I know I've neglected this blog for a while, but now I'm back and I'll try to post something (even if it's short) every so often.
The past few months have been eventful. There have been lots of ups and downs, but mostly I don't want to write about all of that. I want to write about what's on my mind now. I hope you don't mind. Lately I've been thinking about the issue of respect, and how, as a Peace Corps Volunteer, it is of utmost importance. And I don't just mean respecting yourself; I mean respecting those around you, your organization, your country, and your host country. I'll give you specific examples: 1. Respect for Peace Corps. Whether we like to admit it or not, being a PCV is a real job. We do get paid. Granted, the pay is meager, and we could all be making much more money in America. But we do get paid. We have bosses--some would argue that we have too many. Sometimes, as with any job, it's difficult to really like our bosses. They have all these policies to enforce, many of which extend into our personal lives, which is something many of us have probably never had to deal with from an employer. Sometimes our Country Director acts much more like a father than we think he should. Sometimes it feels like we aren't getting the support that we need. Sometimes some of these bosses can be downright disrespectful of us, and they all seem disconnected with what it's like to be a Peace Corps volunteer. But the fact is, this is a job. Bosses are never really in touch with what it's like to be an employee. This is a fact of life, and it exists in every industry. Nearly everything is top-down. The point is that even though we get frustrated, that does not mean that we should stop representing our company well. (Peace Corps is our company.) We have to keep in mind that everything we do reflects on our organization in some way. We all know that negative publicity often travels faster than positive publicity. Just because I get angry with my boss, that does not give me the right to slander his name. Just because I feel like I deserve better training, that doesn't mean I should insult PC staff in public places. Everything we do reflects on Peace Corps. People in our towns do not only see us as Americans, they see us as PCVs. So we owe it to Peace Corps, as a well-respected and honorable organization, to maintain a respectful attitude and conduct ourselves in a respectful way. 2. Respect for America. This is much the same as #1, except that it extends a little further into our personal lives. Every time we go out in public, people notice that we're different. At first, they call us branku. Then, as we attempt to fulfill the goals of Peace Corps, we tell them that we're American and maybe talk to them a little bit. Eventually, the people of our communities come to recognize us as Americans, and as such, everything we do represents America. I know that this is not fair, but it's just the way things are. We are, as our Country Director so often tells us, like little ambassadors for America. Because of this, it would be foolish to think that the nights we spend getting falling-down drunk in public, vomiting on street corners, sleeping with students, flirting with teenagers--it would be foolish to think that these things do not reflect poorly on our country. It's true--people of this country do these things, as well. But as PCVs, one of our duties, whether we like it or not, is to be role models. Especially those of us who are teachers, and we all know that this extends much further than the education sector. Many (most?) PCVs teach classes, many teach English, all are under a microscope in our communities. So as a PCV, we owe it not only to our organization, but also to our country to be mindful of the fact that what we do has larger repercussions than we sometimes realize. Again, it is important that we conduct ourselves in a respectful way. 3. Respect for Cape Verde. It's easy to make flash judgments about a foreign culture. We all do it. Cape Verde is a foreign land, filled with foreign customs, and we have two years to get to know it. But here's something we all need to keep in mind: even after two years, none of us will truly know what it's like to be Cape Verdean. I've learned a lot in the time that I've been here, but I don't fool myself to think that I am an expert in this culture. Every time I try to describe things, I fall short of recreating the actual experience of living here. There is a lot I could say about Cape Verde, about alcohol abuse or sex or popular beliefs, but I don't want to misrepresent the culture or the people. It is not okay to misrepresent the culture or the people. So I remark on what I see, I remark on my own experiences and what I have learned. And always, always do I try and be respectful. In order to do this, I try to keep in mind that the things I say or write often reach audiences that I don't automatically think about. I try to anticipate the reaction of several key people in my life here: my students, my boss at the university, my fellow PCVs. If my students read my blog, would they be ashamed? Would they be outraged? If my boss heard the way I describe CV to my friends or family back home, would he be offended? Hopefully, when fellow PCVs consider these questions, they can answer No to all of them, as well. 4. Respect for fellow volunteers. I never thought I'd have to question whether or not PCVs would be respectful of each other, but here I am. When my group swore in, there were 30 people. Now that we're more than a year in, there are only 28. That means that, for whatever reason, 2 people went home. Going home early, whether by choice or otherwise, is difficult. Every Peace Corps volunteer should understand that. Every Peace Corps volunteer should respect that. Unfortunately, not every PCV does. Each of us made a committment to spend two years in another country, doing what we can to help. Once we got here, the reality of our decision sets in. Certainly every Peace Corps Volunteer can understand that. The moment you step off that plane, shit just got real. On my first car ride, sitting in the room at the rooming house, sharing meals with total strangers, being introduced to a new language and culture, going to live with a strange family, being totally without the comforts of home, being cut off from communication with family and friends--all of these things had me questioning my decision to come here. Every hour of every day for the first five weeks I thought about going home. This is the truth about being a PCV: It is difficult to be here; I have cried more here than I have in the last ten years of my life combined; sometimes staying feels impossible. There are many other difficulties, even after the training period. Settling in at site; learning to live with a roommate after years of living alone; isolation; unwanted attention (including harassment, sexual or otherwise) from people in the community; bureaucratic nonsense from both Peace Corps and the organization we're sent to work with. I could go on. For each sector (education, business development, environmental education, etc), there are struggles. As an education volunteer, I can only write about the struggles of teaching. In fact, the two volunteers who went home were teachers, so perhaps it makes sense for me to elaborate on only this sector. Teaching, for me, is very rewarding. Each time I have thought about going back to America early, my students have, unknowingly, convinced me to stay. Put another way: I've long believed that my job in PC is unnecessary and unsustainble, but I stay for my students. But it's important to note that I have been teaching for 4 years; I have a master's degree, I have studied pedagogy, I had experience before I came here, and most of the other teachers did not. Their only experience in pedagogy came from PC staff and consisted of only a few sessions in lesson planning and classroom management. Their first experience with teaching would be in front of a large class (many classes here have 30+ students) full of students who speak an entirely different language and are from an entirely different culture. Can you imagine it? Couple that with discipline issues, all the difficulties of being at site, and--in some cases--severe medical issues, and you have a recipe for a difficult first year. So two teachers went home. Both of whom did their very best to be good teachers. Both had medical issues; both had struggles with classroom management (though this simple statement doesn't even begin to describe their struggles); both had the kinds of difficulties at site that I mentioned earlier (and some that I didn't mention). Both had many, many friends among fellow PCVs. Both have been disrespected by fellow PCVs (many of whom were considered friends during their service) since going home. This is unacceptable. We owe it to each other to not be disrespectful of each other. We are constantly told that we are a family, that these are the friends we will have for life. Only a PCV can understand what it's like to be a PCV. We all understand how difficult it is to be here, and we should all understand how difficult it would be to go home early. So why, when someone makes the difficult decision to go home, or when someone is sent home for reasons out of his/her control, why do certain volunteers feel the need to be so terribly disrespectful? This is something I will never understand. This leaves me with the absolute certainty that if I do make the decision to end my service early, I will be disrespected by my fellow volunteers, too. Family is supposed to be supporting and loving; I have never been disrespected by my family in such a blatant and disgusting way, and I hope to never be disrespected by my Peace Corps family in such a way. But the truth is, I probably alrady have been. And that is terrible. I don't mean this post to seem preachy. I know that sometimes I have conducted myself in a way that is disrespectful of others or of my organization. I know that sometimes I have been disrespectful of myself, as well. Each time I feel myself slipping into unbecoming behavior, I think of my mother. Would my mother be proud of my behavior? or am I behaving like someone else's daughter? The point is, we all have the capacity to change. We can all, from this point forward, make the decision to be more respectful of those around us. I hope we do.
it's amazing. it must be the purest, truest form of love in the world. baby love. it's so automatic and unconditional. and then, as we get older, somehow that capacity for love diminishes to a point where sometimes it's difficult even to recognize love's existence. why is that?
My roommate volunteers at the Centro de Emergencia in Praia, and for a while she's been trying to get me to go with her. The Centro de Emergencia is, for all intents and purposes, an orphanage. It houses children ranging from newborn to fourteen years whose parents can't take care of them. At first, when she asked me to go, I told her I'd go if all I had to do was hold babies. I'm always a little wary of working with little kids because I don't feel that I have the energy or imagination to keep little kids busy for long periods of time. And, really, all I wanted to do was hold babies. It's all I've wanted to do since I was 17 and my first niece was born. I'd even skip school sometimes just to go hold her in the middle of the day. But I digress... I've put off visiting the center for many reasons, but last night I decided to go and check the place out to see if I really wanted to start volunteering there several times per week. The first room I was led into was the baby room. They were mostly all asleep, but still, the feeling hit me instantly. Here was a roomful of babies without mothers, aching to be held. The woman who was in charge of watching the children for the evening led us to one crib in particular. She pulled a blanket back, and there lay the baby who, I'm certain, is destined to break my heart every day for the remainder of my service. This baby is only 10 days old, without a name, already living in an orphanage. Looking around at all the cribs, two older babies stood and stared, their eyes begging for attention. I thought of my baby niece; how in the last months before I left I'd rock her to sleep and stare at her little baby face and hold her little baby hand, and I urged myself to hold on to those memories. I thought about all of my nieces and nephews, how I'd held each of them when they were babies, how important it was that I cradle them close so they could hear my heartbeat and know that everything is ok. How I'd sometimes just stare at them, rest my hand lightly on their chests to feel their heartbeat and their breathing and their life, so new and so lovely. I wondered if any of the attendants at the center ever did this for these babies, but I suppose we all know the answer to that. I couldn't stay with them because they were sleeping, so we wandered upstairs to the playroom for the older children, who range in age from 3 to 16. The room was crowded with kids, all gathered around a television that was playing music videos, Black Eyed Peas I think. Many of the older children did not take their eyes off of the screen, but a whole gang of the younger ones headed my way. I was greeted immediately by a rambunctious little boy who threw himself into my legs and hugged mightily. He smiled at me and I could see that he was missing about 4 of his front teeth. Next was a little girl with messy braids and an inside-out yellow shirt. As I sat in a little chair, she plopped herself right in my lap like a queen taking her seat at the throne. Lots of other children gathered around, most of them wanting to be hugged or just have their existence acknowledged in some way. A few of them noticed my tattoos and one boy asked me to translate the one on my ankle, which reads "A Love Exists That Gives. And Won't Take Back What's Given." Appropriately, it's from a Cisneros poem about motherhood. Trying to translate it proved a daunting task, so I simply told him "Kela e sobre uma amor. Amor de Mae y filho." That's about a love. Love of Mother and child. He looked at me and I knew he didn't understand what I was trying to say, which was ok. I could see in his eyes that it was enough that I was talking to him, that I took a few minutes to sit down next to him and show him some small love. We stayed for a little over an hour, all the while trying our best to talk to and hold as many of the children as possible. They climbed in my lap, touched my hair, hugged me and scooted as close to me as possible. They begged me to read to them, and then they endured my terrible Portuguese pronunciation. We counted things and named colors. I patted backs and scratched heads and played with hand puppets and toy cars. They brought me book after book, each more tattered than the last. Each time one child got up to retrieve another book or toy, another would climb into my lap and touch my face or rest their head on my chest. Some would just lay in my lap and look up at me, smiling as though nothing in the world could be better than that moment. Eventually I told my roommate that we needed to leave because it was getting late and I had work to do. In truth, it was too much for me. All the love I felt from those children, baby love that has survived into childhood even though they've never felt it reciprocated the way all children should. We left at around 9 and walked home, and that walk was the most difficult I've had since walking away from my family at the airport. I couldn't take my mind off of those children, those babies, all of them desperate for someone to love, for someone to love them back. When I got home, I sent a quick text message to my mother: "Went to the orphanage tonight. My heart is broken. I love you." I wished I could bring my mother to those children, show them what it's like to be loved by the greatest mother who ever existed, whose love can cure any ailment, can mend any broken heart. I wished she could come and hold each of them, talk to them the way a mother does, and let them know, the way I always knew as a child, the way I still know, that everything in the world is ok so long as her love exists. And then it became a selfish wish. I wished that she could be here to hold me, to rub my back and tell me that the love I tried to show was good and right, if brief. Last night I couldn't sleep. I wanted to talk about all of the things I was feeling, but I knew I needed to feel them first and talk later. So I lay there wondering whether I should go back to the center, whether I have the emotional maturity to endure such constant heartache. I wondered whether I can handle holding and loving all of those babies, knowing that I will never have one of my own. I don't know if I can handle it, but I don't know how I could possibly justify staying away. When in doubt, I always remember my mother telling me, every time some boy broke my heart, "M'ija, I know it hurts now, but loving someone is never a mistake."
Classes began today, but with Easter coming up this weekend, we only have classes on Mon-Wed. So, I teach two classes today and one tomorrow, and then I have another brief holiday. I'm still undecided as to what I want to do for Easter, other than decorate confetti eggs, that is, but I'm sure something will come together. I asked my students what they do for Easter, and they gave the standard answer: we eat. I can do that.
I don't know if, in previous posts, I've adequately described my need to have poetry in my life, but here's a little tidbit to illustrate just how ridiculous I get from time to time: I've been scouring the internet for at least an hour looking for my favorite Sandra Cisneros poems, to no avail. And now I feel desperate and destitute without them. I miss her voice and her sass, her use of long titles and Spanish that I don't entirely understand. As much as it pains me to say it, sometimes Bukowski just doesn't cut it in the poetry category. I'll have to read come cummings and Millay to pacify this need today, though neither of them really compare to Cisneros's voice. As a final note, I'm teaching Oral Communication this semester, and today I asked my students to answer a few questions. One student's responses touched home: What are your weaknesses in English? What do you hope to improve? I can't talk, I can't express the ideas. I always think that what I want to say is wrong. What are your expectations for this class? I want to lose the fear of speaking. I certainly hope I can help. I'll write more later. Txau.
So, part of being a Peace Corps Volunteer involves applying for grants and trying to get funding for the various projects we're working on. I'm not working on any secondary projects that involve seeking grants or funding, but a few of my friends are. So, in the spirit of helping them get funding, I'm posting links to their projects here.
Thomas's Project involves supplying drip irrigation and kitchen equipment to a primary school in a low-income community in Praia. Here's the link: Thomas's Project Elyse/Lisa/Andrew's Project is to create computer usage facilities in four communities. Here's the link: Andrew's Project If you're interested in finding out about other projects you can contribute to, visit the Peace Corps Site to find out more. If you want more information about either of these two projects, let me know. Fika Dretu, and thanks for reading!!
I don't know why I didn't write about this yesterday, but today I've been thinking about how significant the 1st of March is. These days at the end of February and beginning of March hold many birthdays (Apá, Keith, Noelle, Jennifer, Steven, Matt, Heather), but something else dawned on me just the other night: March 1st marks the 19th year Kenneth has been paralyzed. So as of this year, he's spent half of his life in that chair. It still makes me sad that I can't remember him as an able-bodied person, that the earliest memories of my biggest brother begin when I was eight years old. But I suppose that's fitting since it seems that his life didn't really begin until after the accident.
I think about Kenneth a lot here, mostly because I see disabled people a lot and want so badly to help them. After Kenny's accident, he was lucky to have the family and resources he had that helped him recuperate and learn to live again. Hours of physical therapy, people teaching him how to sit up and get out of bed and function like a normal human being again. A little sister to push his wheelchair, who still looked at him like he was God, the way she'd done since she was born. But disabled people don't have the same opportunities here. I walk around this city, the Capital, and see how ill-equipt it is for those who aren't able to walk or who have some physical impairment. Physical therapy centers are almost nonexistent. Ramps on buildings, if buildings have them at all, are so steep they're sometimes difficult to walk up. The roads and sidewalks are cobblestone, which are enough to wear out rims and bust spokes and ruin frames. And don't get me started on the bathrooms. I know that it's a developing country and I can't expect things to be perfect, which I don't. I guess I just feel particularly helpless in this capacity. I see these things and can do nothing to change them. Ladies crawling around the sidewalks with shriveled folded legs beneath them; men with wheelchairs so tattered I'm surprised the frame supports them. Yes, I could help to improve one thing or another, but I don't honestly know how to solve the problem, or really what problem it is I'm trying to solve. Should I write grants and try to get funding for rehab centers? Should I try to raise awareness about the need for rehabilitation programs? Should I start volunteering at an organization that helps disabled people build job skills and find jobs? Does a place like that even exist? It would be nice to create a rehab center here, like the one Kenny spent those crucial first months in. But it wasn't solely the rehab center that helped him live again. Since I'm not Kenneth, I can't say for sure what it was that led to his decision to make something of his life and not give up, but mostly I think it has to do with the fact that he had a choice. What are the options in Cape Verde for people born with disabilities? What about people who become disabled later in life? As much as I'd like to spend time with the disabled people I see here and tell them that they can do anything an able-bodied person can do, I can't tell them that because it's not true. and I don't know how to fix it.
I recently realized that I haven't posted pictures in a while. I also realized that I haven't posted pictures of Praia EVER. So, here are some pictures I took as I traveled around Praia one day, on my way to Pedra Badejo (the last few were taken in PB, not Praia). Keep in mind that I don't like to carry my camera around, so these pictures were taken quickly, and many were taken from inside a moving vehicle.
This is the alley beside my apartment building. It's always a surprise to see what kind of stuff is piled here. One day it's full of cinder blocks, the next it's sand. I never walk down this alley (SAFETY & SECURITY). Graffiti on the apartment building next to mine. Always nice to come home to such a warm greeting! On Plateau, the oldest zone in Praia that houses the grocery stores and all sorts of other interesting places. This is the produce market. I get harassed when I go to the produce market because I'm white and I guess everyone assumes I have lots of money. Once inside the Hiace, ladies often approach to sell fruit or whatever they happen to be carrying in the buckets on their heads. This is a distant view of Sucupira, the outdoor market that sells anything your heart desires (except for Honey Nut Cheerios, as it turns out). One way to get from Plateau to Sucupira is to walk down these long stairs, through a maze of people selling clothes. It's one of my favorite places here because of the sheets overhead. Also, the ladies are very nice and only laugh a little bit at my terrible Kriolu (I'm sure it doesn't help that I exaggerate my facial expressions like Mr. Bean to make up for my lack of vocabulary). A store at Sucupira. The green bus at Sucupira. The food is pretty good here, and it's a nice place to sit a while and talk to friends. This is the best graffiti I've seen so far since moving here. One of the main streets in Praia, I think it's Amilcar Cabral Avenue. This is where the Carnaval parades marched. A tourist who I thought looked ridiculous and, thus, couldn't resist taking a photo of. Please, if you come visit me, don't be this guy. Sometimes in Cape Verde, people have cows tied to their front porches. It's just the way it is. A cool looking pig in the middle of the road in Pedra Badejo. In Cape Verde, most of the dogs and cats are malnourished. This one is actually pretty healthy compared to most that I've seen. An ocean of palm trees. I have no idea. An inside view of a not-full Hiace. Sure, all of the seats are taken, but there's still room to fit, I'd say, at least 5-8 more people in here. Ladies selling produce on the side of the road. An outdoor vendor. Furniture, anyone? A view of the outdoor market in Pedra Badejo. These are the best doughnuts I've had in Cape Verde! I don't know how they're made or what they're covered in, but it was freaking sabi di mas! Ok, until next time, keep on keepin' on.
Here’s the article, with footnotes to explain the various things some non-PCVs won’t otherwise understand. Names have been removed because I’m not sure the SAFETY AND SECURITY stance on that issue. except Rob’s name, because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care…Rob, care to chime in so I don’t get chewed out?
Praia, Nha Cidade* The first four days we spent in Madre Teresa* were enough to terrify me. You see, from the moment I received my invitation, I knew that, as a Teacher Trainer, I’d be living in either Praia or Mindelo. There would be no fora* for me, no possibility of the small-town-where-everyone’s-your-friend, no fetching water from the well, no lush greenery or mountaintop homes or one-room palaces. No txigas*. I would live in an apartment, I would have running water, and I would be living in either the most dangerous city in Cape Verde, or the second most dangerous city in Cape Verde. Period. During those first four days in Madre Teresa, Peace Corps staff did an excellent job letting us know just how dangerous these cities can be. In fact, in my first interview, when the training manager and project supervisor asked me what my biggest concerns are, I believe I responded with “I don’t wanna live in Praia cuz’v all the scary things y’all’ve said about it.” Eloquently stated, I know. As a result, every time I came within sight distance of the project supervisor, he’d pull me aside to tell me that “Everything is going to be alright, trust me. You are going to like it here.”—a speech I’m certain all ED volunteers heard at least once during his reign. Early on in PST*, it became very clear to me that Praia would be my city, and I struggled to come to terms with that reality. I was encouraged to focus on the good instead of the bad: free internet at the PC office, swimming at the Embassy pool, large supermarkets that are open seven days a week, convenience. Still, it was difficult to get past the thought that I’d be spending the next two years in a place where I can’t even walk down the stairs without fear of being kasubodied*, or where ¾ of the city is made up of zones too dangerous to travel through, even during the day. But by the time PST came to an end, after I’d heard my project supervisor’s speech around 25 times, I had grown comfortable with the idea that the big scary capital city wasn’t going to be a terrible place to live, and I wouldn’t be eaten alive so long as I kept my head on straight. The big change occurred during demystification, that mystical four-day weekend wherein the umbilical cord is finally cut and we trainees get to stumble on out into the real world—aided, of course, by the older, wiser second-year volunteer. My tour guide: Rob, a TEFL/TT* hybrid who plays a mean guitar and walks faster than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. What demystification (and, I suppose, Rob) succeeded in doing was to show me that real human beings actually live in Praia and maintain relatively happy, safe lives. By the end of the weekend, I was able to find my way around Achada, the zone where I’d be living, and, more importantly, I felt comfortable walking around on my own. While I wasn’t certain that I could be happy here, I finally felt the truth of my project supervisor’s words: Everything is going to be alright. When I moved to site, Praia’s label as “Cape Verde’s most dangerous city” remained firmly attached, making it difficult to think of this place as any kind of real home. But during demyst I realized that there are basically three rules I had to follow in order to remain safe here: don’t be loud, don’t carry expensive things, and don’t be stupid. Following these three rules got me through the first month at site, but it’s the months after that initial settling-in period that helped me truly understand the beauty of this place. After that first month, I began to venture out on my own. I discovered chwarma, that magical wrap filled with meaty, batata frita*, special-sauce goodness (priced at a reasonable 190$00CVE* if you buy from Marcony’s*). I discovered that if I walk around at certain times of day, I can hear the church choirs, the strength of their devotion and the love in their voices seeping out into the streets, providing comfort and, I’m certain, some level of faith to even the most devout Atheist. I discovered that even though it isn’t customary to greet people on the streets, a simple Bom dia* and a smile every now and then is often met with surprise and kind reciprocation. Walking along the water by Quebra Canela*, the waves coming to shore sound an awful lot like the waves on the Gulf coast of Texas, and, as my southern daddy would say, y’can’t beat them sunsets. On Plateau* I found Europe at Café Sofía* and Wal-Mart at Comercio Moderno Chinatown*, the best little Chinese loja* this side of the Sotavento*; I found movie night under the stars at Voz di Povu*, and at the National Auditorium I heard a Malagasy singer whose every song broke my heart. There’ve been pool days and dinner-party nights; I’ve travelled the back way from Plateau down to Sucupira*, where the clothes are stacked on either side of the path and sheets are hung overhead like tents, making the sidewalk colorful. I’ve sat on rooftops looking at the stars, perhaps not as clear or beautiful as they appear at other sites, but breathtaking nonetheless. I’ve spent bad days walking around this city without being bothered, discovering the comfort of anonymity, a luxury offered to very few PCVs. While I don’t have the sense of community that most PCVs have in their smaller villages, I do have the opportunity to create that community within my classroom. And my students have given me so much more than I could ever deserve. They’ve invited me to lunch, invited me into their homes, invited me to Cockpit*, danced with me, ridiculed my musical taste, laughed at my still-awful Kriolu, taught me about themselves and their culture. They’ve become my family and my home, and in them I have found safety. Of course there are the scary stories…when a friend casually points out that the corner we’re passing is the place where she was first kasubodied…when the coordinator of my department tells me it’s not a good idea to wear a necklace to my night class because a fellow professor was kasubodied and beaten up 10 yards outside of the UniCV* gates just after dark. And sometimes there are scary moments…when I’m walking home from getting chwarma and realize that the car next to me has been slowly following me the entire way, the driver gazing at me menacingly…when I’m taking the forbidden stairs* from Achada down to the PC office and hear someone running behind me, only to look and see that it’s several small boys wielding a metal rod suspiciously. But I’ve learned that it’s ok to be afraid sometimes, because that fear keeps me vigilant. And it’s ok to feel safe sometimes, because that sense of safety means I’m home. Yes, Praia and I are a good fit for each other. When I arrived in Boston for training, and, indeed, throughout our time in Madre Teresa and PST, I didn’t warm up to anyone. I kept to myself and didn’t make any real attempt to get to know anyone. I’ve always considered myself the kind of girl you have to get to know to love, and slowly, I’m realizing how true that is of Praia as well. We have a lot in common, my city and I. On the outside, it doesn’t look like much. Slightly dirty, a little disheveled, certainly rough around the edges, still developing, and not the slightest bit welcoming upon first introduction, the quiet mystery and seemingly unknowable depth that exists in Praia can be frightening. But the simple fact is that she will never open herself up to you unless you make a conscious effort. You have to roam her streets, be patient with her idiosyncrasies, overlook her faults (no one and nothing in this world is perfect), and endure. Yes, there is ugliness and danger here, but those things exist in the best of us. She won’t beg forgiveness any more than she’ll beg for your friendship. But in her you’ll discover all the wonderfully ordinary things that add up to create something extraordinary: Christmas lights and nativity scenes, drumming in the praça*, art, music, txiga, dancing, family. Praia has become my loyal friend; I know her bumpy roads, her windy temperament, and have come to love her imperfections. So next time you’re here and all you can see is trash, all you can feel is the fear of being kasubodied, remember that this place is just someone you haven’t gotten to know yet; what you fear in her is, perhaps, her way of keeping you safe; and what you think of as ugly is just an eccentricity you haven’t come to love yet. Give her a chance, endure, and I promise she’ll surprise you. _____________________________________________________________________________________ *Nha Cidade – my city *Madre Teresa – the roominghouse where all trainees stayed for the first four days in Cape Verde. *fora – means “outside,” but in this context it’s used to mean “rural village.” *txiga – pronounced CHEE-guh, it means “to arrive,” but is also what people say when they invite you into their home. In the fora everyone asks you to txiga in their homes, and they usually give you food and you sit and talk for a while. There aren’t many txiga opportunities in Praia. It’s more of a fora thing. *PST – Pre-service Training, the 9 week period of training before being sworn in as a bonafide volunteer. *kasubody – a literal translation from English “cash or body.” It’s both the noun and verb used to describe muggings in Praia. In other words, when someone’s kasubodying you, they say “kasubody,” and then you cry, throw your wallet, and run away. *TEFL/TT – Teaching English as a Foreign Language / Teacher Training, two focuses in the Education sector. Usually volunteers fall into only one focus, but not Rob. Oh no, he’s magic. *batata frita – French fries *CVE – Cape Verdean Escudos. I think the current conversion rate is $1.00 USD = 73$00 CVE. *Marcony’s – my favorite chwarmaria where the chwarma cook sometimes gives me chwarma for free. chwarma. *Bom dia – good morning or good day. *Quebra Canela – a beach that I walk by when I go from the PC office to the university. I think the literal translation is “broken cinnamon,” but I’m not sure. *Plateau – one of the oldest zones in Praia, where all of the grocery stores are and all of the tourists hang out. *Café Sofía – a little café where PCVs and other foreigners gather sometimes for soda (not beer. not ever beer or any other kind of alcohol). *Chinese loja – literally Chinese store; there are a ton of them in CV, and Chinatown is the king of them all. *Sotavento– the southern group of islands in CV. The northern group is called Barlavento. *Voz di Povu – I think the literal translation is “voice of the poor,” it’s a bar where they used to show movies on Thursday nights. Then someone got stabbed there and messed up the whole works. *Sucupira – the open market at the base of Plateau where they sell everything you can imagine. *Cockpit – one of the more popular discotechs in Praia. *UniCV – Universidade de Cabo Verde, where I work. *the forbidden stairs – in PST, they warned us against taking “the stairs” in Praia, the most tempting of which are the forbidden stairs that lead from Achada to Prainha, where the PC office is. I never take these stairs, not ever, and any SAFETY AND SECURITY personnel reading this should make note that this portion of the article is ENTIRELY MADE UP. *praça – plaza, where I go to use the free wifi and people-watch.
While Skyping with my mom and sister this past weekend, my mother asked what I’ve given up for Lent. I remained silent for a moment, knowing this is a touchy subject between my mother and I, and then responded, “Mom, you know I’m not Catholic anymore.” She laughed and that was the end of it—tragedy averted thanks to Mom’s denial (somewhere inside, I know she still thinks I’m the good Catholic girl she raised. Somewhere inside, she’s hoping I’ll repent, and I’m certain that every night she still prays to God to forgive my lack of faith, promising Him that I’ll come to my senses sooner or later. Oh, Mom.)
To answer the question that you may now have: I am not an Atheist. I still believe in God. I’ve tried, but, to use one of my favorite movie lines, I just can’t seem to quit Him. God and I have had a strained relationship over the years, but I still make it a point to sit and talk with Him every now and then, and He’s as much in my heart now as He ever was, perhaps more so. And that’s about as much as I want to say about that on such a public forum. The point is that sometimes I wake up and realize that I’m not behaving like the person my mother raised me to be, and that makes me very sad. Every now and then I realize that I’ve allowed myself to sink into negativity, and that negativity makes me unkind, lazy, and all sorts of other things my mother would not be proud of. So I’ve decided, as I do every time I have one of these realizations, that I should do my best to be my mother’s daughter again. If I were still Catholic, I guess you could say that my Lenten promise is to give up the negativity I’ve clung to so readily since moving to Praia. In fact, just the other night I finished an article I had been trying to write about living in Praia. Because of my decision to try and be more positive, the article turned out quite optimistic. Since moving here, I’ve been pretty consistently unhappy, but when I started thinking about what it is, really, that makes me unhappy, it all came down to me. Praia is not the typical Peace Corps site; my volunteer experience is not the ideal experience I’d imagined for so long; I set out to “experience something extraordinary” and everything here is, like so much of what I wanted to escape, just so ordinary. So when I sat down to write I tried to listen to my mother. M’ija, just do your best. I thought about Robb, my most influential professor and one of the best human beings I’ve ever known. Well Turkey, just focus on doing whatever kind of good you can while you’re there, and I’m sure, in the end, it’ll all be worth it. I thought about Vonnegut. We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is. and Bukowski. No matter what…try to save something, no matter how small, save one tiny bit, hold onto that, even if that’s all there is. I wrote, and as I wrote it dawned on me that my negativity had caused me to forget my golden rule of writing and living: everything ordinary can be extraordinary when you look at it in the right light. When I finished the article, I read it several times and determined that the audiences I hold most sacred, Mom, Robb, Vonnegut, and Bukowski, would be pleased with what I’d created. I know that not everyone will adopt or even understand my newly optimistic view of Praia, especially those other volunteers whose experience isn’t what they always dreamed it would be. I only hope they understand that while I’m still not in love with my site, and while I’ll continually struggle to remain positive and motivated, I’m doing my best to be the kind of girl I can be proud of. I’m doing my best, just like my mama taught me.
So I just got an email from home that instructed me to teach you things on my blog. I guess I really should post more about just being homesick all the time. Afterall, I'm now listed on peacecorpsjournals.org (though I don't remember signing up for that), so I suppose this is reaching a wider audience than I originally anticipated. So here are some things about "home":
The stores here are strange. What I mean is that they combine things in a strange way...stores that sell pet supplies also sell canned goods and do manicures, that kind of thing. It's a new kind of convenience, I guess. I can get my nails done while I buy fish. They don't have egg cartons here. So I carry eggs in a bag all the time. This is dangerous. for the eggs. Everywhere in Praia is "dangerous" according to the Peace Corps map of Praia. It's technically the most dangerous city in Cape Verde. At first, the thought of living here scared me a lot because the other (2nd year) volunteers had told me about how aggressive the men are toward women in this city. But now that I'm here, I realize that it's all in the way you approach it. I'm not loud, I don't wear expensive things or dress in tiny/tight clothes, so I don't draw attention to myself. It helps that I'm not blonde and the majority of Cape Verdeans think I'm either Portuguese, Brazilian, French, or Chinese. So living in this "dangerous" city isn't all that scary now that I'm here. I walk a lot of places, but I don't take shortcuts. Living here is just like living in any other city: I just have to be aware of my surroundings and try not to be stupid. Probably my favorite place in Praia is the praça on Plateau. It's where I go to Skype on the weekends. Nearly every time I Skype with family, little kids will gather around me to see what I'm doing. I always get them to say hello to my family, and they sit there looking at the strange people on my computer screen and waving because they can see themselves in my webcam video. Sometimes the kids talk too fast and it's difficult for me to understand their Krioulu, but I love that my family gets to see a little bit of the culture here. Also, the praça is where the teenagers go to rollerblade. If I stay late, the lights come on and the atmosphere changes a little. Not a bad change, just more lively I guess. I try not to stay out too late, but sometimes it's worth it to see the lights and the people. And lastly, here's a Kriolu lesson for the day: the word for "I" in Kriolu is "N." and when you want to make something negative, just add "ka" in front of the verb. For instance, if you want to say you like fish, it's "N gosta di peixi," but if you want to say you don't like fish, it's "N ka gosta di peixi." the "x" is pronounced like "sh", the "tx" is pronounced like "ch", and "j" is usually spelled "dj" (like Djoni instead of Johnny). I hope this was informative. I'll try to make the blogs a little more instructive from now on. But I'm probably still going to write about homesickness a lot (sorry Nancy).
I've been thinking about home a lot lately. about going there. and staying. when you really think about it, I only have about 17 or so months left here. I like to break the time down so that it sounds more doable. for instance: there are 8 days until IST. after that, there are about 3 weeks until Carnaval on Sao Nicolau. After that, I still have a few weeks of break between semesters. the Spring semester is from mid-March until early July, so that's about 3-4 months. In July, Dre's coming to visit, and then in August I get to go home for somewhere around 3 weeks. Once I come back, I don't start teaching until late October. then, I only have 2 semesters...it makes things easier to break up the time like that.
It's been brought to my attention that I focus on food a lot here. what I mean is, even after I've just eaten, I'm already planning what to cook next and making sure I have all of the ingredients. I don't know why this is. I guess it's just one of those things that's ingrained in me since childhood...I want everyone to have enough to eat, and I think cooking for someone is a good way to show that you care about them. I enjoy cooking for my friends, and the food I make here is one of the only comforts of home I have. I'm planning on trying to make enchiladas soon, and (as soon as my mom comes through on the masa recipe) I'm going to try tamales at some point. For now, I settle or spaghetti (one of my dad's favorites) and refried beans (one of my favorites) and tortillas (everyone's favorite). I don't know why I'm writing about this. Lately I'm pretty homesick, but if you count how many times I've said (or written) that, I guess it looks like I'm homesick all the time. I have adjusted pretty well to everything here, including the food and the hissing and the unwanted attention (SEE HILARIO, I WAS PAYING ATTENTION!), but one thing I can't adjust to is being away from family. Dad told me that I should stop calling and Skyping home so often so that I could get used to being here, but I don't think that'll help at all. In fact, I think it'd make things a lot worse. I'm constantly thinking about getting internet hooked up in my apartment, so that chatting and skyping would be easier. But as of yet I remain unwilling to spend the money (mostly because living in Praia makes it difficult to save the money). Anyway, this blog entry is quickly going to the dogs. I should get going. txau!
I don't even know where to begin. Two weeks ago my Holiday break began, and it started with lunch at the pizza place near my apt. After that everything's a blur. We cooked a lot and ate a lot and listened to a ton of music and just had fun together. Here are some highlights:
-D Jan getting car sick and totally rallying when he heard Justice playing. (This is just the beginning of everyone realizing how awesome D Jan is.) Kate coming in from Santo Antao and calling everyone a pussy for various reasons. making and consuming somewhere around 100-150 tortillas. spooning with everyone. sleeping on floors. watching movies on Kellie's wall. family phone calls on Christmas. opening presents. realizing that Jon and I gave each other the exact same gift totally without each other's knowledge. eating bean taquitos as Christmas lunch. running out of gas for the stove and everyone wanting to kill each other because we were so cranky. the miracle of Christmas: a bolea into Praia to get a new tank of gas. eating and laughing and crying. It's strange, trying to describe the emotions of the holidays as a Peace Corps volunteer. It was good to be around everyone and have such support, but at the same time, there was a strange uneasiness about it because we all wanted to be somewhere else or with someone else. We are comfortable around each other, and, in the words of a 2nd year volunteer, everyone in my group seems to be in love with each other. It's true. But when family called, each person seemed a little sadder. I don't know if I'm allowed to discuss alcohol consumption among volunteers (THANKS SAFETY AND SECURITY PERSONNEL!), but hopefully everyone understands that during this time of year, it helps to have something to help you let go. Many of the volunteers (actually, nearly all of the same ones who were at Christmas) rang in the new year in Pedra Badejo, at Andrew and Adeyemi's apartment. It was my first time visiting there, but as it was New Year's Eve, I didn't get to see much of their town. Andrew has Magic Jack, so I got to call home, but didn't get to talk to my mom. I'll admit...I got a little tipsy, but only because New Year's Eve is my second least favorite day of the year. Nothing really happened to speak of, except we were all together again and the company felt nice. and Kate and I spooned again, only this time we ended up sleeping on a bamboo mat on top of some extension cord. Probably the most difficult part about the holidays was coming back to Praia and readjusting to life without everyone around all the time. Lauren came back, I actually had to sleep in my own bed again, and then it's just business as usual. Back to work, back to getting up early, back to being alone during the week. I wouldn't say that I'm "depressed" most of the time, but it's definitely difficult living here. I don't ever want to go to work, but I don't ever want to be at home. So there's just a kind of discomfort all the time. Maybe it'll go away as the months pass. Maybe I'll actually begin to like my job or where I live. I guess I should have made some kind of New Year's resolution, but really what's the point? I resolve to not be sad all the time. I resolve to find my joy in Praia. I resolve to try and make this place feel like home. I resolve to be strong and come back to Cape Verde after my visit home in August. I resolve to keep on living. I hope you all had great Holiday celebrations! I still miss everyone!
it's really frustrating to Skype on a west African internet connection. But it's all I've got, so I make do. Today I Skyped with Lynn and got to see John for a minute. It's always a little bittersweet, seeing and talking to family. Lynn told me that next Sunday they're making tamales. God, what I wouldn't do for some tamales right now!
Next week is the last week of school before Christmas break, and then we return on 04 January. It doesn't feel like enough time off, but then if it were any longer there wouldn't be enough time to cover all the material for class. As it is, we're already short on time. I can't do a proper blog entry right now, so here are some bullet points: -the other night we tried to eat at an Indian restaurant near my house, and they wouldn't let us in without a reservation. seriously. -I'm getting used to the flavor of the weird cheeses here. -I put peas in my chicken and dumplings for the first time and it wasn't too bad. -I haven't spoken to my dad in a long time. I miss him. -people are beginning to put up Christmas lights now. -this place doesn't feel like Africa sometimes. especially when I'm riding in a taxi with air conditioning and looking at Christmas lights. -this place feels a lot like Africa sometimes, especially when I'm walking through a "rough" area and see unfinished houses, people whose soles are so hardened that they no longer need shoes. -every time I see someone in a wheelchair I think of Kenneth and miss him. then I wonder how their tires/spokes aren't ruined by the cobblestone roads. -I miss having all of my books around me. Books I've wanted to read lately: Cat's Cradle, A Man Without a Country, The Things They Carried, Ham on Rye, etc etc etc. -I still don't understand vegetarianism. that's about all I've got. until next time.....
I mailed them today. To those of you who I didn't mail cards to: I'm very sorry, but stamps are kind of expensive and I'm poor. If you send me your address, I can work on making New Year's or No-Holiday-In-Particular cards and mailing those out in the coming weeks.
A few lines for some of you in particular... Mom: I'm sorry if what I wrote makes you cry. That wasn't my intention. But I meant every word. and I miss you more than anyone else. Kenneth: I miss your ugly face. Steven: I miss your stupid temper. Blanca: I can make better tortillas than you now. suck it. and I miss sitting on your "porch"(?) with you. Matthew: I miss sitting and saying nothing with you. Stacy: I miss my Arnold. Lynn: everything. I miss everything about you. Matt: you always were and always will be my fourth big brother. Dad: you don't read this blog. but I miss your couch and your pies and your hugs. Jesse: I miss you like Lady Macbeth misses her clean conscience. Andrea: best roomie ever. I hope you get pregnant soon so I can threaten your unborn child again. Jessica: I miss your dirty mind and your cookies. Rosie: I miss cleaning beams and laughing (until Ray came to scream at us) with you. Cesley: I miss your chair and your apartment and your "I don't give two shits" attitude. Noelle: I miss your neurotic cats and sleeping on your floor and watching Anne of Green Gables and reading books and complaining with you. H: I still feel so, so ordinary without you. Keith: you're a whore. Ari: put some stuff in an envelope, address it, stamp it, and take it to the post office. THAT'S HOW MAIL WORKS! go do it. Terri: send me your address again, sista! I lost it. also, I do not have a copy of your christmas cd :( Nancy: I WILL WASTE AS MUCH MONEY AS I WANT SENDING CARDS TO YOU! also, thanks for the support along the way. Ok, I don't really know who else reads this thing. If you feel left out, leave a comment or send me a strongly worded email (mistyrae@gmail.com) and I will remedy the situation in my next post. I hope everyone likes my cards and I hope everyone is full of holiday cheer!! txau! ps. I'm getting sick and I've got no Mama here to baby me. This is going to be ka sabi.
They finally put up a link about our World AIDS Day event.
http://www.unicv.edu.cv/acontece-uni-cv/ia-da-luta-contra-a-sida-na-uni-cv.html also, the friendship bracelet my niece made me broke today :(
I've come to realize recently that there are two men I cannot live without, no matter how hard I sometimes try. Those men are, of course, Bukowski and Vonnegut. Part of what made me realize this (other than the way I'm affected by the works of each of these men) is that I have no Vonnegut or Bukowski books here, and I still feel the need to read their stuff constantly. So if you feel like being a good samaritan and sending some books my way, here are my favorites:
Bukowski - War All the Time, or any book of poetry other than Roominghouse Madrigals. Vonnegut - Cat's Cradle, A Man Without a Country. If you haven't read their works, here's a very brief synopsis of each: Bukowski wrote about being honest and loving yourself; Vonnegut wrote about being kind and loving each other. They're both great, great men whose works changed my way of thinking. ------------------------------------------------------- I don't have much to say, really, because things are just kind of happening they way they happen over here. I wrote a long and somewhat depressing email to my mom today about the idea of "home" and how it seems to be constantly changing. The best description of the "you can't go home again" mentality that I ever read was in the story "Speaking of Courage," in the book The Things They Carried, by Tim O'Brien. It's the story of a Vietnam Vet who comes back to his town and imagines himself talking to people about his experiences, but while he's imagining this he's really just driving around town because he can't tell them. because they don't want to know. He was home, but it wasn't the home he left and he wasn't the person he was when he left. I'm not saying that Peace Corps compares to Vietnam or the horrors of war. It doesn't, not by a long shot. But I think there's something universal in the feeling that "home," as we get older, becomes more of a feeling than an actual place. It's a destination that we never reach or never return to. Even when a place finally turns into a "home," that place and the people in it are not permanent fixtures. This place where I live now is not permanent and I don't want it to be. But it's "home" for a while, and I'm realizing that the people I've invited into my life are (I hope) as permanent as those I've left behind and will someday, however incompletely, return to.
I suppose I should write a few words about the success of our World AIDS Day events. During the workshop last Thursday, our students creates posters to raise awareness of HIV/AIDS and the ways to prevent it. So, this past Tuesday, we taped all of the posters to some large partitions (?) and set up a table in front of them. THis was all located in the lobby area of the university. At the table we handed out informative brochures, condoms, and ribbons, and we also asked students to join an HIV/AIDS Awareness club. Many signed up, and many contributed anonymous questions to the "anonymous AIDS question box."
After about an hour and a half, we ran out of ribbons and condoms, and we were scheduled to be there until 4pm (it was around 1130 when we ran out). So we waited for Peace Corps to bring us more stuff, and in the mean time we allowed students to man the tables and give out information to other students. Eventually, the extra condoms arrived, and everyone was happy. At 4, we all scurried into the auditorium, where we'd arranged for a panel discussion about HIV/AIDS to take place. We had a schedule, but, of course, it didn't work out as planned. I won't go into great detail about it because really what's the point? The gig went well, the students were interested, and after the panel discussion we showed a few short films about HIV/AIDS in Africa and had some question/answer time. The whole thing was supposed to end at 6, and it actually ended at around 7, but I think we all kind of expected that. So, at the end of the day, we all felt a great sense of accomplishment. We did a good job. And by "we" I mean: Rob, Lauren, Alan, Jon, and Me. That's most of the Praia volunteers. We also had some student helpers at the tables, and there were a few professors who were kind enough to take their entire classes to the auditorium for the panel discussion. We actually put all of this together in a rather short amount of time, so hopefully next year will be even bigger and better than this year. I'm really hoping that the HIV/AIDS Awareness club gets rolling soon, but I'm a little afraid that I'm going to be the one running it (with my classes, the library, Reading Club, and English Club, my plate's a little full already). But we'll see, I guess. Nothing much else is new at the moment. I bought some green tinsel the other day in a desperate attempt at bringing some holiday cheer into my bedroom. It helps a little. These days I actually find myself missing the holiday music that is played nonstop on the radio and in department and grocery stores back home. I haven't heard a single Christmas song yet. I will, however, be making Christmas cards this weekend, so if you would like to be on my holiday mailing list, please let me know. I should have most people's addresses, but you might want to send it to me again if you haven't received any mail from me yet. Ok then. I have a monografia student coming in soon. Gotta get my teacher face on. Txau!
Today I received a very nice, very well-packed, very thoughtful care package from Aunt Rosie and Uncle Richard! I got a call from the secretary at the PC office letting me know I could go pick it up anytime today. So I did, and inside the box I found: soap, lotion, bug spray, toothbrushes & toothpaste, and....MAC N CHEESE!!!!!! And it wasn't just one box...they sent FIVE BOXES!!!!!!! Holy Crap, I don't know what to do with myself right now! Lauren and I are going to enjoy the crap out of this care package!!
Also, bug spray = no Dengue fever! Really, everyone else....you should get on the ball. Aunt Rosie and Uncle Richard are mosying their way to the head of the contest.
Dear Peace Corps Safety and Security Staff,
Thank you for monitoring my blog. Knowing that you are reading and criticizing and forcing me to remove certain, possibly harmful, content from my posts makes me feel very safe. and secure. Now that I've removed the blog post full of negativity that could possibly, unjustly, influence future volunteers or bring down the morale of other current volunteers, I hope you feel confident that your words of wisdom were taken seriously. I've also deleted the photos that depicted my fast and loose behavior, so now when any Cape Verdean stumbles upon my blog, after they have taken the time to translate it, and on the slim chance that they happen to see me on the street sometime, they will not think of me as fast and loose and will not try to party with me. God forbid. Yours in pursuing blog safety, misty
This week has been very long, and somewhat tiring. There was a workshop about "teaching with technology," led by a Uzbekistan/Albania RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer), who I'll call Wally. What that meant is that I had to close the library early every day so that I could go to the PC office [CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED]
What was worse than [CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED]...what a waste! Luckily we were encouraged to bring our computers, and they hooked up wireless internet just for the occasion. So I got to write some emails and chat online with some friends, which helped to ease the stress and prevented me from [CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED CONTENT DELETED] poor, clueless Wally. Yesterday, I actually had a good excuse to get out of going to the workshop. We (the other Praia volunteers and I) have been planning some events for World AIDS Day, which is coming up on December 1st. We came up with the idea to give a workshop about text/visuals working together and try to generate some original writing and art that we can display around campus. Then, on World AIDS Day, we are going to put up some tables in the lobby where we can display the posters, give out information, give out condoms, ribbons, etc. In the afternoon on the 1st, we'll have a screening of a documentary and a panel discussion about HIV/AIDS. My part in all of this is leading the text/visuals workshop, which I did yesterday. Overall I'm pretty happy with how everything went. The students were interested and involved, and they created some very nice pictures and text. On World AIDS Day, we're going to try and recruit people into an AIDS Awareness Club, and if that works out, we'll give those kinds of workshops more often. I can't even begin to describe how good it felt to work with students on writing again. It was exciting for me, and it allowed me to bond with the students a little...and see their creative sides! Doing these kinds of things makes me want to do the MFA in Creative Writing, just so that I'd be able to teach creative writing in the future. But I honestly don't see that happening. The PhD is much more practical. But I digress. We did take some pictures, and I was even quasi-interviewed by someone who told me the picture and interview would be on the UniCV website, but I haven't checked (you can check if you'd like...http://www.unicv.edu.cv, but be aware that it's all in Portuguese). Anyway, as soon as I see Jon again, I'll be sure to try and get some photos from him to post here. I was hoping that I'd wake up yesterday not realizing it was Thanksgiving and be able to go about my day without problems. That didn't happen. It was the first thing on my mind. But, I didn't let it get me down too much. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I think I'll list all of the food I ate: 2 croissants and a banana for breakfast; pinchus (chicken k-bobs) and french fries for lunch, and a chwarma for supper. Not too shabby...normally I don't eat 3 times in a day. I hope that everyone had a good day yesterday. I'll be having my Thanksgiving dinner twice tomorrow, so don't feel too bad for me. Despite Wally's horrible workshops, and having to work late on Thanksgiving, this week hasn't been too terribly bad. I'd better get going...I have to head out to the PC office for more World AIDS Day planning. Txau!
Peace Corps is filled with both good and bad moments. I try to not let the bad moments overwhelm me, but sometimes, inevitably, they do. I like to refer to the ups and downs as my "emotional schizophrenia." Sometimes it's the small things...like getting hissed at everywhere I go, or some guy holding his hand out expecting me to give him money. Sometimes it's the big things...like getting into an argument with my supervisor and feeling like this whole thing is a lost cause. But that's how the good times go, too. Big and small.
Last week Jon, Nico and I discovered a kind of food called fataya, which is something like a burrito. It only costs 50$CVE (probably around 60 cents?). Good moment. The fataya I ate last night made me sick and kept me up all night, so I'm running on 2 hours of sleep. Bad moment. I found a pie plate. Good moment. I will be spending my first Thanksgiving away from my family. Soon-to-be Bad Moment. You get the point. Last week I had a meltdown of epic proportions. I was seriously considering asking to be sent home or relocated. Luckily, one of the other Praia voluntees was available to counsel me (thanks Rob), I bought a plant, made a few phone calls home and felt a little better. I decided to step back and take a deep breath and sleep on it before making any major decisions. I'm still having trouble thinking of good reasons to stay here, but I'm still here and I'm trying to get the fire back. It's difficult...coming to terms with the reality of Peace Corps when the idea of it has been there for so long. This experience isn't what I thought my experience would be like, but that's the way it always goes, right? It is what it is, I guess. I'm just hoping that my reasons for staying don't become entirely selfish. I came here to try and make some kind of difference, to experience something extraordinary. Right now the only reason I can find to stay is that it makes my curriculum vitae look good and will help me get into a PhD program. Maybe it'll get better. Who knows. ------------------------------------------------------------------- In other news, two weekends ago I went on a hike in Ruis Vaz, a small town in the mountains not far from Praia. As most of you probably know, I'm a weakling and don't normally do much hiking, so the hike was difficult for me. It's only the second time I've been on a hike, and by the time we got to the top I thought I was going to die. but it was worth it. Here are some pictures. A cool church at the end of our hike. mountains, etc. Graffiti yellow flowers (I collected a few, but by the end of the hike they were destroyed) mountains mountains Me, Rob, Greg, Joe, Jon Me and Jon A nice view Joe, Me, Rob, Greg, Maria Joe, Me, Rob, Jon, Maria flower beetle me and Rob trees tree ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Finally, last week I received a package from...MY MOM! It contained lots of spice packs and some photos from home. while it was a simple package, the sheer fact that it was my mom who sent it automatically moves it to the top of the Best Package Ever contest. Try harder, everyone else...my mama just took the lead. (and despite it all, I'm still constantly falling in love with everyone. God help me.)
Since Friday (the 13th) was my mom's 60th birthday, and since I couldn't celebrate it with her, I decided to celebrate it in Cape Verde with my friends. Here are the pictures (out of order, of course):
This is how we eat cake in Cape Verde. Not enough plates...sit on the floor and eat out of the pan. Here we are singing happy birthday to Mom. We didn't have small candles. [PHOTO DELETED FOR SAFETY AND SECURITY PURPOSES] [PHOTO DELETED FOR SAFETY AND SECURITY PURPOSES] Jon (left) and Joe, sharing a tender moment. Elyse handing Andrew her plate to finish. L-R: Lisa, Adeyeme, and Kelly. The food wasn't bad, they just didn't want to have their pictures taken at the moment. Party poopers. Lisa, eating the last of the meatloaf out of the pan, using the spatula, of course. That meatloaf was delicious. Me, serving my plate. Lisa and Jon, sporting the headbands that Lisa made out of a cut up dress. This is us, just before dinner: Joe, Elyse, Andrew, Me, Lisa, Kelly, and Adeyeme. The three musketeers: Elyse, Lisa and Jon. We didn't have a potato smasher, so we had to use a picante sauce jar. This is Andrew, licking the mashed potatoes off the jar. I think at least 2 other people (including me) had already licked the jar. In Peace Corps, we share! Elyse and Lisa, feeling the party. Andrew. Lisa and Adeyeme. Joe. Lisa. Dancing on Jon's front porch with his neighbors. Kelly, pretending to lick my nasty fingers. Partying with the neighbors. More partying on the porch. Ok, that's about all I've got for now. It was a lot of fun, and I'm really glad that so many people could come and help me celebrate for my mom. The food was delicious, and the company was great! Until next time...
we gots it.
wouldn't you now that as soon as I move to Cape Verde, dengue fever moves here too. the recent outbreak marks the first time CV has had dengue fever. it's a disease that's spread by mosquitos and sometimes becomes an epidemic because there's no way to prevent it. yes, it can be deadly, but it is also treatable if you catch the symptoms in time. I do not have dengue fever. if I get dengue fever, I will let you know. everything is ok. I just wanted to let you know.
I guess I should begin by apologizing for taking so long to update. There really is no excuse since I have access to internet almost daily. So, as Jesse so often tells me, I cry your pardon.
I received a package from Andrea Luna Battig last week sometime, and it was AWESOME! She sent a very special blanket, and a dress, and a journal, and other things. Those were the top three, so she is now in a tough competition with Jesse and Lynn for best package ever. Don't worry...you still have time to enter the contest. The address is on the side. For some reason I just don't have it in me right now to write a proper blog entry. Here are some tidbits of my life: went to a Halloween party in Ribiero Chiqueiro. dressed up as a chwarma (aka, taquito). got loud and happy and drunk. fell in love with everyone. passed out on Jon's floor. I've been hanging out with Jon and Elyse and Lisa (other nearby volunteers), and have come to the conclusion that the saying was correct: the friends you make in Peace Corps are friends for life. I love music. It gets me through the toughest parts. Last night was soul music night...God bless Otis Redding and Ben E. King; yesterday afternoon Led Zepplin helped me wash clothes. Most nights Cat Power helps me get to sleep. and there's always Bob Dylan. what can I say about Bob Dylan?I've cooked with/for my friends twice (maybe 3 times?) now, and it makes this place feel a little more like home. Last night it was meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Mmm.I miss you.That's all I've got for now. Txau.
Ok, so it's time for me to do some bargaining. I want Christmas cards, and you have them, so here's the deal:
If you send me a Christmas card, I'll send you a little something in return--and I do mean a little something. I don't have a lot of money, but I do have the ability to make things and find things on the ground and mail them. So, if you send me a card, you will either receive a hand-made card/token of my appreciation, or some trash from around Praia (there's a lot of it). Sound good? The mailing address is on the right.
The other night a small group of volunteers (me, Lauren, Alan, and Jon) went to a concert at the National Auditorium. It wasn't big, there wasn't anythng too fancy, but it was well worth the 500$cve we paid (about $6.50 usd). The singer's named Mikea and he's from Madagascar. I didn't understand the songs, but he was so good that we all chipped in and bought a cd. Here's a clip I found on youtube:
The song, Niny, is about a boy who had to leave home to look for work and how painful it is to be separated from his mother. I think Niny is the Malagasi word for Mother. Also, the only reason I know this much about what the song is about is because there was a short paragraph in the cd insert. Orientation has begun at the University this week, and we're supposed to start teaching next week. I'm looking forward to it, especially since I met some of my students yesterday. I still have a lot of work to do to get the Resource Center in order, but I've got time. I'm working on it.
I re-registered for The Writer's Almanac, which means that I'm again receiving a poem a day through email. I'd previously been subscribed since 2003, but then I decided that I didn't want it to clutter my inbox while I'm away. Now that I'm here, I realize that there are worse things than having an inbox cluttered with poetry. like having no poetry whatsoever.
I just read yesterday's poem. It was "i like my body" by e.e. cummings, and just reading it made my heart sink and float a little. I have no better words to explain what it is that e.e. cummings' poems do to me other than to say they make me sink and float, simultaneously, in love and out. Here's the poem, for those of you who would like to read it: i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more. i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which I will again and again and again kiss, i like kissing this and that of you, i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes over parting flesh...And eyes big love-crumbs, and possibly i like the thrill of under me you quite so new ----------------------------------------------- Yesterday was e.e. cummings' birthday. go have a drink. Today we had our meeting to find out what our new schedules look like. I don't like my schedule at all...in fact, I have been assigned one class at night from 7-9pm. I'm trying to get that one changed because it really isn't safe for me to be in that part of town that late at night. If I can't get it changed, I'll have to take a taxi home every wednesday night, which can be expensive since taxis at night are 200$cve (that's really only about $3, but still). Also, I have two classes at 7:30 am. I'm pretty much stuck with those, and since I'm absolutely not a morning person, I might finally have to start drinking coffee. This semester's going to be interesting, to say the least. (One of my 7:30 am classes is on Saturdays. lucky me.) On Tuesday I wandered over to the Peace Corps office, and while I was there I found the book My Sister's Keeper. I started reading it, and while I'll admit that it skirts the "trash-fiction" line, I kept reading and finished it yesterday. Not great, not terrible. Actually, it read like a soap opera, and it seems like Picoult (the author) thinks she's a amateur philosopher. Like she wrote every line as though it was the most profound thing she'd ever thought of, and them patted herself on the back for being so clever and wise. Overall, the writing was a little cliche, a little contrived, very predictable, but you know...it was a good vacation for my brain. --------------------------------------------------- Ok, I think I finally got my videos uploaded. I had to separate the original video into 5 segments so that it would load faster. I hope I've got this right. ----------------------------------------------------- This computer doesn't have flash player, so I can't tell if the videos uploaded here correctly. If you can't see them, here are the url-links: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grc0CiabDP8 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KnAeYhOQ204 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AgM1CUKBxOA http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nfZfomY7zE http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0Ab1cawkJc ---------------------------------------------- ps. another cummings poem for your viewing pleasure: you shall above all things be glad and young For if you're young,whatever life you wear it will become you;and if you are glad whatever's living will yourself become. Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need: i can entirely her only love whose any mystery makes every man's flesh put space on;and his mind take off time that you should ever think,may god forbid and (in his mercy) your true lover spare: for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave called progress,and negation's dead undoom. I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
I found out that we're not going to start teaching until the 26th, but we do have some things to do next week. Some kind of orientation, though I don't entirely know what that means.
So far I've made 2 videos of our new apartment, and neither will upload. I'm getting frustrated. Last night I made tacos and they were delicious. How delicious were they? Well, given that I'm in Cape Verde and haven't had good Mexican food in 3 months, it was the best Mexican food I've had in THREE MONTHS!! I still have a lot of tortillas to eat, and I've been making sweet tea pretty regularly, so things ain't so bad. I'm even starting to enjoy the strange cheese. That's about it. I hate Cape Verdean internet connections because they won't let me share my videos with you.
Ok, so I'm thinking about renting a post office box because I don't have access to my mail as regularly as I'd like. Seriously, I'm becoming something of a stalker and the secretary at the PC office is getting annoyed at me (I think, though she's too polite to actually tell me so). Anyway, today I asked if I had mail, and she looked and said no. Then someone else asked if they had mail and she found something that came for me LAST WEEK! See why I'm constantly asking for my mail? what if she misses something all the time? So I'm going to find out how much a post office box costs and ask around about the reliability of getting mail there. We'll see.
In other news, since I've promised to mention everyone who sends me something, I think it's time I mention...Lynn. She sent me the first package, and it was the first box received by anyone in my training group. Yeah, she's on the ball. Afterward, she sent me a shitton of peanut m&ms and some much needed envelopes and family photos, so she's pretty much tied with Jesse in the running for best care package. And today I received pictures and letters from Stacy, so I'm sittin pretty right now! Thank you everyone!! You have no idea how it feels to receive a letter, email, phone call...anything from home! Even today, Lauren received a couple of parcels and I could barely contain my excitement! It just feels good to know that people care, that's all. --------------------------------------------- Well, we went to the university this morning for a scheduled English Department meeting. We showed up on time, like Americans tend to do, and found out that the meeting was cancelled. We also found out that classes won't be starting on the 12th like we thought, though there's hope for the 19th. Additionally, our teaching schedules are changing, though we're told that the subjects themselves will remain the same. So I'll still be teaching Linguistics (hopefully), but I won't have the nice schedule that I'd been planning around. I'm still trying to be patient and keep in mind that this is a young university and they need time to get organized. I'm looking on the bright side...I've got more time to plan my courses and more time to get the English Studies Center Library in order before the semester begins. I've also got more time for the beach! I'm feeling pretty homesick today, but I'm sure I'll get over it. I'm going to go home and eat a tuna fish sandwich with some doritos and maybe even drink a coke. Txau.
I got another package today! From Dr. V. Jackson!!!! It was BOOKS!!!!
I feel legendary today. all because of you.
1. Today I got a package from Jesse. He's definitely vying for the coveted "Best Care Package" prize, which will, of course, be awarded at the end of my service. He sent: chalkboard paint, chalk and a chalkholder, gummy rats, cream savers, laffy taffy, peanut m&ms, a dodgers sweat band, plastic dinosaurs, sharpie pens, a cowboys grocery bag, and...wait for it...THE OFFICE SEASON 5 ON DVD!!!
BE JEALOUS. 2. So I arranged with a guy at sucupira (the outdoor market where they sell everything) to make me a couple of skirts, and he told me to go pick them up this morning at 9am. I don't know why I thought they'd actually be ready at 9, but I showed up on time. When I got there, the guy was just starting to sew them. Great. So he told me to xinta (sit down), so I did. Then, another guy came in and started talking to me. Here's a transcript of what I remember of the conversation. Guy: Oi, bom dia. Bu sta di undi? (Hi, good morning. where are you from?) Me: Ola, bom dia. N sta di Merka, muito prazer. (Hi, good morning. I'm from America, nice to meet you.) Guy: you speak English? Me: Sim, mas n ta prendi kriolu tambem. (yes, but I'm learning Kriolu also.) Guy: you live here now? Me: Sim. Guy: y bu maridu, ael ta mora na Merka ainda? (and your husband, he's still living in America?) Me: Nao, n ka sta kazada. Mas, N mora li ku nha amiga. Nu sta voluntarios di korpu da paz. Nu ta trabadju li. (No, I'm not married. but I live here with my friend. we're volunteers with Peace Corps. We're working here.) Guy: Enton, bu namoradu ta mora na Merka ainda? (so your boyfriend is sill living in America?) Me: Nao, n ka tem namoradu. (No, I don't have a boyfriend). Guy: Do you have children? Me: No, I'm just focusing on working right now. Guy: I can be your lover. Me: Kuze? (What?) Guy: Your lover. You need someone to love you. Me: Nao, n ka kre namoradu gosi. Obrigadu. (No, I don't want a boyfriend right now. Thank you.) Guy: How many years do you have? Me: I'm 27. Guy: You have many years already. I think you should not waste time. I can be your lover. Me: Nao, gosi n meste trabadju so. N ka meste namoradu. (No, right now I need to only work. I don't need a boyfriend.) Guy: but you don't have a lot of time left. for marriage and children. tell me, have you had a lover? Me: yes. Guy: was he a white man or a black man? Me: he was a mexican man. Guy: this mexican man, did you he love you good? Me: deskulpa-m, kuze? (I'm sorry, what?) Guy: did you like it when he loved you? Me: yes. Guy: I can love you like him. why you don't want a lover? Me: Gosi N ta fica li so tres meses, y n tem mas dos anos. Gosi N meste trabadju so, y na futuru talvez n sta bai tem namoradu. Mas gosi n ka kre. (right now I've only been here 3 months, and I still have 2 years. right now I need to only work, and in the future maybe I will have a boyfriend. but now I don't want one.) Guy: ok, maybe it is possible for me to have your phone number? Me: oh, well, since I've only been here for a few months, I don't have a phone yet. *this is a lie Guy: where do you live? Me: N mora pertu de universidade (I live close to the university.) *this is also a lie Guy: which zone? Me: N ka pode lembra...pertu de universidade. (I don't remember. close to the university.) Guy: well, do you think it ok for me to give you my phone number? Me: sure. And that pretty much ended our little transaction. We talked for a minute or two longer about how I am going to need a man next to me for comfort (or something along those lines), but he left shortly thereafter. His name is Jallow One, he's originally from The Gambia and lived in Guinea for a while. He was really adament about being my lover. I should mention that the whole conversation was peppered with awkward silences wherein I tried to gather my thoughts and figure out what to say next. When I told him that I didn't have a phone, I was secretly praying that no one called or texted me at that moment. The only defense mechanism I could think of was to try speaking kriolu when I got flustered, but I don't really know why I thought that mattered. So my new favorite pick-up line is: you have many years already. I think you should not waste time. I can be your lover. Try this in America. Let me know how it works out for you.
More pictures. Again, I tried to post the photos of my host family first, but Blogger had other plans.
This was taken after our swearing in ceremony. This is Estevao (pronounced Esh-TEH-voh). He's a driver for the Peace Corps, and he is one of the kindest human beings I've ever met. I talked to him a lot during training, and I even invited myself to his house for a visit. In true Estevao style he responded "Ka tem problema!" which means "No Problem!" He always said that, to everything. I love Estevao. This isn't family, in fact I don't even know who this is, but I wanted to show how they bomba babies here. They literally just tie them to their backs and carry them around. So when you are walking down the street and encounter a woman, sometimes all you'll see are two little feet sticking out by her waist. The babies are very patient and seem to really enjoy being bomba-ed. This is Lauren, my current roommate. She was also living in Assomada, about a block away from me. Her host father, Arlindo, is my host father's brother, so that technically made Lauren and I cousins. She's holding Darlene (pronounced Dar-LEE-nee), and her host mom's name is Nadine (pronounced na-DEE-nee). That guy in the background is named Lamar. He's nice, and he was living in Assomada near us. He seems to be scratching a mosquito bite. This is my host dad, Joaquim (pronounced Joe-ah-kweem), and my host brother Anildo. Cape Verdeans rarely smile in photos, in case you were wondering. This is me, Anildo, and my host mom Idelmira. Idelmira is my favorite person in Cape Verde. She's holding Ariani, her granddaughter, but Ariani's dad (Angelo) wasn't there for the photo. So this is the family, minus Angelo. These photos were taken in the sitting area/dining room. I didn't take pictures of the rest of the house because I figured my host mom would think it was weird. This is Ariani. You can just look at her and tell that she's trouble. In other news, nothing much is going on at the moment. I'm trying to plan my courses and have become addicted to chwarma's...apparently they have them in the US also, but I never had one until I came here. It's like heaven wrapped in pita bread. I'll write something substantial soon. I promise.
I have a couple of pictures, for your viewing pleasure.
At the English Studies Center Library, where I will be working, I have my very own red stapler. Some former volunteers did drawrings in the "office." This is my favorite. Now, I am never without the inspiration of Tupac! I needed some curtains for my room, but I don't have any hooks and can't nail into the walls (because they're made of cinder blocks), so I improvised. That's right...duct tape and clothes pins! Ok, that's it. I hope everyone's doing well. I got 2 letters today!
Here's a slideshow that was created by a fellow pc volunteer who has just moved to fogo.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sp7x1HqMXoc&feature=player_embedded His blog is here: http://www.joshinafrica.com I haven't watched the video, but I hear it's really good. -m
ANDREA LUNA BATTIG IS AND ALWAYS WILL BE THE BEST ROOMIE EVER!!!
So, it turns out I'm not going to be teaching Research Methodologies/Academic Writing after all. I'll be teaching...Introduction to Linguistics and English Linguistics. I was a little frustrated at first, but now I'm adjusting to the change and I'm doing my best to prepare for the courses.
I'm starting to get excited a bit, but I know that mainly it's because classes are going to start soon and I'm going to have amazing students! I've already met some of the students here, and they're so nice and smart and holy crap do they work hard! Many of them are not college-aged, traditional students...they have children, jobs, live in other towns, etc. And, their schedules are set by the university, so they basically have to plan their lives around their school schedule. The 3rd year students this semester are going to school MTWRF 2pm-8pm, and they have class on Saturday morning! Imagine trying to have a job that works with that schedule! or having a child or a sick parent or having to travel every day! That means that the students who go here are really dedicated, so I'm looking forward to meeting them and working with them and learning from them. It's going to be a great experience. In other news...PICTURES! This is where the grog comes out. I meant to upload this one last, but blogger wasn't having any of that "pictures appearing in the order that you uploaded them" thing, so all of the pictures are out of order. So, basically grog is kind of like moonshine, and I got to see a place where it was made. and This photo above is a photo of where the grog comes out after it's been cooked (or distilled, or whatever). These are the ovens, and I think the grog is in the pots above them, but I'm really not sure. Those barrels in the background are full of fermenting grog (before it becomes actual grog). This is the machine that pulls the juice from the sugar cane. Grog is made of sugar cane. Some men putting the sugar cane into the machine. Grog, ready to be sold. They usually pour it in other, prettier jugs before sale, though. After my original language teacher left to go study in China, I was reassigned to this language teacher. Not the lady in the red shirt. No, my language teacher's name is Carlos and he's a lot of fun. This is how they dry their clothes. This lady's about to put this entire bucket of fish on her head. I tried to catch her as she put it up there, but I was a little too fast. The beach at Cidade Velha. Cidade Velha is the oldest city in Cape Verde, the first settled. It's really beautiful there. I know this is a really bad photo, but I wanted to show what some of the really bad roads look like. Cars drive on this, and it really hurt my feet to walk on it. Many roads look like this, especially after it rains. We can see Fogo, one of the other islands, from Cidade Velha. I outlined it here because this photo was supposed to come after the next one. Thanks, blogger! Ok, can you see Fogo in this photo? If not, scroll up and see the outline. This is part of the fort at Cidade Velha. I don't know what these areas are. We did have a tour guide, but she was speaking Portuguese and I was feeling too lazy to translate it in my head. Again, due to my laziness and unwillingness to listen to the Portuguese, I have no idea what this room is. But it looks cool, and it's part of the fort. A view of Cidade Velha from the fort. Another view from the fort. Cannons. They're pointing inland, which we couldn't really figure out. Aren't cannons supposed to point toward the ocean, in case someone attacks? I think this is another photo of Fogo, but I'm not really sure. In the center of Cidade Velha there's a post. At first sight it doesn't look like much, but then when you find out that this post is where slaves were chained and auctioned during the slave trade, it changes the entire feel of the plaza. Cidade Velha was important during the slave trade because it was the meeting point between mainland Africa and Americans or Europeans. The fort. A cool view from the fort. Another cool view. Everything's green right now because of the rainy season. When it rains in Praia, it really rains. Ok, I think that's it for the photos. I'll try to post more soon, but there really aren't too many more to post. Maybe I'll take some photos of the other volunteers I hang out with, or my apartment when I get it clean. Until then, peace out!
I'm rereading Slaughterhouse Five and it's just as good as it was the first time, if not better. I absolutely love Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. I tried reading something by Noam Chompsky (Rules and Representations I think), but I'm just not ready for that yet.
Yesterday Jesse called and told me about all of the amazing stuff he put in the package he mailed, so for that he gets a big THANK YOU!!!!! on my blog. Just think, folks, you, too, could receive a blog mention if only you send me cool things. or letters. I should also mention, then, that Noelle is also very awesome because she's sending me theory books that she collected from the professors at the university, and Dr. Sullivan has been very helpful in answering my questions about linguistics and providing support (I think she donated books, too). I love everyone! I never imagined I'd receive so much support. I think that during my time here, I'll definitely get to explore various areas of interest, but I'm not sure that any of this exploration will help me decide what I want to focus on during PhD study. This semester I'm teaching Research/Academic writing, next semester I'm teaching Literature and Sociolinguistics, and I imagine that next year will be somewhat similar. THe only thing that might change is that I might get to teach other linguistics courses. So, it looks like by the end of this gig I'll have a good basis in linguistics, but I think I'd still like to focus on Rhet./Comp. or Literature. Who knows, I guess. I don't have to start applying to schools until next fall, so we'll see how I feel next summer. I sleep like a crazy animal now. Every morning when I wake up the bed's about a foot away from the wall, and many times I am sleeping sideways. I don't know what's wrong with me. I miss everyone. I'll try to call if you give me your phone number, and Terri: I need your email address, lady! I'll write again soon.
sorry for the lack of posts. I just moved to Praia this past weekend, and so far everything's going well. I do enjoy being on my own, getting to walk around, staying out after dark, etc. I've already eaten ice cream twice. and no one freaks out if I miss lunch or don't drink that gross milk for breakfast.
Since we moved in, basically all Lauren and I have been doing is cleaning and relaxing. We've come to the university every day this week, and I'm trying to get used to the library that I'm going to be working in. Also, I'm beginning to plan my semester, but I can't wrap my head around the class just yet. I'm going to be teaching Research Methodologies, which is basically an introduction to research methods, APA citation, and academic writing. And the students here are not prepared for any of this in high school, so I'm starting from scratch. For the 3rd year students I've come up with a basic plan...they have to do a 4th year project, so my class can serve as a precursor for that. I can base my lessons in areas that they might be able to research for their final project, thus allowing them to get a head start for their final year. But the first year students? what kind of context do I need to provide? Should I create a theme? I'm not sure yet, but hopefully next week I'll be able to sit down with another professor and discuss ideas, etc. Today I don't have much to do. I slept for a while this morning, watched some Seinfeld episodes on my laptop (the person who lived in the apartment before me left an entire season of Seinfeld DVDs!!), and ate some Frosted Flakes. I finally broke down and bought some cereal for breakfast. I've been craving potato and egg taquitos, but I don't have any oil to fry the potatoes. Also, the tortillas I made the other day are probably pretty gross by now. OH....I forgot to mention....I MADE TORTILLAS!!!! I've made them twice now, and they're freaking delicious! I wanted to cry the first time I ate one at my host mom's house!! By far the best thing I've eaten in Cape Verde so far! The funny part is that when I was making them, I turned into Bubba from Forrest Gump for a minute and started listing all of the things you can put in tortillas while talking to my host mom. She just stared at me incredulously while I talked and shoved tortilla in my mouth like a ravenous dog. I must've been quite the sight. So, if you really want to be my best good friend, you should send me recipes for the things I can't get here...like, refried beans, cream of chicken/mushroom/celery soup, peanut butter cookies, sweet creamed corn, etc. basically any recipe for any type of food. Ok, I'm pretty much rambling now. I'll post more pictures soon, but I really haven't taken any lately. Once we get the house cleaned I'll post some photos of the apartment. I'd have taken some already, but the place is really, really dirty. Take care!!! Write to me!!! or email me!!!
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