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.