Daylight

It’s one of those mornings where the daylight creeps in and under your bed sheets in such an intrusive way that your fingers are released from their obligatory routine, the uncovering of your protesting need for rest, forcing you up and at “them”—the things of your day.

And so I am up, and wondering which puzzle pieces of my life, of the world, will fit themselves into the grander scheme today. Maybe today I will figure out my life plan, or at least for next year; maybe that same annoying daylight will elucidate the answer to cultural imperialism; maybe I will discover the reason for my sudden lazy spirit keeping me from reaching the stars; maybe today I will decide to let my heart be opened to that person begging to know what’s inside; maybe I will just keep running, avoiding all those things I know are better for me; or maybe….just maybe, I’ll be honest with myself about all those hidden introspective and personal somethings tapping impatiently at their release.

I find myself here with so many options, choices rapidly filling up the spaces in between my realism and my idealism. Suffocating me, and I’m gasping for air. Too many questions begging answers and too many paths imploring exploration. I have so many characteristics reflecting in the mirror that could be designations of a particular future, each one unique. Does my distinguished nose point me toward structure-enhancing diplomacy and rigid (or frigid) social intricacies claiming a certain (un)desirable salvation? Does my petite mouth manifest the delicate balance between respect and a one-woman quest to be accepted into a well-articulated description of your world, wherever it may be? Do my cavernous crystal eyes suck me into a life of careful observation and analytical peace with my discoveries, living with a simple profundity, gaining much and earning little? Do my attention-calling golden locks tempt me into a collection of “I can”-s and “I have”-s to the point that my conquests outnumber my sensibilities?

The daylight suddenly finds itself casting shadows in the shape of leaves, SUVs, and doubts. The latter often comes with the advancing of the time-trapped sun; if it could be erased like the life-giving drops of water sucked into drying cracks of beaten earth, maybe we’d have more strength to trudge ahead. But being eyes, ears, and conscience to the occurrences of daily humanity has the effect of making one question the meaning, means, meandering hopelessness halting our attempts at salvation. Does all that we see spur us on or hold us back? While the entrance, the filling, of daylight brought me my multitude of alternatives and plethora of wonderings, the continued travel of that daylight towards disappearance brings only frustration at how many go unanswered, laid gently—or forcefully—to the wayside.

The moments are dripping away, each one taking with it the question “What were you worth?” Each one soliciting its significance and receiving silence, or a mere “Time will tell, and we can’t overload time…” And so the light of the advancing afternoon sweeps rays across my complex reflection, illuminating each feature in turn. Nose: no, I don’t like your frigid formality. Mouth: I don’t care for your careful unwillingness to tread upon sensitive toes. Eyes: I don’t trust that you’ve found simplistic peace without cost. Hair: I can’t accept your arrogant susceptibility to beautifully diaphanous nothings. And where do these denials leave me…?

Then inevitably the omniscient daylight melts into corners and hides behind horizons, taking with it the enlightenment its focused spotlight provided. And I realize I am left alone, all this contemplation permitting access to no one save my overworked cognizance. So maybe instead of trying to give each moment the weight of the world in its implication and grandiosity, I quit, replacing unfounded responsibility with the need for simple interaction. I go and I play and I talk, letting all of this energy sucked away from the now intangible daylight be expelled and absorbed by others.

One of those days when the intrusiveness of the rays pushes you past overwhelming neuroticism to the admittance that no answer is found individually. It might be my features alone under the microscope, my features that detail my route to a certain fulfillment, but maybe my personal analysis of their meaning lacks objectivity. Maybe my nose means not frigidity to others, but impish adventure. My mouth not overly careful respect, but intelligent articulation of words previously unspoken. My eyes not philosophically peaceful, but piercingly critical. And my hair not inappropriately ambitious, but a blatant challenge to the expectations it engenders.

I let you help me decide. Together with them, together with the understanding that each day brings with it new light, shifting the shadows and changing the mirror’s reflection. So tomorrow, if the light be as intrusive as today’s, let it uncover me and impel me to you, trusting you will be there when I arrive.

Wine and cheese nights mean introspective glee

Hmmmm....

No real blogging tonight, but here's what's to come: Paige's visit, updates on extension plans, my new career as an interior decorator-slash-painter, a boy, and how truly happy I am at this particular moment. Don't worry, I'm sure soon enough the blogs will revert back to their charmingly disconcerting depressive nature, but for now enjoy my bliss with me.

Isn't life great when you can say that even despite the consistently unstable lack of definition to the future, one is still content with oneself and one's situation? For now, in this place, I am me, and I like me. I may not be a fancy overly capable diplomat, nor a glorifyingly suffering "real Africa" volunteer living without the luxuries of bleu cheese dressing, but I am me.

And I really do like me.

Kenha ki gosta di SIDA?...

Saturday was AIDS Day. Lots of activities, all geared at drawing attention to the wildly spreading, population-eliminating disease. We had famous Cape Verdean artists coming to play, important officials talking about how important it is to work together to combat HIV, and....finally...Courtney and her CEJ group performing their own version of the "clinking glasses" theater demonstration (see previous blog for description). It was all very last minute and Cape Verdean (are we going to perform, are we not going to perform, are we going to pull our hair out of our skulls?), but it went over well for the first time presenting. Hopefully we will get tons of practice in and people will love it. We'll become famous in no time:)

Anyhow, all in all the day was quite show-y with very little behavior change-inducing power. There is always no shock value implemented to scare adolescents into responsible behavior, just happy music with the title AIDS waving its banner over their unsuspecting heads. One more vote for individual or small group work in rural villages...

So, here are some pictures from the grand event:
Here is my little theater group, practicing for the event. Can't see everyone, but...well, essentially, we rock.

We were trying to make the shape of the AIDS ribbon. Didn't work as well as we'd hoped.

Step into my time machine...

Past:

This will unfortunately require bullets, as a full-length analysis is just not possible at the moment, nor will I justify stressing myself out trying. But here’s to the past, and what has happened over the last several months:

• I spent a week in Maio with the CEJ youth from Santiago (mainly those from Praia), helping to lead formações in various areas (my area was specifically first aid and aquatic safety, teaching CPR methods) for several communities throughout the island. The group of 160 youth (all divided among training topics) rotated each day to cover all of Maio’s communities within the week that we were there, at the end of which all were invited for a celebration of dance competitions, quizzes regarding the information transmitted to the people of Maio, and a gender-switch modeling show, during which I dressed as a Cape Verdean young man—huge baggy pants, bling, oversized shirts, Boston caps and all. It was quite the spectacle, I must say. A crowd pleaser was I, as I hammed it up and strutted up and down the catwalk, utilizing the occasional crotch-grab along the way. If it had been a competition, I would assuredly have taken the prize. Just so you know. Other than that the week was essentially what one would expect from 7 days spent entirely in the presence of 160 Cape Verdean adolescents. Hormones bouncing off every remote surface area, and more touching (of all kinds) than I’ve ever experienced in my life. Everyone touching, all the time. It’s impossible to form any idea of who may or may not be dating, because they’re all flirting and touching everyone all the time. At first I was put off, thinking I didn’t want to inadvertently lead the hopeful masses of young Cape Verdean men on by allowing them to hug, grab hands, and pet my arm; however about a day into the experience I realized the lack of sexual connotation attached to the stroking and blatant physicality. A lesson I learned back with the homestay family, but which apparently has a hard time sticking with me. All in all, it was a good experience, and I was able to build some great connections with the youth from Santiago, who endearingly reinforced my nickname, Kodé, which is a term of affection that literally means the mother’s youngest child, but that they use for me as their loved, almost-Cape Verdean white girl. Cinza was also there; still too sad to share many details. Suffice it to say that while the youth thought I was absolutely insane bringing her as we were leaving Praia, they all warmed up to her, and she became the mascot of the trip. They called her Shakirinha (or “little Shakira”) for reasons I’m still not sure of. But it was pretty cute. Every minute, “Where’s Shakirinha?” To this day, people ask about her all the time. She and I slept calmly the whole boat ride (there and back) while everyone else was puking their guts out. A lovely time.
• My mom came to visit for two weeks in September, after I took a brief vacation in Fogo to recover from the new group’s PST. We went to São Vicente and Santo Antão, pictures of which were posted earlier. Overall, we had a wonderful time, hiking, staying with Peace Corps Volunteers, and trying at times awkwardly to cover the gap forged over the last year (and some) of not living in the same world. It’s harder than you think to explain how you change in a new environment, what you’ve learned, how you think differently. And I wasn’t entirely prepared for it. But the good news is that I think we just might be even closer because of it. I am learning to articulate the things I take for granted, to be patient, and to give the people I love a chance to enjoy my world. Anyhow, Mom got to spend some time at the Center meeting the girls, we went to Tarrafal to enjoy our own private beach experience (check out the picture):, hiked to the Big Tree (Pé di Polão), spent a day with the homestay family, explored the markets in Assomada and Praia, and enjoyed a few luxurious days in a hotel…what a weird feeling to stay in a hotel in your own town. Anyway. It’s nice now to have someone who understands the little things, who can picture a face when I talk about my colleagues. And she now knows that I’m safe and happy.
• After my mom’s visit, I had about a month of rushed working and project development before my dad came to visit for a little over a week. We stayed on Santiago and he got to see a fair share of its beauty, even if it wasn’t at its greenest. We went to Tarrafal twice, the first time including a nice 4-ish hour hike to the northernmost lighthouse on the island, and the second time for a Halloween party; I may be the only Peace Corps Volunteer who can say her father celebrated in costume with a bunch of drunken twenty-somethings. I would say I had pictures, but many of those who had cameras happened to get them stolen that night, along with computers and other expensive items. Bummer. Anyway…my dad and I were also able to rent a car and travel down the eastern coast of the island, exploring its beauty and ending up in Cidade Velha, where my dad got a chance to learn about the history of Cape Verde, no thanks to me, who was feeling a bit sick that day. Unfortunate. Dad also got to hang out at the Center and meet the girls, with whom he got to try out the Kriolu phrases I taught him. He did quite well with the language, actually, using every opportunity to practice; I was proud. It was a brief, but worthwhile experience; I feel lucky that so many members of my family are able to come visit. My sister is coming up next, arriving on December 5th. I’m beyond excited:). It will be her first real international experience, so I told her it would be world travel boot camp. No mercy.
• Within a few months, no one that I started my service with (at the Center) will still be here. Except for many of the girls, who remain as people float in and out of their lives. And virtually ever since Ivete let me know of her leaving, she has been expressing major senioritis, wanting to ditch work for coffee breaks, taking me to get my first Cape Verdean haircut (so traumatic, watching inches of my hair thud to the ground when I only asked for a trim the ends off, which apparently doesn’t translate), and asking me to teach her how to put on make up. She has this cute childlike spirit lately, wanting to play rather than work, which is rubbing off on me, damn her. Only teasing; I relish in an excuse to play hooky and step away from the computer screen. Plus the woman I’m forced to work with lately at the Center is akin to the devil’s annoying and lazy-as-hell sidekick, so I am okay with taking a break from her. Harsh but true; she’s awful. Anyhow, in all honesty, even though things in the Center aren’t at all the same as they were when we were daily having to drag girls to the hospital and deal with psychotic breaks from reality, they are still busy and stressful. And the effects are the same; I am starting to notice in Ercília the same signs I noticed in Andreia before she left for Portugal. Stressed, short with everyone, bad moods, always tired, snapping more often than before, and constantly complaining about how much there is to do and how little support ICCA provides. It’s sad, because they’re all people that I enjoy as individuals, but I keep having to watch the Center’s employees (particularly coordinators) descend into depression, as they become different people. Ivete and Ercília aren’t getting along, and I yearn for them to go to their new jobs where they’ll presumably be happier. I felt the same right before Andreia left, and it continues. But I’ve retreated into way too many details for a blog…

Current:

These days I am quite content. Honestly content. How nice! It feels good to be stabilizing, realizing that I am here, and will be for the 8-ish months left. I know the language, know the culture, know my job, know my girls, know the town, know my resources, know my limits and capacities. It’s nice to know. And even though the chapter will end and I’ll have to decide what to do next, I’ve earned my way to this moment. I am reminded lately how lucky and blessed (or spoiled) I am being here, so many things (both good and bad) that I wouldn’t find in the US nor on the continent of Africa. I finished up two songs last night that I had been working on for months, which felt wonderful, so conclusive. I am working on concrete projects that I’m determined will be completed (and maybe even beneficial, one would hope), I am respected where I’m at and known by people to the extent that I desire. Que vida!

I am finally a contributing member of the professional team at the Center, which is so gratifying. We called an important meeting to evaluate the Center’s functioning (i.e. structure, protocols and procedures, needs that exist, problems, all the things we would change if we could), so that we could organize a comprehensive report to give to headquarters in Praia, as well as leave for the next coordinator that comes the Center, whenever that is (Ercília will likely be gone by the end of this month or the next). And it’s so essential, so culminating, such a wrap up to the most difficult year (slash job) of my life. It makes it feel as though you are at least verbalizing all the things that you have seen that are inadequate, quantifying all the things you have been shouting about and receiving no response. And really none of this means that a response will be given (in fact, if I predict correctly, a few “Hmmm, excellent observation” s will be distributed by the ever-important Praia team, followed by absolutely no action), but it feels as though at least our part is being done to the extent it can be. So that when I leave, at least I said things. And not just me: Following our professional team meeting, we called the Praia team (of which less than 1/3 showed up) to discuss our conclusions, concerns, evaluation, etc., to which the coordinators of the other two Santiago Centers showed up. As has been known, the coordinators share many of the same complaints and suggestions for improvement, indicating a larger problem. What it seems sometimes is as though ICCA was created with great pressure and hurriedness, rushing to provide a service that was deemed necessary, to the detriment of quality and thoughtful preparation. Employees weren’t trained (truly an absurdity I still can’t fathom), qualifications for which children are admitted into the Centers weren’t clearly defined, the building here in Assomada was poorly considered, they lack financial means and particularly diversification of funding sources to keep themselves running, and they have no internal structure or rulebook that provides support and guidance in situations (especially disciplinary) that arise within the Centers. All the inadequacies that penetrate right to the foundation of the organization make it seem hopeless and better to wipe out and start anew. But that’s a bit ridiculous really, since it’s already there and it would be much easier to simply improve. If you’re not serving the original purpose you set out to serve (and in fact are sometimes doing just the opposite), should you continue on for the sake of pride alone?

It symbolizes the state of Cape Verde as a whole, as always. Everything done with haste, without pausing before action to appraise and design your endeavor. To chunk out the means, methods, necessity, globally and minutely. And it turns out so much more the worse in the end. Last week, I helped the CEJ youth to paint the curbs of the sidewalks white in preparation for the upcoming saint’s day (remember last year’s description of the massive event?). Case in point: instead of first sweeping the dirt and dust off of the curbs before painting in order to preserve the paint, the brushes, and to avoid dinginess, the youth rushed hurriedly into the painting, impatient for the task to be completed. Despite my protests (admittedly heard by a few eager youth), they charged on, mixing dirt with white, creating brown muck, and not really giving it much thought. No need to think of better ways to do it, just get it done because saying that you did it will be enough for you. Saying that you have social protection centers to help abused children is enough, no matter that there may be better ways to provide the service.

And it could be so much better. They could (slash should) develop individual treatment plans for each child—not treatment as though they are in an institution strictly for mental illness, but treatment as in a way of designing a program they will benefit from according to their own past history and personality. Before I get into a complete analysis of what the Center should and should not do for improvement, I’m cutting the discourse short. Too much for one day.

Moving on to other things: today we officially (more or less) resolved this electrical-slash-housing situation. I called Peace Corps, talked to the landlord, and set everything up for them to come down and fix things. Everyone did (both Nick and the landlord quietly fuming at the sight of each other), and we are one huge step closer to being content. Our bills are still high, but at least we don’t have to move out. Yippee!

I am still debating what I want to do after service. My heart still says extend to the continent in a rural community working in girls’ leadership development. Peace Corps here in Cape Verde keeps dangling golden carrots in front of my nose, telling me I can work wherever and in whatever I want in country; there are many programs that could be great on the continent; I could probably find a fulfilling job in the States actually earning money and paying off debt; the options are boundless. Too boundless. I need to narrow them down. Help? Suggestions?

Other than that, we are plugging away. Tomorrow is World AIDS Day, so we are busily preparing for that. One thing I forgot to mention along those lines: I did a very Peace Corps Volunteer-like thing with the CEJ youth, something I am quite proud of. Simple, yet successful (so far). What I did—I modified an activity generally called “clinking glasses” to be more interactive, interesting, and culturally-appropriate. I created 10 roles in a pseudo-theatrical type skit, all roles commonly found in Cape Verde. Each youth manifests his/her role silently, no words are spoken throughout the skit, and each wears a sign indicating who he/she is. Each has a cup, some with water, some with red liquid (indicating they are infected with HIV). Blah, blah, blah, the skit goes on, and eventually the red liquid passes to other characters. In the end, the audience sees visually the transmission of the virus. The general idea was to teach the youth, form a team of performers, and have them present at various locations (i.e. on AIDS day, in classrooms, to other youth centers, to the girls’ Center, etc.). I proposed the idea to the youth on my tiptoes, nervously thinking they might find it uninteresting or be unwilling to commit. On the contrary, we formed a team, and on the first day, they got so into the skit that they began giving suggestions, molding it into something their own. They adopted their characters, erased all embarrassment, and went with it, while other youth without roles stayed to watch. We have been rehearsing ever since, and it’s getting to be something I think could work. It was a proud and happy moment. Soooo, hopefully we will have a chance tomorrow to present the skit for the community. Hopefully *fingers crossed*. The exciting part was that they are into it, and the CEJ is being supportive. Beyond that, things are day-to-day normalcy here. Paige is almost here, I’m getting anxious for the photo project to start getting underway (and get funding), and already the new volunteers are approaching their first in-service training. Time is flying without our attentiveness to its enveloping wings. Onward and upward, to the skies…

Reality Bites

11/18/07
Indira Baptista. 17. Kabesa dretu. Sta gravida, e pamodi? Pregnant because it seems the better way. Because he said he would give her a future, not counting the brilliant one she already had. Ka ta podi bai skola mas. Ka ta ser kel ki nu kria, kel ki el também kria um bes. Of all the girls with all the potential, her with the most…it’s not a world-ending situation, not the first time it’s happened here, to these girls. Nor will it be the last. Ma mesmo asi… podia ser diferenti.

People talk about working to educate against teen pregnancy. Teen pregnancy. What does that mean? For so long, it seemed to remain such a concept, such a phrase. Nothing more. People throw it out there, like “poverty” or “human rights” or “women’s development” or whatever else. And maybe in other contexts it really is nothing more, such an everyday whatever. The norm in most places perhaps outside of affluent US and Western Europe. Every day here in Cape Verde I watch tiny girls with huge bellies walking in the direction of the clinic (at least they’re going…?), and it just seems like a thing. Like an expectation, almost. But when it happens to girls like Indira. Kredu. She just seemed so different, so responsible, so focused, so not the one pulled by domiciliation.

So we did an intervention with the rest of the girls, to explain the situation, why she could no longer stay in the Center, why they should take this seriously. And who knows if they will. And this is maybe one of the single things I feel strongly about. I can’t call myself a “hardcore women’s lib” type, because I know not all women in all cultures are the same nor want the same thing, but I do know that they deserve a chance to find it out for themselves, instead of being tied down so soon. Because it is them who get tied down. They may be lucky enough to have a rapaz responsible enough to own up to the child, but they may not. And maybe that responsible rapaz will get tired of playing Daddy and can disappear, not a second look back. But this mother will always be a mother, will always be the one to carry the physical weight, the emotional, psychological, all. Can’t so easily dissolve into the background. And once you have one…seems at least 5 more must follow.

I’m sad for her, but happy that she’s not crushed—really not even upset by it. So maybe she’ll put all herself into her child, maybe she’ll survive the weight of it all. And time to dust off the hands and be done with it…moving on to the others not yet “lost”.

And I wonder about myself, why or how I’m different. For all the occasional ridicule I receive for my lifestyle choices, it has preserved me thus far. But from what? Where is the balance between shutting off the possibility of liberating experiences and guarding from harm? Everything permissible, yet not everything beneficial. Anything to excess becomes vice. And I find I lack luster to continue any analysis. What is is, and I move on to how I fit into it all.

Melodrama

One more post for the day...it's something I wrote a week-ish ago. Apologies where needed for the language.

* * *

One of those days. Not the kind where you’re saying “Fucker!” every five seconds, nor the “I’m so upset because of ____” kind. Just the deep-inside-yourself sadness, the kind that lets you know how far behind you are in analyzing yourself, how little time has been spent nurturing the narcissist in you. No journaling of minute and seemingly insignificant feelings, emotions, and psycho-analyzed cognitions for awhile; this tends to sometimes drop one off on the edge of a cliff, the day you’re left facing the sad parts that previously dripped away unnoticed (or at least noticed only briefly before being capped and stored on the “to be written about later” shelf). Then you think of just how many songs you could have written about all of these…things, should you have been so disciplined to remember that you have a creative and pleasurable by means of personal expression section of your brain, fingers, toes, cells. Probably could have painted them, too; poetry, drawing, fiction, photographs? All expressions that don’t get expressed because one is too busy playing out the hero complex that ties knots in the directives of our passion. Is it passion when other things important to humans get laid to the wayside? When you forget about yourself, about the fact that maybe you could be important enough for someone, anyone, that one you haven’t yet met, but any day now…

So what do you do when you finally realize (again, and then again) that you have no one to share your soul with, to any personally satisfying extent? You turn to the computer screen, of course. And away the words flow, from feeling to cognition to fingertips and finally onto fake white electronic paper. And somehow that odd and indescribably ironic medium makes you feel better. It’s out. And while that organic, human, raw orifice seemingly meant to eat up your words, your heart, yourself, doesn’t seem to exist and is temporarily forgotten to the detriment of searching, that fake whiteness collects it all, treasuring what couldn’t be shared with others and assuring you that it understands, that it can absorb the pain for now. Okay, go ahead: soak it all in. Because my heart in the moment is too heavy to not release the molasses-thick sorrow of it all. And then when it passes I’ll have you to thank, the surrogate mother of my unwanted and troubling burden.

Melodramatic is the flavor of days like these, and maybe we’re allowed to be actors once in awhile, playing out the certain seriousness of our never-before-experienced, once-in-a-lifetime brand of loneliness. And while it tastes bitter to others (and to ourselves?), sending us inward to escape that awful twisted expression of the person who never desired to put that taste in her mouth, we still admittedly want others to savor it, to somehow validate that the flavor is allowed to exist for you too. Because even an unwilling audience may be better than no audience at all, no room left for complaints of being unheard.

What is it that sometimes draws out that unspoken, green-tinted devil that makes us secretly if only momentarily despise our dearest ones when we hear of the joy (and joint pain) they experience that we somehow convince ourselves we deserve more? Strange that we would want their pain, but it signifies the intimacy, the depth, the substance and magnitude of the bliss that caused that pain.

So maybe we are narcissists beyond measure. Wanting it all for ourselves, wanting the ceaseless validation, thinking it’s all about being heard, being loved, just being…

On the TO DO list: What to do with my life.

Here's my latest dilemma: What do I want to do with myself once this Peace Corps tour in Cape Verde officially ends next summer?

I have been thinking for quite awhile now about extending for another year in another country on the continent of Africa, to work more in rural (vs. urban) youth development. For several months, this has been the unquestioned assumption, that it will happen, that I will get accepted, and that it will all fall into place. I will get the "living in a hut, learning French, teaching young mothers and children" experience I wanted, no questions asked. What abused freedom it is to allow ourselves to dream uninhibited...

So then lately I have been exploring other options. Still determined I want to be on the continent, but wondering if there aren't other things. My country director suggested I think about professional development in the US (indicating potential to do great things, reach for the sky, and move my 9 to 5 way up the international development ladder); a friend suggested I utilize my high employability here in Cape Verde to find a job and stay here (already know the language, already integrated, more qualified for employment than many nationals). I shut that option out for awhile, thinking I couldn't handle certain aspects of the culture and lifestyle, but maybe it could work...

So I'm back in that floaty, drifting, wondering phase where I try and figure out which direction my life is going to take. Am I going to be that person who avoids concrete responsibility and "real jobs" by remaining international and hiding in African jungles? Or am I going to be that well-dressed, Starbucks-drinking professional who convinces herself she is working her way up to structural change or saving the world one latte and government job at a time? Or do I stay here in this weird inbetween world, where I am neither and both at the same time?

I sent out inquiries to various Peace Corps programs in Africa, and almost immediately received my first response, indicating that while Iwould assuredly be a fruitful contribution, I would need intermediate-high level French, which is what I want but don't have. So will I soon be receiving similar responses that indicate my lack of language (despite the intangible desire to learn French) disqualifies me? If that is the case, I may start thinking about locating other means of working in Africa outside of Peace Corps, a much more complicated yet equally feasible means. That way I could teach myself basic French and then continue to learn as I go.

I really want to do this. I want to have French...and Spanish, and Portuguese, and the completely useless Kriolu. Hell, why not add on Italian and German. Okay, maybe not German, I don't enjoy it and it's slightly less useful. But I digress...

So do I add teaching myself French onto the list of responsibilities I currently embrace? A good friend of mine teaches French at the local high school and already agreed to give me lessons. But time is likely a factor, as I know few individuals who can learn a difficult language in a few months. Now I seem to be rambling, which is of course what spur-of-the-moment blogs are supposed to be about, right?

Let's see if I can move towards making sense of this update. So basically, I am writing to describe my personal debate over my future. I was writing a letter to a good friend of mine, and trying to elaborate on this idea that our stage in life (the early-mid 20s) is kind of the definitive point where you determine which direction the rest of your life takes. Here is where you ascertain whether you will be a career traveler/int'l dev't worker, wife/mother, powerhouse careerwoman, etc. etc. etc. Still essentially unattached in any real sense to expectations of the world (other than those fabricated by our social surroundings), we are free (as white Americans) to roam about, exploring our options, and worrying about how to get it all done in a neatly-packaged time frame. Sometimes the pressure seems to be too much.

It's easier to sometimes let circumstances decide your future: we limit ourselves based on what one person says (which you then expand to envelop the opinions of all), or the "she/he said no", or other mundane details like the weather, or...things I can't pull off the top of my head at the moment. It evades any real sense of decision-making or accepting of responsibility. So what if I don't want to do that? Screw the no-French, there must be a way around it, if it's what I really want. Unchecked optimism...

Hmm, it appears I've reached a mental roadblock, so maybe it's best to quit the rant for now. I'll have more to update as far as my future goes soon, I hope.

As for other things, my dad was just in town, and recently left on Sunday. I had to work much of the time, which probably wasn't exciting for him, but hopefully he enjoyed himself. It was quite a learning experience, having both parents come, and interesting to note the stark differences between the two experiences. If you want to know more about how it went, please ask me and I will be happy to expound.

Cinza still is not back, and hope is fading into the background. Neighbors have been no help, and I am beginning to think someone took her far away, too far for her to find her way back.

I am getting bars placed on my bedroom window to keep the crazy drunkard from harrassing me at my window all the time. He shows up most often during the middle of the night or early in the morning, not the sight you want to wake up to, i.e. mumbling threats and waving a bamboo stick at my window. Creepy.

We almost got kicked out of our house due to an argument between our landlord and my housemate, which essentially still hasn't been satisfactorily resolved. But at least we no longer have to move, which would not be a pleasant experience. Needless to say I wil be resolving all housing issues that arise in the future.

Ivete, my counterpart, told me last week that she is officially leaving her job, likely within the next few months. So: Andreia left, Ercilia is leaving in about a month, and now Ivete. The three pillars of the Center (not to mention of my own personal life and integration in Assomada) will be gone. At least the latter two are still in Assomada and accessible to remain close friends. But it was a pretty depressing moment. Ivete and I both cried a bit, as she has been a very important person for me. She says she wants to see if she can still be my counterpart throughout the rest of my service, to at least see me through. We'll see.

For now, that's about it for updates. I will attach some journals about recent experiences in the near future; perhaps next time I'm in Praia...

So until then.

Motivation

Just thought this would be fun. I don't remember where I found it, but it seemed appropriate.

Happy camper gets shot in the heart

I'm not really updating. Not really. Just letting the world know that Cinza is missing. Going on the fourth day, and I'm pretty sure someone took her. She always stays close and comes when I call, but alas no amount of calling has made her come back yet. And every Cape Verdean I talk to says "Someone probably just took her. You should just get another one". Another one??? Unfortunately for me a cat is not like a pair of socks. I spent so much time raising her, loving her, getting her vaccinated and spayed, taking her on trips to Praia, to other islands, virtually everywhere I went. She was my companion, my friend, something irreplacable. And I'm not ready to say it's a lost cause, even if everyone else could care less and assumes her gone forever. If I knew she had been hit by a car, I could grieve and be done, but I am more angry than sad because someone had the indecency to see something they wanted (and that quite obviously belonged to someone else) and just took it. Goddamn Cape Verdeans. I am going to stop myself now before I enter into a rant on the morality of an entire culture. Wouldn't be fair.

Suffice it to say that I am not a happy camper any longer. Coming home to an empty and quiet room is like a knife in my stomach. So I haven't taken her litter box away under the assumption that she will be back. I'm sad. She is my baby.

Tell me honestly, home audience, do you think she might come back to me? Should I continue knocking on doors until I find her? Should I accept her disappearance and move on? Am I a total freak?

Talk to me, friends and family, because I miss my kitty.

Here is a picture of when she went to Maio with us:

Island by island I go...

Over the last few months I have made my way towards completing a tour of the majority of all the glorious and uniquely spunky Cape Verdean islands. All that's left: Brava and Sao Nicolau. Their day will come.

So I wanted to just post some pictures first, before I go into detail about the past several months that have eerily backed up into the recesses of my clouded cobweb-laced brain. That will come soon enough.

Okay, first up: Fogo.

This is on my way heading up to Cha das Caldeiras, in the crater of the volcano for which the island is named. I was kicking myself for not having working camera batteries, with which I would have been able to depict the drive through what felt like Mars or another completely foreign planet's terrain.

This is Sao Felipe, the main city of Fogo. I stayed here at the beginning and end of my "disappearing act", a.k.a week of no responsibilities.

This is also Sao Felipe, looking out from the balcony of a restaurant that never failed to overcharge me every time I went (verified by knowledgable volunteers).

These were taken in Mosteiros, on the northern coast of the island, the beach town. Not so bad of a place it seems--I mean, it does have the beach.

Now on to Santo Antao, where I went with my mother in mid-September. We explored the whole north-eastern side of the island, starting from Porto Novo, heading up to Ponta do Sol and Povoacao, then west to Cha di Igreja with hikes through Paul inbetween.

This was taken in Ponta do Sol, where we stayed our only night in a hotel. The rest of the time was spent in true Peace Corps style--bumming couches and extra beds from welcoming and gracious volunteers.

All the above pictures were taken on our hike through the Ribeira of Paul. We started in Vila das Pombas and hiked up through the lush green valley until we reached the quintessential pot of gold ending our rainbow: "the German guy's place" where various flavored grog and liquors are made, as well as fabulous goat and cow cheese. It was everything I hoped it would be.

This picture begins the Cha di Igreja chapter of our journey. It depicts the view from the Volunteer's rooftop, the Volunteer of which all other Volunteers are (or should be) jealous. Following is the other side of the view:
Ridiculous. The next set of pictures depicts what turned out to be our grueling hike from Cha di Igreja back to Ponta do Sol, on which our gracious host Caley accompanied us. It took us almost five hours, and at the tail end we ended up hitching a car ride into town so we didn't miss our boat back to Sao Vicente. Now, perhaps normally this might be as pleasant, if not invigorating, of a traipse as the guidebook indicated if we had, in fact, done it as the guidebook said: from Ponta do Sol to Cha di Igreja. Instead we did it in reverse, which meant that about 3 1/2-4 hours into it, right towards the end, we encountered a substantial mountain we had to climb right over. Not what you want to see when you're already weary and out of water. It was probably one of the most beautiful hikes I have ever been on, though.

This last picture is about halfway up the mountain we had to summit, looking down over the conquered terrain we claimed as ours.

Finally, this picture above was what we called "the promised land": Ponta do Sol. Quite the oasis.

The rest of these pictures were taken in Cruzinha, a town just outside of Cha di Igreja, right after which is a small, essentially private, beach Caley has claimed as his own. I would have too if I were him.

Okay, folks, that's it for now as far as pictures go. Next time I will spend time on the Maio pics from the CEJ week I spent there. Uploading takes awhile, so patience please!:)

Sorry again that I'm so delayed on the writing, it's been awhile since I've been able to just sit by myself for a few minutes. It will come soon.

Hot Lava!

I'm in Fogo. Enjoying the volcano and currently the unbearable São Felipe heat. I will write about Fogo at another time, just wanted people to know I was alive. I will also write a detailed description of my Maio experience, as well as perhaps a summary of PST and this past summer. So much for you all to look forward to! Big promises, we'll see if I can pull through.

My mama is flying in soooooo soon!!!! I cannot believe how excited I am to see her, and honestly don't know how I have made it over a year without seeing a single family member. I think I might burst into tears when I see her in the airport. It might be embarrassing.

For now that is all I will say until I can post pictures and in-depth updates. Except there won't be many pictures of Fogo because my batteries decided to stop functioning and that's one thing you really can't get in Cape Verde: quality batteries. So all the deliciously wondrous images I have collected in Fogo will have to remain in my head. Sorry.

Hope everyone is doing fabulous and enjoying the last bits of their summer! I am.

FEIA.

This will be brief. I just came downstairs and was abruptly thrown into an elated state at the news that Peace Corps has put internet in the training house. Free internet. Wowsers.

So I am taking advantage to throw out a brief update. If I have learned nothing else in my year in Peace Corps, I have learned the utility of brevity, so I will bullet out my important points to be eventually followed by Jack Handy-esque "deep thoughts" in the next weeks. Over the last two months or so...:

• The new Trainees arrived and are spread throughout my concelho (county) happy in their homestays. It seems that the new model of Pre-Service Training is running smoothly, at the very least much more smoothly than ours went last year. They are picking up language quickly and have very few complaints--it's practically a miracle, as last year all we did was complain about the ineffectiveness of the program. So kudos to PST staff and the new model.
• The four YD Trainees shadowed me for five days, stayed in my house, went to the girls' Center with me, and hopefully got an idea of what life is like for a YD volunteer. With the presence of four new people, I couldn't do some of the things I would normally do at the Center (attend institutional meetings, write proposals, and go on family visits), so instead I think they felt like camp counselors most of the time. But the girls adored them and all the extra attention--it was like Christmas at the Center. I appreciated the chance for them to see what life is like for a Volunteer in my sector, even if I struggled to juggle four different individuals' needs and interests. Hopefully it worked out alright and they learned a thing or two.
• One of the YD Trainees (I swear some of these bullet points will be related to non-PST topics) decided to leave, as being here serving in Cape Verde wasn't where she decided she should be at this time. I am sad to see her go, she is an excellent individual, very sweet and funny and very experienced, but I am happy that hopefully she will be in a more appropriate place for now--and that she decided beforehand, rather than waiting until she was already at site.
• Just last week, the psychologist (Ercilia) announced that she had accepted the position as the new coordenator of the Center, which so far seems like an excellent decision. She will do a wonderful job, I am confident. Within the first week, Ercilia asked for my help in preparing a large proposal for support from the Cape Verdean institution that combats AIDS in funding a year-long training project we want to do with the maes and girls. We have been talking forever about how much the maes need to be trained and helped to know how better to work with troubled children, to give both them and the girls support in their day-to-day interactions, and have been waiting all year for approval from ICCA for the trainings, with no success, so Ercilia found a new way to get it done. It is a grant for over $20,000, so I'm really keeping my fingers crossed.
• The other day I was walking down the road in the direction of my house, and I saw an old woman walking the opposite direction. I usually like to say good morning/afternoon to people I see in town, including people I don't know, just to be friendly and show respect; so I was about to say "bon dia"to the woman, and before I could finish the "bon", she looked me directly and unfalteringly in the eye, with no particular hatred nor humor, and said loudly and strongly, "Feia"--ugly. It took me by complete shock so that I didn't know what to say. She kept walking, as did I, and I just had to laugh at its irony. Every day, multiple times a day to the extent that I believe that one day I might snap and punch someone in the stomach, I am called "beautiful white girl" by sleezy Cape Verdean men. No matter what I do or what I look like, my skin color and appearance affords me the privilege of beauty, as well as the curse of being seen as little more than a body wrapped in white and detailed with blonde hair and blue eyes. Normally I am "beautiful". This day I was "ugly". Ha.
• I decided once the newbies swear in as Volunteers on September 1st I am going to disappear and take a small trip to Fogo, where hopefully no one will "bother" me and I can relax and recuperate from a long summer. I need it, and I deserve it.
• Nick is gone in South Africa for three weeks of vacation, which means I have the house to myself--hooray! No offense, Nick, but sometimes it's just nice to be able to walk around the house in your underwear and sing as loud as you want.
• I will likely be sent to the island of Maio for a week with the CEJ to help promote and develop the Centro em Movimento program that has been running all summer long. Free trip to Maio is always nice, though it means I will miss the new Trainee's site announcement, which we have been making cool pinatas for. Oh well, can't be everywhere at once.
• I have been translating for the CulturArt program that just started for the first time in Cape Verde, and it has been fabulous! It brings in 20 US high school students and 30 Cape Verdean students for a two week intensive training in the arts (vocal music, instrumental music, theater, dance, and visual arts), which they then present in various communities and finally in a concert in Praia. It was so encouraging to be around such creative juices and artistic passion! I am pretty much done with my part now, and I had such a wonderful time. Unfortunately I won't be there for the final concert since I will be in Maio, but hopefully it will go wonderfully. I may give more details on this program later...

Unfortunately time is out for now. But there will be more updates soon if my life ever "settles". Yeah right. But I promise I will try. But more important is responding to letters I have received--sorry for the wait, guys. I appreciate your correspondence, though!

Visual pleasure.

Sorry for the delay in the blogging, folks. You can blame all the new Trainees who are in town and occupying all my time:) I really do like them though, don't get me wrong...

This is just to update on some photos, so here goes:

These were from when we went camping at Angra, a little cove a few minutes from Ribeira da Barca. The guy rowing is Tcheka's nephew (Tcheka is the internationally famous Cape Verdean musician that apparently I am supposed to marry someday.)
After camping, we went hiking up to get some mango. This is a man who owns the mango tree and is picking the mangos, putting them in a bucket, which he lowers to his friend through a pulley system. Cool.

Cinza came to the beach with me and the girls one day. She fared quite well. Stuck to the shade a lot, but I think she could definitely be a beach kitty.

We had a superhero costume party for Tina and Jonah's goodbye party. Upon Paige's suggestion, I went as FlavaCourt, my own spinoff of FlavaFlav. Superpower: always able to tell the time in any situation. Weakness: water--very difficult to tell time under water.

The maes of the Center got all dressed up for the girls' first communion and had me do a mini photo shoot (as always). This is all four of them.

Patricia. She's adorable. She chose to pose like this, and I thought the pic turned out pretty great:)

This is the first communion party when a bunch of the girls made their first communion in the Catholic church.

More first communion fun.

And a little more.

And yes...a little more.

This is when we gave out the soccer ball donations that a colleague of my mother's sent to Cape Verde. They looooved them.

The girls got baptized in the Catholic church the day before their first communion. This wast that day.

That's all for now. Don't worry, I'll be writing an actual update soon. Rest assured that I am ridiculously busy, a little stressed, and trying to destress myself by watching Grey's Anatomy season 3. It is good.