This is in São D around August-ish...don't worry I will post pictures of Assomada soon, I just don't have my pin drive today. So you get pictures from the past:)
Sunday, January 28, 2007
spoons2
This is when I taught the neighborhood in São D how to play spoons. It was in the quintal of my homestay house.
carla and catalini
This is my younger host sister Carla and Tiffany's host sister Catalini. This was taken the first day we were dropped off in São D.
non-ET group.jpg
This was the pic we took right before we left São D for site, deciding we were the official "non-ET group", those who would stick it out. Well, those of us who were around at the time...and not too toasted to understand...which is why JC doesn't count, he was a little too far gone, jumped into the picture at the last minute, and I'm pretty sure that's ultimately the reason he left. Well, maybe not really, but...you know...
batuk man
This man was playing batuque, the traditional music of Cape Verde. The picture is from way back when we had our site announcement. So I suck at uploading pictures...
Sorry...?
Okay. So I was rereading some of my latest posts, and I realized I should probably apologize for being so harsh on Cape Verdean culture. While everthing I write comes from an honest place and my true feelings, I have to be careful with how it comes across, or at least provide a disclaimer. I like it here, I will stay here for the two years, and I will dedicate myself to learning from this culture, and contributing in whatever way I can. That doesn't mean I won't have rough moments, like these last few weeks. And it doesn't mean a word I said wasn't true. I feel that way sometimes, and have frustrations. But I don't want it assumed that all Cape Verdeans are lazy, materialistic, or unappreciative. Or apathetic. It is a generalization, one that comes back to me often but that I will continue to try and fight, if not just to be the example I want to see in them. But I will admit this will require some encouragement once in awhile. I need to find a way to stay motivated. One that does not involve friends loaning me DVDs to watch on the computer when I want a "break"...those are the times I wish I was in rural sub-Saharan Africa where that wasn't an option. Darn our technological advancement and opportunities for laziness. Brings out the parts of you that you don't like.
But it's okay, I still like myself most of the time.
I still haven't received my mom's package that contains the CD we (the Passion Experiment, a.k.a. Emily's creation) recorded before I left. I'm craving it. It will come, but I'm impatient as always.
That's it for this note. Just a brief and humble bow to qualify previous words. I'd say I'll be more careful and try and read things before I post them, but that's probably not true. So you'll just have to take things with a grain of salt. You should be doing that anyways.
But it's okay, I still like myself most of the time.
I still haven't received my mom's package that contains the CD we (the Passion Experiment, a.k.a. Emily's creation) recorded before I left. I'm craving it. It will come, but I'm impatient as always.
That's it for this note. Just a brief and humble bow to qualify previous words. I'd say I'll be more careful and try and read things before I post them, but that's probably not true. So you'll just have to take things with a grain of salt. You should be doing that anyways.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Just trying to find my way home
1/19/07
So I realized this morning that I’m restless. All week I’ve felt funky, not quite content, but not sure why. I have felt unmotivated and barely able to concentrate for more than like 15 minutes at a time. Then this morning I realized that nearly all of this week has been spent in front of my computer in Andreia’s office, typing and sitting, and typing and sitting. Then when I get home I want to do anything but think about work things, so I’ll read a book or put on a DVD on my computer, more sitting. Sure, I sometimes go running in the mornings, but that hasn’t seemed to shake this feeling that I just now have put a word to: restlessness. I’m bored in a weird sense. Not bored because nothing’s going on, not bored because I don’t have anything to do (quite the contrary), but needing to get up and do something different, something creative. I need to sing, write a song, dance in my room, something. And so when I get home today, that’s what I plan to do. Shut myself in my room and turn on the salsa music. Bring on the reckless abandon. Even as I’m typing this, my foot is incessantly tapping, needing to break away from this awful screen I’ve been staring at for too long. With that I’m putting the computer away for a few minutes. That’s it. Cold turkey. It’s gotta be done.
But before I officially quit, I wanted to include a passage I just recently read in a book about youth at disadvantage that is kind of relevant to the topic, regarding how we run our days and compartmentalize time and people.
“’We have been fooled into believing time is real; it isn’t, of course. It is an invention of the human mind for describing change and motion. Not until very recently have humans ever tried to govern their life activity by numbers generated by a tiny machine. The great cycle of seasons and of the day, the natural development of growth, these were time. The rest is only as real as we want it to be. And as demanding.’
In contrast to time, relationships are real. They exist in the intimate spaces of our lives where we narrow the distance between ourselves and others. Family, friendship, community—these are the bonds of reality.
Today these bonds are being torn apart by the hands of Western time. We have a new idiom for that…to mask the continued destruction of love in our society: it is called ‘quality’ time. Now not only are we quantifying time, we are qualifying it. We are willing into existence the illusion that love can be measured by seconds or minutes; that ‘human relationships can be made warm in the microwave of quick encounters.’
We cannot care for children in convenient time; we cannot learn from our elders in convenient time; we cannot maintain marriages in convenient time. The result of adjusting our lives to the fiction of time will inevitably be empty adults, lonely elders, and neglected children.” (Reclaiming Youth at Risk: Our hope for the future, Brendtro, Brokenleg, and Van Bockern, 1998)
And living by this fiction of time makes you ignore the creative moments, which can be had outside of the “after 5:30pm” timeframe. Hence journaling in the middle of “work time”. Ha!
1/24/07
Lately I have been missing home a lot. Not just wishing my family was here, but wishing I was there. My head has lately convinced itself that everything was paradise in my life in the States (which it wasn’t) and that everything here is ten times harder (which is only partly true), and things that I didn’t like at the time have become fond memories that make me long to go back. Lately it just seems like everything is so much harder than it needs to be here, and I find myself becoming apathetic. I dread going to work everyday, and when I’m there I count the hours until I don’t have to pretend like I’m doing something so I can go home and retreat into my solitude. How miserable does that sound? And it’s not that bad, it’s just that I think I’m realizing that part (or much) of why I am shut up in front of a computer every day is my own doing. I realized I am afraid of venturing away to do the things I want to do because it requires so much effort, patience, and competencies that I’m beginning to convince myself I don’t have. My language is suffering because I’m not using it as much and don’t have the drive to make it better, try to explain myself, or try to learn. And this week my heart is just being weighed down with this indefinable yet distinct sadness, one that won’t go away no matter what half-hearted attempts I make to force it out of my system. I can’t find my “happy place”, and it’s a familiar feeling. Everywhere I go in life I come across the same feeling once in awhile, that feeling that you’re not quite where you want or need to be, that you’re continually searching and not finding that final place that feels right.
Everything I want to do at the Center feels impossible to me right now, partly because I have little real experience in getting some of these things underway, and partly because I mostly feel like I’m doing it on my own, without anyone else motivated enough to help me. It’s so frustrating trying to get the monitoras to help you out with anything, like planning a trip to the beach or a hike to the big tree. Even though the girls want to, the monitoras won’t make the effort. And I know that’s my job: I’m supposed to be a mobilizer, find ways to get people doing things, getting interested. But sometimes it feels impossible! And sometimes I wonder if even I am motivated enough to do it. You can’t motivate anyone by sitting behind a computer all day; but sometimes the feeling of it all is too daunting, too easy to run away from. Every day I fight myself to keep from saying that Cape Verdeans are lazy, don’t want change, and take for granted the level of support and development assistance they have and are receiving. They’re not in that desperate state that makes them appreciate much of anything, they have come to expect it, the worst kind of apathy. And I don’t want that attitude to be fostered in the girls at the Center, though I can see it happening. I know that given the right circumstances, maybe I could make a difference, change even one person’s attitude, but suddenly I have lost what it takes to try. I don’t know where it went, it just left. And I’m starting to see why Peace Corps in Cape Verde has such a high ET (early termination) rate, because people just start to lose that motivation. They’re not continually reminded of why they’re even needed there in the first place, because Cape Verde has such a relatively elevated level of development (we’re nowhere near sub-Saharan Africa standards), which also allows for an environment similar enough to their comfortable American lives that they no longer see the difference between living here and living at home. Plus it’s a pain in the ass to get yourself pumped up every day and motivated to make a difference in a country of people that often don’t seem to want things badly enough to do it themselves. Some foreigner has always come in and done it for them. They just want their new mp3 players and 50 Cent albums to come in from the outside so they can look like the modern world without having to really do anything for it. And maybe this is just my perspective because I don’t live in the fora, in the rural areas, where maybe they work hard and recognize more needs that exist, but here it often just feels like materialistic city living. The exact things I didn’t like about living in the US.
It’s no longer that I’m not getting things done because I’m too busy, but simply because I’m not motivated enough. I know I could manage my time much better and take care of my mental health so that I can be fired up to go out and make a difference, making mistakes and learning as I go. But somewhere along the way I lost the will to tell myself these things over and over again. Maybe it’s lack of emotional support from the outside, maybe I just let feelings of inadequacy take over, maybe I just don’t feel good about myself anymore, maybe I just don’t know what I want anymore. Whatever it is, it has to change if I want to stay here and get things done. If I went back to the States I would be miserable. If I stay here without changing my attitude, I have the same situation. And so I need a kick in the ass, I suppose, something to wake me up and cure that piece of my heart that is bleeding.
* * *
About that kick in the ass…though not enough to entirely remove me from my funk, my call was answered with a brief surprise. I was just called downstairs because we received four more packages of donations from the States, the three that my aunt and uncle sent, and one from my dad. So I went through all of the beautiful, wonderful, and thoughtful things that were collected to be given to these forgotten girls, and as I counted the blessings, I felt ashamed that I couldn’t even get up the motivation to organize simple activities for them. And I think I’m scared. Scared to go into the unknown territory that I thought I wanted for so long but never fully embraced. I spent all this time in school and traveling learning what it was I had a passion for, learning what beautiful things I wanted to see done, but never actually stepping in to do them. Never being thrown in to gain the experience that would make all these beautiful things happen, never truly leaving what was comfortable and safe for long enough to feel the pain of empty loneliness or hopelessness. It’s easy to feel idealistic and hopeful when you sit at home in comfort and think up wonderful ideas of how to save the world. It’s easy and motivating when you’re surrounded by people who also want to save the world, who can relate to you and share your mission, and speak your language. I miss LASP, and even some parts of grad school in Missoula. Out here actually doing it, struggling through each day is another story. Some days you can clearly think through all the things you want to see done, envisioning them being carried out. Other days you can’t seem to put one foot in front of the other, don’t know exactly what to do next. Most days are like the latter for me. I know abstractly (and even in some cases concretely) what I want to happen, what the end result should be, but getting there seems sometimes like a nightmare. And I’m always wanting, always trying to escape reality, to run away from the fear of actually doing. Wanting to go back to those times I’ve enjoyed. I have this picture of myself drinking a big cup of coffee, driving on the open road, music blaring, totally free, and this picture always pops up into my mind on those days when I want to get away. Because those were simple happy times that I want back. Times that don’t make the pain go away, and don’t make the world better, and that don’t give me life satisfaction, but things that I want back. Sometimes I just feel so unprepared, so naïve, so alone. Like I’m making it up as I go along. Maybe that’s life, but I don’t like feeling like I have no idea what I’m doing. It pushes me back into my turtle shell, sitting where I’m safe and protected, here in front of the computer screen.
So I realized this morning that I’m restless. All week I’ve felt funky, not quite content, but not sure why. I have felt unmotivated and barely able to concentrate for more than like 15 minutes at a time. Then this morning I realized that nearly all of this week has been spent in front of my computer in Andreia’s office, typing and sitting, and typing and sitting. Then when I get home I want to do anything but think about work things, so I’ll read a book or put on a DVD on my computer, more sitting. Sure, I sometimes go running in the mornings, but that hasn’t seemed to shake this feeling that I just now have put a word to: restlessness. I’m bored in a weird sense. Not bored because nothing’s going on, not bored because I don’t have anything to do (quite the contrary), but needing to get up and do something different, something creative. I need to sing, write a song, dance in my room, something. And so when I get home today, that’s what I plan to do. Shut myself in my room and turn on the salsa music. Bring on the reckless abandon. Even as I’m typing this, my foot is incessantly tapping, needing to break away from this awful screen I’ve been staring at for too long. With that I’m putting the computer away for a few minutes. That’s it. Cold turkey. It’s gotta be done.
But before I officially quit, I wanted to include a passage I just recently read in a book about youth at disadvantage that is kind of relevant to the topic, regarding how we run our days and compartmentalize time and people.
“’We have been fooled into believing time is real; it isn’t, of course. It is an invention of the human mind for describing change and motion. Not until very recently have humans ever tried to govern their life activity by numbers generated by a tiny machine. The great cycle of seasons and of the day, the natural development of growth, these were time. The rest is only as real as we want it to be. And as demanding.’
In contrast to time, relationships are real. They exist in the intimate spaces of our lives where we narrow the distance between ourselves and others. Family, friendship, community—these are the bonds of reality.
Today these bonds are being torn apart by the hands of Western time. We have a new idiom for that…to mask the continued destruction of love in our society: it is called ‘quality’ time. Now not only are we quantifying time, we are qualifying it. We are willing into existence the illusion that love can be measured by seconds or minutes; that ‘human relationships can be made warm in the microwave of quick encounters.’
We cannot care for children in convenient time; we cannot learn from our elders in convenient time; we cannot maintain marriages in convenient time. The result of adjusting our lives to the fiction of time will inevitably be empty adults, lonely elders, and neglected children.” (Reclaiming Youth at Risk: Our hope for the future, Brendtro, Brokenleg, and Van Bockern, 1998)
And living by this fiction of time makes you ignore the creative moments, which can be had outside of the “after 5:30pm” timeframe. Hence journaling in the middle of “work time”. Ha!
1/24/07
Lately I have been missing home a lot. Not just wishing my family was here, but wishing I was there. My head has lately convinced itself that everything was paradise in my life in the States (which it wasn’t) and that everything here is ten times harder (which is only partly true), and things that I didn’t like at the time have become fond memories that make me long to go back. Lately it just seems like everything is so much harder than it needs to be here, and I find myself becoming apathetic. I dread going to work everyday, and when I’m there I count the hours until I don’t have to pretend like I’m doing something so I can go home and retreat into my solitude. How miserable does that sound? And it’s not that bad, it’s just that I think I’m realizing that part (or much) of why I am shut up in front of a computer every day is my own doing. I realized I am afraid of venturing away to do the things I want to do because it requires so much effort, patience, and competencies that I’m beginning to convince myself I don’t have. My language is suffering because I’m not using it as much and don’t have the drive to make it better, try to explain myself, or try to learn. And this week my heart is just being weighed down with this indefinable yet distinct sadness, one that won’t go away no matter what half-hearted attempts I make to force it out of my system. I can’t find my “happy place”, and it’s a familiar feeling. Everywhere I go in life I come across the same feeling once in awhile, that feeling that you’re not quite where you want or need to be, that you’re continually searching and not finding that final place that feels right.
Everything I want to do at the Center feels impossible to me right now, partly because I have little real experience in getting some of these things underway, and partly because I mostly feel like I’m doing it on my own, without anyone else motivated enough to help me. It’s so frustrating trying to get the monitoras to help you out with anything, like planning a trip to the beach or a hike to the big tree. Even though the girls want to, the monitoras won’t make the effort. And I know that’s my job: I’m supposed to be a mobilizer, find ways to get people doing things, getting interested. But sometimes it feels impossible! And sometimes I wonder if even I am motivated enough to do it. You can’t motivate anyone by sitting behind a computer all day; but sometimes the feeling of it all is too daunting, too easy to run away from. Every day I fight myself to keep from saying that Cape Verdeans are lazy, don’t want change, and take for granted the level of support and development assistance they have and are receiving. They’re not in that desperate state that makes them appreciate much of anything, they have come to expect it, the worst kind of apathy. And I don’t want that attitude to be fostered in the girls at the Center, though I can see it happening. I know that given the right circumstances, maybe I could make a difference, change even one person’s attitude, but suddenly I have lost what it takes to try. I don’t know where it went, it just left. And I’m starting to see why Peace Corps in Cape Verde has such a high ET (early termination) rate, because people just start to lose that motivation. They’re not continually reminded of why they’re even needed there in the first place, because Cape Verde has such a relatively elevated level of development (we’re nowhere near sub-Saharan Africa standards), which also allows for an environment similar enough to their comfortable American lives that they no longer see the difference between living here and living at home. Plus it’s a pain in the ass to get yourself pumped up every day and motivated to make a difference in a country of people that often don’t seem to want things badly enough to do it themselves. Some foreigner has always come in and done it for them. They just want their new mp3 players and 50 Cent albums to come in from the outside so they can look like the modern world without having to really do anything for it. And maybe this is just my perspective because I don’t live in the fora, in the rural areas, where maybe they work hard and recognize more needs that exist, but here it often just feels like materialistic city living. The exact things I didn’t like about living in the US.
It’s no longer that I’m not getting things done because I’m too busy, but simply because I’m not motivated enough. I know I could manage my time much better and take care of my mental health so that I can be fired up to go out and make a difference, making mistakes and learning as I go. But somewhere along the way I lost the will to tell myself these things over and over again. Maybe it’s lack of emotional support from the outside, maybe I just let feelings of inadequacy take over, maybe I just don’t feel good about myself anymore, maybe I just don’t know what I want anymore. Whatever it is, it has to change if I want to stay here and get things done. If I went back to the States I would be miserable. If I stay here without changing my attitude, I have the same situation. And so I need a kick in the ass, I suppose, something to wake me up and cure that piece of my heart that is bleeding.
* * *
About that kick in the ass…though not enough to entirely remove me from my funk, my call was answered with a brief surprise. I was just called downstairs because we received four more packages of donations from the States, the three that my aunt and uncle sent, and one from my dad. So I went through all of the beautiful, wonderful, and thoughtful things that were collected to be given to these forgotten girls, and as I counted the blessings, I felt ashamed that I couldn’t even get up the motivation to organize simple activities for them. And I think I’m scared. Scared to go into the unknown territory that I thought I wanted for so long but never fully embraced. I spent all this time in school and traveling learning what it was I had a passion for, learning what beautiful things I wanted to see done, but never actually stepping in to do them. Never being thrown in to gain the experience that would make all these beautiful things happen, never truly leaving what was comfortable and safe for long enough to feel the pain of empty loneliness or hopelessness. It’s easy to feel idealistic and hopeful when you sit at home in comfort and think up wonderful ideas of how to save the world. It’s easy and motivating when you’re surrounded by people who also want to save the world, who can relate to you and share your mission, and speak your language. I miss LASP, and even some parts of grad school in Missoula. Out here actually doing it, struggling through each day is another story. Some days you can clearly think through all the things you want to see done, envisioning them being carried out. Other days you can’t seem to put one foot in front of the other, don’t know exactly what to do next. Most days are like the latter for me. I know abstractly (and even in some cases concretely) what I want to happen, what the end result should be, but getting there seems sometimes like a nightmare. And I’m always wanting, always trying to escape reality, to run away from the fear of actually doing. Wanting to go back to those times I’ve enjoyed. I have this picture of myself drinking a big cup of coffee, driving on the open road, music blaring, totally free, and this picture always pops up into my mind on those days when I want to get away. Because those were simple happy times that I want back. Times that don’t make the pain go away, and don’t make the world better, and that don’t give me life satisfaction, but things that I want back. Sometimes I just feel so unprepared, so naïve, so alone. Like I’m making it up as I go along. Maybe that’s life, but I don’t like feeling like I have no idea what I’m doing. It pushes me back into my turtle shell, sitting where I’m safe and protected, here in front of the computer screen.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Hello...?
This isn't really a blog entry, just a shameless cry for attention. I was just wondering if anyone out there is reading these, besides my mom (love you mama:)). I have no doubt there are, but at times I just like feedback, need to know I'm not crazy for writing the things I do. Am I? Really, if you have nothing to say, it's alright, but sometimes it gets lonely out here in the world and you need some assurance.
Okay, that's all, just a plea for love. Hope everyone's doing well and loves life!
Okay, that's all, just a plea for love. Hope everyone's doing well and loves life!
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Mostra-m ki bu ten
1/13/07
So IST was rescheduled for the end of March. So stupid. Not only am I impatient and don’t want to wait to see everyone, but that leaves only a month and a half before the new group comes and we have PST on our hands. Plus the second year PCVs are going to start closing their service around August, so that leaves them with an in-service training like 4 months before they leave. Genius. Oh well. I guess that gives me more time to get back into shape before I see everyone, haha:).
Work at the ICCA Center (I keep forgetting to call it ICCA, which is what the ICM was changed to) has been quite the roller coaster this week, as usual. One day I’m elated and so glad to be there, feeling good about language skills, loving the girls, and getting excited about the work I’m doing or going to start. The next day I’m crying to Andreia about how it’s just too much, not a second free during my day, which is filled with fighting, screaming, mentally disturbed young girls. Aracy, one of the other girls with “diminished mental capacity” has been upset and difficult since the holidays, when she realized she couldn’t be with her family on Fogo for Christmas. So she got more and more agitated since then and began to take over Zelda’s role of fighting with everyone, screaming, breaking windows, and trying to run away. There wasn’t a moment’s peace, she would bang incessantly on the doors every few minutes, screaming insults at everyone, and generally making work difficult. Then we took her to Trindade (the institution) for her monthly consultation, where she realized if she kept it up, she would end up being institutionalized. This sufficiently scared her and ever since she has been almost her great, old, hilarious self. On her good days, Aracy is one my favorites. Unfortunately, the minute Aracy improved, Zelda took over, starting fights with all the girls, harshly insulting everyone, and aggressively attacking anyone who tried to calm her down. Two days in a row we had to tie up her ankles, legs, and wrists so that she couldn’t hit, slap, and fight with all of us. Most of the staff now has deep scratch marks where she dug her fingernails into us. It was awful to have to do, I hated holding her down while they tied her up, I hated watching her try to bite Andreia, I hated hearing her insult all of the girls and workers of the Center, and I hated hearing her call me names and tell me to go back to America. Most of all I hate admitting that we’re going to have to send her away from the Center. We can’t keep her there anymore, we don’t have the resources or the manpower, or the preparation (mentally, professionally, etc.), and the other 37 girls are suffering for it. Girls that are already aggressive and in need of attention and love can’t deal with a mentally ill girl screaming heinous words at them all day. A few ugly comments, and the girls have their fists up, ready to fight. They’re fed up with it, and they all want her to leave. At first they were good at trying to understand Zelda’s illness, trying to befriend her and be patient with her, but it’s too much now. They’ve reached their limit, and now the environment of the Center is suffering. If she stays, any number of things could happen, and eventually someone would end up getting pretty hurt. So on Monday we have to send notice to Praia that we no longer believe she should stay in the Center. Sucky, but necessary.
On a more positive note, I’m starting my English classes for the older girls on Tuesday, and they’re pretty excited about it. I have never taught before, so it will be interesting, but I’m eager to get the experience. And the girls I’m teaching are great girls (well they’re all great, but you know…), so hopefully they’ll be the easy students, willing to try and to participate. We’ll see, wish me luck:). It’s one more thing to add to my days, but I think it will be worth it. Today we decided to go to Tarrafal to hang out at the beach and go to their Saint’s day festival tonight, so I’ll get a day of rest, which I need. Yes, technically I just got back from vacation, but it wasn’t the vacation I thought it would be, with IST right afterward. I didn’t get my week at the beach with PCVs that I thought I would. So I’m about to leave for the beach. That said, I’m leaving you all to go slather on sunscreen and soak in the gorgeous island rays. Have a good weekend, everyone.
So IST was rescheduled for the end of March. So stupid. Not only am I impatient and don’t want to wait to see everyone, but that leaves only a month and a half before the new group comes and we have PST on our hands. Plus the second year PCVs are going to start closing their service around August, so that leaves them with an in-service training like 4 months before they leave. Genius. Oh well. I guess that gives me more time to get back into shape before I see everyone, haha:).
Work at the ICCA Center (I keep forgetting to call it ICCA, which is what the ICM was changed to) has been quite the roller coaster this week, as usual. One day I’m elated and so glad to be there, feeling good about language skills, loving the girls, and getting excited about the work I’m doing or going to start. The next day I’m crying to Andreia about how it’s just too much, not a second free during my day, which is filled with fighting, screaming, mentally disturbed young girls. Aracy, one of the other girls with “diminished mental capacity” has been upset and difficult since the holidays, when she realized she couldn’t be with her family on Fogo for Christmas. So she got more and more agitated since then and began to take over Zelda’s role of fighting with everyone, screaming, breaking windows, and trying to run away. There wasn’t a moment’s peace, she would bang incessantly on the doors every few minutes, screaming insults at everyone, and generally making work difficult. Then we took her to Trindade (the institution) for her monthly consultation, where she realized if she kept it up, she would end up being institutionalized. This sufficiently scared her and ever since she has been almost her great, old, hilarious self. On her good days, Aracy is one my favorites. Unfortunately, the minute Aracy improved, Zelda took over, starting fights with all the girls, harshly insulting everyone, and aggressively attacking anyone who tried to calm her down. Two days in a row we had to tie up her ankles, legs, and wrists so that she couldn’t hit, slap, and fight with all of us. Most of the staff now has deep scratch marks where she dug her fingernails into us. It was awful to have to do, I hated holding her down while they tied her up, I hated watching her try to bite Andreia, I hated hearing her insult all of the girls and workers of the Center, and I hated hearing her call me names and tell me to go back to America. Most of all I hate admitting that we’re going to have to send her away from the Center. We can’t keep her there anymore, we don’t have the resources or the manpower, or the preparation (mentally, professionally, etc.), and the other 37 girls are suffering for it. Girls that are already aggressive and in need of attention and love can’t deal with a mentally ill girl screaming heinous words at them all day. A few ugly comments, and the girls have their fists up, ready to fight. They’re fed up with it, and they all want her to leave. At first they were good at trying to understand Zelda’s illness, trying to befriend her and be patient with her, but it’s too much now. They’ve reached their limit, and now the environment of the Center is suffering. If she stays, any number of things could happen, and eventually someone would end up getting pretty hurt. So on Monday we have to send notice to Praia that we no longer believe she should stay in the Center. Sucky, but necessary.
On a more positive note, I’m starting my English classes for the older girls on Tuesday, and they’re pretty excited about it. I have never taught before, so it will be interesting, but I’m eager to get the experience. And the girls I’m teaching are great girls (well they’re all great, but you know…), so hopefully they’ll be the easy students, willing to try and to participate. We’ll see, wish me luck:). It’s one more thing to add to my days, but I think it will be worth it. Today we decided to go to Tarrafal to hang out at the beach and go to their Saint’s day festival tonight, so I’ll get a day of rest, which I need. Yes, technically I just got back from vacation, but it wasn’t the vacation I thought it would be, with IST right afterward. I didn’t get my week at the beach with PCVs that I thought I would. So I’m about to leave for the beach. That said, I’m leaving you all to go slather on sunscreen and soak in the gorgeous island rays. Have a good weekend, everyone.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Home again, home again, jiggity jig
1/8/07
How was my brief vacation? Hmmm…well I suppose it was what it was supposed to be, in more ways than one. I had a great time seeing other Volunteers, traveling to other islands, and enjoying the beach. I thought very little about anything work-related, and I got to eat out on several occasions. At the same time, now that I’m back I realize the vacation showed me that a few days away doesn’t erase all the stress of working with troubled children, that comes rushing back to punch you in the face. Maybe no amount of vacation can de-stress you enough to return ready to fight back. But first for a summary of the vacation.
We were set to leave Wednesday evening, giving us the day to get ready, tie up loose ends, etc. The airlines called me at 8-ish in the morning to let me know that the flight had been changed—but not delayed as might be normal in the States, it was almost 8 hours early. Which meant we had to scramble to throw things in a bag and get on the road in order to make it to the airport in time. It also meant we had some extra time in Sal, so can’t complain too much. We explored the beach that afternoon, gasped at the sight of all the white tourists, and came back to fix Kyle dinner that night. I’m not lying about the white-ness: we both felt like we were in Santa Monica, California, except with a bunch of different languages being spoken by the scattered Europeans. It was such a bizarre feeling, we were 80% convinced we were no longer in Cape Verde. Everyone spoke English to us, not even Portuguese, as many people on Santiago assume we speak. Even when we tried to speak Criolu back, most people kept speaking English, amused and probably befuddled that we were speaking what seems to only remain as remnants of a mother tongue that used to be. There seems to be a huge loss of language, with virtually no respect for Criolu or its significance to their culture. To make money, everyone learns English, French, Italian, maybe some German, and of course Portuguese. We spoke more Criolu with the Africans that come from the continent to sell arts and crafts—the ones that don’t natively speak Criolu and learned it when they got here. It’s just a strange feeling, one that was very unsettling for me. I’ll get to my rant on tourism later. For now, on with the rest of vacation. We spent virtually all of our time in Sal shuttling back and forth between Espargos (where Kyle lives) and Santa Maria, where the nice beautiful beach is, eating out, looking for trinkets, and enjoying the beach. Which was as gorgeous and white-sandy as I expected:). Unfortunately it was crazy windy the whole time we were there, so it was a little cold, too cold to swim, but gorgeous nonetheless. Our last afternoon there we went to Pedra de Lume, where the salt mines are so Mel could enjoy rocks and geology on her birthday. I thought it was pretty cool, I hope she liked it.
We flew into Boavista on Friday evening (about 8 ½ hours after originally planned) to meet Nadia, Leland, and Caryn for a small Capricorn party for those of us with birthdays between mine and Nadia’s. We made dinner, chatted, caught up on all the gossip and work news we’d been experiencing the last 3 months, and just basically had a chill evening. The next day we spent entirely at the beach, within short walking distance from their house. Let me just say, so far Boavista is one of the best islands, aside of course from the one I call home. It was so relaxed, so beautiful, so calming. We had the beach virtually to ourselves, save a few Europeans who live and work there and spend their days kite-surfing and windsurfing. It was such a different feel from Sal, so much less stressful and unnerving. We laid there all day, uninterrupted and stopping only to eat when we felt like it. I’m not sure I can explain it, but Boavista just had a different air to it, a clean, calm, and tranquil air that hopefully won’t change drastically as the push for tourism spreads like a virus through the islands. We spent the night drinking and being merry, playing cards and having a good time before leaving the next morning. We were supposed to be coming home to IST (in-service training) on Monday morning, but Peace Corps in all its genius decided on Friday to cancel, or temporarily postpone IST due to the potential of having flight issues with the winds coming in from the Sahara. So disappointing. Though no one was probably looking much forward to sitting in sessions all day like in PST, we were all really excited to see everyone, coming together for the first time since training. I suppose it will have to wait till the end of the month, or whenever they decide to reschedule it. It’s frustrating, though, and caused a lot of hassle for people’s travel plans, as many people who had already left for other islands to get to Santiago got stuck there. It all seemed so unnecessary, but I’m sure there are reasons for it—there always have to be reasons, even ones we don’t like. Can’t let disorganization stress you out or it will be a long 2 years. Well, now more like 1 ½. Anyway, that leaves me back at work on this lovely Monday morning when I wasn’t emotionally prepared for it. More on that later. Thus, in conclusion: my vacation was extremely short yet much-needed and beneficial. No work was done, books were read, and rest was had.
Okay, prepare for a rant on tourism to follow, as promised:
I know most people praise the merits of tourism as the almighty answer to poverty and lack of resources, but there is still something very large that doesn’t sit right with me. It’s such a blatant abuse of the power differential that exists in the world and between cultures, creating a servile culture where Cape Verdeans have to kiss the ass of the rich white foreigners that come on vacation in order to survive. Yes, building huge luxury hotels and beachfront restaurants gives local citizens jobs as taxi drivers, hotel maids, waiters, etc. (all jobs serving in a position innately below the foreigners), but in actuality most of the money generated isn’t staying in the country, and certainly isn’t spreading to everyone. It creates a class divide, between those who have access to tourism and the ability to get a job, those with access to education and the ability to learn foreign languages, and those who still starve. It just feels like it’s taken advantage of a desperate situation: people who have few natural resources to provide a substantial income are looking for a way to eat and provide for family, and the great white saviors come in with the answer: building large disgusting displays of wealth that create the aura of “perfect beach hotspot for tourists” and providing wondrous jobs to boost the local economy. I suppose beggars can’t be choosers, right? But that’s exactly the point that frustrates me. Taking advantage of desperation because we are in a position to do so. I would feel better if there were at least significant efforts to make tourism projects more culturally-sensitive, or even to pause for a second to recognize that there is such a thing as culture. Globalization has its consequences, no matter how much we don’t want to acknowledge them. Already Criolu is being pushed aside, people are acting, talking, and looking more like foreigners, and there is little real sense of what constitutes real Cape Verdean culture. Europeans come in and are tickled with the handful of black people they see (many from the continent), nudging their spouse to gasp, “Honey, look at these neat little crafts the Cape Verdeans make to sell to us—such beautiful wooden masks!” when really none of it is made here or by Cape Verdeans. There’s nothing wrong with West Africans from the continent coming in to try and make a living, to do what they can to provide a better life; and if they find a market, good for them I suppose. But it seems to ignore the ability of Cape Verdeans to come in and corner the arts and crafts market themselves. Are they just too lazy to do it? I don’t know, and I don’t know what the real answer is that allows them to support their economy while preserving cultural identity, but this just doesn’t feel right. As we walked around Sal and saw all the huge luxury hotels on the beach, I kept thinking back to the videos we watched in my anthropology nonwestern social change class about rural tourism in African societies, how all these rich white tourists come in with their cameras thinking they can capture a new reality, missing the point altogether and changing things subtly in the process. They want the exotic, the dramatically different while still living in their own standard of comfort. Coming to see the “natives” while returning at night to their five-star hotel with a full bar, Jacuzzi, and day spa.
It’s difficult addressing the issue in a nation of islands, though, because geography allows that one island may receive the most tourism, without spreading the wealth to the other islands that may need it more. Additionally, tourists see one narrow aspect of the country’s culture, which in the case of Sal is nowhere near the culture of the rest of the country in some aspects. Can’t please everyone I suppose, and maybe I’m too cynical about the whole thing, but I think the Cape Verdeans deserve more. I don’t like seeing their need be taken advantage of so that we can come in and bring change on our terms, in our way. And the thing is, Cape Verde has been receiving aid for so many years, since the beginning of its existence as a colony of Portugal, and continuing with its only recent independence, that it has come to rely on it. It is a country that survives largely on international assistance, economically and socially. This has created a type of learned helplessness that lacks the mentality that they can think for themselves, create change for themselves, and do things on their own to provide sustenance for their existence. When you ask a Cape Verdean to come up with something new or creative, there seems to be little response, not sure what to say. They love to talk and have their opinion heard, but aren’t used to having to think of things critically, to problem solve on their own. This isn’t to say they are all mindless robots or lack creativity entirely, but just that it’s hard to get them to try new things or think up new things. If it’s not handed down from Portugal or Brazilian novellas, they are wary. And the thing is, Cape Verdean culture is so complex, including so many factors and influences, that I’ve never found it so difficult to sit here and try to describe with any definitive sense the culture that exists here. And perhaps that’s not really my job, to claim I can say anything concrete about a culture I’m not a member of, but in trying to ascertain the origins of the things I see, to see a reason or explanation for anything, is increasingly difficult. I can’t seem to draw clear lines anymore, especially when it comes to situations with my girls at the Center. I can’t tell if they behave as they do because they have terrible histories and family situations, or if it is some cultural aspect I haven’t yet perceived or been made aware of. I’m so careful not to tread on the sanctity of culture that I don’t want to place a label on anything, but there are so many things that grate against my socialization, what I’m used to. It’s hard to say anymore, which things come from which direction, are influenced by which country, come from which source. Is that an African trait, Portuguese, Brazilian, American, human nature in general? I don’t know what it is about me that wants to be able to specifically define origins, divide people and their culture, their behavior, but I suppose it has much to do with protection, with the sanctity of tradition and not wanting to lose one’s roots or something precious that exists in the indigenous, in the traditional as opposed to the modern. Anyway, I'm rambling again...more to come later, don't worry:)
How was my brief vacation? Hmmm…well I suppose it was what it was supposed to be, in more ways than one. I had a great time seeing other Volunteers, traveling to other islands, and enjoying the beach. I thought very little about anything work-related, and I got to eat out on several occasions. At the same time, now that I’m back I realize the vacation showed me that a few days away doesn’t erase all the stress of working with troubled children, that comes rushing back to punch you in the face. Maybe no amount of vacation can de-stress you enough to return ready to fight back. But first for a summary of the vacation.
We were set to leave Wednesday evening, giving us the day to get ready, tie up loose ends, etc. The airlines called me at 8-ish in the morning to let me know that the flight had been changed—but not delayed as might be normal in the States, it was almost 8 hours early. Which meant we had to scramble to throw things in a bag and get on the road in order to make it to the airport in time. It also meant we had some extra time in Sal, so can’t complain too much. We explored the beach that afternoon, gasped at the sight of all the white tourists, and came back to fix Kyle dinner that night. I’m not lying about the white-ness: we both felt like we were in Santa Monica, California, except with a bunch of different languages being spoken by the scattered Europeans. It was such a bizarre feeling, we were 80% convinced we were no longer in Cape Verde. Everyone spoke English to us, not even Portuguese, as many people on Santiago assume we speak. Even when we tried to speak Criolu back, most people kept speaking English, amused and probably befuddled that we were speaking what seems to only remain as remnants of a mother tongue that used to be. There seems to be a huge loss of language, with virtually no respect for Criolu or its significance to their culture. To make money, everyone learns English, French, Italian, maybe some German, and of course Portuguese. We spoke more Criolu with the Africans that come from the continent to sell arts and crafts—the ones that don’t natively speak Criolu and learned it when they got here. It’s just a strange feeling, one that was very unsettling for me. I’ll get to my rant on tourism later. For now, on with the rest of vacation. We spent virtually all of our time in Sal shuttling back and forth between Espargos (where Kyle lives) and Santa Maria, where the nice beautiful beach is, eating out, looking for trinkets, and enjoying the beach. Which was as gorgeous and white-sandy as I expected:). Unfortunately it was crazy windy the whole time we were there, so it was a little cold, too cold to swim, but gorgeous nonetheless. Our last afternoon there we went to Pedra de Lume, where the salt mines are so Mel could enjoy rocks and geology on her birthday. I thought it was pretty cool, I hope she liked it.
We flew into Boavista on Friday evening (about 8 ½ hours after originally planned) to meet Nadia, Leland, and Caryn for a small Capricorn party for those of us with birthdays between mine and Nadia’s. We made dinner, chatted, caught up on all the gossip and work news we’d been experiencing the last 3 months, and just basically had a chill evening. The next day we spent entirely at the beach, within short walking distance from their house. Let me just say, so far Boavista is one of the best islands, aside of course from the one I call home. It was so relaxed, so beautiful, so calming. We had the beach virtually to ourselves, save a few Europeans who live and work there and spend their days kite-surfing and windsurfing. It was such a different feel from Sal, so much less stressful and unnerving. We laid there all day, uninterrupted and stopping only to eat when we felt like it. I’m not sure I can explain it, but Boavista just had a different air to it, a clean, calm, and tranquil air that hopefully won’t change drastically as the push for tourism spreads like a virus through the islands. We spent the night drinking and being merry, playing cards and having a good time before leaving the next morning. We were supposed to be coming home to IST (in-service training) on Monday morning, but Peace Corps in all its genius decided on Friday to cancel, or temporarily postpone IST due to the potential of having flight issues with the winds coming in from the Sahara. So disappointing. Though no one was probably looking much forward to sitting in sessions all day like in PST, we were all really excited to see everyone, coming together for the first time since training. I suppose it will have to wait till the end of the month, or whenever they decide to reschedule it. It’s frustrating, though, and caused a lot of hassle for people’s travel plans, as many people who had already left for other islands to get to Santiago got stuck there. It all seemed so unnecessary, but I’m sure there are reasons for it—there always have to be reasons, even ones we don’t like. Can’t let disorganization stress you out or it will be a long 2 years. Well, now more like 1 ½. Anyway, that leaves me back at work on this lovely Monday morning when I wasn’t emotionally prepared for it. More on that later. Thus, in conclusion: my vacation was extremely short yet much-needed and beneficial. No work was done, books were read, and rest was had.
Okay, prepare for a rant on tourism to follow, as promised:
I know most people praise the merits of tourism as the almighty answer to poverty and lack of resources, but there is still something very large that doesn’t sit right with me. It’s such a blatant abuse of the power differential that exists in the world and between cultures, creating a servile culture where Cape Verdeans have to kiss the ass of the rich white foreigners that come on vacation in order to survive. Yes, building huge luxury hotels and beachfront restaurants gives local citizens jobs as taxi drivers, hotel maids, waiters, etc. (all jobs serving in a position innately below the foreigners), but in actuality most of the money generated isn’t staying in the country, and certainly isn’t spreading to everyone. It creates a class divide, between those who have access to tourism and the ability to get a job, those with access to education and the ability to learn foreign languages, and those who still starve. It just feels like it’s taken advantage of a desperate situation: people who have few natural resources to provide a substantial income are looking for a way to eat and provide for family, and the great white saviors come in with the answer: building large disgusting displays of wealth that create the aura of “perfect beach hotspot for tourists” and providing wondrous jobs to boost the local economy. I suppose beggars can’t be choosers, right? But that’s exactly the point that frustrates me. Taking advantage of desperation because we are in a position to do so. I would feel better if there were at least significant efforts to make tourism projects more culturally-sensitive, or even to pause for a second to recognize that there is such a thing as culture. Globalization has its consequences, no matter how much we don’t want to acknowledge them. Already Criolu is being pushed aside, people are acting, talking, and looking more like foreigners, and there is little real sense of what constitutes real Cape Verdean culture. Europeans come in and are tickled with the handful of black people they see (many from the continent), nudging their spouse to gasp, “Honey, look at these neat little crafts the Cape Verdeans make to sell to us—such beautiful wooden masks!” when really none of it is made here or by Cape Verdeans. There’s nothing wrong with West Africans from the continent coming in to try and make a living, to do what they can to provide a better life; and if they find a market, good for them I suppose. But it seems to ignore the ability of Cape Verdeans to come in and corner the arts and crafts market themselves. Are they just too lazy to do it? I don’t know, and I don’t know what the real answer is that allows them to support their economy while preserving cultural identity, but this just doesn’t feel right. As we walked around Sal and saw all the huge luxury hotels on the beach, I kept thinking back to the videos we watched in my anthropology nonwestern social change class about rural tourism in African societies, how all these rich white tourists come in with their cameras thinking they can capture a new reality, missing the point altogether and changing things subtly in the process. They want the exotic, the dramatically different while still living in their own standard of comfort. Coming to see the “natives” while returning at night to their five-star hotel with a full bar, Jacuzzi, and day spa.
It’s difficult addressing the issue in a nation of islands, though, because geography allows that one island may receive the most tourism, without spreading the wealth to the other islands that may need it more. Additionally, tourists see one narrow aspect of the country’s culture, which in the case of Sal is nowhere near the culture of the rest of the country in some aspects. Can’t please everyone I suppose, and maybe I’m too cynical about the whole thing, but I think the Cape Verdeans deserve more. I don’t like seeing their need be taken advantage of so that we can come in and bring change on our terms, in our way. And the thing is, Cape Verde has been receiving aid for so many years, since the beginning of its existence as a colony of Portugal, and continuing with its only recent independence, that it has come to rely on it. It is a country that survives largely on international assistance, economically and socially. This has created a type of learned helplessness that lacks the mentality that they can think for themselves, create change for themselves, and do things on their own to provide sustenance for their existence. When you ask a Cape Verdean to come up with something new or creative, there seems to be little response, not sure what to say. They love to talk and have their opinion heard, but aren’t used to having to think of things critically, to problem solve on their own. This isn’t to say they are all mindless robots or lack creativity entirely, but just that it’s hard to get them to try new things or think up new things. If it’s not handed down from Portugal or Brazilian novellas, they are wary. And the thing is, Cape Verdean culture is so complex, including so many factors and influences, that I’ve never found it so difficult to sit here and try to describe with any definitive sense the culture that exists here. And perhaps that’s not really my job, to claim I can say anything concrete about a culture I’m not a member of, but in trying to ascertain the origins of the things I see, to see a reason or explanation for anything, is increasingly difficult. I can’t seem to draw clear lines anymore, especially when it comes to situations with my girls at the Center. I can’t tell if they behave as they do because they have terrible histories and family situations, or if it is some cultural aspect I haven’t yet perceived or been made aware of. I’m so careful not to tread on the sanctity of culture that I don’t want to place a label on anything, but there are so many things that grate against my socialization, what I’m used to. It’s hard to say anymore, which things come from which direction, are influenced by which country, come from which source. Is that an African trait, Portuguese, Brazilian, American, human nature in general? I don’t know what it is about me that wants to be able to specifically define origins, divide people and their culture, their behavior, but I suppose it has much to do with protection, with the sanctity of tradition and not wanting to lose one’s roots or something precious that exists in the indigenous, in the traditional as opposed to the modern. Anyway, I'm rambling again...more to come later, don't worry:)
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