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August 31st, 2008
08:50 pm - What to say...
Since getting back, I haven't actually called a lot of people...in part it's because I STILL (after a week and a half here) haven't gotten a cell phone. The other part is the fact I kinda worry about the awkwardness of the conversation: almost like cold calling someone. It's just, logically/quantatively an awkward situation. It's not like when I was back for Christmas, when it's a "Hey, let's catch up really fast" conversation. Now, after 2 years of being gone, it's like a "Hey, how are you? Remember me? You wanna be my friend?" conversation. A little more awkward. Friends from before have had 2 years without me...now I'm kinda trying to fit into their lives. It's just...interesting.
In their defense, all of the friends I have called have been awesome and supportive. But what happens when I start calling people who were just good friends, not best friends?
I'm sure it'll all work out. It's just an interesting part of the readjustment process.
Oh and I thought of a couple other things to add to the last posting's list:
-all dogs here are nice and probably won't bite you
-the fact that you don't need exact change anywhere (or practically anywhere you go)
-restaurants in America have everything that's actually printed on the menu (I think that was on the last list, but I wanted to make sure)
Okay, g'nite.
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August 29th, 2008
03:42 pm - An update on the past week masomenos
Wow, a lot’s happened since the last time I posted. I finished my Peace Corps service and am now with my grandparents. There’s lots that could be said about the experience: the going away party was great, if not a little surreal, as was saying goodbye to people.
In Peace Corps, they say that the transition OUT of Peace Corps is much more difficult than the transition IN. This is for a variety of reasons, which I’ll speculate upon now.
When you go in, you don’t really know what you’re getting yourself into: it’s exciting and for the next two something years, there’s a plan. Yes, it’s hard getting to know the language and the culture, but you’re undergoing this transition with a group of other Americans, all in the same boat as yourself. After training each day, or even during training, you talk about the differences and the difficulties with others who understand almost EXACTLY how you feel, what you’re going through. There’s a nobility to what you are doing, to the transition you are undergoing: you are doing all of this to help people you’ve never met (or atleast that’s what you tell yourself: if you are honest, you are probably doing Peace Corps for yourself: to gain life experience, to experience another culture from the inside, to qualify for those post-Peace Corps scholarships, or what have you). It’s difficult but the end is insight, a mere weeks away for training, or a couple years (700 odd days, but who’s counting) away till the journey ends, till you COS (or Close Of Service: afterall when you leave, you haven’t quite learned all of the acronyms)
Fast forward 2 years (less if you leave early, more if you extend). Everyone doesn’t COS at the same time: rather it’s a trickle. When you leave, it’s not as a part of the group you came in with, and when you arrive in America, you go back to friends or family, most if not all of whom have never experienced something along the lines of what you’ve experienced. Your identity is taken away: you’re not an American (even though you are, it looses its importance) or a Peace Corps Volunteer (rather, you are an RPCV, a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer). There’s no job or housing waiting for you, no group of people who are readily available to talk and empathize with you about what you are undergoing. What you are doing, presumably laying on your family’s couch, or in your old room, figuring out what comes next isn’t noble: if anything, at 20 or 30 something years old, it’s a little bit sad. And, probably the biggest thing for me, right now, the curse and the blessing about coming back, is the fact that you’re viewing American culture through a slightly skewed lens. Yes, this once was your culture, you lived in it for 20 or 30 something years, but now you find yourself questioning what is normal, and even questioning this life you used to fantasize about. Below is a partial list of things like that, that I’ve found. Other RPCVs feel free to add your own. Post comments if you want/think I need further explanation.
-flushing toilet paper
-long hot showers
-not worrying about if the power is going to go out/not having the power go out
-actually needing to have a cell phone (although CV is starting to get to that point)
-NOT saying “Hello” and “How are you?” to everyone you encounter/everyone you meet
-speaking to people who have English as their second language, and not needing/feeling compelled to speak to them in their first language (I went out for Mexican food the other night and the server spoke English with a Spanish accent: my first reaction was to try to speak to him in his language. Why? Because for 2 years I’D been the outsider needing to use another language to fit in, to be served, to not get ripped off when out dining…I’m worried that this sounds a little bit racist, but it’s not meant to be…for two years I spoke another language, and often did it when I didn’t have to in an attempt to fit in: it’s weird not to have to do that now)
-there are like NO kids here, and the ones that are here, you can’t just go up to and play with because that would seem creepy.
-people actually bag your groceries for you
-I haven’t talked about Peace Corps administration for over a week: a record I believe
-if I say something in Krioulu, ninguem podi intendi (no one’s can understand)
-I go from an air conditioned house to an air conditioned car to an air conditioned building
-so many choices. This encompasses a lot: grocery stores and what they have there, the billion choices of ice cream; video rental places that have a ton of choices, and what they have aren’t pirated DVDs, malls with tons and tons of stores.
-restaurants that have absolutely EVERYTHING that’s on the menu
-not being able to instantly find my friends in any place.
I guess that’s all for now…I’m sure I’ll think of other things later.
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August 15th, 2008
07:46 pm - The end is near
5 days till I leave.
Wow.
I've known for the past two years that this day would come. In fact, at times, I've prayed for it to come sooner. But now, no.
For the past few weeks, it hasn't really seem real. More recently I've been busying myself with preparing to start a life back in the US, focusing on the future, not the past or the present.
It was only today, as I sat next to the 70 year old woman who has called me a Cape Verdean since practically the day I arrived, that it hit me. Holding her granddaughter in my lap, I smiled for the picture, and agreed with her that when I go back to the States, I'll be able to show that photo to friends and tell them that I had many friends in CV, that both the little one and the old one were my friends.
Moments like that one, simply sitting down with friends, and a few minutes later walking a hundred yards down and sitting with more people, playing with little friends and talking to the older ones, moments like that one will not be a part of my life once I leave here. I didn't appreciate that fact until today.
I have a feeling in the next 5 days, a lot of tears will be shed, both on my part and on the part of friends I've made here. I'm going to miss this place fiercely, and am sure will nostalgically look back on my time here.
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July 31st, 2008
09:52 pm - My conundrum
I'm having quite an ideological crisis right now. Maybe someone can help me.
Fact 1: I believe that the rich should pay more to pay for programs to help the poor
By and large, I consider myself a liberal. One of the things I believe in is progressive taxation, especially of the really really rich. I just read a time magazine that the median real wage over the past 10 years has dropped nearly a thousand dollars. There have been studies that show that the majority of the past decade's increase in wealth has gone to the VERY wealthy, like the top 2% or 0.2% or something like that.
I also believe in having government pay for some things. Education, for instance. Job training programs to help people get skills they need to compete in a global marketplace. Health care for those who can't afford it (because honestly, what does it say about a country if they can't or choose not to provide a basic level of health care to all of their citizens? I'll let you ponder that one). Anyway, in order to pay for these programs, you need taxes. And while I think almost everyone should pay taxes, I think there comes a point where it's okay to tax people more to raise more funds. Like I said, I'm a fan of progressive taxation. (although I haven't figured out specifics yet)
Fact 2: I don't like getting overcharged in the market, just because of the color of my skin.
Especially when I go to Praia (or heck anywhere that's not my city), I will routinely be quoted a much higher price than that which would be quoted to a Cape Verdean. Yes, I save a little bit of money here, and yes, I have access to more (if I really needed a ticket out of this country immediately I have friends and family members whom I could borrow from), so I can afford to pay 50 escudos more for vegetables than an average Cape Verdean in the street; or 300 escudos more for a dress than a Cape Verdean. Yet it still angers me.
The people selling these goods by and large have been poor all of their lives. I'm guessing that they don't have a computer at their house and if they had to leave immediately to go to Portugal for an operation, they might not be able to borrow the money for it.
THE CONUNDRUM: If I believe in Fact 1, why should I have such a problem with Fact 2.
If anything, fact 2 takes out the middleman when it comes to redistributing income (from me, the richer person to a vendor who is presumably poorer (or more correctly who might have less disposable income) and is therefore more efficient. It gives people the power to choose what they want to do with the extra money, and if you assume, like much of economics does, that people are rational, they'll spend the money on the thing that brings them the most happiness (utility), as opposed to a government program which might mandate what those funds are used for.
Ahh....I just can't reconcile those two facts. Cognitive dissonance anyone?
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_dissonance)
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July 23rd, 2008
09:19 pm - Coming full circle
Last night, thanks to a variety of circumstances, I ended up spending the night, with other Peace Corps Volunteers, in the first place in CV that I ever spent the night in. Naturally, being there made me reflect on if and how I've changed since that first night. It was interesting to wonder what I'd do differently, if I did it again, having all the knowledge that I know now (minus the language, naturally) What I ended up realizing was that in certain respects I've come a long ways, yet in others I still have quite a ways to go. Am I glad I had this experience? Definitely. Would I want to do it all over again? Maybe. Would I be better prepared to do it all over again (or be in a similar, but not exactly equal situation)? Yes. Would/Could I be the type of person who deals with all/most aspects of the transition, of the culture shocks, (and all of the other challenges) in the most idea way? No/Maybe (Would/Could). Anyway, it was definitely interesting to be there. I'm glad I went too: coming back to my town (I was in the capital for 3 days) I felt the beginnings of closure, whatever that may be. I felt myself pulling back a little bit, starting to see myself once again as "the other" instead of as one of them; started to re-see life here with slightly foreign eyes. I'm thinking that it's a good thing.
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June 15th, 2008
10:25 pm - Scheduling Social Time
As my time here slowly comes to a close, seemingly everyday, every interaction is cause for reflection and comparison. "Will I do this in America? Will I do something like this in America?"are questions that often pop into my head. Today was no exception.
I woke up, read a bit, and started watching a movie that I watched the night before. Then the power went out, so I got up and started cleaning up my living room (something that was at the top of my to do list). I'd been to my neighbor's birthday party (she turned 3) and since I'm like part of the family I was reminded to come back at 9am to help clean. Being fully integrated (and actually quite hungry this morning) I showed up at 10.
As a sidenote, I hate sweeping in front of Cape Verdeans. They are seriously so much better at it than I am. Worried that I'd be handed a broom and made fun with (not of, because they wouldn't be malicious), I cleaned up at the party, taking plates to the back, scrapping leftovers in the pig bucket (it's the pig's food), etc. At the PCV's party I went to friday night, I did the same thing at the party...kinda cool how good behavior can be universal. But I digress.
So Saturday, 10am. I walk over, worried I'll be told to sweep. I hung out for a couple minutes, expecting to be told what to do, but I wasn't. Then I saw someone starting the dishes. I went over to them and started putting things from the wash bucket to the rinse one (there are 3 buckets: one where the dirty plates go and get whatever didn't get put in the pig bucket gets washed off, another where you do another washing, and a rinse bucket). I was given a stool and for the next hour, did dishes. They then offered me a breakfast of leftovers, which I of course ate. This was eaten in a storage room, surrounded by and sitting on cases of ponche, with some of the other neighbors. It was then back to work. Around 12:30 I left to go home, where laundry (and a frightenly messy room) awaited me. I decided that in order to clean I needed a cleaner which I didn't have. So I went into town, which of course means that a 5 minute walk easily stretches into half an hour.
I got home and then decided that I needed to put one set of grades into the computer. This of course, was more important than laundry as the electricity could go out so it's best to do things on the computer when you remember. That ended up being an hour (+) of putting grades in, taking them out (making a hard copy for the class that's practically over), proofreading newsletter articles and reading the occasional newspaper article.
Then I was hungry, so I made a burger and fries (which involved making my own fries) While eating dinner I realized that I needed to make copies of something for tomorrow and since copy machines rely on electricity, it's best not to wait to make copies (this helps avoid the occasional urge to kick your own hiney..."I should have made the copies earlier in the day...now I don't know when I'll be able to. )"
While walking by the Ninja Turtle's house (he's a 6 year old neighbor), I get called by him. We talk, and he wants to go to downtown with me. I say fine and 10 or 15 minutes later, we're gone. In the mean time we've picked up, literally, a 3 year old. He's afraid of fireworks (which occasionally go off in celebration of a wedding) and refuses to walk. So the three of us set out.
It was really cute:the Ninja Turtle flexed and made me tell him he was strong. Then the three year old did the same thing, and added "I'm strong so I'm not going to be afraid of fireworks" This is the same conclusion and way of saying it and conquering his fear that a 3 year old in the States would use.
So we get to the internet cafe/stationary store/cheap international phone place/bar/restaurant and I go to make copies. I then see a fellow teacher at school, who's hanging out with one of my 11th students (she might be one of his) and her boyfriend (who is slightly older than my little sister...but that's normal here) The little kids get chips and we end up hanging out for half an hour until the Ninja Turtle gets up and just leaves. I took my eyes off of him for one minute and he was gone. Luckily the 3 year old is a better babysitter than I am and leads me to him (he'd gone to the front of his aunt's house next door) On that note, we leave.
I had fruit that was going bad (it wasn't bad yet...it just all needed to be eaten in the next 24 hours, a feat I couldn't accomplish), so I dropped it off with a family who lives nearby who I know rarely eats fruit. We actually didn't stay there that long.
En route home, the Ninja Turtle wanted to stop at another neighbor's house, so we do. One of the kids there is a 4 year old who idolizes the Ninja Turtle...if the Ninja Turtle climbs on a car, he does. If the Ninja Turtle barks at the dog, he does. It was cute, a while ago I taught the Ninja Turtle the English word for dog. He pointed to one of the neighbor's dogs and said "Doggie" and made the 3 year old repeat it. I think I might have explained my difference between "dogs" and katxors (dogs are animals that you can pet, katxors are ones that you can't... physiologically they're the same animal but to me they aren't) so I think the Ninja Turtle might have picked up on that because we passed other katxors and he didn't say anything.
So the dog, a little mutt, loves me. I'm one of the only ones who'll pet it or play with it. When I'm around it gets all hyper, jumps between my legs and just tries to play, something that the Ninja Turtle loved watching. He got the idea to feed the dog some of his chips, and him and the kid who idolizes him just got so much pleasure out of doing that (I know, in America, you generally don't let your neighbor's kids feed half a small bag to chips to another neighbors dog...but this is CV where this dog is one of the lucky ones who gets fed leftovers (no kibble) All the while the 3 year old is in my arms and refusing to leave because he's scared of dogs. We're there for an hour, probably, until fireworks go off again, causing the 3 year old to cry. We leave and then I see an RPCV who's in town. So that leads to some hanging out.
I get home, put my laundry in to soak and then realize I have more newsletter business to attend to. I don't like calling people too late, and it can be kinda hard to get in touch with people, so I make those calls.
I do some of my laundry and then realize that it's father's day. Fearing a power outage, I go online and email my dad and my grandpa. And now we're here.
ANYWAY, REFLECTION TIME
As I've written before, sometimes days just get away from you, not because of laziness but because that's how it is. You'll have been busy most of the day, yet doing laundry at 8:30 pm on a Sunday night (like I'm doing now), even though laundry was at the top (well, technically #2) on your weekend to do list. I somehow doubt this will be the case, but hope there are somedays similar.
I've had an easier time than some PCVs adjusting to this lack of schedule. Maybe it's because I'm from California or probably it's just because I'm me. I remember in college, I had things I absolutely had to do (like go to class or work), yet often I'd lie in bed wondering where the day went. I'd have run into a friend on campus after class and instead of reading/studying before work we'd have coffee or I'd walk them to their next class just to talk. I'd see someone during my 4.5 hour break between work on Sunday and we'd have lunch. I was already in the mindset.
However, I also had a lot more things scheduled, if though I was in college. There was class, and work. But free time, hanging out and socializing was also scheduled for the most part. The spontaneous, we ran into each other on campus so let's have coffee, were the exception, not the rule. You'd make plans to have coffee a week from Monday, or on Tuesday a friend would invite you to a party on Saturday (a mutual friend was throwing it so naturally you're invited even if the person throwing it didn't tell you...that's something that's different here: if you're invited to a party you'll get a personal invitation, unless it's a saint day...but I'm rambling) You'd exchange emails or phone calls about wanting to see a movie, and you'd schedule a time and a place. In fact, someone might even prebuy the tickets online...it was that scheduled. The only time I schedule social time here is with other Americans and that's because we all live in different cities, so you kinda have to schedule it (plus I don't have a cell phone here) As I reflect on it now, I think I'm going to miss the unscheduledness of social time, the ability just to go to someone's house and hang out with their multigenerational family. We'll see how it all develops.
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June 11th, 2008
10:51 pm - John Smith would be so proud (Pure Capitalism at it's finest)
There's this one mini market I shop at in town that has a charming feature about it: every so often it shows me capitalism at it's finest. Occasionally, when I go to pay, items are more expensive than they are marked. As the proprietress rings me up, she takes things out of my basket and announces the price as she inputs it into her calculator. Every so often she'll go this price has gone up. It's now ____. It doesn't matter if a lower price was marked on the price sticker on the shelf it was on, or if the price physically marked on the actual product in permanent marker on the product is lower, the price has been raised. I didn't start noticing this till recently (like in the past couple months) Sometimes I feel a little part of me, some dormant vestige of myself from 2006, stir and want to argue. "It's not right. If the price is marked X, the price is X, not X plus something." (the Xs are always replaced with the original amount of the item...don't worry, I don't think in algebra). The 2008 version of myself always takes over, going with the flow, realizing this is just the way they do things here (and by here I mean in her market). I've had my fights in the past, gotten all huffy and it's done nothing (wait, I can't buy shampoo and conditioner separately, I have to buy them as a pair? But I bought them separately last month. In fact, I only bought conditioner...I ended up leaving conditionerless and angered). I've always thought it's because food prices, and oil costs really are rising.
Until today. Last week they got in Betty Crocker Super Moist Cake Mix (in 2 flavors: Devil's Food and Yellow) Retail price 180 escudos. I bought one and made it and really liked it. I liked it so much that two days later I went back to buy another one. They were all out of the Devil's food, so I bought one of the two last remaining Yellow ones. Today, two days after buying my second box of cake mix, I went in the store and they had replenished their supplies. The sticker below the boxes said 180 escudos. I checked twice because I'm a dork and was comparing prices. When I went to check out, as the proprietress was pulling things out of my cart, she said "cake mix, 200 escudos, the price went up" The 2006 version of me stirred, but the 2008 version just gritted her teeth, said nothing and paid. I kinda wanted to say "The price didn't go up. You saw that they sold well, and decided to increase your profit." It's what John Smith says any rational person would do, and it's cool to see (almost) pure capitalism in action, working right before my eyes.
However there's a part of me that still doesn't like it and feels that it's somehow unethical. Ahh, the inner capitalism vs. socialism battle, which, kinda makes sense given my background (if you think about the cliches of being both an econ major and a alumna of Berkeley).
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June 7th, 2008
10:33 pm - A nice day
The electricity had been out since 4pm Friday. Joyous. There is something to be said about the change in the atmosphere that comes from not having electricity. The hum of the generators, the utter darkness that arrives, especially on a night like last night, when the moon is barely visible. There's definitely a difference between full moon-ish nights with power outages and no moon-ish nights with power outages.
Anyway, I went to bed early Friday, woke up and taught my night school class. The class ended at 9:30, and inevitably I ended up arriving at home at 11. Even now it kinda amazes me how a 10 minute trip by foot can take over an hour, with stopping to talk to friends, joke with students, say hi to strangers, go to the store (and talk with friends, neighbors, strangers there too).
Right as I was coming up to my gate, I see 5 of my little neighbors (the elementary and preschool aged crowd) walking towards me. They ask if they can come in, and I let them. Their excuse is that they want to draw, but really they just want to hang out, look through all my stuff, play in the bathroom (lord only knows what they do in there but they go in, sometimes in pairs, sometimes for like 1/2 an hour, probably just playing with the water) As they enter, my stomach growls and I'm reminded that I'm hungry. Unwilling to settle for just a cracker, covertly eaten in the kitchen while the kids play in the living room, I tell them that I'm going to make lunch and ask if they want some rice. Naturally I invite them to help (I'm a big believer in kids cooking safely in the kitchen) , and two whole heartedly agree to help. In fact, one of them ends up being the head chef, telling us all what to do (in a nice way) We bond over caldo de galinha (chicken bullion cubs): he takes one wrapped in gold tinfoil out of a package and I tell him to use the silver ones as I like the taste of them more. He agrees and we just share a moment. (Parenthetically, it's weird: never before Peace Corps would I have used chicken bullion, heck I remember during my summer in Britain, it really freaked me out when I couldn't find chicken broth in a can. Now not only do I use it to make broth, but almost always in rice and sometimes in other things too) We settle on a menu: ie whatever I have in the house, which ends up being grilled hamburger patties, seasoned rice, and french fries. As we start cooking, kids are sent to borrow a green pepper, and some tomato paste (I sent a 4 year old to her mom's house with a tablespoon..I just love the fact that I feel comfortable doing this (and the fact that I'm not replacing the green pepper, because the family would look at me crazily if I did) They are sent to buy potatoes (for the fries). The ones that aren't in the kitchen cooking and cleaning (yes cleaning, the 4 year old intermittently did the dishes) are playing in the main room. The front doors open and every so often I check in on them.
I had a 3 year old putting his hands through the rice to rinse it, and he later peeled a potato (with my potato peeler, not with a knife like they do here). During both those things, others tried to do it faster, and I told them not to. The three year old just turned 3 last week, and has entered this phase where he's trying to be super independent. He likes feeding himself (he ate a ton of my cachupa when I made it a couple weeks ago: the ultimate compliment in my head) and copies the big kids whenever they play or with whatever they do. It's super cute. Anyway, I was glad to play my part in his independence movement.
After probably an hour of cooking (and running after kids and setting up the living room as a table) it was time to eat. While cooking I didn't get very stressed, but while serving the kids, I started to feel kinda like the mom with a minivan full of kids who does everything with an almost military like precision: go to the stairs and put rice on a plate (it'd been cooling there while the 2 burners were used to make other things). Cut the burgers in half and plate them. Put some salted fresh french fries on a plate. Check on the Chef to see if the second batch of fries is done. Grab a couple spoons and take to the kids, repeat. Unfortunately, I am not that skilled. I end up making plates for kids and running them to the living room as they are ready. Another neighbor comes over and I clean some spoons (because I was running out) and fix him a plate. Finally as I'm getting my plate ready, I hear one of the kids yell at me that he wants more french fries. I tell him that I haven't eaten yet, and he'll get more fries when I'm done (it was said in a firm, but not mean tone, but I think he got the idea: I'm pretty easy to read). Finally I sit down and eat and have to admit that it's not half bad. Besides the round plastic table which is pulled up near the sofa (there aren't enough chairs) I've put a table cloth on the ironing board and pulled that up to the sofa as well. The four year old girl tells me to sit there with her, and as I do, she runs to the kitchen and exchanges her spoon for a fork (so she could be like me) It's these little scenes of kindness, of cuteness that warm my heart and that I know I'm going to miss.
The bigger kids and soon the 3 year old is over too, pouring olive oil on his rice, just like the 4 year old does. Earlier he was trying to suck mayonnaise out of the tube, which sounds gross but was actually cute. After a couple near spills, they finish.
Speaking of which, ketchup and mayonnaise on fries aren't just for Canadians, but are for everyone. The same with ketchup on rice: it's an oddly good combination.
Two of my old students who are participating in the girls camp came over to ask me a couple questions. Since there was food, they were invited to stay, and eat, which they did. They were a bit suspicious of the food: they've had my cooking before and it's just been too foreign for them. I assured them that Cape Verdeans had made it:)
After they left the 4 year old was still here: she helped do the dishes and clean up. A well behaved child.
It's weird, had I planned this whole production, I would have made more. If this would have been a pre-planned lunch, a salad would have been made, and probably a pizza and a cake too. There'd be like 2 hamburgers for each kid and buns as well. As it is, we're using the remains of my now completely defrosted fridge. An onion, a single sausage, half a carrot, 6 1/2 hamburger patties, an old can of ervilliha (green beans, but not the type you make casserole with but the ones that are round and usually found with carrots), rice, half a head of garlic, etc.
As a post script, as I was writing this, two of the neighbor kids came over. They wanted to borrow a plastic ball that I'd bought for 50 escudos (less than a dollar): it is pink, and bouncy and looks like a plastic soccer ball. While they were over, I started making dinner, pasta with tomato sauce. It was ready right as they were leaving. The more adventurous one asked to try some, which he surprisingly liked (red sauce on pasta isn't big here) A few minutes later, three of them showed up, to try some. They actually liked it (people here tend not to eat things that they don't like, especially the kids). They ended up staying over for 45 minutes and watching some Nickelodeon cartoon that I'd brought back with me from the States.
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June 5th, 2008
04:24 pm
Yesterday I was just walking around town, killing time before night school. I showed up at the youth center where the guy that runs it was studying. He's studying public administration and was studying econ. He had a Xeroxes of a part of an econ text book, which naturally I had to look at. There were graphs similar (if not the same) to what I studied, with names I recognized, but couldn't exactly remember. Given 5 or 10 minutes with an English language textbook, it'd probably come back. It was cool: I learned the word for profit by looking at a graph and the nearby words.
We started talking about electricity, which naturally was out. He told me how the electric company was mostly private (it'd been privatized but I think the government was somehow involved), and how people stole energy. I then started thinking about if electricity is a private good or a public one. It was a fun thought experiment, but I think because of the language barrier, I lost him somewhere. If I ever get it together I might put it on here.
The electricity came back shortly before I had to walk to night school, thankfully. Walking in the dark sucks. The last time I had to walk home from night school during a power outage, I paid one of the high schoolers who was hanging at the youth center to walk me home.
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June 1st, 2008
11:38 pm - It's raining
It's raining. Right now, as I type this, it's raining. I just went outside and stood in it: it was glorious. And not just a brufa (light rain) but real drops, a shower.
Read the date: June 1st. It's my little neighbors birthday and they had a big party. When I was outside playing with the kids, I noticed it had kinda started to rain. Now, back at home, I go to the back part of the house, which has a tin roof, and you hear the pitter patter of the drops and it's...just...so...beautiful. I'm thankful to have that little tin roof, so that I can know the beauty of rain on a tin roof.
It really is quite miraculous. According to an old man that I once visited in Assomada, in the old days, it used to rain for like 4 or 5 months from June or July to September or October. Now they are lucky to get 3 months: usually the rain starts at the end of July and goes to September.
To broadly generalize the society is still an agrarian mix. While many people have other sources of income, work in the city, remittences from abroad, etc, almost every family has a field and grows crops: corn, peanuts, mangos, papayas, bananas, tomatos, sugar cane, lettuce, even strawberries (which I've seen growing here). All of these crops require water to thrive, and in general, the more the better. As the population continues to increase, so do their demands for water. Plus water equals greenery, the view of which I'm totally missing (the hills around my town get green in the summer, but now are mostly just brown dirt)
Which is why it's so amazing that it's raining. And not just amazing, but almost spiritual. In a country where the rainy season starts later and later, where it's not supposed to rain in June, it is, and it sounds beautiful.
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May 30th, 2008
09:23 pm - This wouldn't happen in America (a quick gripe)
I live in a very nice house. Nice by Peace Corps standards: electricity, water inside the house, even a hot water heater for the shower. All of which I'm grateful for.
To fuel my stove and oven I have a gas tank. A blue round gas tank like you'd use on a gas grill. That's all fine and dandy, until the gas goes out, like it did tonight.
For the past week I've been promising my students that I'd bring them cookies when we went on a field trip this Saturday. Cookies which kinda need to be cooked. Being lazy today, I didn't start making the cookies until tonight, and seeing as I ironically didn't want to waste gas, I didn't preheat the oven. I should probably also add that I've been looking forward to cooking dinner all night...I don't know why: I just haven't done it in a while and was looking forward to having a hot healthy meal.
All of this leads us to 8pm. I go to turn the stove on and it won't go. I try it a couple other times (actually for an embarassingly long time) before declaring that the tank is empty. Shoot. It's night and I could call and harass my landlord to drive me to the gas station that closes at 9, but he's old. So now I sit, cookies all formed and sitting in the pan, having to be at school at 8am, only to loose face and be harassed by the kids. Grrr.
Oh and if were me, I'd have a back up, but that's just not the way things are done here. Double grr.
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May 16th, 2008
08:18 pm - Quote of the moment
"Of all the unavoidables in life, growth is probably the worst. Far more embarassing than death, growth is more than just change; growth is the act of changing, aging. It's the in-between. A sort of biological limbo that your parents never fail to capture on film. It's a state of not belonging, of transitioning from one thing to another-yet being neither-and it causes aches in your femurs and cracks in your smile. It makes you sweat, it makes you cut ties, and most times it makes your hurt. Of course, the one good thing about growth-the scheme's grand catch that drives everyone and everything to keep on sprouting limbs and spinning cocoons-is that after it is all over and done with, you've grown." - Lesley Bargar, "Stepping out with Riley Kiley: Capital Gains, Growing Pains& Grench Champagne in Aging L.A." Filter Magazine #26, p. 49
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06:45 pm - Two week recap (this plus the previous two posts)
I got back from my Close of Service a couple days ago...it was really good to be home.
The way the past two weeks were, starting Monday the 5th (Cinco de Mayo!) I participated in a 2 day training design workshop with Peace Corps. The first day was super nice: coffee fueled but after the first couple hours, we actually got to do work, on a computer. It was so nice to be working on a project, on a computer, doing something that I felt a wee bit qualified to do (I know how to work well with groups and accomplish clearly defined objectives such as the ones we were given). People also commented on my work ethic, which was nice (gosh I sound like a tool, and work ethic might be overstating it: they were like Wow, when just given a bit of direction, you really soar; but it was still nice to be complimented). The second day wasn't as productive but it was still fun. The downside of it all was that it made me waaayyy less excited to teach. It showed me what I'm lacking in terms of personal fulfillment in the job.
So Monday and Tuesday were at that workshop: I taught Wednesday through Friday(and gave tests on Wednesday and Thursday). Saturday I also went to Praia and had lunch at one of the PC staff's houses: it was super nice of her to invite us over. Plus the food was really good.
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06:44 pm - Giving tests to adults ain't easy
So I have two night adult school classes: these are students completing their GED. I gave what I thought was an easy test to one of the classes. I hand out the tests, reminding students not to talk, and they go to the races. After like 5 minutes, I happen to look up and see a girl looking down at the chair next to her. After further investigation, I go over and see on the chair next to her, she's put her notebook, opened to just the page she needs. Mind you, the entire test is basically a vocab test. So I take her test and tell her to leave.
This is when all hell brakes loose. She starts yelling at me (the same phrase, over and over again in Krioulu) and when I try to explain, she simply changes the phrase and keeps yelling that over and over again. It's late, I'm tired, not just that night, but in general, of people trying and successfully taking advantage of me and not respecting me because I'm not from here. So I do the stupid thing and start yelling back. She tells me that she'll leave when she finishes her test, I tell her that she's leaving now. I should have stayed calm. I shouldn't have raised my voice. I should have just kept her test and told her to leave. But I didn't do any of those things.
I left the class to get another teacher. During day school, the other teachers always have my back and have helped me to control the students a lot. They seem to understand my situation and always, always, always have my back. Stupidly I assumed it'd be the same at night.
The student's basic argument was, that since she'd only written her name on the paper, she wasn't cheating. In my head, having an open notebook sitting next to you and looking at it is cheating.
The other teacher came in, heard her side of the story, and then told me to give her her test back, without hearing mine. I was SUPER angry at that teacher. Even though I'd asked him in for his opinion, I was like "Is this your class? I saw her cheating, she needs to leave." and then he was like "Well, she says she wasn't cheating, and she DID only write her name." Since I now have no authority, I give her her test back. The other teacher leaves, I huff around for a bit (I throw her notebook at her, just in case she needs to use it (I know, another thing that even now, I'm super duper embarrassed about). I then go to the front teacher's desk and cry quietly. While that was probably the least professional thing to do, I thought that they needed to see how their behavior affects me. I'm a person too, and if you are going to blatantly disrespect me, live with the tears.
The class quieted down for a bit. After I was through crying, I got up and walked around, to try to help them. I wrote an apology in their language, and mine, on the board, saying that if I wished to be treated as a professional, I need to act like one, and acting like one does not include yelling at a student. They said it was okay. I also caught the teacher as he was leaving. I apologized for my behavior, and he said I didn't need to, but I could tell it helped a lot. Outside of class I also apologized to the girl, who still insisted she was innocent.
The next day I saw another student from the class. She'd been sitting behind the cheater and saw what happened. She said that I was right, and had I been a Cape Verdean, I wouldn't have got treated in the way that I did. It was nice to be backed up by someone who was there.
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06:43 pm - COS Conference recap
Sunday was a party at a friend's house (the high schooler got confirmed into the church), followed by my first night of the Close of Service Conference. That ran till Wednesday night when I came home and slept, and slept.
It was the last time that everyone who is left from my training class is all going to be together. A definite cause for reflection. Even though many of the group dynamics were the same, or at least similar to Pre Service Training, I felt that I was different, more chill, more mature. It was definitely a nice feeling. Plus it made me realize how insane PST was: here we were for only 4 days together, in hotels with gloriously hot and pressure-ful showers, knowing the language and the culture, and yet by the end I was ready to leave. It was really nice to see people, really nice to catch up. I've made some really good friends there and can't wait to see how the friendships will develop once we are Stateside.
My two proudest/happiest moments from the conference are as follows:
1) When one of the training staff, during informal time when some of us were hanging out, getting a little bit of work done, well she commented on how much I've grown, and how she could see that. A pat on the back is always appreciated, plus it was a nice confirmation of what I already knew.
2) When I gave an impromptu 5 minute English class to preschoolers. I was walking back from the market, after hunting for my lunch, and I saw a preschool with a teacher and a couple students, sitting on the stoop. I said hello, and they invited me in. The kids were all sitting down for story time, so I introduced myself, and together, we counted to five a few times in English and Portuguese. It don't know why it left me with such a good feeling, but I can guess: 1) I like preschoolers; 2)it showed me how far I'd come with my language skills, being able to talk with them in their language and the such, and 3) along similar lines as 2, just having the confidence, and not being nervous in front of a large group, improvising something, to me these are tools/skills that I really gained/developed here.
Oh and I also discovered schwarmas (like the CV version of a California burrito) and mint ponche (which tastes like slightly alcoholic melted mint ice cream...it's quite good), both of which I'll have to have more of before I leave.
Okay, now it's time to stop procrastinating and grade the 200 tests I gave last week.
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April 29th, 2008
06:42 pm - What do you do with a degree in poli sci?
Story 1: 2 weeks since I paid for internet for my house, and it's still not here...grr.
Story 2:
11th grade student: Teacher, you studied political science at university, didn't you?
me: Yep.
student: I think I want to study it. What kind of work can you get with it.
me: (stuttering, stalling for time) Well, um, I studied economics too. Economics requires a lot of math, maybe you want to try political economy. Ummm...as A___. I think he studied political science in Brazil, he can give you more information.
I get home mid August. Enton.
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April 25th, 2008
06:42 pm - A long exhausting day
Woke up and went to hit the light switch. It does nothing...great. Granted the electricity situation has VASTLY improved from when I first got here, but recently we've been loosing power in the mornings, only to have it (thank you electricity gods) restored in the afternoon. No electricity means I can't work on my end of service reports for Peace Corps, nor can I mail the shirts I've been meaning to mail for months (mail here, like in the States, is done electronically).
Since I don't know how long this power outage is going to last, I take out the cookie dough I made a couple days ago. One of my favorite people here, a 6 year old has been harassing me for like a month to make him chocolate chip cookies. A couple days ago, with the help of a 3 year old (hint, never try to make cookies on your front stoop with a three year old...it's just a bad idea) and his 19 year old cousin, we made cookie dough, which I was too lazy to bake (it takes time, and you have to watch it). So with the power out, I decide that the cookie dough needs to be made. Spend the morning doing that, and reading a book.
Get to school, teach. I try a new approach with my students where I speak in a low, subdued voice, and refuse to talk when they are talking. It works okay. My last class is obnoxious as usual. However, since there's a meeting for all the home room teachers (which I am not one) like half of the kids don't show up. This is unacceptable, as I told one of the students in the class that I was going to teach, and she told them all. I try to be tough with them, but it's just difficult.
As I'm walking home I stop to talk to one of my students mom's. He wasn't exceptionally bad, but she likes to know things...later I regret it for a while. She tells me (the truth): I need to get a better hold on the class and if students are misbehaving, I need to throw them out. The problem today was the class only had like 20 students and of those, like 10-15 were misbehaving. So what am I going to do? Throw the whole class out? Anyway it made me feel incompetent (although kinda rightfully so). I'm just sooo tired of fighting with the students, for their respect.
I remember that I was in classes where we were really, really mean to two teachers: Ms. Moomaw, for chemistry in 11th grade, and Mr. Rood for math in 8th. I have this theory that I'm doing two years of penance for my behavior in those classes: suffering the other side of the coin.
So I'm walking home and one of my 14 year old, 9th grade students tells me in English a couple vulgar things that he'd like to do to me. My first impulse was to beat some sense into his head, but I can't due to physical limitations. My second impulse was to get my friend and have him do it for me, but that wasn't a realistic option either. So I went to his house and told his maid, who said he'd tell his grandma when she got home.
I went home, cried a bit, had lunch, and watched a DVD (Music and Lyrics, which is an okay film) while feeling bad. I decided I owed the first kid's parents an apology: he wasn't being exceptionally bad, so there was no need to tell on him. When I went into town to go shopping I talked with his mother, apologized, but she said that I should come to her with whatever small things, so they don't grow. I felt infinitely better.
I called a couple people about issues I've been having with the newsletter (I'm the "administrator") for it, got frustrated, but ultimately worked towards a solution.
Needless to say, the day up till that point was pretty emotionally draining, in a way that's kinda difficult to describe, and which I like to think is unique to my time in Peace Corps (but I could be making the picture overly rosy). I realized that I desperately needed to laugh, to have some fun, so I decided to have a Pretty In Pink night, where I'm make themed food and would watch the movie. I went shopping for the food in town and came home.
I made a festa-flavored (festa=party) cake from a mix, and added some read food coloring to make it turn pink. As that was cooling, I sat on my front porch reading.
While I was reading, the foul-mouthed kid's grandmother came over to apologize. She told me more about herself and I was left a little in awe. She'd raised 8 kids as a single mother, she was a teacher and for the past 20 odd years has been a nurse. Some of her children are in Europe, and their occupations range from medical surgeon to engineer to cleaner. Now she's been left to raise the foul mouthed kid, whose parents are in Europe. She explained that he's going through a phase (the word in Krioulu is the same as in English), and I told her I agreed; that I was especially disappointed in her grandson because he is so intelligent and charismatic and has so much potential. One of the problems I have is that I joke with the students and am friendly with them outside of class. However I do work hard to draw a line between "teacher" (professional) and "my name" (personal) and that I have no problem with the kids joking with me outside of class. However, I told her that what he said was not acceptable to say to any woman, be it friend or professional colleague. She agreed. I also told her that I was only going to speak with her grandson during class: not outside of school. Anyway, it was very nice of her to come by.
So she left, I started just relaxing and hanging out. I started acting like a 3 year old, just to amuse myself and make myself laugh, because that was what I desperately needed at the moment. At one point, I was singing Raffi songs and was honestly disappointed that I didn't know more lyrics. Another point found me kinda tap dancing in the water that collects in the bathroom after a shower (every shower floods my bathroom a bit), laughing the whole time. Accents were invoked. This being able to laugh at myself, to make an idiot of myself in the comfort of my own home, is something I've developed here and now I don't know how I ever lived without it. To quote Sherryl Crow "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad." Acting like an idiot sometimes makes me happy, so it's not that bad.
My roommate came home and we made dinner. She'd had a bad day too, which was unfortunate on a variety of levels, including the fact that I was in my 3-year-old ish laugh at anything phase when she got home and wanted someone to seriously talk with. I did my best to put on a serious face (quite effectively). Luckily the serious part only lasted a part of the night. We made a stirfry (with tomatoes, which are kinda like pink), and some excellent, Chinese-restaurant quality white rice. And to top it all off, we had pink champagne. Well, technically it was 400 escudo (~$6) bottle of "white wine with gas" but by adding just a touch of grenadine and stirring, each glass became a glass of pink champagne. I'd forgotten that I'd leant out Pretty in Pink, so it was just a pink food night. Instead we watched "Somewhere, Tomorrow" an early Sarah Jessica Parker movie that my roommate's dad had sent over in a 25 film DVD superpack. (There are so many amazing films in it, including "BMX Bandits" with Nicole Kidman when her hair was in ringlets and she spoke Australian, and John Travolta's seminal "The Boy in the Bubble")
Oh and it turns out that festa-cake really does just taste like a pancake.
A post script written on April 26th I passed the foul-mouth kid in the road. I didn't look at him, but as I passed him, he said something insulting, in English, about my mother.
Another postscript written April 27th: A friend is going to talk with the foul-mouthed kid in the culturally appropriate way. I'm still not going to talk with the kid, but hopefully some sense will get into his head.
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April 2nd, 2008
06:37 pm - DANG!
I just bought a black shirt with Napolean Dynamite's head, surrounded by a red wreath and the word DANG! on the top in white. Now the only question is...whom do I give it to...
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06:30 pm - Funeral
I just finished participating in my first full on funeral. Yes I've been to others, but I haven't participated as much.
It starts when you first hear that someone has died. In this case it was the mother and grandmother of people I'm friends with who I see on an everyday basis (one of the grandkids is my student). In this case, it was as me and my roommate were passing in a hiace on our way back from a meeting, at night (well, twilight). There was a bunch of people in front of a house, so naturally the hiace stopped and asked what was going on...that's when we found out. As me and my roommate were walking home from the hiace stop, I decided to go directly to the house...I still wasn't sure who died, but it was someone in my community who I probably had some connection with. En route there, I learned who it was.
Then you go and "chiga", which is a Kriuluization of chegar, which means to arrive, but which here also means to hang out. Deaths in the States, funerals there are weird...they make me feel awkward, and I'm never really that sure what to do (luckily I haven't been to many there). Being an outsider only exacerbates this problem: it's not your culture so you haven't grown up watching others do this; you know you stand out just by the color of your skin and/or the way you hold yourself, and in these situations all you want to do is blend in; and, out of respect for the dead, you REALLY don't want to screw up.
As you enter, you say hello to people, and then you go inside, where you hug and handshake the family. The hug is weird: for a culture that is so touchy feely (guys will sometimes hold hands, girls will just start petting my hair without asking, etc) the hug is surprisingly distant: a hand on either shoulder and a little lunge inwards, followed by a handshake. With the people I knew, I bucked this and gave them a full on, full contact hug, explaining that that is what we do in America.
Then you sit. And sit. In silence, with only the occasional wail of someone interrupting it. "Oh my mother" they'll wail in a hauntingly sing-songy way, "Why?" Or "Oh my sister, why?" or something else along those lines. The sitting reminds me of "When Harry Met Sally" (because that movie was all about West African funerals :) ) Harry tells Sally that "somewhere between 5 minutes and all night is the problem." For everyone other than Brian, who already gets the reference, Harry is referring to the difference between guys and girls as to how long they want to be held. The guy isn't really sure how long is long enough, but after the first five minutes, it, and the silence, and the silent observance of your actions, gets increasingly awkward. That's kinda how I view the chiga at a funeral. It's difficult to sit still, and it just feels awkward. Instead the sitting room, there's no tales told of the person, and with the exception of a handshake or a hug, there's no attempt to make the family feel better. I also feel like I'm intruding on something private, which in reality is just simply the result of American and Cape Verdean cultures clashing.
When you leave the sitting room, people are outside, just hanging out, talking, the guys are playing cards, the kids are playing in the street.
The second night I went, I wore a pink shirt (it was what I was wearing earlier in the day). When I arrived, I was kinda surprised to see a card table set up and guys playing cards outside. The women were cooking for the family and visitors, and people seemed slightly less solemn outside. It's kinda beautiful: the community just comes together, stays with the family, taking in air, letting them know that they are not alone. As I was about to go in, I saw my neighbors who informed me that I wasn't supposed to wear bright colors...so I put on my jean jacket and buttoned it up and went inside.
This time I was greeted by the sight of an open casket. There was the woman whom we were all mourning, a woman I couldn't distinctly remember, but whom I'm sure I met. She was laying on one side of the room and all around chairs with people were set up. Once again I sat for what I'm sure was way too short and then left, to go hang out outside.
I decided to leave after less than an hour: I had school the next day, and just chiga-ing always makes me feel useless and awkward. On my way out, I ran into this Cape Verdean guy who'd lived in Germany for many many years and who in quase-retirement had moved back. It was an interesting conversation, in English, about the good things and bad things in this culture. The close community is good, the beautiful weather (it's just now starting to heat up but it's been absolutely gorgeous) are pluses, but on the minus side, jobs and opportunities are highly determined by who you know. Even this gentleman admitted to benefiting from that type of system. It was just interesting.
One other thing that I noticed which I pointed out to people, was how weird it was for them to reply to "Modi ki bu sta?" (how are you?) with "fixi" (great). It seems like it's a sad occasion. With the exception of one person, they just agreed. The one guy said that they were asking how your heart was, so answering fixi kinda makes sense.
Today en route to school, I dropped off a bag of rice, beans, dried corn and a couple spices which they use. Here, rarely do you bring premade meals or casseroles or anything (the exception being for desserts, someone pointed out). Usually you just bring raw food which the community of women who cooks for the group from dawn till dusk, cooks up. They use their huge pots over wood fires to make things. Maybe it says something about the differences in cultures that in America, we drop off already cooked dinners for the family to eat later, alone, in private, whereas here in Cape Verde make big huge plates of food that are eaten by everyone that day.
At 4pm, I left my house for the funeral. I expected things to be late, as they always are here. Based on my two experiences, the only things that start on time here are funerals. I was late, but I walked down to the graveyard, which is right across the street from the church. Again, I felt awkward. I found a friend and told them I wasn't sure what to do, so I just followed their lead. There is weeping, and crying, loudly, much more loudly than in America. It's emotional, and somber.
The rest of the week, I stopped by at least once a day to just chiga. Every night, for 7 nights, a mass is said for the person. After mass, people sit outside, just like I described above. I noticed the food was getting low, so I dropped off some more, which an older woman just took quickly from my hands without so much as a thank you. Again, there's the CV and the American cultures colliding.
Hopefully I won't ever have to go to another one here again, although now I'll be a lot more prepared if I do.
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March 25th, 2008
06:30 pm - Happiness is...
A tummy full of DELICIOUS spaghetti sauce.
A chocolate brownie made in part by your 6 year old ex-pequeno.
Dinner and conversation with good friends.
Happiness is here.
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