards something positive. I can’t do that here.
I mean, I cannot physically release myself. There are no weightrooms, no basketball courts, no baseball diamonds, no hockey rinks, no rock walls, no racquetball or tennis courts, no football fields, no pools, no lakes or substantial rivers, and most importantly no equipment. I guess all of that pales in comparison to the idea that even if there were release points such as these I would have to drastically change my eating habits to use them. I can barely get enough calories into my system as it is (playing soccer a few times a week on a dirt patch, yoga, minor bucketfullofwater lifting). Anything more strenuous than that and it would take me a month to recover on my current nutritional intake.
I was a hardcore athlete and solely because it was fun. There was nothing material to be gained from any of the sports that I participated in (crew in particular), it was all personal. I enjoyed it and it was good for me. It is such a huge part of who am that I have come to realize that I need to do something in order to hold on to it. I will not allow myself to forget who I am.
Just to keep the thought out there… there are no release points for my distress and there are no girls AND I am now a vegetarian. Not that anyone is keeping score, but AFRICA-3 : Greg-2 (1 because I am still here and 1 because of the previous post)…eh make that 3½ for Africa, that whole vegetarian thing really erks me.
A Touching Story
It started downpouring tonight during supper. Colin and I (after countless times of getting caught in the rain) were the only two of anyone to think to bring a raincoat/umbrella (and not because we are the only ones who have them, most of the monks and visitors at least have an umbrella). I gave mine to a young mother who was with her two year-old daughter. After a brief exchange of pleasantries at the house and returning of my coat I had a feeling that I have never experienced before. I don’t even know if I can describe it… but I will try.
If anyone has ever seen the movie Hitch with Will Smith, there is a brief interaction between him and the female lead where he is at a bar and sees a woman being hastled by some other guys. He walks over and pretends to be her boyfriend to get them to leave her alone (she plays along). Afterwards she thanks him and then says something to the extent of so now I guess you’re going to give me your best line and try to buy me a drink? And he surprisingly responds by saying no, now I am going to get up and walk away because I am just a nice guy who was helping out someone in need (or something to that extent, look up the quote or watch the movie if you really want to know).
But essentially in the movie and for me there was that feeling of unexpected generosity whereby the last person on earth (Will Smith – a total player and guy who makes his living helping guys hook up with girls, and me – the “seemingly well-off” white MAN who for no logical reason would think to think about the wellbeing of a mother and child in a third world country) helped when it wasn’t asked for and most importantly didn’t expect anything in return. In the movie, Smith didn’t expect or want the right to be able to “claim” his prize in getting to be the knight in shinning amour and give his best pick-up line. Being repaid for lending my coat to someone who could use it more than me? Never crossed my mind. And I could tell that it was unexpected (not wanting or needing to be repaid) by the tone of her voice when I said goodnight, waved, and walked on. I definitely sensed that she was tense and didn’t know how to react because I think was probably a first for her as well. And that final act of saying goodnight and moving on without any expectation for anything liberated her from that tension. I haven’t quite done the feeling justice, but at least you have an idea. Not that it adds anything to the story, but she is one of the most beautiful Togolese women that I have seen.
No one but Colin witnessed it. He later said that after watching us walk back together in the shared silence of the falling rain was amazingly moving. He told me that he held back and didn’t walk with us because the moment was to special to ruin – two people from completely different walks of life sharing an act of kindness.
I am giggling right now because I told him not to make a huge deal out of it, yet here I am writing a book about it. “All I did was give her my coat!” But it was so much more than that.
If anyone has ever seen the movie Hitch with Will Smith, there is a brief interaction between him and the female lead where he is at a bar and sees a woman being hastled by some other guys. He walks over and pretends to be her boyfriend to get them to leave her alone (she plays along). Afterwards she thanks him and then says something to the extent of so now I guess you’re going to give me your best line and try to buy me a drink? And he surprisingly responds by saying no, now I am going to get up and walk away because I am just a nice guy who was helping out someone in need (or something to that extent, look up the quote or watch the movie if you really want to know).
But essentially in the movie and for me there was that feeling of unexpected generosity whereby the last person on earth (Will Smith – a total player and guy who makes his living helping guys hook up with girls, and me – the “seemingly well-off” white MAN who for no logical reason would think to think about the wellbeing of a mother and child in a third world country) helped when it wasn’t asked for and most importantly didn’t expect anything in return. In the movie, Smith didn’t expect or want the right to be able to “claim” his prize in getting to be the knight in shinning amour and give his best pick-up line. Being repaid for lending my coat to someone who could use it more than me? Never crossed my mind. And I could tell that it was unexpected (not wanting or needing to be repaid) by the tone of her voice when I said goodnight, waved, and walked on. I definitely sensed that she was tense and didn’t know how to react because I think was probably a first for her as well. And that final act of saying goodnight and moving on without any expectation for anything liberated her from that tension. I haven’t quite done the feeling justice, but at least you have an idea. Not that it adds anything to the story, but she is one of the most beautiful Togolese women that I have seen.
No one but Colin witnessed it. He later said that after watching us walk back together in the shared silence of the falling rain was amazingly moving. He told me that he held back and didn’t walk with us because the moment was to special to ruin – two people from completely different walks of life sharing an act of kindness.
I am giggling right now because I told him not to make a huge deal out of it, yet here I am writing a book about it. “All I did was give her my coat!” But it was so much more than that.
Friday, November 12, 2010
“Sick as a Dog” Sundays
I am beginning to not like Sundays very much. Not only do I have to wait another 6 days until I get the football score of the Nebraska games, I always seem to be sick for them or get sick on them. Granted its my own damn fault for eating meat that I was told was safe for me, but had the gut feeling not to. Needless to say I spent most of the day in bed staring at the dead bugs on my mosquito net contemplating turning vegetarian, which I think I am going to for the remainder of my stay. With the exception of fish, whatever crazy term they call vegetarians who eat fish and what little dairy I can stomach, I will be one of those for the next 6+ months. Didn’t see that one coming, not me, not a kid from Nebraska who was raised on beef. What’s going to suck even worse than not eating meat now, is that I am going to have to reacquaint myself with it when I go home. At least I will have an entire medical system at my disposal along with Dr. Mom.
And there is something that I want to make very clear. While it seems that my writing may imply that I want or need pity, that is simply not the case. My blogs, as they have always been, are as much for the outside reader as they are for me. I want something tangible to be able to look back upon when all is said and done to be able to remember the look on my students faces when I walk into their housing complex just to visit, or seeing the look of joy on their faces when I hand back their exam scores (or maybe it’s the piece of candy that accompanies it), how invincible I felt when I ate rat, or how awful I for the following week. These depictions are as much to show you what life here is like as they are for me to remember and currently think about everything that I have done and am doing. So please, I am sick…not dead.
In other news my brother Eric once said after asked “If it was dark in there?” when coming out of a porta-potty, “Well it was at first, but then I pulled down my pants and there was a full moon.” He was 5 and it was priceless. I thought of that today because the electricity keeps coming and going, and the mini quick dry towel (I didn’t want to fork out another 40 USD for something that was just slightly bigger than what I already had) that I am currently using to shower only covers ¾ of my hips and thighs, so naturally I chose the ¼ to be my left cheek. I started laughing randomly walking into the shower the other night thinking of that quotes. And no, seeing a 6 ft white kid with shaggy hair scurry to a bathroom half wrapped in a little green towel is not an awkward site. This is Africa. Kids run around here naked all the time. This one is just really big and white!
And there is something that I want to make very clear. While it seems that my writing may imply that I want or need pity, that is simply not the case. My blogs, as they have always been, are as much for the outside reader as they are for me. I want something tangible to be able to look back upon when all is said and done to be able to remember the look on my students faces when I walk into their housing complex just to visit, or seeing the look of joy on their faces when I hand back their exam scores (or maybe it’s the piece of candy that accompanies it), how invincible I felt when I ate rat, or how awful I for the following week. These depictions are as much to show you what life here is like as they are for me to remember and currently think about everything that I have done and am doing. So please, I am sick…not dead.
In other news my brother Eric once said after asked “If it was dark in there?” when coming out of a porta-potty, “Well it was at first, but then I pulled down my pants and there was a full moon.” He was 5 and it was priceless. I thought of that today because the electricity keeps coming and going, and the mini quick dry towel (I didn’t want to fork out another 40 USD for something that was just slightly bigger than what I already had) that I am currently using to shower only covers ¾ of my hips and thighs, so naturally I chose the ¼ to be my left cheek. I started laughing randomly walking into the shower the other night thinking of that quotes. And no, seeing a 6 ft white kid with shaggy hair scurry to a bathroom half wrapped in a little green towel is not an awkward site. This is Africa. Kids run around here naked all the time. This one is just really big and white!
Saturday’s Never Cease to Amaze Me
Today started like any other day… me waking up at some ungodly hour to take a piss. It then started a second time to my getting up for the breakfast bell. After breakfast, Colin and I got to talking again about girls of all things…We determined that of the BVC volunteers, I would be the one to come home with a wife or a girlfriend. That came up as both of us confessed that we knew what we wanted to “do” or “not do” with our lives, and as interesting and eye-opening as it is being here; this place, this lifestyle isn’t for us. We are packing up and going home. Just kidding, we are both committed to staying for the duration. I can’t leave now, I have yet to find a girlfriend/wife!
In all seriousness we are both swinging from very short pendulums and that rollercoaster ride that I mentioned a while back definitely hasn’t disappointed. Each day is exponentially more frustrating and difficult than the previous in that sense. We want to get started with the next phases of our lives and as much as I enjoy working with the students and interacting with the villagers, it would mean so much more if I had someone to share that experience with (sorry Colin, but you’re not it).
Our little chat was interrupted by one of the monks telling us that the German’s and Boniface were going to a nearby village for a traditional dance. I was all over it! Colin and I found a finishing point for our conversation and I ran off after the bus (he wasn’t feeling well and wisely chose to hang back). After an hour long, gas smelling, bumpy, and nauseous car ride we made it to the village only to find out that we had missed the main part of the dance. Damn. We then ended up driving to large house that belonged to someone important because there were a ton of well dressed people and expensive place settings. I ended up sitting next to the prefect (mayor) of one of the districts of the Kara region. Good thing I almost knocked over a table full of wine glasses as I attempted to sit down.
After the meal, during which I ate sheep intestines and either pig liver or pig heart (leaning towards heart right now, and for the record it is very difficult to turn down food from a 6 ft’ 200+ lb black woman whom everyone refers to as Mamma – pictured at right), some of the dancers made their way into the open-air dining area. Whell, I couldn’t exactly turn down another opportunity to dance so I got up and joined in. This group of dancers is in the pictures where you can see dishes. The dancers are carrying the whips used to whip each other during the dance. Think that’s bad, on Tuesday there is another dance displaying what was described to me as “true African power.” Basically it’s a type of talent show and there is supposed to be someone who eats toads, someone else who eats snakes (all animals are eaten while alive), and someone else who sticks an arrow through his arm. Yup, can’t wait for this one!
We then made our way to the town center where the closing ceremony of the day’s festivities took place. I didn’t dance in this one, but instead made my way through the dancers with my camera! The results are a little more rewarding for you this way. It is difficult to put the dance into words so I attempted to capture some of the movements with my lens and I think I did a pretty good job, but you can come up with your own opinion if you wish.
Some brief info on the dance…There were drums in the center, two crazily dressed white haired guys who danced around the drums (I think they represented time surrounding life), and around them was another circle of boys in ascending order of age representing the stages of becoming a man. Also, people here don’t know how not to walk in front of a camera (not surprising since most of them have never seen one before), but there was an African documentary crew there and even they were walking in front of me and some of the other random picture takers.
In all seriousness we are both swinging from very short pendulums and that rollercoaster ride that I mentioned a while back definitely hasn’t disappointed. Each day is exponentially more frustrating and difficult than the previous in that sense. We want to get started with the next phases of our lives and as much as I enjoy working with the students and interacting with the villagers, it would mean so much more if I had someone to share that experience with (sorry Colin, but you’re not it).
Our little chat was interrupted by one of the monks telling us that the German’s and Boniface were going to a nearby village for a traditional dance. I was all over it! Colin and I found a finishing point for our conversation and I ran off after the bus (he wasn’t feeling well and wisely chose to hang back). After an hour long, gas smelling, bumpy, and nauseous car ride we made it to the village only to find out that we had missed the main part of the dance. Damn. We then ended up driving to large house that belonged to someone important because there were a ton of well dressed people and expensive place settings. I ended up sitting next to the prefect (mayor) of one of the districts of the Kara region. Good thing I almost knocked over a table full of wine glasses as I attempted to sit down.
After the meal, during which I ate sheep intestines and either pig liver or pig heart (leaning towards heart right now, and for the record it is very difficult to turn down food from a 6 ft’ 200+ lb black woman whom everyone refers to as Mamma – pictured at right), some of the dancers made their way into the open-air dining area. Whell, I couldn’t exactly turn down another opportunity to dance so I got up and joined in. This group of dancers is in the pictures where you can see dishes. The dancers are carrying the whips used to whip each other during the dance. Think that’s bad, on Tuesday there is another dance displaying what was described to me as “true African power.” Basically it’s a type of talent show and there is supposed to be someone who eats toads, someone else who eats snakes (all animals are eaten while alive), and someone else who sticks an arrow through his arm. Yup, can’t wait for this one!
We then made our way to the town center where the closing ceremony of the day’s festivities took place. I didn’t dance in this one, but instead made my way through the dancers with my camera! The results are a little more rewarding for you this way. It is difficult to put the dance into words so I attempted to capture some of the movements with my lens and I think I did a pretty good job, but you can come up with your own opinion if you wish.
Some brief info on the dance…There were drums in the center, two crazily dressed white haired guys who danced around the drums (I think they represented time surrounding life), and around them was another circle of boys in ascending order of age representing the stages of becoming a man. Also, people here don’t know how not to walk in front of a camera (not surprising since most of them have never seen one before), but there was an African documentary crew there and even they were walking in front of me and some of the other random picture takers.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Germans...
Boniface has some German friends in the form of a monk, a priest, and their respective relatives. No cute girls though The priest is currently on assignment in Ghana, but decided to make his way to Agbang for the Jubilee. They showed up to dinner the other night, before Colin and I knew who they were and we were trying to guess where they were from. As soon as one of the said a word, we knew immediately, looked at each other and said, “Germans.” It turns out these Germans/Austrians also speak English and all looked at Colin and I. Oops. I tried to explain to them who we were and why we were so surprised that there were other white people sitting next to us, but the only thing that came out was French! It was really difficult to try and switch to a fluent English mindset and speak it to people who don’t understand French. I still haven’t been able to master it as I constantly find myself telling them things or passing on information in French. Oh well.
And this afternoon Colin saw a scorpion. He said it was one of the little ones, which if anyone has seen the newest Indian Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull they will know that the little ones pack a little more punch. And he told me that he saw the little critter right after I told him that my class was disrupted by the grade above mine yelling and running out of their classroom followed by a few of the kids beating the living daylights out of a snake. I will be hanging my shoes from now on and never walking alone in the bush again, or at least until my subconscious releases its hold on the idea of scorpions and snakes.
And this afternoon Colin saw a scorpion. He said it was one of the little ones, which if anyone has seen the newest Indian Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull they will know that the little ones pack a little more punch. And he told me that he saw the little critter right after I told him that my class was disrupted by the grade above mine yelling and running out of their classroom followed by a few of the kids beating the living daylights out of a snake. I will be hanging my shoes from now on and never walking alone in the bush again, or at least until my subconscious releases its hold on the idea of scorpions and snakes.
Biggest Kid on the Block
I played soccer for the first time in a week or to today (Thursday, 4th). I don’t know how I made it that long without kicking a ball, but I did. Anywho, there are some older kids who are a little more mature physically and use it to their advantage (as anyone would) when going up against a smaller more agile kid. This happened occasionally to the extent where scoring opportunities are lost due to a hard foul or illegal hold on a player. Not that there are any refs or anything here, but that’s good for me! I am not shy about using my size to knock around some of the 17 and 18 year olds to even the playing field a bit. They enjoy the competition, although it frustrates them occasionally not being able to move someone out of their way at will. And of course, it is all in good fun as everyone is laughing as the white guy is giving the older kids a taste of their own medicine.
The rough and tumble play here is very typical of pick-up games and is essentially a part of the culture. Becoming a man and going through the rites of passage has a very important role in the lives of these boys. One of the middle stages actually includes 3 years of fighting (or more colloquially, wrestling). They have to participate in fights (to the ground) for three years before they can go through the final rite of passage, which is the dance that only occurs once every 5 years (video to the right).
The rough and tumble play here is very typical of pick-up games and is essentially a part of the culture. Becoming a man and going through the rites of passage has a very important role in the lives of these boys. One of the middle stages actually includes 3 years of fighting (or more colloquially, wrestling). They have to participate in fights (to the ground) for three years before they can go through the final rite of passage, which is the dance that only occurs once every 5 years (video to the right).
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
A Mother's Love
So the other day Colin and I were coming back from Kara in the Monastery’s van. About halfway back, roughly 12 km, the van pulled over on the side of the road right up next to a young woman carrying a baby. As a little sidenote, the baby sacs they have here are sweet. Basically anyone carrying a child puts the kid on their back as they lean over and then wrap a long piece of cloth around and tie it up in front. It’s a little bit cheaper than a baby carrier and a little more natural when you think about it. Anywho, she happened to be the daughter of a monastery fieldworker and was on her way back from Kara – by foot. I was told by one of the monks in the van that her baby had fallen gravely ill and that her husband had abandoned them due to the monetary strain that providing for a sick baby would take on him. So she had walked to and from Kara the week before to set up the appointment at the hospital and had to return about a week later in order to see a doctor. We were picking her up on the final return trip.
To put this in perspective, it takes about 2 hours to bike the 20+ km from Agbang if you are peddling your ass off. Otherwise it can take between 2.5 and 4 hours to make the trek from the village, by bike. The monastery is about 2 km from the village and she lives another 2 km back through the bush. And the hospital is up on the mountainside on the far side of Kara. So she walked roughly 28 km one way. Needless to say, for a single woman burdened with a sick child it is a two-day trip when eating and sleeping are factored in. In total she walked 116 km in 8 days (2 separate 4 day trips), waited for who knows how long in the hospital, and did it all in flip-flops. Just some food for thought, but think about that the next time you are sitting in a waiting room wondering if you’re ever going to see the doctor. And keep in mind that while you’re there you most likely don’t have a child who is on the brink of death.
To put this in perspective, it takes about 2 hours to bike the 20+ km from Agbang if you are peddling your ass off. Otherwise it can take between 2.5 and 4 hours to make the trek from the village, by bike. The monastery is about 2 km from the village and she lives another 2 km back through the bush. And the hospital is up on the mountainside on the far side of Kara. So she walked roughly 28 km one way. Needless to say, for a single woman burdened with a sick child it is a two-day trip when eating and sleeping are factored in. In total she walked 116 km in 8 days (2 separate 4 day trips), waited for who knows how long in the hospital, and did it all in flip-flops. Just some food for thought, but think about that the next time you are sitting in a waiting room wondering if you’re ever going to see the doctor. And keep in mind that while you’re there you most likely don’t have a child who is on the brink of death.
Still on that Rollercoaster (follow up to ok this is tough...)
I went on my usual weekly walk with Blaise and this time I was voicing my concern over the impact that Colin and I were having on the community. And after a few bowls of Tchuc and a few hours of chatting I came away feeling much better about my situation, although still somewhat skeptical and unsatisfied.
Among the little tidbits of information that I came away with was the fact that Colin and I each are saving the monastery at least 300,000 CFA in terms of salary. As I may have mentioned before, the monastery pays the wages and helps create special situations that will make working at the school more attractive to teachers from Kara (one of which being fronting the 600,000+ CFA for a motorcycle for one professor to commute, providing lodging for others and providing meals). Colin and I ameliorate the financial situation, but we are far from a fix. But it is somewhat nice to know the tangible/financial worth of our work at the school. The feeling of being a burden on the school and monastery is now gone. But there is still something left to be desired.
Also, at mass tonight a cockroach flew into a light. I giggled. But that giggle turned into laughter. Try and imagine a 6’5” linebacker built monk get up from his chair, reverently bow towards the alter, and then proceed to boot the little sucker out the door before calmly proceeding to prepare the alter for the priest. OMG, I lost it. The only thing going through my mind for the rest of mass was “GGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!” Even Colin had to hang his head a little to conceal the laughter.
Among the little tidbits of information that I came away with was the fact that Colin and I each are saving the monastery at least 300,000 CFA in terms of salary. As I may have mentioned before, the monastery pays the wages and helps create special situations that will make working at the school more attractive to teachers from Kara (one of which being fronting the 600,000+ CFA for a motorcycle for one professor to commute, providing lodging for others and providing meals). Colin and I ameliorate the financial situation, but we are far from a fix. But it is somewhat nice to know the tangible/financial worth of our work at the school. The feeling of being a burden on the school and monastery is now gone. But there is still something left to be desired.
Also, at mass tonight a cockroach flew into a light. I giggled. But that giggle turned into laughter. Try and imagine a 6’5” linebacker built monk get up from his chair, reverently bow towards the alter, and then proceed to boot the little sucker out the door before calmly proceeding to prepare the alter for the priest. OMG, I lost it. The only thing going through my mind for the rest of mass was “GGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!” Even Colin had to hang his head a little to conceal the laughter.
Ok this is tough..
It has taken me two months to finally admit and deliberately state that this trip is difficult. It has been about two months now and the time factor is starting to set in. 7 more months? It is going to be one heck of a rollercoaster ride.
One of the more pressing thoughts that has filled my head, other than girls, is the impact that I am having on this place. I have been known to either be the bull in the china shop or be the one who let the bull into the china shop…saying that I have had my hand in just about any mischievous deed that has happened to cross my path dating back freshman year in high school. And I seem to find myself thinking that I could potentially be knocking over some very expensive china right now.
I want to think that my interactions with students and the people here have been mutually helpful and eye-opening. But a small part of me feels as though I am opening a can full of worms for this village. Yes I am a white volunteer who is teaching English and expanding the cultural diffusion that has been lacking in certain parts of the world. But, what is my impact really going to be? These people don’t use American English, which is vastly different to West African English. They don’t even use English at all unless there are two American volunteers knocking on the door who can’t speak a lick of French.
For many of the kids at the school, English is actually their third language. Their native language of Kabiye is the first thing learned here in the countryside and that is followed, provided there are adequate learning materials at school, French. Being that Kabiye is only spoken in a very small portion of Togo, French is necessary to communicate with other people in the larger cities. While there is always a benefit to having a native speaker of a language attempt to teach it, I have questioned the point of it here. (I am also in the process of trying to help out the school with obtaining supplies and creating a renewable scholarship fund for local children, both of which will boost my sense of purpose once things get rolling, but right now it is a bit lacking)
I have had two students who I am particularly close with tell me that they are coming home with me. I would love nothing more, but the stark reality is that they will be lucky to make it out of the tri-country area that consists of Benin, Togo, and Ghana. Making it to the United States? That would be like winning the lottery, which is actually how some visas are given out here. There is a free lottery that everyone is put into and I forget the specifics, but each year a few names are pulled out and they are given automatic visas out of the country if they wish to use them. 1 in 6 million is better odds than in the states, but whew I would almost take my chances at getting attacked by a polar bear!
As for the bull in the china shop part, I am not being destructive in the literal sense. But there is a way of life here, especially in the countryside, and I am the one thing that isn’t like the others. My way of thinking, moreso than most, is so completely revolutionary to what these kids and adults have ever known and I don’t want to look back on my time here as I board the plane and think that I have filled the innocent minds of happy children with ideas of grandeur that they may never know.
“Ignorance is bliss.” I don’t know if bliss is the right way to describe a third world country, but these people sure are happy considering their respective situations. Everyone here works hard and puts family first and does it with a smile on their face. The first thing I saw in an internet search of Togo before I arrived was a travel logo for the country, Togo – La sourire de l’Afrique (the smile of Africa). And it is true. I can only hope that after my time here, some of the little smiles are still there.
To brighten this somewhat gloomy dark and dreary post, I saw a quote the other day that read, “there is nothing more powerful than an idea who’s time has come.” And maybe the bull in the china shop is exactly what some of these kids needed in order to introduce that idea and spark the change. We shall see.
One of the more pressing thoughts that has filled my head, other than girls, is the impact that I am having on this place. I have been known to either be the bull in the china shop or be the one who let the bull into the china shop…saying that I have had my hand in just about any mischievous deed that has happened to cross my path dating back freshman year in high school. And I seem to find myself thinking that I could potentially be knocking over some very expensive china right now.
I want to think that my interactions with students and the people here have been mutually helpful and eye-opening. But a small part of me feels as though I am opening a can full of worms for this village. Yes I am a white volunteer who is teaching English and expanding the cultural diffusion that has been lacking in certain parts of the world. But, what is my impact really going to be? These people don’t use American English, which is vastly different to West African English. They don’t even use English at all unless there are two American volunteers knocking on the door who can’t speak a lick of French.
For many of the kids at the school, English is actually their third language. Their native language of Kabiye is the first thing learned here in the countryside and that is followed, provided there are adequate learning materials at school, French. Being that Kabiye is only spoken in a very small portion of Togo, French is necessary to communicate with other people in the larger cities. While there is always a benefit to having a native speaker of a language attempt to teach it, I have questioned the point of it here. (I am also in the process of trying to help out the school with obtaining supplies and creating a renewable scholarship fund for local children, both of which will boost my sense of purpose once things get rolling, but right now it is a bit lacking)
I have had two students who I am particularly close with tell me that they are coming home with me. I would love nothing more, but the stark reality is that they will be lucky to make it out of the tri-country area that consists of Benin, Togo, and Ghana. Making it to the United States? That would be like winning the lottery, which is actually how some visas are given out here. There is a free lottery that everyone is put into and I forget the specifics, but each year a few names are pulled out and they are given automatic visas out of the country if they wish to use them. 1 in 6 million is better odds than in the states, but whew I would almost take my chances at getting attacked by a polar bear!
As for the bull in the china shop part, I am not being destructive in the literal sense. But there is a way of life here, especially in the countryside, and I am the one thing that isn’t like the others. My way of thinking, moreso than most, is so completely revolutionary to what these kids and adults have ever known and I don’t want to look back on my time here as I board the plane and think that I have filled the innocent minds of happy children with ideas of grandeur that they may never know.
“Ignorance is bliss.” I don’t know if bliss is the right way to describe a third world country, but these people sure are happy considering their respective situations. Everyone here works hard and puts family first and does it with a smile on their face. The first thing I saw in an internet search of Togo before I arrived was a travel logo for the country, Togo – La sourire de l’Afrique (the smile of Africa). And it is true. I can only hope that after my time here, some of the little smiles are still there.
To brighten this somewhat gloomy dark and dreary post, I saw a quote the other day that read, “there is nothing more powerful than an idea who’s time has come.” And maybe the bull in the china shop is exactly what some of these kids needed in order to introduce that idea and spark the change. We shall see.
Computer Combing
So as I was combing through my computer trying to rid it of anything that would impede its performance, I stumbled upon a folder full of advice and personality indicators. In sifting through the files, I saw a personality test that I found on the internet, and although I didn’t fill it out personally the only answer of mine that would have been different would be the shaving of the cat…I’m for furry animals. My dog (rest his soul) was shaved for the latter part of his life due to skin cancer, and I am willing to use a lint brush in order to never have to see something like that again. Just to give you a glimpse of how awful it was; I had friends who would come over and ask what kind of animal he was (it was fairly easy to see why considering the patchy, shaved pink body was headed by a huge fluffy white ball of fur). Anywho, the test (look to the left with the rest of the pictures to find it, you can't miss it)…
Another picture that may or may not need some explaining is one that you have most likely already seen. It is the one next to my name on this blog; the one with the stick figure in the process of flying. I love this picture. It basically says to me that I can do whatever I put my mind to so long as I parsimoniously (yes, I remembered a big word from college) answer questions! Life is too short to complicate things, if you do you’ll end up spending most of your time thinking and less of that time living.
I also came upon was a quote by Samuel Johnson on the measure of a man. It reads, “The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good.” On this quote I have two thoughts. First, in my experience those to whom this quote would initially apply don’t concern themselves with their “measure” and how they compare to other men or women. And second, there is no such thing as a man who can do someone absolutely no good. Experiential Learning - two words that define my views on education. Anyone who does a good dead towards someone learns something about themselves that without said person would have otherwise been lost. Not that this is how I view my work here, but I will use myself as an example. I am volunteering in a third world country where most people are too poor to buy a toothbrush, which costs a whopping 0.20USD. According to this quote, most of the people who I interact with can do me absolutely no good. I can gain very little if any useful knowledge from them, they cannot better my financial standing, they can’t better my social standing, etc… But I have learned more about living and life here from these people than I could have imagined. And that would not have been possible were it not for my interacting with them with an open mind. Because if I didn’t go into it with that mindset then I would be the one who could do me absolutely no good. Paradox?
Let’s see, what else is in my little treasure chest of a computer file… oh yes, another picture. I hate energy drinks. They are horrible for your health nutritionally and they mess with the internal systems and workings of the body in an unnatural way. If you can’t pull an all-nighter without one then you are just a little bitch! With that thought I give you the answer to increased daily energy (again, look left)!
OK one more quote and one more picture and then I’m done. Achem, sorry Aunt MaryJane and Audrey, I’m finished…turkeys are done. To the quote…this one’s from Gilda Radner (I have no idea who she his, but I liked the quote), “…Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity…” Need I explain this one?
And this final picture is one about optimism and finding the good things in life despite…sorry I am laughing as I write this because the picture is just too good…finding the good things in life despite any potential disadvantages or curveballs that life may throw…haha, what a load of poppycock just look at the picture and laugh (look left)!
Yes I am and will always be a kid at heart; nothing will ever change that.
Another picture that may or may not need some explaining is one that you have most likely already seen. It is the one next to my name on this blog; the one with the stick figure in the process of flying. I love this picture. It basically says to me that I can do whatever I put my mind to so long as I parsimoniously (yes, I remembered a big word from college) answer questions! Life is too short to complicate things, if you do you’ll end up spending most of your time thinking and less of that time living.
I also came upon was a quote by Samuel Johnson on the measure of a man. It reads, “The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good.” On this quote I have two thoughts. First, in my experience those to whom this quote would initially apply don’t concern themselves with their “measure” and how they compare to other men or women. And second, there is no such thing as a man who can do someone absolutely no good. Experiential Learning - two words that define my views on education. Anyone who does a good dead towards someone learns something about themselves that without said person would have otherwise been lost. Not that this is how I view my work here, but I will use myself as an example. I am volunteering in a third world country where most people are too poor to buy a toothbrush, which costs a whopping 0.20USD. According to this quote, most of the people who I interact with can do me absolutely no good. I can gain very little if any useful knowledge from them, they cannot better my financial standing, they can’t better my social standing, etc… But I have learned more about living and life here from these people than I could have imagined. And that would not have been possible were it not for my interacting with them with an open mind. Because if I didn’t go into it with that mindset then I would be the one who could do me absolutely no good. Paradox?
Let’s see, what else is in my little treasure chest of a computer file… oh yes, another picture. I hate energy drinks. They are horrible for your health nutritionally and they mess with the internal systems and workings of the body in an unnatural way. If you can’t pull an all-nighter without one then you are just a little bitch! With that thought I give you the answer to increased daily energy (again, look left)!
OK one more quote and one more picture and then I’m done. Achem, sorry Aunt MaryJane and Audrey, I’m finished…turkeys are done. To the quote…this one’s from Gilda Radner (I have no idea who she his, but I liked the quote), “…Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity…” Need I explain this one?
And this final picture is one about optimism and finding the good things in life despite…sorry I am laughing as I write this because the picture is just too good…finding the good things in life despite any potential disadvantages or curveballs that life may throw…haha, what a load of poppycock just look at the picture and laugh (look left)!
Yes I am and will always be a kid at heart; nothing will ever change that.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Computer Troubles...
Computer…
So my computer has made it to 3 continents, on countless roadtrips, has weathered every season, has been dropped, spilled on, overworked, and everything in between. Not that I don’t take good care of it, I have actually taken amazing care of it all things considered. But it is on its final leg. We’ll see what happens with it, but I am praying that it makes it through the end of my stay here. In order to try and accomplish that, I have consolidated all of my photos and copied every important file on to my external hard drive (just in case) and have limited my computer use to word, iphoto, and itunes (which is actually the application that started the whole meltdown). So keep your fingers crossed that it holds out for a while and at the very least until I submit my application to the French Teaching Assistantship program!
And the Big Red Machine finally beat a top 10 team! It took a little while, but it feels good to finally be back in the ranks of the nation’s best! Let’s just hope we can show Iowa St. how lucky they were last year to escape Lincoln with their first win there since ’77. I still can’t believe it, but at least playing Iowa St. this year won’t hurt our strength of schedule – shout out to Mac Brown down in Texas (feel free to mention something about Baylor as well). Ha, that’s too bad! But seriously props to Paul Rhodes, ISU is making headway and could be in the upper half (along with Art Briles and Baylor!) of what is left of the B12 in a few years. But the Big 12 will never be the Big 12 without the Big Red…GBR!
So my computer has made it to 3 continents, on countless roadtrips, has weathered every season, has been dropped, spilled on, overworked, and everything in between. Not that I don’t take good care of it, I have actually taken amazing care of it all things considered. But it is on its final leg. We’ll see what happens with it, but I am praying that it makes it through the end of my stay here. In order to try and accomplish that, I have consolidated all of my photos and copied every important file on to my external hard drive (just in case) and have limited my computer use to word, iphoto, and itunes (which is actually the application that started the whole meltdown). So keep your fingers crossed that it holds out for a while and at the very least until I submit my application to the French Teaching Assistantship program!
And the Big Red Machine finally beat a top 10 team! It took a little while, but it feels good to finally be back in the ranks of the nation’s best! Let’s just hope we can show Iowa St. how lucky they were last year to escape Lincoln with their first win there since ’77. I still can’t believe it, but at least playing Iowa St. this year won’t hurt our strength of schedule – shout out to Mac Brown down in Texas (feel free to mention something about Baylor as well). Ha, that’s too bad! But seriously props to Paul Rhodes, ISU is making headway and could be in the upper half (along with Art Briles and Baylor!) of what is left of the B12 in a few years. But the Big 12 will never be the Big 12 without the Big Red…GBR!
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Toussaint
So Colin and I have been eating with a Togolese pop singer, without even knowing it. Let's just say that manners seem to be lacking in the upper echelon of pop-stardom here.
Also at dinner tonight (All Saints Day), we had a small welcome home party for two of the monks who had just recently returned from Cuba. It was kind of interesting listening to their take on the country, but whatever happened to never sharing politics at the dinner table?
In other news today is the French version of Halloween. The only thing is that there isn’t enough money to celebrate so people go to mass in the morning and then use the rest of the day working or relaxing at their houses. Depending on the town there could be a fair number of people gathering to drink Tchuc at the market. But everyone enjoys the holiday. And coming to think of it, they celebrate it much in the same way that college students due…lounge around all day, potentially going to class or work, and then going out to the local market/party house/ bar to drink the local beer (English translation for Tchuc)! Although, college students do generally have a little money or get a little inventive when it comes to creating a costume (see facebook for further details).
Also at dinner tonight (All Saints Day), we had a small welcome home party for two of the monks who had just recently returned from Cuba. It was kind of interesting listening to their take on the country, but whatever happened to never sharing politics at the dinner table?
In other news today is the French version of Halloween. The only thing is that there isn’t enough money to celebrate so people go to mass in the morning and then use the rest of the day working or relaxing at their houses. Depending on the town there could be a fair number of people gathering to drink Tchuc at the market. But everyone enjoys the holiday. And coming to think of it, they celebrate it much in the same way that college students due…lounge around all day, potentially going to class or work, and then going out to the local market/party house/ bar to drink the local beer (English translation for Tchuc)! Although, college students do generally have a little money or get a little inventive when it comes to creating a costume (see facebook for further details).
Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Sunday wasn’t really bloody in the literal sense, but there is some bad blood here between the community and one of its members and a little of it came out during mass of all places. As I referred to earlier in my blog, there are some politics here, as there are in any closed community. And the person around whom the situation revolved was finally called out in front of the entire community (including some villagers). The series of events happened as follows:
The monk got up and left the church, as was normal for him, right before the exchange of Peace and returned right before it was his turn to go up and take communion (there are no EMHCs here unless there are a ton of people on a big feast day). A much higher ranking monk (there isn’t really a ranking system for monks as we think of ranks, but this dude is pretty high up in this community) stood up, stopped mass, and calmly told the monk to sit down and that essentially he was no longer a true part of the community. Talk about scaring the living begeesees out of me right before I went up for communion. Misplaced fear, but there was definitely a feeling of uneasiness throughout the chapel for the rest of mass. And afterwards before the priest gave the final blessing, the hancho stood up and explained his actions along with his reasons for taking them.
Not that it is Colin or my place to say so, but the right thing was done. After mass, all of the monks had a little more bounce in their step. And while it is somewhat sad to see something like that happen there is a general sentiment of liberation around the monastery now, like a dark cloud has been lifted. As a friend put it, "it’s like cleaning out an infected wound…hurts like the dickens, but is better for the body in the long run." We shall see. It’s not like I borrowed the nixed monk’s guitar or anything and it is currently sitting in my room. I can’t go give it back to him and say, “here you go happy travels,” but at the same time I am not looking forward to him coming and asking me for it and me giving it to him and saying “thanks, here you go, happy travels.” I guess all that I can do is sit here and fill the resonating halls with my rockstar quality guitar playing!
Oh yeah, Happy Halloween!
The monk got up and left the church, as was normal for him, right before the exchange of Peace and returned right before it was his turn to go up and take communion (there are no EMHCs here unless there are a ton of people on a big feast day). A much higher ranking monk (there isn’t really a ranking system for monks as we think of ranks, but this dude is pretty high up in this community) stood up, stopped mass, and calmly told the monk to sit down and that essentially he was no longer a true part of the community. Talk about scaring the living begeesees out of me right before I went up for communion. Misplaced fear, but there was definitely a feeling of uneasiness throughout the chapel for the rest of mass. And afterwards before the priest gave the final blessing, the hancho stood up and explained his actions along with his reasons for taking them.
Not that it is Colin or my place to say so, but the right thing was done. After mass, all of the monks had a little more bounce in their step. And while it is somewhat sad to see something like that happen there is a general sentiment of liberation around the monastery now, like a dark cloud has been lifted. As a friend put it, "it’s like cleaning out an infected wound…hurts like the dickens, but is better for the body in the long run." We shall see. It’s not like I borrowed the nixed monk’s guitar or anything and it is currently sitting in my room. I can’t go give it back to him and say, “here you go happy travels,” but at the same time I am not looking forward to him coming and asking me for it and me giving it to him and saying “thanks, here you go, happy travels.” I guess all that I can do is sit here and fill the resonating halls with my rockstar quality guitar playing!
Oh yeah, Happy Halloween!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Girls, Girls, Girls!
There aren’t any girls here. That’s not too surprising considering I am living in a monastery. Although, there is a considerable amount of female traffic through here in the form of older women (most of them married with the others being nuns). But there aren’t any girls that I can go and hang out with, flirt with, go on dates with, or anything that would be associated with the above. I take that back… there aren’t any girls that I can do that with without running into the whole cultural marriage issue, which I would rather avoid for the time being (and most likely my entire stay). And it sucks. As much as I love pushing the envelope a little…ok maybe a lot, I don’t foresee myself taking the plunge here.
And don’t get me wrong, I love being here; but Colin and I got to talking about this one night after I confessed that I had had and was having a difficult time with it. We determined that there is a kind of feminine energy or essence (other than feramones as I was quick to point out the more platonic side of the argument) that simply put - changes a situation. There is just something about ‘em that you (I mean “I”) can’t live without.
To throw a little humor into a rather lofty subject, I have been asked multiple times (translated for your convenience) if I am here to find a wife, if I am here to find another wife, how many kids I have, if I am married, and or is that you don’t want to marry a black person? Now imagine me being asked that by my students during a passing period. Ok now imagine me being asked that by the father of a girl who is of age while I am sitting in his house drinking his Tchuc. Luckily Tchuc makes my cheeks rosey red, after I have had enough of it, and I don’t think he could tell how flustered I was trying to respond. But it is difficult telling people in a culture that revolves around having a large extended family that I am 22, don’t have a wife, don’t have kids, have no money, and don’t have a job. If you ever needed an example of a BIG cultural difference, well there you go! It has taken me about 2 months, but at least with my students, the monks, and some closer friends I have been able to convey what it is that I am doing and why.
On that note, I can safely say that after attending an all male Benedictine boarding school, an all male Benedictine university, and volunteering abroad while living with yet again Benedictines…this is not the life for me. That is not to say that I was ever considering becoming anything other than a family man, because that is completely contrary to the fact. After seeing most importantly the way that my parents have raised my siblings and I along with my other relatives and friends of the married w/kids variety (including those around the world), I know that I am going to get married to the most beautiful girl in the world and have the most amazing children. If anything, I have learned more legitimately than most why it is that I want a family and why it is the only life for me. After all, how many people do you know who have spent 9, count it 9 years around monks, subtract the ones who are monks/priests and who are teachers at a Benedictine school = me…and maybe a few others, but not many. Trust me when I say that it is an interesting way of living, but it isn’t for me.
That said, there still aren’t any viable girls here (in the sense that I am referring to). And although Colin and I joke about the fact that we ended up here so it’s not too far of a stretch to imagine some cute French girls making their way down here; I don’t think it’s gonna happen…aka I am “stuck” here for another 7 months. Oh boy…
P.S. I am open for ideas of ways to make these next 7 months a little easier in that sense…
And don’t get me wrong, I love being here; but Colin and I got to talking about this one night after I confessed that I had had and was having a difficult time with it. We determined that there is a kind of feminine energy or essence (other than feramones as I was quick to point out the more platonic side of the argument) that simply put - changes a situation. There is just something about ‘em that you (I mean “I”) can’t live without.
To throw a little humor into a rather lofty subject, I have been asked multiple times (translated for your convenience) if I am here to find a wife, if I am here to find another wife, how many kids I have, if I am married, and or is that you don’t want to marry a black person? Now imagine me being asked that by my students during a passing period. Ok now imagine me being asked that by the father of a girl who is of age while I am sitting in his house drinking his Tchuc. Luckily Tchuc makes my cheeks rosey red, after I have had enough of it, and I don’t think he could tell how flustered I was trying to respond. But it is difficult telling people in a culture that revolves around having a large extended family that I am 22, don’t have a wife, don’t have kids, have no money, and don’t have a job. If you ever needed an example of a BIG cultural difference, well there you go! It has taken me about 2 months, but at least with my students, the monks, and some closer friends I have been able to convey what it is that I am doing and why.
On that note, I can safely say that after attending an all male Benedictine boarding school, an all male Benedictine university, and volunteering abroad while living with yet again Benedictines…this is not the life for me. That is not to say that I was ever considering becoming anything other than a family man, because that is completely contrary to the fact. After seeing most importantly the way that my parents have raised my siblings and I along with my other relatives and friends of the married w/kids variety (including those around the world), I know that I am going to get married to the most beautiful girl in the world and have the most amazing children. If anything, I have learned more legitimately than most why it is that I want a family and why it is the only life for me. After all, how many people do you know who have spent 9, count it 9 years around monks, subtract the ones who are monks/priests and who are teachers at a Benedictine school = me…and maybe a few others, but not many. Trust me when I say that it is an interesting way of living, but it isn’t for me.
That said, there still aren’t any viable girls here (in the sense that I am referring to). And although Colin and I joke about the fact that we ended up here so it’s not too far of a stretch to imagine some cute French girls making their way down here; I don’t think it’s gonna happen…aka I am “stuck” here for another 7 months. Oh boy…
P.S. I am open for ideas of ways to make these next 7 months a little easier in that sense…
As days go by
Life never seems to “settle” here. I like it. The other day I was offered dog – as food. It is culturally reserved for a coming of age ceremony for young boys who are allowed to eat it only at the ceremony and then never again less they suffer wrath of their wives and the local courts. Luckily for me, the monks here aren’t too worried about being taken to court by their wives for eating dog meat. So yes, I ate dog meat. Less than a week after finally getting over eating rat, I ate another strange meat. Call me crazy, I was sure as hell thinking it at the time. I was the subject of laughter for the better part of the little gathering as I sat there shaking my head while chewing the rather delicious tasting morsels of the once best friend of man.
Boniface later asked me what my mom would think of me if she found out that I ate dog, I told him jokingly that she’d probably stop loving me. I don’t think that would have been true, but she sure would have had a fit if I had gotten sick again! I didn’t, no worries there. But it is interesting that every time I feel as though I am getting settled back into a routine that I have surprisingly never really had here, a curveball comes in and nails me in the shoulder. It’s just one of those little ways of Africa making sure I am still all here and in the moment.
In other culinary news, I ate a passion fruit the other day. I felt like I was eating tadpoles. All things considered, it tasted really good. I already knew that thanks to Westside Liquor Stores in St. Cloud, MN. But eating the real thing was somewhat gratifying. And it’s not like a had a choice or anything, every monk in the dining room was fixed on Colin and I when we cut into the fruits with puzzled looks on our faces thinking how in the heck are we supposed to eat this?!
I am learning more about life in Africa with each passing day. The two households that I visit often have afforded me some interesting opportunities to learn. For one, I worked in a flour mill with one of my students for the better part of two hours. Errrr… I worked for a little bit, but my hands couldn’t take the heat of the ground up flour (my student works there for 4+ hours a day). The other household is the one where I picked/dried corn. I am also picking up more of the local language little by little, but at least I can get past the “hello how are you test,” which I receive from everyone whenever I pass them on the road.
There are also the little tidbits of information about life here that I am picking up on such as: a household of 5 requires a 60L basin of water to be filled up close to 20 times per week (it serves as their cooking, showering, washing, and laundry water supply for the week). Also, toothbrushes cost roughly 200CFA or about .40USD, which is too expensive for most children and adults so instead they use a supple wood (like a large toothpick) and chew/suck on it for a good long while. Practically the same thing as a toothbrush right? Oh, slingshots here aren’t just a toy for little boys to play with, which was my initial thought. These kids are deadly accurate with them and use them to kill just about any stray fowl or rodent that they see. Also, people here can fix just about anything. It might not look pretty when they get done with it, but at least it works. I’ve seen kids as young as 10 fixing motorcycles, flashlights, bicycles, generators, furniture, and just about anything else you can find in West Africa. They can probably do it.
Boniface later asked me what my mom would think of me if she found out that I ate dog, I told him jokingly that she’d probably stop loving me. I don’t think that would have been true, but she sure would have had a fit if I had gotten sick again! I didn’t, no worries there. But it is interesting that every time I feel as though I am getting settled back into a routine that I have surprisingly never really had here, a curveball comes in and nails me in the shoulder. It’s just one of those little ways of Africa making sure I am still all here and in the moment.
In other culinary news, I ate a passion fruit the other day. I felt like I was eating tadpoles. All things considered, it tasted really good. I already knew that thanks to Westside Liquor Stores in St. Cloud, MN. But eating the real thing was somewhat gratifying. And it’s not like a had a choice or anything, every monk in the dining room was fixed on Colin and I when we cut into the fruits with puzzled looks on our faces thinking how in the heck are we supposed to eat this?!
I am learning more about life in Africa with each passing day. The two households that I visit often have afforded me some interesting opportunities to learn. For one, I worked in a flour mill with one of my students for the better part of two hours. Errrr… I worked for a little bit, but my hands couldn’t take the heat of the ground up flour (my student works there for 4+ hours a day). The other household is the one where I picked/dried corn. I am also picking up more of the local language little by little, but at least I can get past the “hello how are you test,” which I receive from everyone whenever I pass them on the road.
There are also the little tidbits of information about life here that I am picking up on such as: a household of 5 requires a 60L basin of water to be filled up close to 20 times per week (it serves as their cooking, showering, washing, and laundry water supply for the week). Also, toothbrushes cost roughly 200CFA or about .40USD, which is too expensive for most children and adults so instead they use a supple wood (like a large toothpick) and chew/suck on it for a good long while. Practically the same thing as a toothbrush right? Oh, slingshots here aren’t just a toy for little boys to play with, which was my initial thought. These kids are deadly accurate with them and use them to kill just about any stray fowl or rodent that they see. Also, people here can fix just about anything. It might not look pretty when they get done with it, but at least it works. I’ve seen kids as young as 10 fixing motorcycles, flashlights, bicycles, generators, furniture, and just about anything else you can find in West Africa. They can probably do it.
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