11/21/06
So. I am officially a cook. I now actually make complete dishes, quite edible ones at that, and am even starting to get creative! I just had to share this because I’m pretty proud of myself, I’ve been waiting quite awhile for me to get my ass in gear and learn to cook. I now have perfected a goat cheese fettuccini that Mel says is restaurant-worthy, rosemary chicken that gained the approval of a picky European, pizza that rivals anything Cape Verde has thus far been able to put out, and grão di biku that while not entirely aesthetically appealing, tastes just as good as any I’ve had made by a Cape Verdean. I can now play around with several types of pasta (since it’s easy and accessible here in Assomada), can make excellent garlic mashed potatoes, co-created amazing chicken quesadillas with Mel, and made a pretty good cream of potato soup with cheese (of course). I baked cookies with the girls, and they turned out wonderful, turning Cape Verdeans (and apparently Italians) on to the wonderful world of American obesity-inducing baked goods. I plan to introduce brownies next, if I can get my hands on cocoa. In the dinner department next I’ll need to perfect a fish dish or two to be well-rounded (at least by Cape Verdean standards, since once I get back to the States the chances of me making fish are virtually nonexistent)—we’ll go for bifi di atum (tuna steaks), my favorite Cape Verdean dish. And then cachupa, the national CV dish. That one’s nice and hearty, stays in your stomach the whole day.
So Mel and Nick taking me under their wing in the kitchen has thus far proved successful, the proof of which is currently gathering on my ass. The first thing my boss Aguido said to me when he saw me the other day was “Oh, you’ve gotten fatter, how great!” Exactly what every American girl wants to hear, but it’s to be expected. And it’s quite the compliment here, they think it’s more attractive and have been telling me all along that I need to be fatter. Well it worked. And Aguido’s comment worked also: I finally got myself out of bed at 6am this morning to go on a run. I hope to make that a more regular thing, rather than the fat comments. As much as I don’t really care if my weight fluctuates (God bless crossing cultures and its affect on your vanity), I don’t want to ignore it and become unhealthy. So the running begins.
* * *
Things at work are as crazy busy as ever. We’re gearing up for the concelho’s holiday, Nha Santa Catarina, which is on Saturday, and then next week the International Fight Against AIDS Day, so the CEJ is chock full of activities that started Sunday and will go till about the 8th of December. I was put in charge of organizing a door-to-door AIDS campaign to talk to all the families in the area about HIV/AIDS and pass out information (stupid since not all families can or want to read, but the country is overflowing with small useless pamphlets, so why not circulate them?). We’re also having theater, music, poetry, and capoeira (a Brazilian dance/self-defense art form) in our main plaza, anonymous HIV testing done by the hospital, passing out of medical supplies to those already infected with the virus, and a silent march through town on the actual day, the 1st of December. We’re doing a workshop with local fisherman and people who sell fish and other food in the markets about hygiene and health practices to prevent disease among them and the people buying their food. Needless to say the CEJ I’m helping at is pretty well organized and already programmed countless activities before I got here. So I go to the meetings, give moral support, a pat on the back, and a few suggestions here and there. And help organize the youth to participate. And hopefully I’ll get the girls at the Center to write a batuque song about trust and respect in relationships that they can present during one of the cultural afternoons where music is presented. There’s about a zillion other activities we’re doing within all of this, in addition to the task of trying to plan next year’s PST which will be held here in Assomada, which all adds up to not a second free throughout the day. And a cranky housemate who apparently finds it stressful to pick up our electric bill on his own. But that’s besides the point…
At the Center, I feel like I haven’t been there a full day in awhile…okay since last Wednesday, but really that is awhile. So I miss my girl time, but after all this AIDS stuff settles down I’ll have more time and a slightly more regular schedule to spend with them. Currently, Zelda is out of the institution in Praia and is staying with Andreia in Orgãos, who brings Zelda with her to the Center every day, which is interesting, though admittedly better than her situation at the institution, or solely at the Center for that matter. She is much calmer, taking her medication (though she constantly gets frustrated at taking it and says it gives her a stomachache), and I got a glorious glimpse of the Zelda I missed. She came up to the room I was working in yesterday to sit with me (and probably to get away from the 20 other girls yelling and running around in the Center), and started talking with her old hopeful and curious self. She asked me to sing the song she heard me sing for the girls (it’s a worship song that has been translated in Portuguese and is on a CD they constantly play; in English it’s “Here I am to Worship”), which I gladly did just for her. Usually when the girls ask me to sing it (about once a day) I tell them they need to pick a new song because I barely liked it before I sang it for the millionth time, but for her I had no problem, just to see the smile on her face was worth it. And it’s not a bad songJ.
11/30/06
Yet another glimpse at the overwhelming prospect of updating everything all at once. We’ll start with AIDS. We did the door-to-door campaign to tell people that AIDS exists (most people already know that) and that they should be afraid, very afraid. Not my chosen words, but certainly those that came out of the mouths of the youth I was walking around with. Not much was said to most people, just “AIDS exists, still haven’t cured it, read this pamphlet.” When it was my turn to speak I tried to elaborate more, but it’s awkward standing there when they don’t care much what you’re saying; and to be honest, sometimes I didn’t care much what I was saying. I was cranky and tired and felt the campaign was shaping up to be moderately useless, except to get rid of pamphlets and tell people about the march we’re having on the 1st, World Fight Against AIDS Day. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we did it, and you never know who will benefit from just saying a few words—and you never know who might stumble across the pamphlet, be able to read it, and truly increase their awareness. But I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a better option, a better route to go that doesn’t just leave them with the responsibility of reading (which many won’t) and that actually reaches for a change in mentality rather than increased use of condoms. Of course, protect yourself, but what about trust in relationships, acknowledging responsibility and the seriousness of your decisions and their effects on others? I don’t know, overall something just felt futile about it.
The next day we finally made it to the festivities they’d been having at night at the end of the main street—food stalls, music, drinking, etc. Wasn’t very impressed, seeing as all I encountered was a bunch of drunk Cape Verdean men treating me to the famous “rape eyes” I’m ever so fond of. We were sitting down when two of them sat with us, one of which proceeded to stare unceasingly at me, not even pausing for a moment, just continually repeating “you’re so beautiful; here, have some ponche”. I was so uncomfortable, I mentioned what should have been obvious to my housemate and PCV friend, who did nothing but laugh. So finally I got up to leave, as obviously they were going to make no move to leave the table. Thanks, guys. My ability to laugh it off only continues to a certain point until it’s just not fun. That’s not how I’ll choose to spend my evenings.
The next day was better, it was the official Santa Catarina Day that everything had been building up to. In the afternoon, people have big lunch parties at their houses, and you’re supposed to go from house to house to enjoy people’s company and excellent feasts. This meant I ate three lunches on Saturday, and my stomach wasn’t thanking me—so, so full. After that I took a group of girls out to see the festivities and make popcorn at my house, since they were cooped up all day, nowhere to go. Then at night, the fun began and Assomada began filling to well beyond what I thought was its capacity. I’ve never seen Assomada so full of people in my life! I forgot where I was, it felt like the Puyallup Fair on steroids, nowhere to walk, just faces streaming past you. People came from all over the island (and even from other islands) to enjoy the holiday and the concerts that took place on Saturday and Sunday. You could pick out the Praia people from the Assomada people easily: those with BMWs and jewelry came from the city, and those from the almost-city just tried to hard. International groups came to play on a stage I never thought could exist here—it was like a high-class concert in the States! It was quite the set-up with strobe lights, fog machines, and an intense sound system. Very few moments that night did I feel like I was in the Peace Corps. Every day it feels more and more like that. But it was really a great night, I saw virtually everyone I knew from the area there, ate delicious food (pork on a stick—so amazing), got to see PCVs from all over the island, and hung out with Andreia and her boyfriend listening to music all night long. Literally, we stayed out until about 6 am. We left because we were tired, but there was still another group or two to play, so bands were going until about 9 in the morning. And people stayed! When we left, it was still an enormous mass of people. That’s how they roll here.
* * *
On Sunday Peace Corps had our Thanksgiving party, since it’s obviously not a celebrated holiday here and everyone had to work on Thursday. So we had a big potluck in Praia at the Embassy Rec Center, where for the second time in one weekend I ate myself silly. There was so much amazing food I didn’t know what to do with myself. Pumpkin pie, pecan pie, amazing turkey, cranberry sauce sent from the States, garlic mashed potatoes, sweet potato soufflé, fruit salad, three kinds of stuffing, a curry cauliflower dish, and homemade chocolate chip cookies. My mouth is watering just remembering. We each took home several plates of leftovers. So all in all, I was ridiculously spoiled this weekend. Plus Monday was an unofficial holiday in Santa Catarina because of the party (I think they refer to it as “recovery day”), so I got an actual day of rest, much needed. I hiked to this extremely large tree (I think the largest in Cape Verde, or at least on the island) about 30 minutes from my house to just be alone, relax, and read a book. I took a little lunch and sincerely enjoyed myself, until a group of young boys came to play and climb the tree. They were nice kids, I took pictures of them, we talked a bit, and then they left me to my much-appreciated solitude. When I got home I washed clothes for several hours, so much work (but it’s good for me). So I must say I enjoyed a satisfying three days, no complaints.
* * *
On Tuesday of this week, a girl came to my house looking for my friend Mel (one of the other girl PCVs in Assomada). Nick directed her to the right house, and several minutes later, Mel called the house a little frantic, wanting me to come over and deal with the girl that was now sitting in her kitchen crying. So I went over and talked to the girl. It turns out her father drinks a lot and has a habit of beating her. Something happened the day before and her father told her to pack her bag and leave, no longer welcome in the house. She spoke with her friends, who told her it would be a good idea to look for foreigners, who are often able to help—that’s what they’re here for, right? Her friends were volunteers at the CEJ I work at, so they knew we lived in town and that I might be able to help her out since I exist here for all things youth. Hence she was here at Mel’s doorstep. She looked terrified, not knowing what to do and having nowhere to go, and asked if she could stay with Mel, offering to do all the housework and promising that she wouldn’t be a burden. She was desperate to finish school but unable to do so if she stayed in the house or went to live with relatives in Praia. She just wanted a place to stay until she could complete her education. We were kind of blown away by this surprise, seeing the fear and despair in her face and not really having any option. There’s no way she could stay permanently with us, it’s not our house and Peace Corps would throw a fit. We offered to let her stay for the night, but I told her the next day I would have to speak with my colleagues at work to see if they could work up any options at the ICM, what their opinion was of the situation. She declined to stay the night, saying she had no clothes with her and would try and stay in her aunt’s room (same house as the parents) for the night. We told her to come back the next evening, or that night if something happened, and we would see what could be done. So yesterday she came back, after I had talked with Ivete and Andreia to see what they thought. They told me to bring her by the next day (today) to speak with them, which I told her and she agreed. So today hopefully she will be coming to the Center to speak with Ivete and we can see what can be done. But God we felt like we were kicking a stray dog on the street. What do you do in this situation? How do you turn someone genuinely fearful away? It makes you realize the need for teen shelters or shelters for abused women, even though most don’t seek out help for fear and lack of options outside of their husband’s support. But what do you do with those who are desperate enough to seek out help? There’s no alternative. If I had the time and money that would be my next project, starting some kind of teen shelter where they could stay overnight if needed. More things that shouldn’t have to exist, but are needed nonetheless.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Classroom management's a bitch
11/15/06
Okay, so here continues the update, better late than never. I believe as we left off I was describing our Halloween goodness, so we’ll go from there. The day after our festa was a national holiday for Cape Verde, so no one had work or school, but instead I decided to take a couple of girls out to ice cream (we just recently got ice cream in Assomada! It’s imported of course), and then back to my house. But on the way back to the house we ran into Andreia and her boyfriend, who were planning to take a group of girls to Orgãos to visit a family who likes to have the girls from the Center come once in awhile to spend the afternoon. So we joined them and spent the afternoon in Orgãos. We made couscous (not the Middle Eastern couscous you may be thinking, this is a thick, heavy, cake-like food made from ground corn and flour), sang batuque songs the girls had written about the Center, and just relaxed and spent time together. You can’t help but feel calm in the more rural parts of Cape Verde’s interior, with the animals, the beautiful views, the slower pace of living, no busy streets or zillions of youth coming into town for school (students come from all over the island to go to school in Assomada), and the kind hospitality of humble Cape Verdeans. And this house has a wonderful view of Pico de Antonio, the highest point on Santiago, and all the other beautiful mountainsides, which are now beginning their descent into complete dryness as the rainy season has ended. Alas, our beautiful green has disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving dried out stalks of corn and a much browner terrain. It was beautiful while it lasted.
In any case, the afternoon in Orgãos was very peaceful, a fresh break from the “city”. And I came home with a bag full of fresh eggs from the free range chickens they have at their place, which are so good and normally twice the price at the market. So a successful afternoon. This happens to be a family who is planning to adopt one of the girls from the Center, so there tends to be a lot of interaction and all the girls know the family. I’ve been there three times in the last few weeks already.
* * *
During that week I had started to feel like I was getting sick again. My first month at site along with the week before I left (for a total of 5 weeks) I was sick with an increasingly stubborn and yucky cold, which eventually turned into bronchitis, and then finally went on its way. Because of my extended sickness, my family sent me an entire pharmacy’s worth of cold medicine, which so happened to come in handy when the week after the Halloween party I started coming down with something. I felt the scratchy sore throat and achiness, which scared me into staying home from work on Friday, to make sure I could try and combat it before it really took hold. So I went to the Center in the morning to drop some things off and let them know I wasn’t feeling well and wanted to stay home and rest. They were very concerned and sent me on my way. Later that day, after lunchtime, Andreia and three of the girls from the Center, followed by Ivete, all came to my house to check up on me. They came so sweetly concerned, panicked that I didn’t have everything I needed, wanting to know if they could go to the market for me, if they could make my meals for me, if they could clean my house, if I needed to go the doctor and get antibiotics, anything. I was overwhelmed with the kindness and concern! I assured them I was fine and just needed to get some rest, spend the afternoon lying down and catching up on much-needed R&R, and I would assuredly be fine by Monday. Andreia was insistent, not convinced that I should even be up and walking around, and claiming that no one wants to do things like cook and clean when they’re sick (so very true), and wouldn’t accept my refusals to let them clean. So the girls swept and mopped my floor (which was embarrassingly still dirty from the Halloween party), did my dishes, and stayed and talked with me for awhile to keep me company in my hour of “need”. Never before had I experienced such a huge show of affection for a time when I was sick. It’s one thing to have your mom take care of you and nurse you back to health at home, but it’s another to be in a different culture and have people from your community come and clean your house and take care of you when you merely have the flu! Andreia said it’s a completely normal cultural thing, people just naturally come and offer what they can for the people around them when they’re sick or in need. Particularly for people who live alone—it’s assumed that you will need help with things when you are feeling under the weather. So I spent the rest of my resting day feeling very loved and lucky to be in such a caring culture. It makes sick times a lot easier to bear when you’re away from Mommy who can’t make you chicken noodle soup. It also reminded me how lucky I am to have a caring and understanding work environment, one that stretches beyond coming to the Center every day to do a job, but extends to friendship and taking care of one another. I am very blessed.
* * *
Today I presented the behavioral chart (the monster I mentioned making earlier) to the girls, explaining what it was, how it worked, and what we hoped to come as a result. Let me just say this is why I’m not a teacher: classroom management’s a bitch. Getting up in front of a classroom of students to try and teach a class is hard enough, but trying to get a bunch of rowdy, untrained children and adolescents who are used to spending most of their lives on the streets or in unsupervised or abusive homes to pay attention and stop talking while you are explaining something is like getting the fat kid to throw away his popsicle. It doesn’t happen. And so I spent the better part of an hour trying to get through the explanation of the chart while the kids talked, shouted at each other, and yelled out their suggestions. There is no concept in Cape Verde of raising your hand or waiting your turn to talk. Even when you set the ground rules ahead of time, they don’t care to raise a hand or wait for another person to finish talking before they jump in with whatever it is they’re wanting to say. I can’t decide if it’s lack of respect for the people talking, or if it’s just that these girls have never really been taught appropriate manners when it comes to these situations—no good role models to teach them respect for one another in communication. I’ve already learned and started to accept that yelling or speaking very loudly to get your point across is a cultural thing here (remember when the mães were screaming at the girls during that one meeting and I said they were acting like children? Apparently that’s just how they communicate and it’s completely acceptable to most people here.). But I’m struggling with a balance in which to teach the girls respect and good communication skills while respecting their cultural boundaries. If nothing else getting them to wait their turn to start yelling and screaming would be an improvement.
Anyway, I have my doubts as to whether this chart will work and people will follow it, but hopefully when conflicts arise over it, no blood will be shed. As surely as I believe it’s probably raining in Seattle right now, I know there will be conflicts maybe even every day over this chart. It comes with the territory. And so patience will be needed every minute of these next two years. But if we were only willing to work with the “easy” kids what hope would the less “easy” kids have? I still swear to the end that these are good girls. There’s potential in them. They want it. Today one of the older girls who failed the 7th grade twice and found herself being potentially barred from school, as there were no spaces available in the high school, found out today that the director would allow her to come back and had found room for her in a 7th grade class. She began to cry and you could see in her eyes how badly she wanted it. Every day since school began she has come to me and Andreia asking when she would be able to go to school, if we had found her a spot yet. So not all days are hopeless. Today was a good one for her. Hopefully she’ll be able to catch up with all that she’s missed.
Okay, I have to get back to my Portuguese homework, but more to update later. Take care.
Okay, so here continues the update, better late than never. I believe as we left off I was describing our Halloween goodness, so we’ll go from there. The day after our festa was a national holiday for Cape Verde, so no one had work or school, but instead I decided to take a couple of girls out to ice cream (we just recently got ice cream in Assomada! It’s imported of course), and then back to my house. But on the way back to the house we ran into Andreia and her boyfriend, who were planning to take a group of girls to Orgãos to visit a family who likes to have the girls from the Center come once in awhile to spend the afternoon. So we joined them and spent the afternoon in Orgãos. We made couscous (not the Middle Eastern couscous you may be thinking, this is a thick, heavy, cake-like food made from ground corn and flour), sang batuque songs the girls had written about the Center, and just relaxed and spent time together. You can’t help but feel calm in the more rural parts of Cape Verde’s interior, with the animals, the beautiful views, the slower pace of living, no busy streets or zillions of youth coming into town for school (students come from all over the island to go to school in Assomada), and the kind hospitality of humble Cape Verdeans. And this house has a wonderful view of Pico de Antonio, the highest point on Santiago, and all the other beautiful mountainsides, which are now beginning their descent into complete dryness as the rainy season has ended. Alas, our beautiful green has disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving dried out stalks of corn and a much browner terrain. It was beautiful while it lasted.
In any case, the afternoon in Orgãos was very peaceful, a fresh break from the “city”. And I came home with a bag full of fresh eggs from the free range chickens they have at their place, which are so good and normally twice the price at the market. So a successful afternoon. This happens to be a family who is planning to adopt one of the girls from the Center, so there tends to be a lot of interaction and all the girls know the family. I’ve been there three times in the last few weeks already.
* * *
During that week I had started to feel like I was getting sick again. My first month at site along with the week before I left (for a total of 5 weeks) I was sick with an increasingly stubborn and yucky cold, which eventually turned into bronchitis, and then finally went on its way. Because of my extended sickness, my family sent me an entire pharmacy’s worth of cold medicine, which so happened to come in handy when the week after the Halloween party I started coming down with something. I felt the scratchy sore throat and achiness, which scared me into staying home from work on Friday, to make sure I could try and combat it before it really took hold. So I went to the Center in the morning to drop some things off and let them know I wasn’t feeling well and wanted to stay home and rest. They were very concerned and sent me on my way. Later that day, after lunchtime, Andreia and three of the girls from the Center, followed by Ivete, all came to my house to check up on me. They came so sweetly concerned, panicked that I didn’t have everything I needed, wanting to know if they could go to the market for me, if they could make my meals for me, if they could clean my house, if I needed to go the doctor and get antibiotics, anything. I was overwhelmed with the kindness and concern! I assured them I was fine and just needed to get some rest, spend the afternoon lying down and catching up on much-needed R&R, and I would assuredly be fine by Monday. Andreia was insistent, not convinced that I should even be up and walking around, and claiming that no one wants to do things like cook and clean when they’re sick (so very true), and wouldn’t accept my refusals to let them clean. So the girls swept and mopped my floor (which was embarrassingly still dirty from the Halloween party), did my dishes, and stayed and talked with me for awhile to keep me company in my hour of “need”. Never before had I experienced such a huge show of affection for a time when I was sick. It’s one thing to have your mom take care of you and nurse you back to health at home, but it’s another to be in a different culture and have people from your community come and clean your house and take care of you when you merely have the flu! Andreia said it’s a completely normal cultural thing, people just naturally come and offer what they can for the people around them when they’re sick or in need. Particularly for people who live alone—it’s assumed that you will need help with things when you are feeling under the weather. So I spent the rest of my resting day feeling very loved and lucky to be in such a caring culture. It makes sick times a lot easier to bear when you’re away from Mommy who can’t make you chicken noodle soup. It also reminded me how lucky I am to have a caring and understanding work environment, one that stretches beyond coming to the Center every day to do a job, but extends to friendship and taking care of one another. I am very blessed.
* * *
Today I presented the behavioral chart (the monster I mentioned making earlier) to the girls, explaining what it was, how it worked, and what we hoped to come as a result. Let me just say this is why I’m not a teacher: classroom management’s a bitch. Getting up in front of a classroom of students to try and teach a class is hard enough, but trying to get a bunch of rowdy, untrained children and adolescents who are used to spending most of their lives on the streets or in unsupervised or abusive homes to pay attention and stop talking while you are explaining something is like getting the fat kid to throw away his popsicle. It doesn’t happen. And so I spent the better part of an hour trying to get through the explanation of the chart while the kids talked, shouted at each other, and yelled out their suggestions. There is no concept in Cape Verde of raising your hand or waiting your turn to talk. Even when you set the ground rules ahead of time, they don’t care to raise a hand or wait for another person to finish talking before they jump in with whatever it is they’re wanting to say. I can’t decide if it’s lack of respect for the people talking, or if it’s just that these girls have never really been taught appropriate manners when it comes to these situations—no good role models to teach them respect for one another in communication. I’ve already learned and started to accept that yelling or speaking very loudly to get your point across is a cultural thing here (remember when the mães were screaming at the girls during that one meeting and I said they were acting like children? Apparently that’s just how they communicate and it’s completely acceptable to most people here.). But I’m struggling with a balance in which to teach the girls respect and good communication skills while respecting their cultural boundaries. If nothing else getting them to wait their turn to start yelling and screaming would be an improvement.
Anyway, I have my doubts as to whether this chart will work and people will follow it, but hopefully when conflicts arise over it, no blood will be shed. As surely as I believe it’s probably raining in Seattle right now, I know there will be conflicts maybe even every day over this chart. It comes with the territory. And so patience will be needed every minute of these next two years. But if we were only willing to work with the “easy” kids what hope would the less “easy” kids have? I still swear to the end that these are good girls. There’s potential in them. They want it. Today one of the older girls who failed the 7th grade twice and found herself being potentially barred from school, as there were no spaces available in the high school, found out today that the director would allow her to come back and had found room for her in a 7th grade class. She began to cry and you could see in her eyes how badly she wanted it. Every day since school began she has come to me and Andreia asking when she would be able to go to school, if we had found her a spot yet. So not all days are hopeless. Today was a good one for her. Hopefully she’ll be able to catch up with all that she’s missed.
Okay, I have to get back to my Portuguese homework, but more to update later. Take care.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
11/7/06
I haven’t journaled in what feels like ages, and it’s frustrating. Normally writing things down helps me to express everything I’m feeling, put it out on paper, let it exist somewhere other than in my mind and weighing on my heart. But there’s simply no time. I’m absolutely exhausted every single day. And then it builds up and becomes overwhelming. Yesterday as we were driving back from Orgãos, a more rural town between here and Praia, my heart felt so heavy with the realization that in some ways this is nothing like I imagined. I guess I had imagined what is taking place with other Peace Corps Volunteers on the continent of Africa, the rural impoverished countries of Africa—living with the bare minimum, no electricity, mud huts, slower pace of living, closer connection with the outside environment and with the earth, more time to think and relax, read a book, grow accustomed to a pattern and rhythm of living that turned away from the one I knew. All in all a more rural lifestyle. So many years of the fast-paced crazy American lifestyle where every minute of your day is planned out and you rely on constant caffeine running through your veins as you let life sweep you away before you turn around and realize it’s gone—all those years made me crave stillness, a break from the modern world. It’s too much stress, and I felt like eventually it would kill me. I want to sit on a back porch, listen to animals and chirping crickets while the sun sets over the beautiful Cape Verdean mountaintops, without worrying about how many things I need to be getting done before tomorrow. And so lately I feel as though a part of my heart has broken with the realization that coming here hasn’t been an escape from the hectic, too-full lifestyle. Almost the opposite. Instead of exploring myself, letting my true desires unfold and spread their wings to the outer reaches of the sky (the beautifully sappy picture I held in my head), I am at times busier than I’ve ever been. Sometimes there’s so much riding on my shoulders that I wonder if I was crazy to not have realized the responsibility this would entail before coming here. I knew I would have my Volunteer responsibilities along with the task of writing my thesis, but I never envisioned my lifestyle taking this shape. Running around from place to place, missing lunches, being pulled in so many directions I feel I’ll be torn to pieces. And so I suppose I’m mourning the life I envisioned and longed for, the dream that has died and been replaced by a different dream—equally fruitful and beneficial, but something I had envisioned happening much later on. I want to accomplish so many things, and many of those things are happening right now, I’m getting the experience I eventually wanted. And so I can’t complain, because in so many ways I love my job and what I have the blessing to be able to do here, but sometimes it’s a lot to take all at once. I thought all this would happen after I got the adjusting-to-African-culture part down, drinking in its richness. I don’t want to miss the subtleties while I’m swept along the busy highway. It just mixes with your emotions, trying to deal with the world, the reality you have before you while ghosts from a former life chase you into the corners of your consciousness until you can’t help but face the longings and expectations that you may never have given voice to, or continued to avoid. And so I suppose this is one of my ghosts: the perpetual conflict between wanting to accomplish so much, affect so many lives and bring joy to those around me—change the world—and wanting to step back and be dissolved into a completely foreign, more simple yet profound life that may seem to sacrifice the type of significant change I hope to see. I think I never wanted to admit that possibly the two can’t simultaneously exist. I wanted to believe that I can do all the things I want to do while at some point having a “break”, breathing in the air of silent reflection and simple living, where taking an afternoon to write a song isn’t an absurd distraction throwing a kink in your plan. And I want someone to tell me that that’s okay, to give me that space, that I'm not ridiculously foolish. During all the crazy times in my life where I’ve pushed forward at 100 miles an hour, there was always a little voice in the back of my head that prodded me forward and promised that there would be a time when it would all just stop and I would be able to breathe, when things would “settle down”. That voice convinced me that it would all be worth it: kill yourself working now and later you will finally have stability. Truthfully, that voice still shows up often in my thoughts. I’m pretty sure the voice is lying. And I had somehow convinced myself that possibly going abroad, doing the Peace Corps, would be that pause, that time when while I’m still working hard, pushing myself, stretching myself in all different ways, it would be in a separate way than my life before, in a way that challenged different parts of me and brought out my broader self. A pause from craziness to appreciate a new way of looking at the world.
To be perfectly honest I think what’s frustrating me the most is that I feel like I’m not doing enough, that I’m not pushing hard enough, at the same time that I sometimes feel I am giving too much, giving all that I have and feasibly can. How does that work? So many things I’m not doing that I want to be, that if I just make a few changes I can accomplish more with the time I have. Then the other side says “You’re killing yourself!” I’m only one person and I can’t keep getting caught in the trap of trying to do it all myself, which often helps no one. But then who will do it? Who will stand up for those who have no advocate? Who will be the “superwoman” with hundreds of projects and programs going on at once? There are those moments when it just seems so easy to quit, to slump back and admit defeat. So many doubts that can easily turn into excuses—me against the world, how do you know who to trust and what to take as truth, if it exists? Many things in the development world I’m not willing or ready to take as truth, but that can’t be an excuse to do nothing, to avoid helping to the extent I can. Anything can be turned into a “well I’m not sure about that, I’d better not bother with it”. But self-assured falsified truth is just as dangerous. Slipping into apathy is no better than pretending you know the “right” way to go.
Okay I’m starting to ramble and if I know myself, it looks like it could go on for awhile, so I’m cutting myself off. I’m exhausted and I haven’t even begun to catch up on updates of what has happened in the last week or so. Tomorrow maybe…if my heart is up to it…
11/8/06
Today I suppose it’s time for me to backtrack and recount what’s been happening the last week or two. Last week was Halloween, and Nick, Mel and I threw a party at our house for all the PCVs on Santiago and as many Cape Verdeans as we could round up and muster up an explanation of dressing in costumes for. We started preparing for this extravaganza pretty much since we got here in Assomada, so there was quite a bit of build-up. We made decorations for the house, planned costumes, made appetizers for everyone, and even made two piñatas. Yes, they have virtually nothing to do with Halloween, except for the candy that fills them, but we thought it would be entertaining to introduce the concept of beating a large paper contraption until candy explodes from it to a bunch of Cape Verdeans. Who doesn’t like beating things with a stick, much less getting a nice surprise at the end? The funniest part (besides the fact that one of the piñatas was a three-legged donkey Nick painstakingly made and painted a smiley face on) was that we snuck condoms in the piñatas with the candy, since nothing in Peace Corps Africa can be done without involving an HIV/AIDS lesson—be safe out there, kids. Before the party started, all the PCVs who came with costumes (I was Little Red Riding Hood) went to the ICM Center to help pass out candy for the girls, our own little twist on the Halloween theme, and something that truly made the girls’ night. They were elated that not only were a bunch of crazy Americans coming dressed in costumes, but they had brought candy. What a dream! They weren’t about to let us leave until we had taken pictures, explained our costumes, given everyone hugs, and danced a bit of funana. Even with all that they were bummed to see us go. So a good time was had by all.
All in all I think our party went well, even if the whole concept is something I never thought I’d come across in the Peace Corps. Adding to the list of things I never thought (or wanted) to see, was the surprise last-minute presence of—get this—a keg. Yes, a keg. Of beer. The fact that the concept even exists already here in CV helps you understand the drinking culture that most certainly goes on strong here. Let’s just say you should have seen the look on my face when I answered the door to find two men asking me where to put the “maquina de cerveja (beer machine)” that apparently my housemate and his friends had ordered. Pretty much the last thing I expected to happen. So…beer was flowing aplenty for those who like it, which seemed to have been most Cape Verdeans and virtually all of the PCVs excluding myself. I was happy holding my cup of wine and playing hostess. Anyhow, it was a good time, piñatas were broken, music was danced to, friends were made and bid farewell to (sad to see you go JC, we’ll miss you), all the makings of a successful party, complete with the random white guy who came dressed as Adam from Adam and Eve, as in the Bible. It was awkward at times, but thankfully his solitary leaf stayed in its place the whole night.
Okay I have to sign off for now, but I will update the rest of the events that have taken place since the party on the next blog. Ciao.
I haven’t journaled in what feels like ages, and it’s frustrating. Normally writing things down helps me to express everything I’m feeling, put it out on paper, let it exist somewhere other than in my mind and weighing on my heart. But there’s simply no time. I’m absolutely exhausted every single day. And then it builds up and becomes overwhelming. Yesterday as we were driving back from Orgãos, a more rural town between here and Praia, my heart felt so heavy with the realization that in some ways this is nothing like I imagined. I guess I had imagined what is taking place with other Peace Corps Volunteers on the continent of Africa, the rural impoverished countries of Africa—living with the bare minimum, no electricity, mud huts, slower pace of living, closer connection with the outside environment and with the earth, more time to think and relax, read a book, grow accustomed to a pattern and rhythm of living that turned away from the one I knew. All in all a more rural lifestyle. So many years of the fast-paced crazy American lifestyle where every minute of your day is planned out and you rely on constant caffeine running through your veins as you let life sweep you away before you turn around and realize it’s gone—all those years made me crave stillness, a break from the modern world. It’s too much stress, and I felt like eventually it would kill me. I want to sit on a back porch, listen to animals and chirping crickets while the sun sets over the beautiful Cape Verdean mountaintops, without worrying about how many things I need to be getting done before tomorrow. And so lately I feel as though a part of my heart has broken with the realization that coming here hasn’t been an escape from the hectic, too-full lifestyle. Almost the opposite. Instead of exploring myself, letting my true desires unfold and spread their wings to the outer reaches of the sky (the beautifully sappy picture I held in my head), I am at times busier than I’ve ever been. Sometimes there’s so much riding on my shoulders that I wonder if I was crazy to not have realized the responsibility this would entail before coming here. I knew I would have my Volunteer responsibilities along with the task of writing my thesis, but I never envisioned my lifestyle taking this shape. Running around from place to place, missing lunches, being pulled in so many directions I feel I’ll be torn to pieces. And so I suppose I’m mourning the life I envisioned and longed for, the dream that has died and been replaced by a different dream—equally fruitful and beneficial, but something I had envisioned happening much later on. I want to accomplish so many things, and many of those things are happening right now, I’m getting the experience I eventually wanted. And so I can’t complain, because in so many ways I love my job and what I have the blessing to be able to do here, but sometimes it’s a lot to take all at once. I thought all this would happen after I got the adjusting-to-African-culture part down, drinking in its richness. I don’t want to miss the subtleties while I’m swept along the busy highway. It just mixes with your emotions, trying to deal with the world, the reality you have before you while ghosts from a former life chase you into the corners of your consciousness until you can’t help but face the longings and expectations that you may never have given voice to, or continued to avoid. And so I suppose this is one of my ghosts: the perpetual conflict between wanting to accomplish so much, affect so many lives and bring joy to those around me—change the world—and wanting to step back and be dissolved into a completely foreign, more simple yet profound life that may seem to sacrifice the type of significant change I hope to see. I think I never wanted to admit that possibly the two can’t simultaneously exist. I wanted to believe that I can do all the things I want to do while at some point having a “break”, breathing in the air of silent reflection and simple living, where taking an afternoon to write a song isn’t an absurd distraction throwing a kink in your plan. And I want someone to tell me that that’s okay, to give me that space, that I'm not ridiculously foolish. During all the crazy times in my life where I’ve pushed forward at 100 miles an hour, there was always a little voice in the back of my head that prodded me forward and promised that there would be a time when it would all just stop and I would be able to breathe, when things would “settle down”. That voice convinced me that it would all be worth it: kill yourself working now and later you will finally have stability. Truthfully, that voice still shows up often in my thoughts. I’m pretty sure the voice is lying. And I had somehow convinced myself that possibly going abroad, doing the Peace Corps, would be that pause, that time when while I’m still working hard, pushing myself, stretching myself in all different ways, it would be in a separate way than my life before, in a way that challenged different parts of me and brought out my broader self. A pause from craziness to appreciate a new way of looking at the world.
To be perfectly honest I think what’s frustrating me the most is that I feel like I’m not doing enough, that I’m not pushing hard enough, at the same time that I sometimes feel I am giving too much, giving all that I have and feasibly can. How does that work? So many things I’m not doing that I want to be, that if I just make a few changes I can accomplish more with the time I have. Then the other side says “You’re killing yourself!” I’m only one person and I can’t keep getting caught in the trap of trying to do it all myself, which often helps no one. But then who will do it? Who will stand up for those who have no advocate? Who will be the “superwoman” with hundreds of projects and programs going on at once? There are those moments when it just seems so easy to quit, to slump back and admit defeat. So many doubts that can easily turn into excuses—me against the world, how do you know who to trust and what to take as truth, if it exists? Many things in the development world I’m not willing or ready to take as truth, but that can’t be an excuse to do nothing, to avoid helping to the extent I can. Anything can be turned into a “well I’m not sure about that, I’d better not bother with it”. But self-assured falsified truth is just as dangerous. Slipping into apathy is no better than pretending you know the “right” way to go.
Okay I’m starting to ramble and if I know myself, it looks like it could go on for awhile, so I’m cutting myself off. I’m exhausted and I haven’t even begun to catch up on updates of what has happened in the last week or so. Tomorrow maybe…if my heart is up to it…
11/8/06
Today I suppose it’s time for me to backtrack and recount what’s been happening the last week or two. Last week was Halloween, and Nick, Mel and I threw a party at our house for all the PCVs on Santiago and as many Cape Verdeans as we could round up and muster up an explanation of dressing in costumes for. We started preparing for this extravaganza pretty much since we got here in Assomada, so there was quite a bit of build-up. We made decorations for the house, planned costumes, made appetizers for everyone, and even made two piñatas. Yes, they have virtually nothing to do with Halloween, except for the candy that fills them, but we thought it would be entertaining to introduce the concept of beating a large paper contraption until candy explodes from it to a bunch of Cape Verdeans. Who doesn’t like beating things with a stick, much less getting a nice surprise at the end? The funniest part (besides the fact that one of the piñatas was a three-legged donkey Nick painstakingly made and painted a smiley face on) was that we snuck condoms in the piñatas with the candy, since nothing in Peace Corps Africa can be done without involving an HIV/AIDS lesson—be safe out there, kids. Before the party started, all the PCVs who came with costumes (I was Little Red Riding Hood) went to the ICM Center to help pass out candy for the girls, our own little twist on the Halloween theme, and something that truly made the girls’ night. They were elated that not only were a bunch of crazy Americans coming dressed in costumes, but they had brought candy. What a dream! They weren’t about to let us leave until we had taken pictures, explained our costumes, given everyone hugs, and danced a bit of funana. Even with all that they were bummed to see us go. So a good time was had by all.
All in all I think our party went well, even if the whole concept is something I never thought I’d come across in the Peace Corps. Adding to the list of things I never thought (or wanted) to see, was the surprise last-minute presence of—get this—a keg. Yes, a keg. Of beer. The fact that the concept even exists already here in CV helps you understand the drinking culture that most certainly goes on strong here. Let’s just say you should have seen the look on my face when I answered the door to find two men asking me where to put the “maquina de cerveja (beer machine)” that apparently my housemate and his friends had ordered. Pretty much the last thing I expected to happen. So…beer was flowing aplenty for those who like it, which seemed to have been most Cape Verdeans and virtually all of the PCVs excluding myself. I was happy holding my cup of wine and playing hostess. Anyhow, it was a good time, piñatas were broken, music was danced to, friends were made and bid farewell to (sad to see you go JC, we’ll miss you), all the makings of a successful party, complete with the random white guy who came dressed as Adam from Adam and Eve, as in the Bible. It was awkward at times, but thankfully his solitary leaf stayed in its place the whole night.
Okay I have to sign off for now, but I will update the rest of the events that have taken place since the party on the next blog. Ciao.
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