Courtney's Cape Verde Experience...and then some

Movin on up.....to the east siiiiiide!

2009-03-26T15:55:00.004-01:00

Brief update: I FINALLY got a job out in DC, and will be moving out there in a few weeks! I start in about a month!

As much as I have complained about being unemployed for almost 6 months, I must consider myself very fortunate to have been given the perfect opportunity to get my feet wet. The job is with a global young leaders conference for which I will be a program coordinator, and it is only temporary, which is wonderful for me, because it gets me over to DC (which I've been hoping to do) to start the networking game. My hope is to stay in DC working with either refugee populations and/or international NGOs until I can get a chance to return to overseas work. Once I get over there, I'll have a better idea of how feasible that is and how long it will take. I've become very good at rolling with the punches and being flexible while still maintaining my lofty and unreasonable ideals.

Soooo, off I go to wrap up the professional project (hopefully 1-2 more days of work and I'm done!), pack my things, and head for the east coast! Don't worry, I'll always be a west coaster at heart, PNW born and bred. But it does seem as though I'm not the only one drawn to the energy of the capitol city--people have come out of the woodworks that I didn't even know live in DC! I'm not alone...it's comforting.

Okay that's all for now. Here's hoping I get to meet the President!!!

Resurfacing

2009-03-09T19:16:00.002-01:00

Apparently in America I suck as a blogger.

But I'm back for more, and here to start with an update as to what I'm doing. It shouldn't take long. I've continued to "enjoy" unemployment since I got back in late September, meaning my savings is quickly becoming nonexistent and I'm starting to consider employment in the fast food industry....okay maybe not that last part, but certainly my range of employment considerations and jobs I'm willing to apply for is expanding by the day. For those who aren't yet sick of hearing it, this economy blows. Suffice it to say this was probably the absolute worse time I could have come back to the US. Even if I came back highly qualified for various areas of employment, my competitors have increased more than ten-fold, and many of them have been working at least 10 years longer than I. It's a crazy unemployed world out there.

More specifically, I have been recently trying to relocate to the DC area, after having visited a few times and fallen in love with the energy of the city, along with the networking opportunities running rampant in the streets of the capital. You can smell the overachievement and name-dropping. Anyway, I think I could survive it for a couple of years to get my foot in the door with international NGOs before I try to get back overseas. This is option A. Option B is working in the Seattle area, a great city, my hometown, and also the home of multiple development agencies and intl NGOs. Option C (which is secretly the option I want the most but falls at the end of the list merely for feasibility issues) is moving to Brazil and finding whatever work is available, and/or hiding in the Amazon for awhile. Thanks to stringent Homeland Security regulations from the past 8 years (obrigada, Sr. Bush, a.k.a. B-dawg), it is a bit more difficult to move to Brazil hence its falling third on the list, but if I don't find anything in the next 2-3 months, I'm doing it. Period.

Aside from job talk, I suppose you could say I am kinda maybe sorta moving "successfully" past the cultural readjustment period associated with reentry. I hesitate to use the term successful, as it precludes the avoidance of all prolonged thought regarding Cape Verde or my life there lest I burst into tears and enter any form of depression. I've learned to compartmentalize, because if it comes at me all at once, I'm done for. And I admit that the "remembering my life and friends in a foreign country" compartment has been a bit neglected for the reasons mentioned above. Yes I keep in contact with people (sort of). Yes I have been doing presentations for students about Cape Verde and the Peace Corps (to keep myself busy, share my stories, and increase my odds of working as a Peace Corps recruiter, all very practical). But too much thought and I lose my ability to socially interact with others. Hmph. It is not as if my memory has erased all perspective of the difficulties I faced and the struggle it was to live and work in CV (those who read my blog know otherwise)....it's just been a lot of loss to face all at once. I grew so much, made a life for myself, and enjoyed the people I was around. I miss speaking Kriolu every day, I miss being challenged, I miss just having something to do with my time, too many things to do with my time.

But all that said, I am keeping perspective. I know that I need to enjoy this time, allow myself to debrief, relax, watch a few episodes of Law and Order, hang out with my parents, finish my masters project report. It's all very necessary, and I'm having a good time with it all, but after 5 months of this...it's starting to lose its appeal. Not to mention making student loan payments isn't getting any easier when money only goes out without coming in. At least I'm not paying rent.

All these months and overindulgence of political commentary and The Rachel Maddow Show have given me time to stew over my situation in the context of this political transition and economic meltdown. Though as I said before, I am staying positive and really could have found myself in a much worse situation, it's all seeming like I fall under the radar. Let me see if I can make this make sense: It gets exhausting hearing about Iraq and Afghanistan, not to mention the war in the Gaza strip (because foreign affairs and international relations ONLY refers to the Middle East, so f-ing annoying), hearing about the troops and supporting veterans when they come home (necessary of course, lest I sound unpatriotic), the need to create jobs and stimulate the economy, etc. etc. I feel bombarded with discussion of things that have nothing to do with me. When they talk about the stimulus plan they talk about creating jobs that won't affect me in the slightest, unless I'm planning a career change to construction or renewable energies. When they talk about supporting and employing veterans, that obviously doesn't involve me, as I am not even eligible for unemployment benefits having been a "volunteer" and not employed within the U.S. When I feel in the mood to indulge my soapbox, stepping up to wax poetic about the importance of Peace Corps and how under-appreciated we are, I think about how frustrating our national (or human) priorities are. Someone who dedicates their life to promoting peace, diplomacy, the development of marginalized populations, and all without getting paid or receiving recognition or the symbolic pat on the back, is so much less important or even noticed than someone who fights and kills largely because they have been convinced it is their patriotic duty by a country who is still convincing itself they should be somewhere they shouldn't. Don't worry, I'll quit while I'm ahead rather than deconstructing our nation's military or begging for attention for development or aid workers. I don't even know how I got on this track, a gift of free association and unplanned writing. I sympathize with the troops, I know that they put their lives and families on the line, trying to create a better future for themselves and others the only way they know how. But is it so unheard of to sacrifice for other, less glamorous objectives? I served my country, just in a different way. I guess this is the closet pacifist coming out in me.

Anyway, moving away from self-indulgent diatribes on the state of our union. All I mean to say is it sucks to have sacrificed two years and feel like you came out of it no better (in terms of competitiveness for employment, financial standing, or even social appreciation) than when you went in. This all sounds so self-serving I'm almost embarrassed to write it. No one who enters the development, relief, or aid scene, or who seeks to work in social services or with under-served populations does so for the recognition or financial remuneration. If they did, they'd be severely disappointed. I did not enter the Peace Corps hoping for applause as I stepped off the plane to come home, or a medal or plaque, or to gain immediate employment. I did so because of a passion for service, for youth, and for international development alone. So I'm not complaining, per se, nor am I surprised at this outcome, but am merely pausing to point out the inequality of it all. Messed up priorities in our world, has been like that for centuries. Probably not going to change any time soon.

So as not to end on a depressing or overly ponderous note, I will say that life is not so bad. I am getting lots of experience interviewing (one more coming up on Friday), exploring all kinds of employment options, getting back into drawing, and cuddling lots with my cat who I believe will never let me leave her side again. I am still experimenting with the Cape Verdean foods I remember how to make (or that we have the supplies to make...sadly I can't find midju kotxidu or congo beans), finally found an actual map of Cape Verde (harder than you'd think), and am teaching kids from Seattle that Cape Verde even exists. Peace Corps Third Goal team, take note.

With that, I will sign off for now. I hope this finds anyone out there who still reads this doing well and making it through potentially difficult times all over the world. Ki nos tudu djunta mon pa sobrevivi, ki nu ka skesi ki nos e capaz di fazi munti kuza.

How about some of those whiney blogs....?

2008-11-12T04:13:00.002-01:00

Well, as promised, the whole process of coming home and dealing with my still-crazy emotions hasn't eased up too much yet. Anyway, I thought I'd upload some of the writings done along the way. Not profound writings, just expulsion of feelings. Beware, I don't seek to hold back, these are the raw emotions, guys.

September 23, 2008

So much buildup to what seems an inevitable climax, life-changing in all its grandeur, and then…suddenly…you’re just….there. So quickly you feel yourself shutting out the shock, barring up the windows and hunching down for the fight ahead. It’s too scary to let all the senses awaken at once, too much to let it all enter, coming at you full speed. And so it becomes easier to shut off emotions, push those tears back, focus on other somethings.

It becomes dichotomized so easily: my reality vs. this reality. There—warm, brilliant, life, color, familiarity, relationships, hope, music, culture, language, beauty, challenge. Here—cold, frigid structures, strange, unwelcoming, alone, separate, crisis, failures, anxiety, unknown roads that lay ahead. There good, here bad. There was so familiar, so wonderful in all its imperfection and thinly veiled chaos. Here is overtly falling, crashing, strange and foreign, and disappointing in its lack of functionality. Why did I expect it to be different, better here?

I have this strange feeling that there is nothing I want here, that everything I want is back there. This feeling that I don’t belong and that here isn’t where I need or want to be. It doesn’t yet feel familiar and comforting, but instead distant and threatening. Threatens to suck me in, threatens to offer the normality of a life once known and never loved. So easy to fall back in, like everyone else. Yet there beckons me, and won’t give. Must go back, must get back out there, must make these longings and passions articulate.

How do you deal with so much loss all at once? Losing one of the best opportunities to come your way, losing a close family member to dreams you wish that you yourself were realizing. Losing the people who understand you to other more important preoccupations and other more important somebodies. Losing direction, losing vision, losing the people who walked alongside you and became your family. Losing the everyday things that you knew and loved, the language, the day-to-days, the everything that seemed to make up your core for who knows how long.

How strange that you can so easily fade into the background and become invisible. No excited “You’re back!”s, no inquisitive wonderings as per the thing that made you…you. It all adds up to too much free time alone, isolated with your thoughts. Which you thought at one point you wanted, but now don’t know what to do with. How does one be alone? It’s easy to feel alone, but not so easy to be alone and know how to fill that void, particularly when no one cares to help extract all the entrails of a changed and deflated life.

****

October 21, 2008

So many reasons to be sad, it's strange that I'm still here, that I haven't spontaneously combusted. Every moment is excruciating pain. Every minute unbearable without sufficient distraction. I've faced so much loss in a short period of time, it overwhelms my heart. They say to keep busy, but with what? How do I get back out there? How do I fill my day? How do I share my experience in a meaningful way? I ignore it, stuff it inside until it becomes too impossible to articulate. Until I can't really analyze it or process its importance. Until it fades into the background, loses its meaning and it's exactly what I don't want.

Lost the Gambia, which means the loss of not only a great opportunity, but the loss of certainty, the loss of stability, an entrance into the abyss. I wasn't expecting to have to figure all this other shit out so soon.

Lost Paige, which means losing a part of myself. I'm used to being far from her, but it's not just the distance. With every step she becomes someone I hope to recognize but don't know if I'll have the permission.

Lost my home. Leaving Cape Verde and everyone I know and love, my whole reality, was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Everything comfortable, everything that supported me, everything that defined me for over two years, the life I created. Words do no justice.

Switching worlds into something that no longer feels comfortable, natural, or normal is more complex than one really imagines. People say they understand, but it just can't be explained. Slowly you switch mental compartments and you remember what it was like to be here, but it never feels the same. I feel so out of place, unhappy, like everything here is cold and unfamiliar. Nothing waits for me here, nothing keeps me here.

Lost the surety of my decisions, no longer confident that what I choose is without consequence, feeling that even though I am confident and independent, I don't yet have what I want. And trying to get there seems to bring just as much heartbreak as joy. One simple choice turned my life on a different course. Lost so many opportunities and all for something I thought I wanted.

There I felt confident and proud. Here I have nothing to hold my head up, I feel shame, embarrassment, and unsteady. There I had an answer, here I hold no answers. Here I feel useless, unneeded, and unimportant. Weak. Nothing here makes me feel satisfied, fulfilled, excited. Trying to get psyched up about nothing, trying to act normal and self assured to fit back into a world everyone expects me to know.

***

10/29/08

I keep getting so mad at myself. Why did I foolishly get my hopes up? Why didn’t I listen when so many people said it was important to truly develop your plan B? I nodded confidently, secretly believing “I don’t need it, this is what I want, therefore it will work out”. Foolish. So many times my resolve and determination to do something I set my mind to has resulted in accomplishing what I want to do, but all that it produced was overconfidence. Cockiness. And now I have all this loss to deal with. I did the research, I read the blogs, I talked to people, I planned out what I wanted to do, I started learning the language, I had culturally-appropriate clothes made, everything. I was there in my mind. I had made the leap, there were no alternatives in my brainwashed psyche. Foolish. So how do I choose to respond? Do I take myself down a few notches and continue to blame myself, repeating the mantra that “I should have been better prepared”? Do I chastise my idealistic overconfidence and seek to be pessimistic or at best realistic next time? Or do I not let it affect my stride and continue to see myself as capable of anything, ready for the impossible, and meant for greater things? My heart doesn’t feel arrogant, but I guess just feels the need to hold myself to higher standards. Or feels that in order to accomplish great things one needs to be at least moderately convinced that they are a step ahead, of a “different” nature, made of a different grain. Delicate balance.

It’s hard to feel confident in the middle of nothing. Accomplishing nothing, contributing nothing, knowing no one, having no concrete leads, everyone telling you kindly “it’ll all work out” yet giving no specific advice. I am starting to feel like nothing. Not low self-esteem necessarily, but just here, a waste of space. It will pass, I know, because I am doing something (i.e. finishing the masters), but for the first time I don’t have a concrete to look forward to. All my unemployed moments have been a brief break, a holding pen, before the next thing lined up. Nothing is lined up now, I am defining my future, and what if I miss something? What if something giant is waiting in the hedges, and I walk right past it?

My mom made a comment that struck me this morning. I usually pride myself in being so self aware and courteous of others’ feelings, almost to a fault. Always saying what will please those around me, always making sure not to offend. Apparently Africa really did change that as I was starting to suspect. She said sometimes I expect too much of people, expect them to feel the same way I do, expect them to understand what I mean without a patient explanation. I expect them to have changed their views, or at least expect them to understand why I have. And all this time I thought I was hiding it well. I know intellectually that they haven’t changed and that I have, I expected that dissonance in conversations. But I suppose I thought I would be better at wading through the frustrating interactions, I thought I would be more patient. But I think at some level it’s just too difficult to be surrounded literally 90% of the time by people who think and feel drastically different than I do. It’s too much, too overwhelming to try and explain it all or to try and let everything slide, when almost everything they do or say makes you want to cringe. I feel the need to put the tape over my mouth, and part of me feels that it’s not fair (or healthy, as I will be prevented from truly processing and digesting it all), yet knows that it’s imperative so as to nurture relationships that should be important to me, and so as not to drive everyone away from me. That crazy girl who can’t stop talking about Africa and how much Americans don’t get it. I know I haven’t done a good job of tempering my frustration, depression, disappointment. But who do I talk to about it? I don’t see any allies around me, and it makes me feel desperate. Then I feel the need to resort to hiding, secluding myself reclusively in my house/room/local Starbucks, taking care of myself in my own way and suddenly without outlets. It’s hard to go from one large group of people (i.e. PCVs) who to some extent shared most of my beliefs and viewpoints, or at least could provide stimulating discussion to enrich my own views, to absolutely no one. I need to get hooked up to a group, or move to a different town, or do something. Because I’ve lost a network, and living without one doesn’t cut it.

And so I am disappointed in myself in so many ways. Despite all my training, all my supposed self-awareness (which admittedly fell to the side the last several months), despite all my firsthand knowledge and experience in cross-cultural adaptation and reverse cultural shock, I did not handle it well. Too much has changed.

What pride really feels like

2008-11-05T15:36:00.004-01:00

Seems likely everyone around the world knows by now---Barack Obama is our new 44th US President! Not surprisingly I imagined millions of people in forgotten countries huddled keenly around shortwave radios, perhaps even more anxiously awaiting the final words, knowing that their own fate would be largely affected by those words, and the fate of many others. I'm pretty sure joy could be considered an overall reaction in many of those countries.

I find it difficult to express my emotions in poetic enough words. I feel so privileged to have been home in time to have watched the tail end of this process, just enough time to get me hooked, hooked on Obama, enraptured by his genuine inspiration, and swept away with charged hope. I remember the first time I read one of his speeches, made at a graduation commencement ceremony at Wesleyan University. I was moved to tears in the middle of the public internet cafe. No one is a perfect President, no one can make the perfect decisions, but I am overwhelmingly of the belief that he is capable of doing great things. He has unified so many Americans, and largely people who needed unifying. He has brought together people who never thought they'd consider themselves in the same "camp". He has something in him that so many can identify with. Yes there are still many who criticize, whose ideological hangups and insignificant issue ranting prevent them from seeing the hope and what it means around the world. Yes, there are many who begrudgingly claim that he only won because of his skin color and that the only ones who can be excited and affected are fellow African Americans. I couldn't disagree more. I somehow feel I can identify with him every bit as much as African Americans in this country, though perhaps in different ways. I feel as though I elected him every bit as much as the rest of the nation, that my voice for the first time was heard.

During the last election, I was abroad, and having never received my absentee ballot, was unable to vote, rendering me impotent and useless in one of the few aspects of the political process where I DO have a say. It felt so disabling to see something occur that you could do nothing about, and watch it develop against all your hopes, against all your beliefs, sweeping you inevitably with it merely because you share a similar citizenship or national affiliation. Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I watched my and so many others' decision to mark a significant and beautiful name finally demand and affect change. I couldn't remember the last time I could honestly say I was proud to be an American; in fact, I spent most of my years running away from it, denying and ignoring it, regretfully admitting my nationality and immediately justifying "but I don't agree with what has been done in our name". A shame, and surely due in part to a certain level of immaturity. But all things aside, last night was the first time I can remember that with streaming tears I felt truly proud to be an American and to say that I took part in the first good decision we've made in awhile. I felt proud of the people that make up this country, rather than feeling a "WTF?" moment and wondering how I could feel so differently from my peers.

I feel proud to say Barack Obama is my new President not because he is "historically" the first African American President (although that does send some happy shivers down my spine, particularly the fact that he comes from mixed ethnic, religious, and national background)--this, though significant, is in some ways not the reason he was elected--but because he is a man of honor, steady calm, extreme intellect, ingenuity, courage, and so much more. Instead of feeling lukewarmly happy that we got a mediocre Democrat into office, I feel elated that we got the perfect candidate in there. I don't feel that he is the "typical" Democrat, certainly not just any candidate, but I feel he embodies the best of many worlds. I truly believe he will take us in a new direction, one we need to go in. One that involves pride through community and international service, fairness to a larger population of Americans, increased importance to education and healthcare.

It will get harder before it gets better; hopefully no one is too disillusioned as to believe that it is cake and ice cream from here, or that every single set of hands won't be needed in order to affect this change.

But for this moment, I just want to treasure how I feel. Seeing hundreds of thousands of Americans on TV blissfully crying at our new hope, leaving the plaza without one occurrence of violence or disrupt. No bitter fighting, just unity. Thousands of faces in every shape, size, and color, holding hands and cheering. Powerful.

Can't look away from a train wreck

2008-10-19T16:14:00.005-01:00

I don't know how to start this. I'm not only backed up on events but backed up on emotions. This may end up a series of entries, randomly processing the craziness that things have turned out to be.

I am back in the US. I got back on September 18th, staying a little longer than my fellow volunteers under the presumption that I would have some home leave before returning to Africa. However, I was informed that I had a recent medical development that could interfere with...well, my life. Which it turned out to do. No more transfer to the Gambia. No more plan A. Much less certainty as to where I will go and what I will do. I am still doing further testing and possibly procedures to clear it up, it's certainly nothing to worry too much about. But needless to say plans have changed a bit. Devastated? Yes. What can I do about it? Nothing.

I've been back for about a month now, and have been wandering around seeing people, had a family reunion in California, saw aunts and uncles in Spokane, spent a week in Arizona with family, and just spent this last week saying goodbye to my sister and best friend as she left for India, Nepal, Cambodia, and Thailand with her boyfriend. We dropped her off at the airport this morning and I'm not quite ready to explain the emotions yet. Later blog.

There are way too many things to attempt to address or deal with right now, needless to say I'm trying to take everything one day at a time without losing all concept of the future and the big picture. Leaving Cape Verde devastated me and my heart remains broken. I don't feel at home or happy here, nor do I truly want to stay here much longer than necessary. Not to be super negative, but truthfully it is hard being back. I felt there was nothing waiting for me here except my family and a few scattered friends still in the US and still remembering my name. I expected that, I've moved around too much to have any kind of stable friend base.

Anyway, before digressing into a rambling mess of unprocessed feelings about being back, this brief update will just serve to let you all know where I'm at. The plan for now is to hurry up and finish final touches on the Masters so that I can officially have it and apply to jobs, since now is prime time to get international jobs in my field. I'm exploring all my options, but am preferring to stick to international work, either for Peace Corps or an NGO, whichever works out. I'm still trying to decide if I want to jump into a bigtime job to help get rid of school loans, or if I want to follow my impulsive heart and be young, artistic, and travel around playing anthropologist. So many things to work through and so much quicker than I thought...thought I had another year to work all that out.

So here I am, dealing with so many things trying to rip my heart out, and I'm just trying to maintain calm for as long as possible. They say to keep busy, which makes perfect sense, except with what?? I have little to busy my time with it seems. Watching political commentary? Reading books and drinking too much coffee? I want to speak to people, groups, schools about my experience like everyone suggests, but how do you do that? I have this giant irrational fear that no one wants to hear it and I'll be unwelcome wherever I go. There are a lot of parts of you that become irrational after things like this. My English also sucks.

One day I will become articulate again, gain back my vocabulary. In the meantime, expect several whiney entries about my feelings and sorrow, using the few words that make sense to me now.

Parabens to me and my girls!

2008-07-07T17:22:00.035-01:00

The Fotovoz (Photovoice) exposition came and went this past Saturday, July 5th (ironically also my official 2-year anniversary in Cape Verde), providing the culminating moment of over a year's worth of pondering and planning this elaborate photo project.

For those who have followed my experiences within the CJA (girls' center) and have read my descriptions of the girls' behavior and backgrounds, it should be obvious that, needless to say, this project has not been the easiest to carry out. The planning, proposal-writing, seeking of support, etc. was hard enough considering the context and difficult lack of infrastructure, but once starting the training sessions I felt as though I literally had strapped in for a roller coaster ride (cliché but so true). I had some of my favorite moments in Cape Verde (seeing the excitement of receiving their first camera and experimenting to see how it works) and some of my least favorites, including sessions where I threatened to cancel the project if behavior and attitudes didn't start improving. I had volunteer youth come to help out and then quit, with a few sticking it out to the end. I had a change of three CJA coordinators who had to be re-oriented to the project and convinced to support me (by the way making this more "me-run" than I had originally intended). Among plenty of other set-backs and challenges, we charged on. Poku a poku we were able to get where we wanted to go. Not all of my goals were accomplished (I doubt I was even remotely successful at promoting leadership and responsibility, though seeds were surely planted), but in the end, we produced something I think was good.

So about the exposition. At the end of one of the most exhausting days I have had of late, we finally started Cape Verde-style, an hour late. The President of ICCA, who has been more or less involved in the project since conception, was supposed to do the abertura, or the final part of the opening ceremony. She cancelled at the last minute, failing to even call and let us know personally, and sent no one in her stead. So not even our own institution was accurately represented on our important day. But this is how things go, nothing to be done now. So we shifted around some roles, got our stuff together, and started the show.

The turn-out was less than we had hoped, with our invitees not all present, and a lot of the girls' family members absent. But those that were there were very supportive, and the girls were able to present their work.

After presenting the center and the importance of education (the theme the girls chose for the project and took subsequent photos regarding), I presented the project and its objectives, followed by three girls who participated, sharing their experience and what they had learned:

It was great to hear their perspective, and I think it really made the presentation much more valid or meaningful. Jéssica, the girl in the middle, made everyone laugh as she described how in the beginning they cut people's heads out of pictures, but then improved as they learned.

The master of ceremony was another girl from the CJA, one who had to drop out of the project because she contracted tuberculosis (she's fine now).

After we presented the project, we uncovered the photos, which were placed on three different placars, so that the audience could come see the work the girls did.

Each girl had their own section, showing the three photos they had chosen for exposition, along with a small profile explaining who they were, where they were from, and what they liked to do.

The audience and whoever else passed by were free to check out the photos for the rest of the afternoon. This was the advantage to having an open exposition in the plaza, as people were bound to come by that weren't aware of the event before.

The following is the kick-ass banner I made, myself, freehand. Yes, it is awesome, and yes I am awesome.This is the new CJA coordinator, Magui, who was very helpful in organizing the exposition and who likely was as exhausted as I was at the end of this day.

I put these poor CEJ youth (and many many more) to work this day, carrying this and that here and there. The big placars were pretty heavy, so I am grateful for my jovens. Even Booby helped, the lighter-skinned "DJ"; he is developmentally handicapped and so very sweet.

This is Ercília, my famous and adored psychologist, who was the other essential element to planning this exposition. Without her support, it wouldn't have been successful, or at least not as smoothly run as it was.

Even Aguido, my Peace Corps boss and APCD, came up to support me and my girls. Yeah, it's part of his job, but it was nice to see him there, cigarette in hand, smooth as ever.

Other Peace Corps friends showed up as well, which meant a lot to me, as I had spent so much time on this project. Jay, as you can see, was there as well:).

And here's my famous group! Aren't we all so lovely?

Okay, so I just had to include egotistical and vain pictures of myself, because I had such a beautiful skirt, made by Eneida's dad.

***

In other miscellaneous news beyond Fotovoz, we finally said goodbye to Eneida, though she refused to have a party. So we offered her framed photographs with space for all the youth to sign and write little messages for her. We presented it to her the Saturday before the exposition, and she loved it.

Also along Eneida lines (I feel like I must look obsessed with her...). She has recently and with my help, started her own bag-making business. I have helped her out with marketing and publicity, and we are starting to make her a catalog and website to open up her clientele. Everyone is in love with her bags, she does quality work, and I have no doubt it will take off beyond her expectations. She makes bags from the traditional panu di terra as well as almost any other material she can find. She takes requests for styles and colors, and she is able to make them quite quickly.

For publicity, we take pictures of all the bags she makes (also for the catalog). Trying to be creative, I turned her into a baglady for this shot.

And finally, here is a shot of my friend and CEJ youth Nelcy at her confirmation party. She has helped me out massively from the beginning of the Fotovoz project to the end (although she couldn't make the exposition).

Okay, I think that's enough for now. I'll try to update again shortly, or let's say I'll make as much effort as you all do in leaving comments! Haha. Okay just kidding. I'll write again soon.

Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go......

2008-07-01T08:43:00.009-01:00

I tried to write this blog twice. Difficult to formulate words…and then once formulated, I lost the blog I had written. So here I am, attempt #2.

My Chefia is gone. By Chefia I am referring to my dear, amazing, coffee-drinking colleague at the CEJ, Eneida. I didn’t talk about her too much in the blog, but she became a core element to my life in the last 9 months. As we were gearing up with tons of new projects and a massive restructuring of our youth corps, tragedy occurred. Granted it was slightly foreseen tragedy, but abrupt nonetheless. I just realized as I said tragedy that you all probably think she died. No, no, thank God no. She left the CEJ. She applied for a position working with the Peace Corps during PST, thinking she had permission from the CEJ to do both PST and work on continuing projects during her “extra” time (granted not the most realistic perspective, but could have worked). She got the position, only to be told by the CEJ that it wouldn’t work for her to do both (permission rescinded), and she had to leave the CEJ, dropping all of our projects on….me. Double sad. Now I’m stressed and alone at work.

It’s frustrating for so many reasons. 1) If I had known she wouldn’t be allowed to continue projects while doing PST, I would never have recommended her, and Peace Corps would never have hired her (they are now in an awkward position, stealing employees from their partnering institutions); 2) We worked SOOO well together and work was 10 times easier because we spurred ideas, creativity, and productivity in each other; 3) I am not a full-time CEJ employee, meaning I don’t have the time or energy to take on everything by myself—I was support rather than the forerunner, which is how it always should have been, no?; 4) So many of the youth had rejoined the group because of the team we had made, and many of them because of her open and wonderful spirit. They may now become a little more unmotivated; and 5) No more daily coffee breaks, though I have been meeting occasionally with my good friend Nitcha for coffee in her stead.

I was pretty sad about it all at first—really more exasperated, because as if I didn’t already have enough to do?? I am not just at the CEJ, but at the CJA (a place that increases your stress level by just walking through the door), and I have this huge photo project. Time is almost nonexistent. For the first few weeks I was so overwhelmed just about everyone I know made some kind of comment about my over-working. However, after a few weeks of adjustment, I am doing well with it all. Still stressed, but well. The youth are showing a bit of determination on their part, which makes me excited, and they still come to visit, which means they aren’t going to quit just because Eneida left. On another positive note, Paulo and I presented the youth corps restructure project to the National Coordinator for Volunteerism within the Secretary of State for Youth, and she was so excited and impressed, she wants to use it as example to be implemented in youth and volunteer institutions throughout all of Cape Verde. So that was nice validation. Would’ve been nice to have Eneida by my side to enjoy the praise, but life moves on.

Anyway, that’s done, and I’m pushing on forward like any good (or crazy) volunteer would do. As I mentioned, the photo project is wrapping up, and we have our exposition marked…drumroll, please….for this Saturday!! It’s finally happening, and I am neck-deep in preparations for the big event. Hopefully it will all go more or less according to plan and I can wash my hands of this deal. I am exhausted, and as much as I have enjoyed certain parts of the experience, it has been nowhere near easy. I will try and take pictures and then post them in the next few weeks.

Also, the Gambia is a go!! I am all kinds of mixed up about it, wondering if I was crazy to sign on for another year in rural Africa, coming up against many of the same frustrations I have felt these last 2 years, but I think I am ready for it. I think I will gain so much wonderful and valuable experience to then bring with me wherever I go. That alone is worth any “suffering” I can claim to go through. I am mostly excited for the new adventure, knowing it will make or break me officially in my career or non-career in international development. Assumingly after this I will either push forward or retreat to the American life. We’ll see.

For a long time I was more ready than can be expressed in words to return home, to leave this country, and to be done with the hardest 2 years of my life. I dreamt of America, counted the time, and became impatient at all the over-exaggerated annoyances of Cape Verdean culture, assuring myself that things would be better once I went home and moved on. This is changing. I am now a bit more reluctant to leave, realizing what all I have here, what all I’m leaving behind. I have so many wonderful relationships, have had so many experiences, I don’t quite know how to confront saying goodbye. And I’m worried that I will be so busy these last few months of service that it will all fly right by me and I’ll be on the plane, regretting the lack of time spent nurturing friendships and giving a proper goodbye. Because really the last few months will still be busy. I don’t foresee a great pause, though perhaps the whole number of things to do may decrease a little.

Anyway, I’m rambling, and not so articulately, which I hate. Suffice it to say that all the things that need to be said don’t know just how to come out of me yet, and will probably all come barraging at me at once, knocking me off my feet in a tumble of tears and confusion. Save that goodness for later.

I’m signing off for now, with more news hopefully to come. I am awaiting an official COS date, but it will probably be in mid-September.

Here’s a few pics to hold you all over.

Oh yeah, and last night we had our first rain—not a big one, but rain nonetheless, and today it is brufa-ing (a light sprinkle), all of which means people will run for the hills with frantic joy to start planting…and I’ll probably lose a huge quantity of my youth to simentera (planting seeds). Catch 22.

Looking back on almost two years of service

2008-05-22T09:22:00.084-01:00

Over a week ago, the group I entered service with had our official Close of Service (COS) conference, the beginning of the quick downhill slide towards reentrance into the States (for most of us). For three and a half final days, we were all together again for likely the last time, recounting experiences, de-stressing, and preparing our anxious minds for reverse culture shock. It was truly a bizarre feeling to know that likely I might never see some of them again. I was so anxious for the conference to arrive, and then it proceeded so quickly that I was back in Assomada before the blink of an eye. Much as these two years have felt, if I can be so cliché-y.

I have avoided writing this blog since I got back mainly because I am not sure how to approach describing my feelings about this whole process. Striving for eloquence almost seems out of the question. Instead there's a whole lot of "uhhh"s and "well"s and "I'm not sure"s floating around in my head. Thinking about what has occurred within the last two years is sometimes mind-boggling, processing how much I've changed as a person, grown, learned, been broken, been repaired. At times I just feel so weary, as if my feet trudge their final steps instead of marching proudly; but other times I feel ecstatic, dancing the final steps with joy at the experience I've been allowed during my time here. In any case, I am on the way out, even though there are still 4 months left. I feel like there's so much left to do, so many things just beginning that I want to see completed; but everyone's role has to shift and change throughout the years. We go where we feel we're called and hope that it's the right decision, and know that people will move on and in time be fine without you. It always has, always will.

I have thought so much about America for the last several months, sometimes it feels like just a dream. I am wrought with anxiety, knowing there are wonderful things and terrible things awaiting me on US soil. So much information I lack, so "behind the times", so unsure of what to do in large grocery stores. Yet there's Starbucks, and Mom, and lots and lots of trees. Truthfully, at the end of 3 1/2 days of thinking only about returning and readjustment, I felt like I would be stepping onto a plane the next day, on my way overseas again. Wait, you mean I still have 4 more months left??! Two reactions: Phew! and Aw, man! So ready and not ready at the same time. But enough of the dichotomies.

I thought it appropriate to take advantage of this pivotal moment to take a look back on these past two years via photography. I tried to select photos that represent some of the different phases that have occurred, beginning to end. So enjoy the ride, I suppose. Also I hope you all really appreciate this blog, because it took me a freaking long time to upload all these pictures. Here goes...

BEFORE LEAVING

ARRIVAL INTO CV

PRE-SERVICE TRAINING IN SÃO DOMINGOS

SWEARING IN AS PEACE CORPS VOLUNTEERS

LIFE IN ASSOMADA, SANTIAGO

Parties:

FYI, this is the friend who taught me how to make cachupa and other Cape Verdean foods.

Camping, hiking, and the beach:

Food and friends:

My CJA girls:

2 years of World AIDS Days:

ISLAND HOPPING

Fogo:

Sal and Boavista:

Santo Antão:

Maio:

São Nicolau:

IST/AVC (IN-SERVICE TRAINING/ALL VOLUNTEERS CONFERENCE

FAMILY VISITS TO CAPE VERDE

2 YEARS OF CARNIVAL

LIFE WITH THE CEJ

COS CONFERENCE

Can't think of a title.

2008-04-24T12:16:00.008-01:00

Contrary to my last entry, I am confident and in forward movement.

How quickly I change, you say, and I offer no excuse. So be it. Life is such: changing moment to moment and I am allowed to have shifting moods and experiences.

I am moving forward in part because today I gave news that I have officially decided to extend to the Gambia. Position offered, conversation had, and acceptance given. My new PST begins in November, can't yet tell you when my service here in Cape Verde will be officially ending, but rest assured that I am guaranteed 30 days of vacation in the US---family here I come!!

I was reading other people's blogs (note: I added a ton of links to other blogs if you interested and have excess free time), and realized that a) I take forever to update; b) I should put up some recent pictures; c) other volunteers spend time with Americans, which I realized I virtually never do anymore. I almost forget how to speak English; and d) I write too much about my feelings and emotional growth, and not enough about what is actually going on and what I'm doing. Sorry. I've become a whiney female. Let's see if I can change that for a brief moment.

The photography project is up and running, despite not having all the funding in hand (it's all "coming"...). A risk, but one I had to take if I wanted it to ever get started. So we've done the first four sessions, the first of which my photographer showed up for, impressing my girls and pleasing me immensely. I kind of want to marry him. He's very artsy, funny, eager to help, knowledgeable, and has studied sociology, anthropology, and political science. That's official husband material, in case you were wondering. So far things are running smoothly, save a few scheduling setbacks, one dropout due to an outbreak of tuberculosis, and, of course, initial funds running out. Plus my youth volunteers from the CEJ are being a little flakey, which will hopefully be out of their system by mid-May-ish when I need them to start showing up for sessions to help the girls.

Other things: the volunteer corps is up and running, of course not without its problems and kinks--i.e. some volunteers quitting, some not showing up to activities without calling me to let me know, and others still not having started their activities yet. Other than that, the rest of the volunteers are really enjoying it, as are the girls. 2 points for me. I am still teaching English to the younger girls, though it took me three lessons to teach the personal pronouns (I, you, we, they, etc.), and I'm still pretty convinced they don't know how to use "I" or "you". Good thing I don't have a passion for teaching English grammar. Meh. We have a new coordinator at the girls center, a woman named Magy, who was previously the coordinator for the Picos center, and of whom I admittedly have doubts of her competency (she is very sweet and knows the system, but gets stressed out easy, is timid, and has some verbal control issues). Since there was no coordinator for awhile and now we have a new team, I have been feeling slowly pushed out to the outer edges, not included in technical decisions or even informed on some of the basic happenings (this was pushing me more towards helping at the CEJ, spending less time in a place where I didn't feel needed or included). So I mentioned this yesterday in response to a "how things are going" question, which sparked initial awkwardness followed by a brilliant and inspiring conversation with Ercilia, always able to come through and remind me why she's awesome. I miss her. I'm glad she's still giving occasional support as a psychologist to the center.

Other than that, life continues. I am planning a few activities together with Eneida at the CEJ: training and support program for a new youth telecenter, a girls' "Miss Intelligence" contest (as opposed to the appalling modeling half-naked contests usually organized around here), and a restructuring of our youth activist/volunteer corps, which needs some serious help (and has ever since I got here, they just wouldn't listen to me). We are also planning HIV/AIDS trainings using these new Scenarios of Africa DVDs Peace Corps gave to those who requested. Should be fun. Essentially I will likely be busy from here on out, no vacation time for me. Oh well.

I realized (as I mentioned earlier), that I no longer really spend time with Americans or speaking English. Santiago volunteers don't often get together, I am busy at work, and Nick and I rarely interact due to our schedules. So it's Cape Verdeans and Brazilians for me. Huh. I guess that's integration. Plus I have a boyfriend. All Criolu all the time.

Anyway, not much else to say at the moment. Here's a few pictures to tide you over. A few won't upload, but they'll come soon enough.

Halted

2008-04-18T09:37:00.002-01:00

I feel halted. In a weird place of haltedness. Projects have started, things are going more or less according to "the plan", a.k.a. work is getting done. But I am halted. And a little bit feeling-less. I think it's the pressure in me for movement. Physical, emotional, geographic movement. Routines though often comforting, make me bored. I need to leave, to get up, to go home, to come back, to go to a new country, to dance, to take a vacation, to play hooky one day. I need to feel anxiety, the pounding heart ready to sing in front of a crowd. Everything is too familiar, and in a way I am growing uncomfortable with. By this I mean I am sick of being so categorically different that "me" becomes an irrelevancy--I am seen only as that difference, unique insides forgotten or ignored. I am sick of that loud brazenness I once found so endearing in the "uneducated country women". It's still endearing, but today I want a break.

I think what is scaring me is the unknown. I am most comforted when I can pretend I know what the future holds, at least to a miniscule degree of certainty. That miniscule degree seems to be erasing itself. I no longer know where I will be in 6 months, no longer am certain of a thing to look forward to. It might still be there, but the feigned certainty is gone. Haven't heard from Gambia in a month, despite repeated emails. Does that mean it's not an option? I know staying here would be logistically easy, but I can't bring myself to do it. And I can't explain why. I just don't want to right now. And maybe a month in the US would change all that, but how can I make a decision based on a loose "maybe"? If I go back to the States I have no clear prospect of what I would do, where I would even begin looking for a job I could enjoy. Not ready for it yet.

So it leaves me halted, wordless. So often in all aspects of my life here I feel as though my hands are tied behind my back, so much lack of control, so much waiting for other people to do their part, so much playing the part and not feeling satisfied. And this is the moody bi-polar in me, shifting seamlessly from the garrish trumpeter proclaiming the wonders of here, of my work, to the weary mute unable to put forth the cheerful confidence expected by others.

I start getting sick of these attitudes I see in myself, this whining, the constant "I'm so sick of..."s that get sprinkled around like useless seeds.

So I'll stop for now. Focus on work, forget all else. Erase the dream you had last night of going home. Continue with your projects, hoping that the money you think will come in actually does.

Too much that is halting me.

Cockrickets

2008-03-11T14:06:00.002-01:00

There is this awful creature invading my private space. He (or she) is a cricket, I guess. Though crickets in Cape Verde look like monstrous, ugly, flying cockroaches, hence the nickname. It makes a sound like a cricket, though seemingly 10 times louder, likely because it has chosen to reside about 4 feet from the head of my bed in my room. It has been there for about 4 days now, and doesn't show signs of moving soon. I throw things at him (shoes, used batteries, large hair clips, whatever else is within arm's reach), which stops him for awhile, but then he creeps his beady eyes out from his crevice to start making treacherous music again. Today I even sprayed hairspray at him, thinking it might blind him or show him I meant feminine-hair-product business. I don't know if it worked.

I can't kill him because every time I go after him, he scurries away, playing this cat-and-mouse game with me, smirking at my wretched disorganization that allows way too many items to float dustily around the floor of my room--and establish many a good hiding place.

Any suggestions? How do I make my cockricket go away?

It doesn't cost a thing to smile

2008-02-29T10:10:00.004-01:00

“I told them [The Great Gatsby] was an American classic, in many ways the quintessential American novel…Some cite its subject matter, the American dream, to justify this distinction. We in ancient countries have our past—we obsess over the past. They, the Americans, have a dream: they feel nostalgia about the promise of the future.”
--Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran

I obsess about the future. I bathe in it, dreaming of all the wondrous possibilities. I see the future as blissful, adventurous, mysterious, majestic, and rewarding. And I suppose it’s because it is a better option than thinking about a disastrous past, one truly unknown to most people, most Americans. A past full of hatred and pain, or worse: ambiguity, the confusion of undefined or multiple roots. Much easier to think of the future, of all the ways to spend the currency of our fortunate upbringings in a land of freedom and opportunity. The past isn’t all that wretched, we know; we may extract the few triumphant values and ideals that brought us such rampant and rapid prosperity. But wasn’t one of those values a focus on the horizon ahead…?

I am a product of this. Sometimes I let myself get overwhelmed with all the shapes into which my future could shift, never doubting the inevitability of achieving some type of self-defined success. So bizarre the way that privilege manifests, letting us run wild, reckless abandon, no limits to the imagination. I relate that to where I am at now, to the people I know and read about all over the world for whom daily life is full of limitations and struggle, not even the slightest notion of the luscious temptress we call future. I think about this today, because I am reading the Iranian-authored book Reading Lolita in Tehran, which describes innumerous obscene violations of human rights, particularly women’s rights. And I think of what my life could have been elsewhere, who I would have turned out to be. Bitter and defeated? Strong and triumphant against all odds? Weary and submissive?

And so, as I say, I ponder my future. I list out the bountiful options and pick which one sounds best to me, suits me more appropriately, offers me the most, pleases my heart’s desires to the fullest. And then I feel quite sure this must be the definition of luxury. Limitless idealism, which borders recklessness and imperativeness; the one thing that if left unchecked can lead to immediate disaster, but if properly directed can be the only thing that will save this weary world.
Without future thinking, where is our salvation?

* * *

Making other people do stuff

After a delay of almost one year (over 8 months to be exact, and to counter my exaggeration), my project to start a volunteer corps of youth and members of the community in the CJA is finally underway. Now instead of remaining an under-staffed, under-supported, stigmatized Center, we are bringing in people to help out. This was my idea from the beginning: to recognize the resources that are already available in the community to cover some of the activity needs of the Center, and take advantage of them—instead of trying to do everything myself. This, the bringing in of volunteers, accomplishes a number of things: it diversifies the type and number of activities available to the girls at the Center, it holds the community more responsible for taking care of the needs of its under-served, it reduces the stigma surrounding the Center by letting people see what the girls are truly like, it sensitizes youth and community members to the needs of this special youth population, it provides valuable experience to youth volunteers and others interested in gaining experience working with children and leading activities, it provides excellent and positive role models for the girls through active and responsible youth, it allows people who have more knowledge and are better at things than I am (or CJA staff are) take control and spread their knowledge, and it gives more opportunities for the girls to learn appropriate behavior in the Center and during activities. You see? It’s a win-win situation. Getting other people excited about doing stuff for you is good all around.

In all actuality, though, I am pretty excited about this program, though with realistic doubts about its initial success—it will be a bumpy road, and I have to do everything I can so that the youth don’t quit right away. We signed up 10 volunteers (after 2 quit), including two teachers from the local high school, interviewed them, and then gave them a small training of three basic sessions to prepare them for their service in the Center. It was stimulating to see them interact in the sessions, getting excited about helping out, and being appreciative of the time taken to give them basic yet important information. I think often youth (or people in general) are asked to help out with things as a volunteer, but are rarely offered preparation for that task they are asked to perform; they go in blind with all the willingness and good spirit in the world, but end up frustrated at not knowing what they were getting into. So I am proud that we were able to give them a little preparation, particularly if asking them to work with girls who have precarious or unstable backgrounds.

The ultimate idea is to try this out in the beginning, see how the corps functions, fix any structural or organizational problems, accompany them in any way needed, get them stable enough to take care of their activities on their own, and then slowly add more volunteers who are interested in joining. Ultimately, as my time left is short, I would like to be able to work with one of the volunteers to enable them to take over leadership of the corps when I leave. If that’s not possible, maybe I will be lucky enough to get a replacement Peace Corps Volunteer to take over my site and continue with the project. My worry is that everyone will be relying on me for its coordination and functioning, and then it will collapse without my keeping it rigid. Sustainability in Cape Verde can seem impossible at times.

So finally something is becoming concrete, finally something is taking shape from all the plans and ideas and pretty conversations. Ideas are one thing, but concrete implementation is another. This afternoon our first volunteer-led activity will take place, so we’ll see how it goes.

*Footnote: “This afternoon” has now passed, and I helped the two volunteers get settled into their tutoring of the high school students, which, I am proud to say, went marvelously! They came to me afterward with huge smiles, all excited, and told me that the experience was “super-fantastico”. That’s the terminology I like to hear.

I help youth become future doctors and lawyers

I recently finished co-leading training for 22 of our CEJ youth in the area of career orientation, a.k.a. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” It turned out to be one of my favorite things I’ve done since coming to Cape Verde, honestly. I had a great time getting to know the youth volunteers I see everyday on a deeper level, i.e. their hopes and dreams, their personal backgrounds, etc. The person I led it with (the sociologist Eneida that I mentioned earlier) was great to work with, and we had fun psycho-analyzing all of the vocational tests and questionnaires we gave them. Essentially the training was this: make them start thinking about who they are, what they like, their personality, things they could see themselves doing in the future; then we had them start investigating different careers and the schooling required to get there; then they had to interview various professionals in all different areas about how they got there, why they chose their career, etc.; then they learned what it meant to actually “choose” a field and follow after it; then we visited the Centro de Emprego e Formação Profissional, which offers vocational training in various areas and that is less expensive and time-consuming than going to university, so that they could know there are other options; then we made them do vocational tests (you know, the kind that tells you that you were meant to be a horse trainer and such) and did final interviews to help guide them to continue the process on their own. So that was the training.

I think what’s most exciting to me is taking a population who, as I mentioned earlier in this blog, don’t generally think in specific terms about their future, often assuming it will formulate out of thin air or follow the typical patterns of parents and grandparents, and showing them how many more opportunities are available to them than were existent for those previous generations. We had them do genoprofissiogramas where they labeled family tree-style what the members of their family’s professions were. 90% had parents and grandparents who were listed as farmers or housewives, with little variation. Then when they listed siblings currently studying or working, the field descriptions split open into a vast array of subject areas. Things are changing for youth here. The professionals they interviewed concurred, claiming that when it came time to decide what they wanted to do with their lives, they had little or no information available, and no one to guide them in the process—things now available to youth of this generation. This led them to choosing stereotypical or expected careers—copying, just as Cape Verde likes to do in most aspects of life.

Pois, all in all I think it was a much-needed and gratifying training to have done. We have been invited to do it in Picos, a local town, and hopefully will be able to spread it out to other CEJs and communities. Imagine what giving a little encouragement, direction, and concrete information can do to an absently wandering youth unsure of what her future holds. I certainly found a topic I truly enjoy teaching. It may not have been life-changing for all of the youth, but if it at least got them thinking more responsibly about their futures, I’m content. Here’s to the future doctors and lawyers of Cape Verde, or even better, to the future artists, engineers, businessmen, and psychologists (“luxury” careers)—of course, assuming that they actually return to the country after studying abroad. A big “if”…

Our morning group listening to the professionals speak; Eneida is the one in the flowery dress.

Three of the professionals invited, in the areas of tourism, education/philosophy, and medicine.

The other four professionals, in civil construction, administration, law, and information technology; The third one from the left (representing law), is Ivete, my famous counterpart.

This is essentially all of our morning group, attentively listening to our professionals speak.

Money, rain down on me, finally!

After a frustratingly long time of waiting and pleading and reworking the budget, I finally got some contributions to the photography project. ICCA had already promised to contribute about $350 to the project as a result of a large translation of a UN document I completed for them, and we had received all the camera donations we needed, as well as some film and batteries. I procured discounts from various companies and individuals, but still needed the actual financing—the promise of money. I talked with Teixeira, the national coordinator of the DGJ, who referred me to none other than my Paulo-run CEJ, my other job site. So I nervously begged an audience with Paulo, knowing that my good relationship with the CEJ would gain me headway, but also knowing that CEJs are “poor” and he might say no. Well in the end he agreed to fund over half of the remaining amount requested, so that is a huge step towards us actually starting the project! We are already behind schedule, meaning that if this Gambia thing works out, I will need that extra time provided in a late September COS date.

Anyway, picture me swimming in money, with a big cheesy grin…and then remember that the money is for the benefit of my girls and feel that intangible warm fuzzy. Awww. So hopefully this project will be all or most of what I have hoped it will be, or at least enough for me to complete my graduate school requirements satisfactorily. Send happy money thoughts my way so we can get the remainder of the funds, and then cross your fingers that it won’t all fall apart on account of Cape Verde’s unwillingness to recognize film photography as an art form. They can’t understand why the project won’t just use digital cameras so they can take a zillion pictures of a girl posing against a tree and then pick which one is sexiest. Rolls of film are like dinosaurs here: extinct but for the existence of the imagination.

Lost in Lost

I started watching the TV show Lost on account of evil Peace Corps Volunteers and their i-Pods complete with a plethora of seasons of shows I might never have watched if in the States. So I was given two seasons of the show, and, as in all other TV programs offered to me on DVD here in Cape Verde, I became addicted. Truly, this show is becoming more than absurd. The things that take place in this program could or would never happen in real life, and it is becoming difficult to suspend reality. Yet I continue on. Every night I watch multiple episodes, knowing that instead I could be journaling or writing music, or doing something a bit more productive. But no. I prefer the mind-numbingness of American television programmed with more and more obscure happenings to keep the audience intrigued. It’s borderline comedy at times. But I love it. And will soon be hunting after the third season without a shadow of a doubt.

Cross-cultural dating survival guide: How to keep a secret so your boyfriend’s mother doesn’t force you to get married, exchange goats, and make babies

Okay, so they don’t necessarily exchange goats in Cape Verde (maybe in some parts of the fora…), but let me just say that dating someone from a different culture will always require an understanding or openness to the different expectations and rules that exist within that culture, and possible adjustment on your part. Case in point: traditional-minded families in Cape Verde (i.e. the parent and grandparent generation, or my boyfriend’s mom) tend to feel that “dating around” is a bit wretched and irresponsible. Bringing different girls home periodically is a sign that you aren’t serious and are just playing around (sounds possibly familiar to our own culture), even if those girls are just friends. If you are dating one of them, it is expected that you stay with them, take them to church, and mold them into Mom’s perfect daughter-in-law. Currently my boyfriend’s family (though I have been friends with them, continually spending extended evenings at their home and engaging in lively discussions on gender relations, for about a year) doesn’t know we’re together. In the States, this would upset me; I don’t like feeling as though my life must be kept a secret, and have certain standards or expectations as to how I want to be treated. But it’s different here (*Side note: I don’t generally like displaying my private life—or particularly that of others involved—for the masses, but I will try to keep this as nonspecific as possible.). Here, the fact that I will likely be leaving the country in 7 months is grounds for immediate disqualification, causing a huge rupture between my significant other and his family—something I’m not a fan of doing. So the current answer, it seems, is to remain underground, enjoying what we have without manufacturing a billboard for its publicity.

I believe that through this relationship I am discovering so much more about who I am, which has made it so well worth it. It helped me to realize what all of those years of being single had produced in me, what they had made me into. And I like the result. The strength, pride, confidence, independence. I am okay with letting this relationship be what it is—I don’t feel the need to put pressure on it, make it into something it isn’t, place American expectations on a poor young Cape Verdean; I am completely content enjoying what I have in the moment, knowing that it will likely be given up somewhere along the road. This may sound cheap, but it’s not—I don’t mean to say that I have no emotions involved, that I am just having fun; rather, I have freed myself to care for someone within limitations. As a fellow Assomada PCV tells me, “Carpe Diem”: seize the day. Enjoy what you’ve got while you’ve got it, instead of throwing something away because it didn’t come in the perfect package your life plan allowed for. At least this is what I continually try to convince my overambitious, worried-about-the-future, afraid-of-getting-hurt boyfriend of daily. Ironically the reasons that make me care so much about him (being educated, hard-working, ambitious, mature, intelligent) are the reasons things are made more complicated. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So even though my current relationship isn’t the Hollywood image of A+B must = C, it is fulfilling, rewarding, comfortable, and nice. The world makes so much more sense sometimes if you just let things be what they want or need to be. Stop trying to put things in a narrowly defined box according to your own desired dimensions. Let things take the form they need to.

I guess that’s my scattered advice on dating in foreign cultures. Hopefully this isn’t more than you wanted or needed to know about my personal life.

Violence in Assomada—thanks, Tuggies and homemade guns.

About two weeks ago, a 17-year-old boy shot and killed his 18-year-old girlfriend, subsequently shooting and killing himself, all with a gun he made himself at home (here called “boka bedju”), and all because the girl wanted to break up with him (many versions of the situation float around, but this seems to be the one that has stuck). Two very young individuals dead and for such a strangely simplistic reason. Coincidentally, the following week, another young woman was killed in Praia by her boyfriend, the reason for which I am a bit fuzzy on at the moment, but that I know is something inconsequential regarding their relationship.

When I first heard about the case in Assomada, I was outraged. Why? It’s certainly not the first time two youth have killed each other, not even the first over such a minor issue. But here in Assomada, those things don’t (or didn’t) normally happen. And what has me concerned is that they are happening more and more, senseless violence and the killing of youth in a normally peaceful community. People get outraged over the most insignificant things—silly barfights and desirable fofas—and instead of handling it in any kind of constructive manner, death ensues, generally surrounded by an air of grogue and drunken cursing. The one thing Cape Verde had to offer that so many other African or developing countries didn’t was its peace and lack of overt violence. Now with all the globalized media coming in from around the world and 50 Cent music coaxing 5-year-old Cape Verdean children to sleep, violence is seeping in with it. They see it on TV, in the rap videos, in the music lyrics, and it becomes normal, okay, the appropriate manifestation of rebellion against authority. Damn the man, they interpret, by grabbing a knife or makeshift gun and taking out whoever it is that brings them discontent.

And truly I suppose what bothers me the most is that nothing is done about it. No attention drawn, no words spoken to the community to preempt the damaging influence on easily-molded young mentalities. No one said anything. The day it happened I talked to the CEJ about it, saying we should call a community or youth meeting and lead a discussion about why it happened, why it’s not okay, and what can be done to prevent things like it from happening in the future. They agreed, possibly to appease me, but nothing materialized due to “so many other things going on”. I do believe they thought it was necessary, but no one cares enough to be the ringleader. No one goes into the classrooms to talk to the students about it, no one holds a candlelight vigil or a march to demonstrate the senselessness of violence, no one does anything. And so it is that these notions will creep indiscriminately into the corners of Cape Verdean youths’ minds, transforming their thoughts and actions without them even noticing. All this desire for modernization, development, technology, new things from abroad, yet no attention paid to preventing all those nasties that come with urbanization and development. A shame.

The afternoon after it happened, I caught a group of my CEJ youth (volunteer activists, examples in the community) playing with a plastic gun bought at a Chinese loja. They were joking around, laughing, pointing it at each other, showing children how to point it. One of the most unbelievable sights I’ve seen yet. I was so enraged, I could barely shout out the Kriolu to demonstrate my displeasure. The first day I have been truly disappointed in my youth. And I was sure to let them know it. If not even our exemplary youth can show kids that violence isn’t a joke, even with a plastic gun, who will?

Two years is a long time to spend out of your country

I have immense respect and sympathy for individuals (i.e. immigrants and emigrants) who live the majority of their lives, or at least a significant number of years, outside of their native country speaking a non-native tongue, whether by choice or not. I have not even made it two years without the occasional maddening sodadi that makes me long for a stroll through Portland’s downtown or a pause at a Seattle café overlooking the pier. Read: I am not necessarily a permanent flag-waving U.S. citizen in the immediate future, but I miss Starbucks and specialized coffee drinks. And lots of trees. And bookstores. And the smell of rain (*crosses fingers knowing that once this is claimed, she will be held accountable later when she is cursing the relentless downpour*).

While almost two years has gone by laughably quickly, stop to think about just how long that is. How many things can occur within two years? People get married, die, have babies, lose jobs, get new ones, divorce, move houses, rearrange life plans, start and finish school, become President, get sent to and released from jail, and about a million other somethings that turn pages in the history of individual lives. Trying to recount the million somethings that have occurred in my life alone since I’ve been here is a task too fever-inducing to confront at the moment.

Anyway, I miss Merka with all its atrocities and over-consumption and reality TV (yeah, honestly there’s no fragment of me that misses that). I think a month’s vacation should take care of that sodadi, and then I can move on to new worlds, coming back for brief moments of remembrance. Sounds like a plan for now, though my plans tend to change with my mood and the wind patterns. It’s the plan for the next few hours anyway.

Dreams and screams and mean, mean green teams

2008-02-19T11:06:00.004-01:00

I have neglected you all beyond forgiveness. I was thinking about how frequently I blogged before (despite regular breaks), and how much information has been collected onto this site over the past almost two years. Then I thought of how much information has been lost recently by not writing it down, not sharing it, not releasing it through thoughtful analysis and creative expression. Nothing is ever completely lost if it remains a part of us, which the past several months has for me. But nonetheless, it would have been good to write...

Right now. Here is who I am right now: I realized lately just how much I have grown as an individual, how much I like who I am becoming, and how much I have left to learn and experience. I have become so much more confident, I say what I mean and feel without hiding or "prettying it up", I have become less passive aggressive, I have fought for what I feel to be important and chased after seemingly impossible feats. And have done a large part of it alone, solitary. I have always been blessed with the support of you all at home, and truly have individuals in my life others only dream of, but really and actually, I have fought for my causes without a lot of side-by-side encouragement or resources, nor many interested ears for that matter. Youth development around most of the world isn't the sexiest of areas, making it of less obvious interest to most, making me a lone ranger in the development world at times. But all drama aside, I feel like I am finally starting to accomplish things personally, professionally, etc.

Let's try to clarify the jumble. I am happy. I like what I'm doing, and I feel I have a good deal to offer. I finally took the advice of a wise PCV who finished her service last year--Tina--who always said the key to being a successful volunteer was in being selfish. Yeah, yeah, we're here to help and give all of ourselves, and humbly serve without pay, but sometimes the best lesson we can learn is to be selfish. To know when taking care of ourselves is more important than João Baptista's need to learn English at the moment. To know when to go out for coffee or tea if it means we'll be renewed and released from a few brief moments of stress. So I learned to be a little selfish, and not to worry so much about dedicating every spare moment to those who need me, learning I don't have to say yes to everything. I became healthily selfish. Thanks, Tina.

So I am happy in many ways. I found a great working partner at the CEJ in the new sociologist, with whom I have been giving a training in career orientation/guidance to local youth in our community. She likes to take coffee breaks with me, so we do just fine. She is driven, intelligent, passionate, and fun, so I pretty much adore working with her.

I am also seeing someone new, for the past few months, which admittedly helps to relieve a fair bit of stress, though admittedly cross-cultural relationships are never as easy as envisioned. I am able to enjoy it because I am letting it be what it is, taking whatever form it needs to take, without pressure on either end. We are both very ambitious and concerned with our futures, so neither would expect a major life decision taken on behalf of the other. This is good for someone like me who doesn't plan on giving up her dreams any time soon.

Another stress reliever: the gym. Yes the developing world has gyms. And yes, ours has an elliptical machine. And about 20 adolescent African males attempting to bulk up without having been taught appropriate weight-training principles. It's a sight. And a smell. Phew.

Currently it seems that things might be moving along smoothly regarding my potential transfer for a third year on the continent. Don't want to put the cart before the horse, but the Gambia has offered me a position opening up a site with an international youth NGO, the training for which would start in November, giving me plenty of time to finish up all my projects satisfactorily here, take my home leave in the US, and get to work. We'll see how it works out, but it seems an exciting possibility. I'll keep you updated.

I am falling over from exhaustion, so I am going to sign off this brief update for now and go run to the gym with my Brazilian friend Denise.

What do we think of the current presidential candidates? Any updates, opinions, concrete facts to offer this un-informed island dweller? It's a stretch to ask for any of you to actually write comments on this blog (yes that's sarcastic, and yes it's pointed at all of you who read but don't seem to have any opinions...which doesn't mean you, Mom), but if you should feel so inclined, pass some tidbits my way. Please?

Seriously, people, as much as I like writing and posting pictures for my own benefit to look back on, it would be nice to know that the world takes a tiny interest. What diverse population of individuals reads this?? I'm curious.

Take care, be back soon with pictures of my recent vacation.

Loooooong overdue

2008-01-30T15:48:00.000-01:00

I have to quickly upload some photos and keep my eager mouth quieted today, as I am waiting for a phone call to tell me I have to leave my free internet bliss and take advantage of my free ride back to Assomada. Any minute now I will have to ditch the blogging. So for today, it's just some pictures from when Paige (my sister) visited in December. We had a GREAT time, of which I will tell tales later.

Also, I am finally, finally getting a brief vacation for Carnaval, and hitting one of the two islands I have yet to hit, Sao Nicolau. I leave Saturday morning, and come back sometime next week depending on when the boat decides to leave. Have to travel precariously here in Cape Verde, always prepared for at least one thing to go not as planned. Anyway, I'll report back when I return, hopefully with pictures.

So enjoy my and my sister's goofiness and be jealous that you aren't as cool as us.

Oh, yeah, and here's the new boy. His name is Jay. More details to come *wink*.

Daylight

2007-12-31T10:21:00.000-01:00

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

2007-12-28T22:58:00.000-01:00

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?...

2007-12-03T14:33:00.000-01:00

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...

2007-11-30T14:35:00.000-01:00

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

2007-11-30T14:28:00.000-01:00

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

2007-11-07T14:23:00.003-01:00

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.

2007-11-07T12:48:00.000-01:00

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

2007-11-05T11:44:00.000-01:00

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

2007-10-26T11:50:00.000-01:00

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...

2007-10-05T14:49:00.000-01:00

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!

2007-09-07T10:57:00.000-01:00

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.

2007-08-12T14:09:00.000-01:00

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.

2007-07-25T09:56:00.001-01:00

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.

Boohoo for strep:(

2007-06-18T12:13:00.000-01:00

I have strep throat:( Sad. And apparently I'm contagious, so no one should be around me. Looks like I'll be isolated in my room watching movies for the rest of the day. Really, I'm crying...seriously...okay, I'm actually happy for the break.

In other news, last weekend we went camping in Rincon with crazy Mike, and that was fun, except for the mountain climbing in flip flops and a sleeping bag loosely tied to your backpack. Minga (Mel's cat, Cinza's sister) came along for the trip and was quite the camper! She fared marvelously, so I'm thinking of trying Cinza out next weekend when I go camping at Angra again. We'll see. I'll be sure to take pictures if I do.

The girls had their baptism and first communion ceremonies this weekend, and it was so cute to see them all dressed up in their cheesy white tafida dresses like little brides. I was the official photographer (again), so I'll post some pictures later. On Saturday we had a big lunch with all the families who could make it, so it was madness in the Center. Someone brought a huge elaborate wedding cake. Huh. I couldn't really enjoy it as much as I wanted to, with my strep throat and being about to pass out (I didn't know I officially had strep, otherwise I wouldn't have gone around infecting people...sorry).

Other than that I'm pretty sure there's not much to say. I have been indisposed for the last 4 days, so not much has been accomplished. Except I did have a meeting with this woman who is organizing an arts training-slash-future school course program that will take place in August. They bring in 20 US students and select 30 Cape Verdean youth to participate in this intense workshop in various areas of the creative arts--music, theater, dance, and "art" art (like painting and sculptures, etc.). It's new and pretty brilliant, so I hope it works out. She wants me and other PCVs to help out with translation and making sure the program runs smoothly, so hopefully I will be able to be of some assistance.

Okay, that's all for now. Hope everyone at home is lovely:)

Forca, Cinza, forca...

2007-06-07T10:23:00.000-01:00

I realized I should update about TOT (Training of Trainers....and also apparently Transportation of Things, for which an acronym was deemed necessary by international development monsters)--the week of training we had to prepare us for the new PST and the new group of Trainees coming July 1st. Surprisingly, it went better than I thought it would. We worked hard, and even though it was all left in a rush with a bit of ambiguity (not enough time to plan an entire 9-week training program), we mapped out potential calendars of what we want to do in our sectors during our technical sessions. We will be split off into our sectors quite a bit, so it gives me a decent chance to work on preparing the youth development group, get them all beefed up for service. Wish me luck and pray that the Trainees are made of tough stuff--eager and willing to work with the kiddies.

I came back, missing my girls and mas ou menos (more or less) ready to get some work done. That of course was when I found out Andreia was leaving for good. A little air in the balloon let out, but oh well. I am playing the waiting game on my tiptoes, wondering if I should keep advancing with my projects, or if they will all crumble...it's getting a little tiring to rely so much on others for things to come through. But that's what development is supposed to be about, right? It's not about me, though I'm starting to feel a bit useless.

Last night I talked to my mom, which made me miss Paige, which made me realize I hadn't talked to her in awhile, which made me realize that my sister is busily building her life, her independence, and her strength. This in turn gave me strength, knowing that if she can step up and take care of herself, accomplish what she wants and knows she is capable of, so can I. Right? Right. So instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, I need to jump up and grab it by the horns, find my satisfaction one way or another. Thanks Paige.

P.S. Cinza I think is sick...she won't eat anything I give her and stopped taking the medicine I need to give her. Sad face. Pray for her...

Catching up on photos

2007-06-04T11:16:00.003-01:00

Picture time! First things first. This morning we had a march for International day for Child Victims of Aggression. I helped make posters and the kids from Picos, Assomada, and the local SOS marched through the streets "silently" (yeah right).

Item #2: We had a Goonies costume party in Assomada. I had never seen the Goonies, but apparently it involves both the 80s and pirates. So we had to dress as either one. I chose the 80s, of course. Here are some pics:This is Alex. She is great.

Please note that my highly appropriate bright blue 80s pants bought at a nearby Chinese loja (store) say "phisycal"--not only heinous but misspelled. This is the perfect example of what China has had to offer Cape Verde. Awful translations and blindingly ridiculous clothing.

Item#3: Taking the girls to Serra Malagueta. I mentioned this in my last blog, now here are some pictures.

Mel got to show off her knowledge of the park; very cool to watch her in action:)

Item #4: More pictures of Cinza. The necklace you see on her lasted less than 24 hours. She kept getting it caught in her teeth, leaving her mouth gaping open in trapped panic. It was kind of hilarious. I thought she would learn not to try and chew on it, but after the fourth time, I cut it off. A shame. It was a pretty necklace.

Before I go: Andreia is officially leaving for Portugal. She has about 3 weeks left before she is gone. Ercília has taken her vacation early due to stress and is now not here to help me get the volunteer corps started. I am a bit frustrated this morning because now I have no idea how any of the projects I have been working on will turn out. We have no one to run the formações we have been planning for the volunteers because the two women I just mentioned are the ones helping me organize it and give the sessions, and the youth have been waiting to start for a month now. I am at a sort of crossroads. Don't know what to say or how it will go. Check back in soon.

PARASITES!

2007-05-26T11:34:00.000-01:00

Mel and I took our kitties to the vet to get their first vaccinations, but it turns out they both have parasites, so we have to give them medicine for a week before we can get their shots. Let me say that bringing kitties in their own little boxes on a hiace is apparently quite the sight to see. People were fascinated by the little squealing kittens that two brancas were carrying around like children. They smiled, laughed, or stared, and we sat with our daughters throughout the hour-long bumpy ride. As we got to Praia, a woman got out carrying her squawking chicken by the neck. No big deal. No one looks twice at a live chicken in a hiace, but kittens? Kittens? No way. We are such a freak show. Walking around the Plateau with our kittens in boxes was like, as Mel put it, seeing a man trailing a goat behind him walking around New York City. Just plain out of place.

The second years are all in town for their COS (close of service) conference, as they are all getting ready to leave the country, finished with their two years. Additionally, Kat (a previous PCV who moved back to Cape Verde to be with her boyfriend and is now bring him back to the US with her) stayed at our house last night because she and her man are leaving for the States on Monday. So the last few days (okay months really) were spent talking almost exclusively about all the glory and missed food items of the States. About how much we miss it, how much we want to go there, how much better it is there than here (grass is always greener...). It's a little too much for me, making me homesick as there is already very little keeping me here. But there are also a few PCVs who are extending their service on the Continent, so that gives me hope that after I'm done I can make the switch to a different atmosphere, one I wanted from the beginning.

Thursday we took the girls to the Protected Areas (the natural park Mel works at) on a field trip. We had this trip planned for a couple weeks, but the day before our driver announced he wasn't coming to work--for personal reasons--, so we were out a driver. We borrowed the driver from the Picos Center, and he chose to tell us as we got there that he needed to be back in Assomada at 3:30, two hours before we had planned to go back. So instead of having a full afternoon of environmental fun and all the activities Mel's team had planned, we had a quick hour jaunt through one of the trails to see some endemic plants and the large water collection panels. So frustrating, and poor Mel who had to scramble at the last minute to cram it all in. I'm so sick of doing activities with people from the Center. It just makes me annoyed, and the girls are always the ones who get the shaft. And now Andreia is getting on my nerves because she spends every day complaining and freaking out about work--how much she hates her job, how much she wants to leave, how the girls are little terrors. It's just getting annoying, and it's bringing me down as well. Leave, then! If you hate it so much, go find a job in Portugal. I know it sounds so mean to say that, but goodness. If you're that miserable, it's better for your mental health, and mine.

Anyway, that's the last few days. I'm still going back and forth with my new multiple personality disorder where one minute I'm content and the next I'm wondering why I'm here. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

P.S. I would really like to know how everyone at home is doing, and it's been awhile since I've heard from people--except my mom of course (love you!). So drop me a line and let me know what's up, what's new in your lives. Distract me with tales of America. Send me pictures, something! I miss you all.

My hump

2007-05-23T10:52:00.000-01:00

So today, yesterday, and Monday I was happy. Am happy. I'm not sure why, not sure of an explanation, but I don't want to jinx it by speculating. I want to just enjoy the momentary contentedness. Am I on my way over the hump? I don't know, because there are still the same dissatisfying aspects of my life here. I still struggle. But for now, for this week, I am not in such bad shape. Enjoy it with me.

My broken body lays still

2007-05-18T10:11:00.001-01:00

Not only is my computer not functioning (Cinza chewed through the AC adaptor cord), but my pin drive decided to just stop working. No available information or access to producing that information for Courtney. This serves as a small part of my explanation for not updating sooner, as what I did type up is trapped on the pin drive that won’t release its treasure. The other part is that these last few weeks have not been fun for me, very emotionally challenging. This reduces my motivation to rewrite what was written and fill in events from the last month. As a brief list: I camped with a bunch of Cape Verdean friends on a local beach you have to take a small rowboat to get to, there was another festa in Assomada (every town has their own saints day, so there are parties literally every weekend somewhere on the island) and a festa in Orgãos at which I helped run a booth and sell chicken, my cat has so far chewed through two sets of cheap Chinese headphones and a bag of chocolate cookies I had hidden, Alex (the transfer that shadowed with me a couple months ago) is officially living in Assomada now and working with Mel in the protected areas, I have given up running and am starting to lose all motivation for any form of exercise, I have been helping paint the Center, making stencils of bunnies and hearts and flowers and such, and I will officially be helping out with the new group’s training for most of the month of August. I think that’s about it for now. Enjoy the following journals, which will likely be depressing. Sorry about that.

5/10/07

Today I am broken. Crestfallen, crushed, split wide open, and honestly admittedly so. Too many trick mirrors surround me and deceive what I’m supposed to believe and expect to be true. I looked around me today and found nothing that made me feel confident in myself. Instead hundreds of tiny unimportant things reminded me of how I don’t fit into anyone’s standards, superficially or otherwise. I sweat because it’s hot, and subsequently smell because available deodorant here is like expensive water on a stick—not at all functioning. My white feet get dirty because of the moisture mixing with the constantly swirling dirt in the air from the returned bruma seca that worsens my recently-acquired asthma, leaving me breathless, sweaty, and smelly. I am fatter because the only thing in my life that can remain under my control is whether or not I get to eat peanut butter on bread when I get home from an impossible day of 9 to 5 first-world-looking-yet-third-world-feeling hell of needy and neglected little girls. My hair is a frizzy, sticky mess that I’m tempted to shave off if not for the teeny piece of American vanity that underskirts my desire to cast off all traces of appearances. Also inhibiting the desire to cast off is the fact that here I am expected to look good, presentable, clean, professional, virtually 24 hours a day. No wrinkles, no dirt on the light cream pants, no sweat on the recently acne-laden skin. So even if I could affirm within myself to eliminate vanity and certain standards of “cleanliness” and no longer care what I look like, the place in which I find myself doesn’t allow it. I am in Africa yet I’m not in Africa. I’m in the developed world yet I’m not in the developed world. I can walk for twenty minutes and reach villages where there are no bathrooms, no electricity, and no running water, where there are families of at least 9 barefoot, hungry children, and to whom education still seems an abstract irrelevance. I can then walk the twenty minutes back into a community in which dress of the business casual nature is a given, coffee breaks and shoe-shopping trips are essential (to “de-stress”), and no one questions the brilliance and glory of traveling to Portugal or France, and perhaps not returning. How does one balance out the weight of two imperfect worlds in a young idealistic mind? I am living two realities at once, often enjoying neither. In the US, you can get away with easily ignoring the existence of an underdeveloped, starving, and neglected “third world” (no longer a PC phrase, replaced by…?), and perhaps in that starving and neglected Country X you can get away with ignoring the fact that mP3 players, laptop computers, and Tivo to save all the mind-numbing nonsense exist. Perhaps one or the other could be conceivably satisfying on its own, depending on what it is you want or need in life. But here you have both looking you in the eyeball day in and day out, unable to escape the simultaneous existence of both worlds, each demanding of you what the demands of the other contradicts. This is life in Cape Verde.

It is commonly accepted that there are two differing perceptions of time in the world, one quite calculating and the other quite immeasurable. A friend recently told me that here, they each exist, though the latter exists under the restrictions and confines of the former so that the power-holders that define the time choose whether or not time should be measured today and how. So you’re never quite sure if today, for this meeting, 15 minutes equals 15 minutes, or if 15 minutes will equal 2-3 hours. You’re never quite sure if when told to appear at 8:00am, showing up at 8:30 will be 30 minutes late or 2 hours early. The regulations of the two intertwining standards of existence don’t always communicate, to the extent that you sometimes feel as though you’re playing a game in which the rules are being defined as you go. Everything remains picture-perfect on the surface, I continue to be a member of the Posh Corps, there appear to be multiple opportunities and a comfortable lifestyle, and rapid development seems to be “working”. Carefully lifting that top layer of perfectly-laid paint reveals the mess that the PhD-ed team of painters hurriedly neglected at the outset.

As an average individual, I would find it difficult to adjust and balance out this complicated, ethically-challenging lifestyle. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, multiply that difficulty by ten (to remain moderate) as you realize that you are laboring (blood, sweat, and tears) for what looks in all ways, shapes, and forms like a “real job” while receiving zero of the benefits of said real job. No pay, no recognition, no acknowledgement of the difficulties you are facing as you may receive if viewed as an actual employee. The 9 to 5 without the advantage of built-in stress relievers available at home. Can’t go out for drinks or run to the gym or be anywhere alone at night. Being a Volunteer elsewhere may involve a certain level of ambiguity, undefined and wide open (a whole other set of difficulties); being a Volunteer in Cape Verde is like working for free at the UN. Expected to look and dress well and maintain a certain lifestyle and all its self-enhancing delicacies while not receiving the means to do so. Peace Corps pays enough: anyone who is frugal and doesn’t drink like a fish can easily more than get by. But not enough to make dress-buying trips to Praia with colleagues who hem and haw about buying last-minute vacations to Portugal. They can do that—they work intensely without stop and have paid their educational dues. But where does the Volunteer fit in?

I asked myself today what was keeping me here. My blank eyes glossed over and all I could come up with was the necessity of writing a thesis, 38 young girls’ faces, and a vague sense of responsibility or honoring commitments. Those things will probably keep me here. Probably. Oh and the useful experience and insight I’m gaining for my professional future are immense. That will help. But as an emotional, feeling, caring individual, can I not ask for more? I could commence an increased level of selfishness to preserve sanity and hold on for the remainder of my service; that will also help. But when you’re losing sense of self, how do you become selfish? I know my self as defined by my culture, my self as defined by other cultures, as defined by Dona Zuleica down the road; but where the freedom is to redefine my self according to me I have yet to discover.

Today at lunch I was told by my counterpart (Ivete), the psychologist (Ercília), and the Center coordinator (Andreia), that all three plan to or would like to leave their jobs within the year. The former two have applied to other jobs, and the latter is keeping her eye out both here and abroad, none of them able to handle the underpaid, undervalued, and under-supported job of defending and protecting children in Cape Verde any longer. The three pillars on which the Center and the girls it houses rely will likely be removed in one swift swipe of the life-sucking arm of ICCA. Bureaucracy prevails once again. What will motivate me once they’re gone?

I don’t know anymore.

I may remain broken, crestfallen, and crushed a little while longer.

Sometimes the hope of a “fresh new day” just isn’t enough anymore. Life isn’t magic.

5/14/07

I have a lot of potential hobbies. Endless things I would enjoy doing if the time existed. Whenever people used to ask me what my hobbies were (or when they do now), I would stop and think, coming up with a few general things—reading, writing, singing, listening to music, hanging out with friends (not really a hobby)—always wondering why I couldn’t come up with any “real” hobbies. Now I see. It’s because I have never had enough free time to truly develop a real hobby. Here is what I would like to do if I had abundant time to explore the world of alternative pleasurable activities: Establish a painting room (preferably with a huge picture window providing light and inspiration) and paint whatever I want; build up a music studio to record songs, just for fun; learn to play guitar and add that to music-writing abilities; learn to play piano, add that on too; refresh my photography knowledge and skills and make a dark room to develop all my photos (this maybe should go first on the list, I really want it); learn how to garden and take care of plants so that anywhere I live is always green and colorful (this one’s less likely, I tend to forget to water things and kill them); save up and buy rock-climbing equipment so I can make my rock-climbing way around the world trying new feats; learn how to snow ski and/or snowboard (save and buy equipment for that too) and finally take advantage of the wonderful Northwest mountains; learn—truly learn—the art of yoga as it ties to its original purpose (i.e. no workout tapes led by a buff, blonde American); take up tae bo; buy a bike and take biking trips in different parts of the world; make camping on the beach into a hobby; learn really magnificent salsa dancing to add to the made-up salsa that takes place in my room; buy a 4-wheeler and take it wherever they’ll let me; gather materials to make various types and styles of jewelry to give to family and friends around the world; learn to make mixed drinks and build up a wet bar in the house so I can have house parties with drink themes (I know, this is starting to get out there); learn how to hanglide and find new heights to leap from. I think that’s about enough for now. Not having a computer or any other technology makes all these things seem so possible time-wise, having eliminated spider solitaire and excess working at home. However likely none of these will happen while here in Cape Verde for reasons of the following nature: no money, no free time, no resources, no snow, no one who knows how to do 75% of these things who can teach me, minimal access to vodka, no pianos (that I’ve seen), and land that doesn’t like to grow things, much less things I try to grow. So I guess I’ll have to wait until the fictional point in my life at which these things suddenly fall perfectly into place. Here’s hoping.

5/17/07

Just a note to say I’m struggling through. Not to say that I’m a chipper little squirrel, nor to say I’m a raging, depressed lion (or something…). Just that I’m making it through. I hold on to future hopes: Paige coming in August, Mom coming in September, Dad coming in October, new PCT group coming in July and either making my job easier or much more unbearable (thanks to Peace Corps, not them). Things are coming. Hopefully they are enough to keep me going, besides the fact that I’ve committed to projects that people would like to see done. I.e. my thesis. The photography project. The income-generating hat making project. The volunteer corps at the Center. All things that are highly involved, daunting, and that have the ability to instantly drain my energy just seeing the words printed before me.

Well, anyway, I suppose I just wanted to assure you all that I am not done yet. Nor have I given up hope or admitted defeat. I’m just tired and cranky and in need of inspiration. It’s a little extra hard when virtually no one you work with likes their job. The Center is so unsupported, underappreciated, understaffed, and underpaid, and 50-75% of the staff it does have doesn’t like children, so it makes for an uninspiring work environment. I see it in their eyes, in the weary smile of Andreia, in the almost capped out patience of Ercília, in the constant sickness and physical weariness of Ivete. Things have to change, and I just don’t know how. I feel as though if things don’t get better soon, the projects I want to do won’t be accomplished.

They started sending girls home. A few weeks ago, a girl that I really liked (but who most people didn’t because of her behavior) was sent home. On Monday, three more were sent home (this time I didn’t even have time to say goodbye). Tuesday, we took two more home to Tarrafal. Another girl we tried to take home, but her dad wouldn’t accept her, so she’s back here with us. One more is heading home soon, and of course there’s Aracy, still waiting to be sent to Fogo, reminding us every second that she shouldn’t be here. It’s depressing and eye-opening—sad that we don’t have the means to deal with some of these potentially successful or well-meaning girls, and reminding us of the fact that things need to change, the structure and dynamic of the Center needs to be re-evaluated, or no one will survive here, and they’ll end up shutting it down. Maybe with some of these girls gone, the attitude and environment will shift enough to give everyone a little peace, but it’s not really a solution. Maybe if people end up leaving their jobs, great people will come in and shake things up. But the three pillars were pretty great and will be likely impossible to replace. I speak as though they’re already gone, but really it could be a little while. Gotta think positive.

One comforting (or disturbing) thought is that just about all of the other PCVs here in Assomada (and I’d venture to bet on other islands as well) are equally as dissatisfied. So generally our moments together these days become large bitch sessions, chances for us to share how much our lives suck. So uplifting:), haha. Really, though, we know that it could be much worse, and for the most part we know that it will get better, but there are just unique difficulties that come with working in Assomada. So few positives keeping me here at the moment.

Fanta, Fanta, don't you wanta?

2007-04-18T19:25:00.000-01:00

This will be a quick entry because I have nothing pre-written, just am here in the PC office with free internet and thought I'd update.

So I have been working on this photography project that will tie in with my Masters thesis. Here's the idea: you place cameras in the hands of populations that don't normally have access to cameras and aren't accustomed to having their perspectives shown through imagery (i.e. abused, abandoned, and orphaned girls from the Center), teach them how to use the cameras, and orient them towards using the new skill to take pictures in the community with the goal of enacting social change. So for example, you spend 4-5 months training the girls, talking about issues in the community, having them practice taking pictures, and giving them an objective: i.e. take pictures of how you view the role of women in your community, or take pictures of something you would like to see changed in your community. Through the experience, they learn a new skill, become more actively involved in their community, and improve their own self-esteem and leadership skills. In the end, you organize one or multiple expositions, at least one of which has the express intention of inviting important figures in power who could potentially enact change as a result of viewing the images. So throughout this whole process, the girls are taking responsibility for a project, are learning how to articulate and portray their own opinions and points of view, and are having their voices heard in a really meaningful and emotionally impacting way. So that's the idea.

However since I started searching, I had been having trouble getting donations of cameras so that I could really get started. I decided to send out an email to all the PCVs here in Cape Verde just to see what ideas they could come with, if they had more suggestions I hadn't thought of. Lo and behold, I received a mountain of ideas, suggestions, web site links, and people ready and willing to donate cameras to the project! I am continually impressed by the willingness of the people around me to move to action. All it takes is a tiny suggestion, a question or request for advice, and people come running. So I have a professional photographer from the States wanting to be involved and several people saying they are ready to donate cameras and where can they send them? Wow. Hopefully I will get the needed 15-20 cameras (anyone reading this interested??) in time to get things rolling, organize my thesis and get it IRB-approved, and locate enough Cape Verdean photography professionals willing to be involved in the whole process. And find a grant to apply for to get the funds needed to sustain the project (buy film if needed, develop film or print photos, put together an exposition, buy notebooks and scrapbooks for the participants, travel costs, etc.). That's the biggie. It's always money, right? Hmph, I hate to even hint at the idea that the project may hinge on something I dislike so much. But I will do what I can with as little as possible and slowly but surely we will get there! More than anything I am just jazzed that so many people are interested in and supportive of the project idea. I got such an overwhelming response, it has really motivated me to get off my butt and start going. The hardest part might just be getting wililng, available, excited and qualified Cape Verdeans interested enough to help me out and run some of the training sessions. That will hopefully come together soon enough. I have a few leads so far, but most live in Praia and are otherwise employed.

Anyway I wanted to share that with you all to let you know how things are progressing, see if any of you at home have suggestions or ideas or would like to help contribute. Altogether we are a wealth of knowledge and resources and it's exciting to see things come together from all angles.

So this week has been overall a pretty productive one. Getting the volunteer corps all organized so people can begin helping out in the Center has been going smoothly. Friday I meet with the Red Cross (over 60 youth) to explain the needs and the process for becoming a volunteer, and hopefully all the people who have shown interest will follow through and come to fill out the needed form. I am also continuing to work on the income-raising project (remember the hats we want to make?), but that will require looking for starting-up funding. Anyone know of any good grants we might qualify for? Preferably ones that don't have an extremely long approval process. I know, I ask so much:).

Okay, so that is it for now, I'll write more later. If anyone finds any of these current projects interesting and has advice or would like somehow to be involved, please feel free to let me know. My email is courtdog88@yahoo.com (a link to which is also located in my profile), or you can leave comments.

I hope you are all having wonderful weeks. I am, and partly because I am currently playing hooky for the afternoon in Praia. Ha! Take that, busy stressful life!

This too shall pass

2007-04-11T11:09:00.000-01:00

4/1/07

Today I realized that Peace Corps Cape Verde has taken away a piece of my soul.

It cannot fully be blamed on Peace Corps, as the culmination of experience and context create what I feel or am lacking. However, a part of me is literally missing due to unnecessary and overwhelming bureaucracy, complete lack of organization, absence of much meaningful support or encouragement, and a ridiculous amount of paper usage. (Note: Yes, I am allowed to say this because if you’ll notice the disclaimer, my words are not Peace Corps’ words and represent only what I feel.) It may sound as though my complaint comes in jest, but really in all honesty I feel as though a significant part of who I am is now gone, or at least severely diminished. And up until now I have felt as though my stress, exhaustion, frustration, etc. were simply due to the nature of youth development and working with disadvantaged and abused children—which I’m sure is partly true—; however now I am realizing that the bureaucratic organization I find myself immersed in plays a significant role in the demoralizing, un-motivating, life-sucking force that claims the portion of me that I want back. The rational side of me begs a qualification, a voice from the other side singing the praises of the one US organization that seeks to do as it should rather than start wars and screw people over even more than they already are. So there, that song has been sung, and will be sung again. But for right now, I will fully own what my heart feels, and that is lonely, empty, and frustrated. Many PCVs spend a significant amount of time complaining about all the frustrating details that come with living under the strong arm of the Peace Corps, and for the most part I listened willingly though quietly assuring myself that they were just “complainers”, people who don’t know how to suck it up and adjust to a new environment with new rules. Now, I have come to see that it has little to do with lack of flexibility and understanding on the part of the PCV, and everything to do with an inadequately functioning program that makes your job much harder than it needs to be. And I am quite certain that it is specific to Peace Corps Cape Verde and is not a Peace Corps-wide problem, because of comments made by PCVs coming from other countries of service.

Instead of listening to our input and making subsequent adjustments, they play this game called “I’ll pretend to listen to you now, but tomorrow I’ll conveniently forget every word you’ve said to me”—it’s the most mind-numbingly ridiculous game that is consistently in play every time you attempt a conversation with the majority of PC staff in this country, save the few that make working here more than worthwhile. This may sound unfair, and they may be doing the best they can, etc. etc. etc. (preservation of their feelings and their personal passion is essential at one point or another), but there is a limit to one’s ability to give grace and room for mistakes and growth. I have reached it. I think most other PCVs reached it awhile ago. It is unacceptable to be so disorganized and behind in preparation that you solicit a Volunteer’s help organizing, managing, and running their sector’s Pre-Service Training (PST) for the incoming Trainees rather than merely asking for their assistance in a few specialty or advice areas that may be better handled by a Volunteer. I have no problem helping out—particularly because I want it to be a better experience for the new group than it was for us—but it’s not okay to expect me to take it on as my job to organize and run their PST. That is Case in Point #1. We won’t complete the other Case in Points at this time, partly to preserve mental sanity, and partly to keep from overwhelming negativity and projecting it onto my home audience. Suffice it to say that “Ya basta”: I’ve had enough. My job is ridiculously tough enough without it being made more difficult by people who don’t understand what I truly need.

How do I maintain my calm, cheerful, and optimistic personality with all this???? Who am I becoming????

I don’t like it. And I don’t know if I can take any more of this personality stripping. I am not a servile robot, and feel as though my energetic warmth, the force that has kept me going, is slowly leaking out. Something is limited me from being who I really am.

It’s hard because when I’m at site, with my colleagues, I’m usually not as stressed out, and even at times remembering why I’m here and why I like what I’m doing. I make friends, have great opportunities to collaborate and get people involved in projects, and could really get things accomplished. There are more than enough positives to keep me here.

I realized this weekend when I talked to my mom and my sister and tried to explain my current funk that found within that piece of my soul that Peace Corps Cape Verde ripped from me is my ability to articulate in any sensical way what I am feeling or thinking. I have no idea anymore, can’t even form a coherent sentence. Maybe I’ve just been trying for too long. Is that it? Who knows…But what I do know is that something is shifting inside of me. Part of me on some days wants to run away screaming or hide in my room and not talk to anyone, and the other part of me knows I’m not a quitter and remembers why I like helping kids.

One thing I just realized that is starting to scare me: I’m so sick of people asking me for things, wanting my help, requesting my presence, needing things from me that it is driving me inside of myself—both literally and figuratively. I’m afraid to go out around town because I will see someone who asks me for something, and even becoming afraid to explore myself emotionally. There are days when things just don’t feel right. I’m exhausted, but it’s more than that. I wish I could explain it without making it sound as though I’m miserable. I’m not. Just confused. And wondering how to get the experience I sought after in the first place, because this isn’t it. This is what I wanted later in life when I am more mature and prepared—instead I just end up feeling inadequate, unable to stand up to the test. And it's not just job-wise, I don't like my lifestyle. I don't like the pace, the quickness, the movement, the pressure, the development coming at you at all angles. I want to STOP.

What I am now realizing is that I can and will allow myself to speak aloud and embrace what I truly want, even if it means saying that this isn't it. I love this experience and adore everything that Cape Verde has offered me. I will finish my service with pleasure and vigor to accomplish all that I can within the time frame. I have learned so much and have grown a large space in my heart for all of the culture and love and lessons I have received from this country and my service. But I am allowing myself to say that it isn't the experience I wanted and that I will continue to look for that experience. I don't think there's anything wrong with that. So at the end of two years I am thinking of extending my service for another year in another country, on the continent of Africa at a rural site. There are good youth development programs where I can work to develop girls' leadership, and I believe I can count on a good recommendation. So I will seek that experience. Because I can, and I think that's okay. I will be flexible until my legs are tangled behind me, and I will soak up everything this wonderful country and experience has to offer. But in the end I will move on and continue to seek what my heart is calling for.

Anyway I think all my drama widdles down to the fact that I need to learn to say no to the things I don't want and to be okay with it, and then sit back and calmly do the things I can do. Because I’m slacking on the things I’ve told people I would do.

Ah, vida…when will you give me a break?

On a different note, today is my dad’s birthday—so happy birthday, Dad!!! Hope you had a wonderful day, sorry it wasn’t possible for me to talk to you. But you are in my thoughts.

4/3/07

So I guess I should go back and recap IST from this past week. My entry on Sunday probably makes it seem as though it was awful: it was and it wasn’t. In all honesty, it was wonderful to see all the PCVs I haven’t seen since September and catch up, have fun, laugh, joke, etc. etc. Night time was play time, and that’s always fun. Even if you pay for it the next day. And I can’t say that all of the day sessions were painful or not worthwhile, because there were some helpful things covered and tiny steps taken towards being prepared for the upcoming PST—although please note that the point of IST is not to prepare for PST, it is supposed to be helping you with the things you need to continue with and improve your service, which in this case it did not really do, at least not to the extent hoped for. While we had some decent sessions on funding and project design, most time was spent helping them flesh out minute PST details. That said, it was a glaringly bright peek at what stress and annoyance will come with said PST. The disorganization, the miscommunication, and the sessions that accomplish very little. Buuuut I also understand that they are doing the best they can and will continue to grow and develop as the staff gains more experience and learns to work together. Aren’t I so “PC”?

All in all, IST made me both dread the new group’s PST and all the more motivated to make it better. We’ll see which of these I’m feeling when the new group actually gets here. For as much as I was looking forward to IST, I was pretty glad to get back to Assomada—back to the calm, steady day-to-day where I’m not out all night or sitting in sessions all day. Sometimes I itch to get out and have a change of pace, but I’m always glad to come back “home”.

4/10/07

Looking back on the past week and a half, it was pretty positive, even if I got virtually no real “work” done. Right now Cape Verdean students are on their spring break and have about a week and a half off from school over Easter, so many of the girls from the Center left last Monday to spend a week with family members or friends. So for the past week there have only been 13 girls in the Center with me and the “team”. Apparently this meant a break from work for the monitoras, who took advantage of the lack of girls to do very little with the ones who were left there. So I spent pretty much all my time with them. Just hanging out, playing, finding things to do. It kind of felt like summer break when you sit on your front porch looking for things to do, complaining that you’re bored when your parents tell you there are “millions of things you could do”, none of which you want or are motivated to do. But I did try and organize some things for the poor trapped prisoners. On Wednesday we went on a hike to the big tree (if I haven’t mentioned it before, it’s this humongous acacia tree just outside Assomada that’s supposedly the biggest tree in the country…though according to Alex there’s one in every town in Guinea), which was fun. The monitora that was supposed to go never showed up for work, so luckily I had arranged for a girl from the CEJ to go with us so I wasn’t stuck by myself. Didn’t surprise me one bit.

The rest of the week we hung out and played soccer at the Polivalente (local sports court), ate fresquinhas (little homemade popsicles they sell like crazy here), and just enjoyed each other’s presence. On Good Friday there was no work, so no one came to be with the girls (except for the mães, for whom there are no real holidays), so Mel and I went and painted Easter eggs with them, which was entertaining, and overall a success, even though the only food coloring we found was red and blue, so we had just red, blue and purple eggs. After the egg-painting, I brought all of the girls to my house to make cookies and have fun outside of the Center. I put on music, they played cards and bounced around the soccer ball, we danced, and we used the Ghirardelli chocolate chips my grandma sent me to make delicious chocolate chip cookies for the Center and for my homestay family in São Domingos. Igor ended up coming up from São D and played with the girls, which was nice.

I think they had a great time (I know I did), and especially liked playing with my new kitty—Oh! I got a new kitty! Her name is Cinza, which means ash because she is this beautiful charcoal-y color of ash (she is a tortoise-shell, just like Rocky back at home), though the girls decided to name her Baby and Chocolate. They say her “nomi di kaza” (household name) is Baby and her “nomi di igreja” (church name, or registered name) is Chocolate. I still call her Cinza. She is adorable, but she is as playful as a bat out of hell and doesn’t let me sleep. She is so very rambunctious, but she is very much a mama’s girl and never leaves my side. It’s so wonderful to have companionship and someone to look after. And the best thing: she’s already potty-trained, since the first night I got her. After we gave her a thorough bath and picked out all her fleas, she curled up in bed with me and shortly after peed over all my sheets. I showed her that was bad and immediately put her in the box I set up for her, and ever since she has used the box every time. Excellent. Here are some pictures of my adorable new friend:

The girls say if I can’t take her back to America with me, they will gladly take care of her. One of the girls, Deise, carried her around all day in my blanket, like her own little baby. So cute. Although I will say this: I can’t wait for her to grow up and get out of the playing-all-night-and-scratching-the-crap-out-of-me phase. I forgot how much patience is needed in taking care of little kitties.

On Saturday, Nick, the Brazilians, the Brazilians’ mom, and I went out to Aguas Belas and then hiked to Rincão, crazy Mike’s site. Crazy Mike is this hilarious and slightly insane Volunteer who eats enough for an army and was well-integrated into his community within like 5 seconds. Anyway, we went out to Aguas Belas, which is this great little rocky beach where there’s a cave you can swim into (which we did). Note: this beach is rocky for the same reason Ribeira da Barca is rocky, if you remember from before—people have taken away all the sand, and continue to take it by diving in the water. Not cool, but if you ask them, they say “We have to eat, there’s no other living.” Also not cool. Anyway, we swam a little, ate a little, basked in the sun a little, then commenced the long trek (long only because it was in the hottest part of the day with no shade and little water to drink) to Rincão. There we found water, were invited to lunch by a friend of Mike’s, were incessantly harassed by a ridiculously drunk Cape Verdean man (what’s a day in this country without one of those?), went for another swim in the slightly sandier (for now) beach, and then started off for home after a long, very sunny day. I liked Rincão from what I saw, which granted was very little, and would like to go back. Mike wants to arrange some tents and go camping there—I’m definitely game.

Later that night was my counterpart’s wedding ceremony. After living with the father of her 3-year-old son for several years, she decided it was time to get married. In Cape Verde, the concept of marriage is uncommon, at least not until you are older (i.e. 30s and 40s). This does not mean they don’t start families young—quite the contrary—but just that marriage to them is a mere formality, something they see little purpose to. They generally live with their partners like husband and wife for years before they get money together to have a ceremony and throw a party, if they even do it. When they do, there’s generally 3 parts involved: first you have to have a legal ceremony in the courthouse to be considered married by the government. Then most choose to have a church ceremony, which they consider the “real” wedding, even if not considered legal by itself. The third part is the party, which is more important than the ceremony. In some cases they start partying at the first ceremony and don’t stop until the couple has long gone for their honeymoon. Generally though there’s at least a day-long party the day after the church service. I wasn’t able to go to Ivete’s because I spent Easter in São Domingos with my host family. Ivete’s wedding ceremony at the church was the first one I’ve been to here in Cape Verde, and it wasn’t scheduled to start until 10:00 at night. Huh. I realized then that it probably meant that they would talk, sing, read from the Bible, etc. until midnight, at which point they would perform the service so that technically they would be married on Easter. I was right. However it was not just a marriage ceremony prefaced by a long and slightly boring service. It was two marriage ceremonies prefaced by not only a long and slightly boring service, but by four baptisms and then followed by a christening and an Easter mass. It was one of the longest nights of my life (alright, I exaggerate). It was a really big day for Ivete, as she was getting baptized and married, and her son was christened, but holy crap was I tired. I should have known I was in for the longest Catholic service ever. I was there until 2 am, and we left before the mass was over. She did look quite beautiful though.

On Easter day I took the cookies we made and headed for São D to spend the day with family and friends, a blessing beyond what I can describe. It is so comforting to have a family and a community to spend the holidays with, even if it’s not your own biological family. It was a wonderful day, echoing with the sounds of laughter, excessive teasing, and explosively energetic card games. I saw almost everyone I know from São D at a big community-wide Easter party and got to learn how to roll the maça balls to throw in the cooking pot. Maça is this dough-like mixture made from corn flour that you roll into little balls and cook until they’re thick and chewy—very yummy with a chicken stew or cachupa. It was really fun, too, because all the women gather around this huge pot on the fire and grab handfuls of the maça dough to roll and toss into the pot, laughing and gossiping as they work. It is, like most other things women do here, a social event where jokes are told and each woman’s cooking style is critiqued. One woman was incessantly chastising the others for dropping maça balls or missing the pot. “Almost a kilo of maça on the ground! Who taught you how to throw? Lift your arms, ladies!” She was a kick. Coming back at this point in my service is bizarre, because now I actually understand about 90% of what is said, instead of standing around shy and unsure, not wanting to ask questions. This time I could laugh and joke along with them, and could respond to my mama’s loud, slurred, and ridiculously fast Criolu without asking for her to repeat it five times. It lifts one’s drowning spirit to feel like you have somehow “made it” in the grand scheme of cross-cultural integration, and when you realize you can still be funny in another language.

Being in São D reminded me of how much I like the feeling of that small community, more than the fast pace of Assomada. Without doubt, Assomada is calma and much smaller than Praia, content with its quiet house-bound nights and closer-knit community members more likely to know who lives down the road than people in the capital city. Yet Assomada is continuously growing, constantly moving to that point at which it ceases to look and sound like a pseudo-city and actually becomes a city. It just doesn’t feel as homey until you get to the outskirts of Assomada, where you can hear the “Txiga!” and see people truly enjoying the presence of others. In São D I can approach the town rapazes (young men) without hearing “branca, abo e bonita” (“white girl, you’re beautiful”) or being too overly disgusted by the Cape Verdean rape stare. That doesn’t go away no matter where you go in this country, but there are levels, and Assomada’s is higher than that of São D. I can actually have male friends there, which has still been hard for me to do in Assomada. I just don’t trust them and generally get frustrated too quickly. But I digress.

Last thing to mention since I last updated: yesterday was funcionarios day for the Center, where all the employees of the Center (and me) went out for the day and had a BBQ in Rui Vaz, a community just up the hill from São Domingos. We sent the girls off to the boys’ center in Picos, packed everything up in the car, and went on our merry way to begin our day without responsibilities. After driving around forever to find a good spot to set up camp, we finally settled in and grilled fish, chicken, and pork for a delicious lunch, complete with gooey chocolate cake. We chatted, laughed, rested, danced, and took tons of pictures. I was the official photographer for the day and gladly accepted my duty as an opportunity to join people together and get them up and moving around. I took 74 pictures in all. I was busy. They turned on the music and went to town, and eventually I got a chance to impress them with my wild funana abilities, which they all agreed were more than acceptable. That’s what you get for having hips and a well-endowed back end to work with. Overall, it turned out to be a fun day that I think everyone enjoyed. It gave them a chance to relax and socialize outside of work, but I think honestly I gained more from it than them, just for the chance to get to know them on a personal non-work level. Until now I have never felt fully comfortable around them (specifically the mães), always nervous and unsure of myself, losing all confidence and ability to speak around them (I honestly have no idea why, they’re not that intimidating) to the extent that I’m sure most of them think I just don’t understand hardly any Criolu. But this gave me a chance to relax and talk with them more naturally instead of merely in situations of asking for something. So for me it was good, a chance to connect on a different level, making future work efforts a lot easier. All work and no play make Center workers dull and frustrated boys and girls (mostly girls).

Anyhow, so that was the last few weeks for me. I’ll let it all sink in and you can digest it before I move on with the introspective analysis. Save that for next week. Bet you can’t waitJ.

Outkast is everlaaastin'...

2007-03-21T17:15:00.000-01:00

I have to take a short break from work to write about my elatedness at this moment, the moment when a Peace Corps Volunteer truly feels her role being done as it “should” look. I have been trying to elicit help from the youth volunteers at the CEJ to come help out at the girls’ Center, seeking to create interest in Cape Verdeans to volunteer in areas of most need, and making connections between all these different pockets of youth in all these different institutions. So two weeks ago I announced at the CEJ that I was organizing a group of whoever was interested to come and help, primarily with studies, at the ICCA Center. I immediately got a list of people with their contacts who wanted to help. Awesome. I tried to follow up and call people, and after weeding out all the bad phone numbers, we got about 4-5 available youth and the participation of the Red Cross youth (which has a core of 64 volunteers), which is just the small start we need. I have since been contacting the local President of the Red Cross to start establishing connections, planning exchanges, seeing how we can get people involved in helping the girls, reducing the stigma in the community, etc. etc. Today, finally, we sat down with Andreia and talked concretely about options for volunteering, for planning joint workshops/life skills sessions, and for doing cultural afternoons (with dance, theater, music, etc.) together. Three excellent girls involved in the CEJ showed up, and I sat back and watched as a wonderful connection was made between the people present, talking about the needs in the Center and how each one could contribute. In actuality I participated very little in the meeting and instead threw my input and support in where needed, which is as it should have been. It just felt good seeing people’s willingness to help come together with specific needs and me having such a little part in it. All it took was me asking and making a few phone calls, and people stepped up. Just when I start to lose faith in Cape Verdeans, I get proved wrong, thank goodness. And it turns out to be very good that we only have a few individuals to start off with because there are so many structural issues to be worked out within the Center and so many problems with the staff that we don’t want them to be turned away from volunteering and turn everyone else away as well. This way we can experiment with the addition of a few new youth volunteers from the community, see how they integrate, how the staff responds, how the girls react, etc. before we start to elicit more help. Because now I know the help is out there. There are willing people, which is good to know. So today, this morning, was a good experience, a good feeling to see your role as the nearly-invisible facilitator, just bringing people together and doing little else. So yay.

I guess all the screaming I was talking about before finally paid off and someone heard.

As another note, I have officially begun giving English classes at the CEJ, even though I didn’t really want to originally. I figure it will help give me experience for the future, knowing what it is like to teach language and being able to do it elsewhere. So even though it takes up time I could be using to do other things, I have about 9-12 people each session (I do two a week, so about 20 youth) who come to hear what Teacher has to offer so they can learn to talk to tourists and go study outside of the country. The first lesson when we talked about why people wanted to learn English, I ended up imploring them to come back to Cape Verde instead of just getting educated and staying abroad, which is what a large part of the population ends up doing. Teacher has very definite objectives for her English class, and has a hard time keeping her opinions out of discussions. Teacher needs to work on that. P.S. Teacher is my new name since they can’t say my real name. Teacher also has two classes each full of males, one girl per class. Teacher wonders if the participation includes a small factor of male interest in the new white foreign girl. Hmm…

One last thing. We took the first group of girls to Tarrafal last Sunday, and had a wonderful time. Even though the mães forgot to bring balls and toys to play with, we buried each other in sand, played in the water, hunted for sea creatures, and ate lunch and snack, a truly complete day at the beach. Here are some pictures from the experience:

This girl, Patrícia is soooo adorable. She was cleaning the sand off my feet for me:)

Haha, we filled her suit with sand so she'd look pregnant. When you don't have things to make sandcastles, you get creative...
We borrowed a ball from local boys for a bit.

We will be taking the second group this coming Sunday, I’ll post pictures of that later. Aaaaand, I get to stay in Tarrafal because IST is finally arriving! Woohoo, finally we get to spend a week with all the Volunteers, sharing stories, having fun, bitching about Peace Corps, etc. etc. We are staying in these cute little bungalows right on the beach and much fun will be had, I am sure. I am also sure there will be plenty of pictures to show from that as well. But for now, I should get back to work…no more slacking off…

I give

2007-03-16T19:19:00.000-01:00

I'm tired. Tired of banging my head against the wall. Tired of screaming at the top of my lungs for no one to hear. Tired of fighting the battle alone. Plunging, ripping through shreds of familiarity, of sanity just to find the bottom. Just to crash into what must be the ever-approaching canyon floor. No parachute, you stop expecting it. No big hand to pull you out, just pitying faces that say they appreciate you and your "work". And say they want to help, that you're doing important things. I'm tired of trying to convince people, of being the ultimate advocate, of speaking for millions, of trying so hard just to get one understanding soul. And you realize why everyone quits, why they throw in the hat. You see why everyone avoids, why only the bravest survive. And you want to be one of those, but you doubt, you wonder how you'll make it. Because it's so exhausting, and YOU don't even know. You who are out there. I know this because I don't even know. Don't even know what to ask for. Support? Love? Encouragement? Extra hands, bodies, available people? Things become so hard to articulate when you have been screaming for so long. When the anxiety and stress has tried every form until your body is beaten and it looks for other ways, thirsts for conquest, and you are left its unwilling slave. So I'll choke down the tears one more time and rest my voice for tomorrow's screaming. Because eventually someone will hear and prove their true interest. Eventually someone will stay, someone will be here with me, alongside me. Because I'm lonely.

I won't be silent like you...

2007-03-12T16:44:00.000-01:00

3/10/07

Today is a day when life doesn’t fit into a blog. Some days it’s hard to track from minute to minute what you are feeling, sometimes it changes that often. And sometimes it’s just that difficult to define. For a list of occurrences over the past week: a new PCV came from Guinea and has been shadowing me and Mel at work, we had a Rocky party where there was lots of greasy food and a viewing of the first 4 Rocky films, Andreia got so stressed out at work that she left and has stayed home the last few days (don’t know when she’ll come back), Zelda has officially gone to live with her family in Praia so we all said goodbye yesterday, my expensive useful surge protector busted in a literal cloud of smoke (scary), I broke down in a fit of tears over job stress in front of Mel (about 6 months worth all built up), I decided to stop going to Picos to the boys’ Center once a week to cut down on said job stress, the president of ICCA asked me to translate a 38-page UN document to be sent to New York with only 1.5 days warning, I was put on steroids for my ever-developing asthma, I signed up almost 30 people for my English classes at the CEJ (yikes!), I got a decent-sized group of youth interested in coming to help volunteer at the girls’ Center, and two of the CEJ girls said they’d pay for my gym membership if it meant I would start working out and stop gaining weight. Apparently when it comes to appearances, it really doesn’t matter who has come into whose country to provide assistance—I will soon be receiving charity for the purposes of superficiality. Thank goodness for it too, my life has become annoyingly sedentary, I write as I sit in front of my computer. Hmph.

I’m really not in the mood to go into too many more details about the week, other than to say it was exhausting, exhilarating, and productive all at the same time. From one of my lowest moments to some of my highest, this week has somehow managed to get a decent amount of things accomplished. It has also been nice having Alex (the new PCV Transfer) around with me at work, because even though she doesn’t speak the language and I have to make sure I’m explaining everything to her, it’s nice to finally have someone there who is seeing what it’s really like every day, what kinds of things are dealt with. I enjoyed having someone to talk to about the situations I’m dealing with and what the frustrations are, and with someone who speaks my language and has a certain amount of interest in the topic. It’s like a small piece of validation, someone finally noticing that my job is TOUGH. I’m not trying to say I’m a saint or a miracle-worker, or that I am somehow better than other PCVs who may do more tangible projects than me, but God the stress there from minute to minute is enough to make you wonder how anything gets done and how you maintain your sanity some days. Anyhow, the whole point was supposed to be for me to convince Alex how wonderful youth development is and how really she should work in an ICCA Center like she’s secretly always wanted to, but ultimately it seems she will be working out amongst the trees in environmental education in São Nicolau. I guess 38 screaming needy girls may have scared her away. She’s very sweet and fun though, so we in Assomada are glad to welcome her into the Peace Corps Cape Verde family.

As I said, the steps needed to reintegrate Zelda with her family were completed this week, as we took her to Trindade on Thursday and got the psychiatrist’s final okay, got her family prepared, and she was driven home yesterday. It was quite a surreal feeling, and though we’ve been working towards it for so long, it seemed to all happen so fast. Zelda was very happy to be going home, and many of the girls were also pretty pleased, and so I wondered what the goodbye would look like. It turns out some of the mães and girls cried, harder to send her off than they thought. It was the first time since I’ve been here that I’ve seen Aracy cry. She spent the majority of her time alongside Zelda, the two “special” girls locked up in the Center all day with no school, no activities, no nothing. And so Aracy lost a good friend—and not only that, but she longs so badly to go back home to Fogo and instead of getting to go she watched someone else get to be with their family. So it was sad to watch her suffer, even though she’s been calmer the last few days. We were supposed to take a trip to Tarrafal (the beach) with the girls this weekend, but they cancelled it because this last week has been so exhausting for everyone. I hate letting the girls down. So that was the week at the Center.

I don’t feel much for analysis or deep thought at the moment, so I’ll leave it short this time. I’m exhausted. And I’m still working on the translation, which still has 20-ish pages to go. So ciao for now.

3/12/07

Finally the massive translation is done and I can go home to rest. Yesterday Alex and I had a "translation party" which was more fun that it sounds. We set up shop in the kitchen and got to work, taking frequent breaks to make egg salad sandwiches, talk about life, and then make homemade granola, which turned out soooo yummy! We made it with honey, oats, raisins, peanuts, cinnamon, vanilla, and other wonderful things. Trust me, it was like heaven straight from the oven, you should be jealous.

And so that is pretty much all I have to say about the last two days. Hope it was worth the added 30 seconds of blog-reading. Til next time.

You

2007-03-01T17:48:00.000-01:00

This is something I wrote a few weeks ago. Enjoy.
***

I remember the day You came to me and said You would walk alongside me. I couldn’t tell if the feeling was fact or fiction, fabricated, hallucinated, or the truest thing I’d felt in my life. Whatever its authenticity it swept me up without a backward glance. So many others had felt the same thing, I knew I must have embraced the fortune to stumble upon what we privileged few called the unfounded and undeniable omniscient presence. I floated my life along this serene and unruffled current, the reassurance of surety, of stability, acting as my buoy and teaching me to trust. Such simplicity, such blessed ignorance that proved to fortify the walls of protection the world, perhaps You, had built around me. Never allowing myself to doubt, I reveled in the splendor of a somehow superior recognition of spirit, a spirit I of course manufactured. Or maybe the world before me can be blamed, but I let it take its hollow form in my life. Thinking that this thing I called Your presence, Your accompaniment was all I ever needed. Never mind the nagging suspicion that it was somehow counterfeit, that I was merely a pawn in this giant game of chess You commandeered with Your grandiose hands.

Well somehow I then told myself I succeeded in knocking over this board on which You had previously controlled my life. I remember this day as well. Of course I am probably fooling myself to think I exerted such strength, really a fool to think anything definitively. But from that moment until now I have proudly borne the scepter and crown of unhindered and exceptional tolerance, which must somehow be better because of its inclusivity. Because it is welcoming rather than condemning and because it allows me to choose from the barrel of ideas what I like and what suits me best. And so I have clothed myself in everything, Joseph’s Technicolor dream coat, or something of the like. And it feels good, better even, though perhaps You may hate me for thinking so. Its utopia bubbles within me largely because I myself have defined its existence, molded its shape with my own weathered hands, which makes it mine and allows me to secretly claim a pinch of Your omnipotence, all-powerful supremacy in my very grasp.

The problem then has become that all-powerful supremacy is quite lonely it seems. Back when You walked with me, carried me even, the simplistic paper-thin appearance of comfort was better than the weight of carrying the world on my shoulders and walking alone. Each step heavier than the last and reminding me why it was simpler to grant You sovereignty. At least with You wearing the crown I could fondly caress the memory of running through meadows with the grace and freedom of a childhood never aging, never gaining the days that come with what we seem to think is wisdom. Without the responsibility of perpetual guilt one needn’t worry about how hard the soles of one’s feet will land upon the once-trodden earth. One need only worry about the language of glorious entrapment, of celebrated slavery to something professed to be greater than oneself. The language that becomes natural to us, the motor that propels us forward in existence, not a second thought given.

Only I’m not ready to speak the language once again. The words exit as sharp as a dagger heading towards my barely-healed heart once scarred by the memories of each word’s separate jab. So if You don’t mind, I’ll continue to look for that feeling of completion, of accompaniment elsewhere, until all the aids at my disposal show themselves barren and I am left wandering in the desert. In Your mind I am sure that is the inevitable end, though I’m not yet convinced. I’ll have to trudge through on my own, unguided and stubborn. And if indeed the board remains intact and Your hands braced for their next move, I’ll have no say in the matter and things will end up perhaps as they should. But grant me only the eternity of believing that I made it so, that I made the pond ripple with presumptuous excellence that I’ll claim we all secretly long for. And if this cannot be granted, leave me with the humble understanding that while the trust I was taught in the beginning isn’t as simple as it seemed, it is not always fruitful to trust merely in oneself. At some point we must admit how little we know and how truly out of reach the answers really lie. Though my fingertips will continue to stretch and stretch up into the sky…

Goodbye vacation, hello real world.

2007-02-26T16:45:00.000-01:00

2/25/07

I returned from a week-long vacation on Friday, during which I spent Carnaval (a big Brazilian-style celebration Cape Verde does up big) in Mindelo, São Vicente with a bunch of other PCVs. But before all that, here is what I was leaving the week before I left:
*Zelda had another “episode”, acting aggressive and then jumping out the window. One of the monitoras went after, following her on a wild goose chase to the hospital, and then trying to bring her back. She was in such a fit, the police had to help to bring her back to the Center. Once inside, Zelda grabbed the monitora fiercely by the hair and wouldn’t let go, yanking until the police had to smack her six times on the leg for her to let go, with a handful of the monitora’s hair in the end. The monitora was in hysterics, sobbing fiercely and hardly able to breathe. Once we calmed her down we sent her home. Hopefully she’ll come back.
*We finally held our donations-distributing party to give out the kits I made of the clothes, combs, hair things, etc. that we received from all my family and their colleagues in Washington. I explained where they came from and how to be grateful (only after we had gotten them calmed down enough to hand them out), and encouraged them to find a special way to thank the people who had been kind enough to give of their time and possessions. Here are a few pictures we took of the girls with their things:

*We found out that one of the older girls at the Center led a group of younger girls to skip school and they instead walked around town asking for money, presenting a fake card that said they were having some sort of school party they needed to raise money for. So they went around begging like street children in various zones, traveling pretty far away from the Center. Eventually they saw three young men (in their 20s), one of whom claimed to know one of the girls and invited them to come to his home. They all went in, and the little girls listened to music while one of the older girls (13 years old) went into the kitchen to “get some water”, where the man told her he would give her 500 escudos (about $5) if she would kiss him. This is the story the girls were telling, though we wonder if it was likely more than a kiss he offered up, since more has been done for much less than 500 escudos. He showed the girl pornographic images and films, until she felt uncomfortable and managed to take the younger girls and leave. Absolutely disgusting, I’m appalled by this blatantly troubling situation in which a Cape Verdean man clearly tried to take advantage of one of my girls and teach her that her body is for sale. I wanted to castrate him. Once we get all the girls’ stories straight we are going to go looking for the guy to speak with him about the situation and see if charges need to be pressed. In the scheme of things that take place around the world and in most of the US, this is a small ordeal, we can count our blessings that nothing more happened. But she is one of my girls, someone who has already had a life no one deserves. So I was not happy to hear about it. We still think that there is more to the story, since the girl who led the whole excursion has a notably disturbed sexual development and has been abused in the past, but for now we have to go on what we’ve been told.
*Consequently, the same girl offered money for a kiss was involved in a fight just afterward in the Center—but not with other girls, with a mãe. Unfortunately it’s not uncommon for them to act out aggressively against the girls, but this particular mãe is worse than the rest, consistently claiming she has no problem with hitting children for discipline and often acting like a child, showing no interest in caring for the kids in this Center. This particular fight was physical and she nearly injured the girl. Disciplinary measures are being taken, in addition to the process that has been going for a while to get her removed from her position at the Center.
One of the 14-year-old girls was caught with a cell phone (apparently her boyfriend’s) that had crude pornographic video clips on it. Later that same day, her mãe brought us a notebook found in the girl’s room that was filled (literally crammed full) of pornography—very crude and graphic pictures taken from magazines and the internet. While it may be normal (particularly it seems in Cape Verde) to utilize pornography in stages of sexual curiosity (and seriously I’ve never been in a more sexual culture in my life), the part that is disturbing is that the 8-year-old that shares a room with this girl found the notebook and its images. Things like that can’t be brought into our Center, one that has girls of all ages, tiny to not-so-tiny. Not to mention the fact that most of these girls have unsettling sexual histories and have been abused at least once in their lives. Sexual education needs to be focused on to correct some of the faulty ideas the girls have grown up with.
*To further illustrate this point, one of the girls was reported to be giving “sexual favors” in the community for 200 escudos. We have no more specific information, but have to take it seriously and as yet another sign of the urgency of attention paid to sexuality in the Center.
*And finally, the most disturbing of all the sexual deviancy occurring in the Center, it just came out that for over a year now, several of the girls (mostly older) have been brutally violating the young deaf mute girl, Eunice. They have taken various objects, including a towel, nail file, and a sharp object used to cut paper, and forcefully inserted them into her vagina until she began to bleed. One girl would place a hand over Eunice’s mouth while other girls watched and were offered cookies not to say anything. It made me want to cry when I heard this, because it was forceful and being acted out by the initiative of my girls, the very same who have had heinous things done to themselves. In the past, the girls have been found to act out their sexual curiosities with each other, mutually playing with each other’s sexual parts and their own. This can be seen as an opportunity for education, to explain rather than condemn, because sexual curiosity is normal and shouldn’t necessarily be repressed. But this, this violation, is much different, much worse. They have taken advantage of the one girl who can’t defend herself, who can’t say no and who can’t express her pain, can’t tell anyone what has happened to her. They tried to do it to other girls, who refused and stood up for themselves. But Eunice could say nothing, could hear nothing. It’s all logical, why they would do it, what they wanted to accomplish, but I want to cry every time I see her, knowing but unable to say what she has experienced. And so we have to take steps now to figure out how to respond. Now that I go back to work tomorrow, I will see if anything progressed last week, what I’ve missed, where we’re at. Hard to know where to start.

* * *
So needless to say I was ready for a vacation, though it pained me to tear myself away from the Center, knowing that missing one day means missing a world of events and drama that could easily leave one in the dust, clambering for understanding and comprehension (emotionally and literally with language). I see now why it is difficult—if not impossible—for someone with troubles learning and communicating the language to stay a full two years working with troubled and disadvantaged youth in a developing country. You miss one small thing, one explanation, and you’re lost. If you’re even fortunate enough to have people understanding and patient enough to explain when needed. There’s so much going on every second of every day that not understanding is not only frustrating but makes you feel incapable of really helping. All that to say I was hesitant to leave for vacation.

However, my vacation was very much worth it—I had an excellent time and was able to relax and have lots of fun seeing Volunteers I haven’t seen since we swore in. There were a decent amount of people there in Mindelo: the PCVs from Boavista, one from Maio, most of the PCVs from Santo Antão, of course those from São Vicente, and me. We ate out a ton, had ice cream (oh, glorious ice cream…), made big dinners, ate SALAD (they even had chicken and tuna salad, it was heaven), dressed up in masks, boas, glitter, and gaudy jewelry, went to parties at night, and watched most of the parades. Carnaval in Mindelo, and really all of the islands, is a big series of parades and people walking around in ridiculous and nonsensical costumes, which generally just consist of whatever was drug up from the closet or taken from parents…basically Mindelo looked like a walking Value Village. And apparently it’s super cool for men to all dress up as women and strut around. The concept of masculinity in this culture is beyond my understanding—they ooze testosterone 24 hours a day, making sure their muscles are sculpted, they have at least 3 piquenas, and they display total ownership in virtually every aspect of their lives (not being “a man” is one of the worst sins you could commit) and yet men have no problem holding hands walking down the streets or dressing up as women for Carnaval. Beats me. As a side note, it is also popular to dress up as a “badiu” (more traditional Africans from my island—I speak badiu Criolu) with the skirts, headwraps, and various items carried on the head. This is worn as a costume, to mock, showing the obvious contrast between the lifestyle and manifestation of culture that exists between Mindelo and Santiago, and the attitude held towards more traditional mentalities.

Anyway, I will definitely be trying to include a ton of pictures of the events, which were pretty great. The costumes and floats were very ornate, I was impressed that it was pulled of to the extent it was. It likely took them all year. The funny thing about parades in Cape Verde is that most of the time people are just marching or dancing down the street to drums, but no one is really watching. No one comes to claim a spot to watch the procession, and probably no one really even knows when it starts. Often there seems to be no defined parade route, just people walking around town in costume and having a good time, while no one really watches. The main parade on Tuesday was much more organized, though; this was the big event it seemed. Everyone was in their spots waiting for it to begin, and it seemed to have a pretty definite route. This was the televised one, and the one with the most elaborate costumes and floats, pictures of which are to follow.
These guys were so annoying. They ran around grunting and getting in your face, not to mention getting that black grease stuff all over your clothes. One of them came up and smeared his hand across my face, leaving a grease stain that took forever to wash off. Poo on that. This guy was ridiculous. He came up to us and demanded my water bottle. After I said no, he just grabbed it out of my hands and started drinking and passing it around to his friends. You can see the guy behind him drinking from it. Then he posed and asked me to take a picture of him, not moving until I took it. Hmph. Me, Steve, and Tiffany. Yeah, that's how we roll. Steve is pretty fun.

Overall, I really liked the feel of Mindelo. Though it was a city, it felt nothing like Praia, which is big, dirty, trafficky, and with too many people. Mindelo was much more calm, chill, clean, and European-feeling. There were tons of great restaurants, cute little cafes everywhere, and lots of music and art. It reminded me a lot of Havana, with the same artistic feel, the same multicolored buildings, the same pulsing rhythm that lets you know something lies beneath it all. I couldn’t say it is quite as vibrant as Cuba, nothing really could be (I am biased), but it still felt that way when I was there. I found it a great place to have my vacation, though admittedly I was reminded how glad I am to be on Santiago, how much I like the culture that surrounds me here. Some of the things that are different between the two islands and that I missed:
*Badiu Criolu—I craved it, wanted to speak it, to hear it, to feel its familiarity instead of the choppy northern Criolu I understood less of; even understanding aside, badiu just sounds better to my ears, feels as comfortable as a warm cup of coffee in your hands.
*Constant loud crazy hiaces driving back and forth and yelling “Praia-Praia”—yes this is one of the more annoying aspects of Assomada life, but I missed it. I missed the ajudante leaning out the window and with a wink asking if I’m going to São Domingos or Orgãos (just because I went there once and therefore must live there or plan to go every other day). I missed the eardrum-bursting funana music blasting from the car driving dangerously down the road right towards you. Mindelo just had boring taxis.
*atxupa—I had very little traditional food there, and while I enjoyed every bite of the luxurious food we had at restaurants, I realized it’s nice to have caldo de peixe every once in awhile.
*Gorgeous, dark, badiu Cape Verdeans—I’m starting to realize that my island contains the most beautiful people in the country (if not the world) and the most heartbreakingly handsome men with their dark chocolate skin, softer jawline, piercing eyes, and full lips. Other islands just don’t cut it, so I guess I’m spoiled with the eye candy I get to look at every day.
*Women carrying things on their heads—I guess this could speak to a more traditional mindset in general that exists on Santiago, but I missed seeing the utility of daily work done more efficiently.
*My huge open market—not only do I continually realize that we are really blessed to have such a wide availability of wonderful food because we are in the center of the island and thus a center of commerce (many other islands have virtually no vegetables and very little selection in the way of sustenance), but I just miss having all the women call out to you to buy their chickens. Supermarkets just don’t feel the same.
*Mel—I was very sad that she wasn’t there with us and realized how much I like having her here.
*Friends and familiar faces—it’s always weird going from somewhere where you are known and feel comfortable, to a new place where you’re just another Joe Schmoe on the streets.
*My girls—I actually missed the Center and found myself wondering how things were going, what kind of craziness I was missing out on, what I would be coming back to.

And so I am shown that despite the wonderful feel of vacation, the relaxation and complete calmness I felt, the joy of having a great time with friends, the luxury of a more developed city, and the Baileys I got to enjoy in my coffee one evening, I was ready to welcome Assomada with a big hug. I missed the experiences I have had here, the thickness of the culture and its roots in the ground. I did not, however miss having a housemate and would have appreciated more time to myself when I got back. Oh well, we can’t have it all, right?

One more thing that made my vacation perfect: Casey’s copy of the 2nd season of Grey’s Anatomy. We spent one of our “recovery” days glued to the computer screen, and then Mel and I watched the rest when I got back. 27 blissful episodes of good, dramatic, sappy television that I soaked up like a sponge. I think the best—and worst—part is that the show takes place in Seattle, so every cityscape, every glimpse of the Space Needle, every umbrella pulled out in the downpour, every steaming cup of to-go coffee made me feel cozy at the same time it stabbed me in the heart. I miss home. And so sometimes it’s important to tear yourself away from the computer screen to stop letting yourself dissolve into the former world that you can no longer enjoy because you are enjoying a new reality. Stay in the present. Remember what you’re doing, why you’re here. But it’s hard sometimes.

So I suppose that is what vacation is good for: a brief separation from the stress, from the insanity of day-to-day work that exhausts your heart and mind. Where you’re allowed to forget for one week that anything exists outside of you having fun and relaxing. Selfish, yes, but sometimes being a teeny bit selfish helps us to better serve others. Even though my girls would never have the opportunity to do the wonderful things I got to do, I can come back refreshed to try and make their lives better. So that is what I head off to do. Goodbye vacation, hello real world.

Drive in, drive out

2007-02-11T14:29:00.000-01:00

Finally, pictures from Sal and Boavista, after much ado. This is what we did for 4-5 days:

2/2/07

I finally found something the girls AND monitoras are interested in and excited about! I have been talking with a couple other PCVs on Santiago about an idea for an income-generating project to do with the girls at the Center, and it looks like if I can get it organized, supported, and underway, it could turn out to be a success. In Cape Verde women often make things out of linha (line), a thick thread used for crocheting, usually turning out doilies, table runners, and the occasional tablecloth. They’re nice, women fill their houses with the stuff, and it’s a nice way to occupy their evenings or “free” time. Well Claudia, the PCV I did shadowing with during training, makes a lot of different things with the linha, including shawls and such, and recently including hats. They’re cute hats, kind of like little beanies with different styles and colors. And a few of us together came up with the idea of teaching the girls how to make these hats, and possibly nice bracelets as well, and creating what would essentially be a small business that would bring money into the Center. I tossed the idea out to the girls, who showed interest, and then one day I wore the hat Claudia made for me to the Center, and the girls got really excited, thought it was adorable. And every day since they’ve been asking me when the girl is going to come teach them how to make the hats. Soooo, that got me moving to start planning the project. The monitoras got word, and for the first time since I’ve been here, showed actual emotion—excitement even. One of them pulled out a bag of linha things that have been made by the girls in the past (doilies and such) that they have tried unsuccessfully to sell during expositions. I asked her what she thought about my project idea and she was very interested, which means—gasp!—I’ll have her support. A VERY important part of getting anything done. And of getting me motivated.

This is a picture of me with the hat on that Claudia made...so that's an example of what they could look like.

So I’ve begun putting together a proposal for the project, assessing costs of materials, resources needed, organization and marketing, etc. etc. so that it can get underway as soon as possible. I think that if we market them really well, find different vendors who are willing to help us sell the hats and bracelets (a PCV in Praia knows some stores that would be willing to carry them on consignment), push them hardcore in the high school and technical school (tons of adolescents looking for a new trend to adopt) and keep things very organized and proactive, this could be a big thing. Making hats out of linha is something that hasn’t been tried or thought of, and could potentially find a big market here, more so than doilies and table runners. Not only would this project bring in a little extra money to fund projects, trips, etc. but it is an excellent way to give the girls a chance to learn responsibility and organization, and a feeling that they are contributing in the Center and that their abilities and efforts are worthwhile. It gives them something to occupy their time, and important skills for any future jobs or income-raising endeavors. Especially for those who likely won’t finish their education or go on for further schooling.

So I’m hoping this project will work out, and that we’ll be able to locate the start-up funds needed to get us in production. And that I’ll suddenly pick up business skills from thin air since I have very little idea of what I’m doing as regards things related to marketing and finances. I figure it can’t be too hard, and if I need help, that’s what other PCVs and professionals are for. And it’s something I feel I have at least a small grasp on, something I am motivated and excited to do for a change. Maybe it’s the support of another PCV that has made me feel more secure about it, but either way I’m itching to get it up and running. Anyone with advice or business tidbits, feel free to pipe in anytime…

So that project, going on host family site visits, and hanging out with my amazing girls every day has had me excited and more content this week. Except for the occasional downers (let’s just say I’m glad it’s Friday…) I’m not doing too bad. Yesterday Zelda freaked out (again) and busted a window, gashing open her wrist, pouring blood, and resulting in another trip to the hospital. If the hospital gave out punch cards, I think Zelda would have a free check-up by now. So she came back with a piece of cardboard attached to her arm with gauze wrapped all around it and a homemade sling. Which she took off and unwrapped about once an hour today. There have been so many broken windows (and other assorted damaged property) in the Center, particularly in the last month or two, the guy who fixes things for us is on speed dial. Okay, so we don’t actually have speed dial, but you get the picture. He’s here a lot.

Sometimes with the more difficult girls taking so much attention I forget to say how much I love my kids. They’re just fantastic 98% of the time (the other 2% could be considered slightly postponed fantastic-ness). And they put up with me so well. The other day when I was helping one of the 8th graders with her homework—she had to list ten things under different categories, like civil construction occupations, areas of health care, etc.—, I convinced her to put Superman and magic carpets under modes of air transportation. I really wish I could have seen her teacher’s reaction. At least we found it hilarious. I try to leave my mark where I can.

2/8/07

I went for the second time today to Ribeira da Barca, the zone where the future youth development group will be placed in July, to meet with potential host families and draw a map of the community. Then Ilídio showed me the beach that is really no longer a beach because for over 5 years, people have increasingly been taking the sand from the beach at night (illegally) and selling it for various purposes, to provide an income where there was none. They saw a resource, didn’t think ahead to realize that it wasn’t limitless, and now have no beach. The fact that there is no visible sand left has not stopped them, though, and now apparently they go diving into the water to get the sand from the ocean floor. Doing this has wiped out a road that was previously there, so they had to create a new road, and the water continues to advance, presumably until it starts devouring houses. This is additionally aided by the fact that those who don’t dive for sand have started taking the rocks that now form the only border between ocean and homes. One by one, they carry large rocks on their heads to go sell or use in construction of houses, and the ocean gets increasingly infuriated, planning its inevitable attack. I told Ilídio that soon enough the ocean would get mad and start eating the town up, people and all. He laughed and grimly replied, “You’re right, it’s pretty awful.” Not only is it awful that they haven’t looked into the future to the day when no more rocks and sand exist, but it’s awful that they haven’t found any other way to raise income. Or that no truly sustainable natural resource is found here on the islands, at least not anything substantial enough to truly lift the entire population out of poverty. But the frustrating part is that there are things they can do, other alternatives than tearing the land apart, one piece at a time until no island is left. Someone needs to come in and start inspiring some income-generating projects to provide another option. I told Ilídio we need to put a Volunteer there. Aguido agreed. But why does it take bringing a foreigner in to start these projects and foster these ideas? Frustrating.

On the way back, we took a pimped-out hiace with a DVD player that plays cheesy Cape Verdean and African music videos on repeat. Such luxury. Those fortunate enough to ride in the hiace with built-in entertainment receive the endless pleasure of heinous 80s-style clips that the other passengers can’t peel their eyes from. Any Volunteer in this country knows the ridiculousness that I’m referring to, one that until this day has no equal. Every clip is filled with the tackiest love scenes you can imagine, ripped straight from the influence of Brazilian novellas, usually with a Jeri-curled Guido in tight white jeans looking pensively into the distance after having a wicked fight with his big-bootied girlfriend who is left sitting at a restaurant table by herself, wondering what went wrong. As he remains pensive, he sees flashbacks of him and the girl playing on the beach, rolling around in the sand, taking a shower together, or strolling down the road eating ice cream. Then usually visions of him dancing alone (and rather stupidly) on a platform or boardwalk will cut through and we see just how truly sexy he is. It’s a sight to be seen. And on this day, I got to see a particularly entertaining clip of this popular one-legged African “thug” dancing around with his one crutch, shaking his hips and yelling “Mother f***er, shut the f*** up”. I really have never seen anything like it in my life. I wondered if that was the only phrase he knew in English, or if he knew what it meant. He was trying to be so tough, hopping around on the one leg, humping the ground, and proving that he still had “it” despite the missing appendage. It’s continually amazing what passes as a truly talented artist in this region. Hey, I’m glad he could fight through whatever awful experience left him with one leg and become a probably successful musician that can produce a decent beat to tap your finger to, but can we please work on improving our lyrics? It’s just so in your face when it doesn’t need to be. It seems very contrived to me, but what do I know?

2/11/07

I’m pretty sure there’s not much I want to say today. At least not that I can think of right now. Mel’s parents are in town visiting from the US for a week. The whole time they’ve been here it has made me anxious for my family to come visit. I’m so jealous! She gets to take them around town, show them her work, show off speaking Criolu to people, etc. etc. I can’t wait for people to come see me!! There’s something different about seeing a place for yourself, something that can’t be transmitted through photos and blogs. Sometimes you just have to feel it, see it happening in front of you to understand at least a tiny part of that person’s experience. I want to teach my family little phrases in Criolu so they can try them out with people, feel like they’re at least trying to communicate. I want to show them the Center, have them meet the girls, who have all seen their pictures. I’m so anxious, I don’t know how I’ll be able to wait all these months…although admittedly it may be a bit of a problem work-wise since they all want to come separately around the same time. That means over a month of visitors, which means not a lot of attention paid to work. I’ll just have to work extra hard in the months before they come. But then there’s PST…dang, so much going on!

Speaking of missing work, I bought my ticket to go to Mindelo, São Vicente for Carnaval, which is the same time as Mardi Gras in the States, the day before Ash Wednesday. So I’ll be taking almost a week to hang out with all the PCVs that will be coming from other islands to Mindelo, where the real party’s at, apparently. I wasn’t going to do it, since I just went to Sal and Boavista, and I didn’t want to miss out on any more work. But then I mentioned it to Andreia, and she was like “Go!! Take advantage of it, if I could go I would.” So since they’re so supportive, I decided I could take a little break. But I do want to make sure I’m working extra hard to make up for the time lost. I want to get the proposal for the income-raising project done before I go so I won’t feel guilty.

* * *

Quick funny story: I’ve been working on making little kits for the girls with the donations we received, so that all the girls will receive the same amount of clothes, hair combs, toys, etc. (We are marking a day to distribute them with a little party, explaining where they came from, how to be respectful when a gift is given, etc.) Well the other day when I was doing just this, Zelda ran into the room (as she often does), saw all the clothes, grabbed a pair of shorts and ran off with them. Andreia gave me a “look” and asked if I could go try to get them back from her. So I ran upstairs to follow her, and found her already stripped of clothing, pulling on the shorts that were very much too small for her. She looked at me pleadingly, begging “Tia, give me the shorts. Pleeeeease! I don’t have any shorts”. Didn’t seem to notice that they didn’t fit her in the slightest. I gave her a firm no and told her to take the shorts off immediately. I told her if she kept asking for things (which she has done pretty much every day since she found out there were boxes of foreign goods waiting in the office) and couldn’t wait until we gave them out to all the girls she wouldn’t get anything. She kept begging, I kept insisting she take them off, and finally I won. She sloooooowly took them off, and the second they were in her hand I grabbed them and told her to put her clothes back on. Instead, she decided it was time to run downstairs in her underwear, running like crazy around the Center, in front of the front door, where everyone and anyone who cared to see could enjoy the show. The monitoras, all laughing, ran after her, telling her to go back upstairs and put her clothes on. Eventually she did. Anyway, it was quite the sight to be seen, you couldn’t help but just laugh. Lately her actions are so completely unpredictable, it’s hard to say what will happen next. But at least at those times when she’s not putting herself and others in danger, it keeps us entertained. Pretty much every hour of every day since, Zelda has asked me to give her the shorts. She just wants things to be given to her, regardless of what it is. Mel’s mom came by the Center to meet the girls, and had picked up a rock outside that she liked (she collects rocks); Zelda saw the rock and asked her to give it to her. A rock. Completely useless to the girl, but she had to have it. So now she has a rock, probably sitting somewhere in her room. You just have to laugh.

* * *

Yesterday I went with Ivete (my counterpart) to a palestra (a small session on a particular topic) she was giving about violence and abuse against children and adolescents to a group of teachers in the ribeira (a more rural area of the island). Watching her speak just reminded me of how lucky I am to have such a bad-ass counterpart, someone who is everything you want and need in a counterpart. She just has such a passion for helping children and proves an excellent advocate for disadvantaged youth and troubled family situations. She has a way of inspiring you with her simple, informed, and compelling way of communicating information. She knows what she’s talking about, has a lot of experience, and knows how to talk to people, all kinds of people. I have complete confidence that she could walk into the government building one day and speak to the President with complete grace, confidence, conviction, and respect, and that same day go out to the fora, the rural areas, and speak kindly and humbly to an impoverished illiterate Cape Verdean grandmother and be able to completely capture her attention and respect. She’s an excellent person to work with, because she gets things done, knows what’s important, yet can be so casual that you feel like you’re great friends who go shopping together on the weekends. Overall, a great ally to have at ICCA, because she will help me to get some of my projects and things done—and she’s Cape VerdeanJ. Anyway, just had to share that nice moment, because it’s those nice moments that keep me here and happy and inspired to do what I’m doing. Of course in that same palestra, two of the Cape Verdeans mentioned their distain for white foreign influence and afterwards came up to me and said “American, eh? How about George Bush and his war with Iraq?” Not my favorite thing to hear as the first words coming out of someone’s mouth. So working in a foreign country is give and take.

* * *

One last thing. I have today, my first day of true rest with gloriously nothing to do, discovered a new cardio workout that doesn't involve running (which, unfortunately after a few months of trying, has not become a new passion of mine. I still hate it.). This simplistic workout involves only turning on the salsa music and going to town alone in my room. Dancing with complete reckless abandon and pure joy. Dancing however I want, however poorly, with however little coordination finds itself moving through my fingertips. And I like it. It is exciting, releasing, and completely mine. My secret only I know about and can take part in. And that gets my heart pumping, blood coursing through me, stress pushed out of me in quick breaths. And so I'll keep doing it, whenever I feel like it.

A spot on the new hiking trail

2007-02-02T20:42:00.000-01:00

A spot on the new hiking trail, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

They just opened up these trails in December, and the one we took led out to the botanical gardens in São Jorge. Neato.

Boys swimming in Fonte Gazela

2007-02-02T20:41:00.000-01:00

Boys swimming in Fonte Gazela, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

Again, see title.

hiking to Rui Vaz

2007-02-02T20:40:00.000-01:00

hiking to Rui Vaz, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

The title pretty much explains this one.

Siiiiingin in the rain...

2007-02-01T14:32:00.000-01:00

1/30/07-1/31/07

Finally, a day to lift my spirits. I woke this morning to the long-lost and glorious scent of freshly fallen rain. I left my house for work and was almost knocked over by the crispness of the air and its immediate grasp on me, handing me proof of the previous night’s surprise visitor. So strange how powerful one little smell can be, sending me back home for a brief time, right when I wanted it the most. It smelled like Seattle, like all the miserable months of rain that suddenly became precious and desirable. Even the sight of the wet ground and the mud on my shoes felt familiar. So I spent a few minutes reveling in how wonderful my city really is, feeling it cling to me, entering through my nostrils and coursing through my veins. The Northwest really is a part of who I am, the part that will never go away. Despite how much I complain about it and celebrate the ceaseless sun of Cape Verde that brings me to the beach in December. There’s still the secret part of me that likes to walk outside and feel the cleanness of the air, like a new beginning. And then curl up with a book and hot cocoa inside with the sound of the rain on the pavement outside. Sounds perfect right about now.

This morning I went for the second time with one of my CEJ colleagues to start making visits to potential host families for the new group of Peace Corps Trainees that will be coming in July. I think I mentioned before that we will be doing training here in Assomada, which means those of us who live here will be busily helping make the program run smoothly, orienting newbies to Cape Verde, and finally being “the experienced ones”. They have switched to a Community Based Training model where the PCTs will split off and live in groups of 3-5 in eight small communities surrounding Assomada. Instead of all being relatively close together as we were in São Domingos, they will be chunked off, only seeing each other for group sessions (i.e. medical, safety/security, etc.) when they all come in to Assomada. So Ilidio and I went today to meet more families from a zone called Mancholy. It was a pretty fun morning, getting to see things from the other perspective, seeing what it takes to organize things for the volunteers before they get here. I got to explain what it’s like to come in as a foreigner knowing no language, knowing very little about the culture, etc. and explain some of the difficulties people often have. Now that I speak Criolu (today was an excellent language day for me, I felt so comfortable and nearly fluent, understanding and communicating everything! Which means tomorrow I’ll probably stumble over every phrase), the families all wanted to take me in as their own. Ha! I told them I’d come back to visit, but that I’d already done the drill, hence now being an apparent master at all things badiu. It’s interesting to see all the different attitudes people have about potentially hosting a foreigner in their home. Many are very eager, wanting badly to show you how well they will treat their American and how clean their house is, offering you coffee and catxupa. Others that we approached as prospects in the community were confused and wary, not sure why someone was coming to ask them to receive and cater to a strange person who would come to live with them for 2-ish months. If nothing else, for the most part people were intrigued. The hardest part is often finding families with conditions to receive a PCT (i.e. toilet, spare room, electricity, water), according to Peace Corps standards. In any case I am sure most trainees coming in will be getting much more than they probably expected signing up for Peace Corps Africa. I’m starting to get really excited for the new group to come!

Oh, and I saw a 102-year-old man today that lives in Mancholy. 102! How’s that for life expectancy here in Cape Verde? He was alive and kicking, only the eyesight gone. So sweet and polite, the picture of respectful aging, and they were so proud of him there in Mancholy, my new favorite zone. I kinda wanted to stay there. I could just commute to Assomada…

* * *

The afternoon brought me back to reality, though it wasn’t necessarily all bad. Things have been tense in the Center lately, particularly with the two “problem girls”, Zelda and Aracy. And today, another girl, who happens to have a very rough history and aggressive tendencies that have massively improved since she’s been here, brought a fight to the Center’s doorstep—literally. She’s pretty good at bringing people to their boiling point, and had done so with a group of girls, who hit her, starting a fight that brought half the high school to the Center, where she was pacing around barefoot, daring the girls to come fight her. Upon all the commotion, Aracy decided it was her turn to call attention and started screaming and tried to run outside, requiring three employees to grab her and pull her back in, nearly tearing the shirt right off of her. It was quite the scene, with—again—half the high school watching, once more associating the ICCA Center with crazy misbehaved deviants. The poor girls coming home from school trudged in with expressions of embarrassment as their friends watched and presumably wondered why they had to call this place their home. It’s so frustrating, because everyone in proximity to the Center has a terrible image of the girls and of what goes on inside. So much noise, fighting, and commotion every day, with virtually no understanding of why it is that way, what shitty lives the girls have had that has brought them to this point. Last week Ivete told us that one of the neighbors has begun to complain and recently started threatening to take action to get the Center closed down. Shit. As much as the Center has its issues and could use improvement, it’s pretty much brand new, needs time to make things better, and what the hell are the girls going to do if it doesn’t exist??

Admittedly, though, things need to change fast. The mães and monitoras aren’t happy there, are completely unmotivated not only because it’s a tough job and many of them don’t have much interest in doing it in the first place, but because there are so few of them to do the job of many. They’re exhausted, and even the most dedicated ones are frustrated much of the time. The thing is, the girls have learned to take advantage of situations: if either Zelda or Aracy gets riled up and starts yelling, fighting, or jumping out of windows, the other one does the same, and then the other girls take note and start joining in or starting fights of their own to get attention. Zelda and Aracy have started pairing up, like a small team of destruction. One will have the idea to run away and the other will follow. They’re jumping out of the windows multiple times a day and roaming free through the streets, partly because no one is watching them, or if they do, they don’t go after them or tell anyone about it. Last week, Zelda climbed out the window, ran to Ercilia’s house (which she does often), then an hour or so later climbed out the window again, got on a hiace (public transportation) and went to Praia. We received a phone call that afternoon saying that she was at an ICCA Center in Praia, the first we’d even heard about her being gone. The most frustrating part of it all is that Praia knew before we did, since no one cared enough to tell us she was missing. Any number of awful and unthinkable things could have happened between the Center here and the hour-long trip to Praia. Craziness. This finally caused Andreia to yell at everyone, telling them it was their job by definition to watch and take care of these girls, protecting them from the streets and making sure they have things to do during the day. She admitted it wasn’t desirable for these two girls with significant mental difficulties to be here in the Center, but since we have no other choice at the moment, it’s our responsibility to care for them as our own, and if they don’t want to do that or don’t have interest in caring for children, particularly of this nature, then they should find another job. Simple as that. And if it continues, they might all be out of jobs for awhile, or so goes the threat.

The search has continued these past few weeks to find a place for Zelda to stay, some family member that has conditions or resources to take her in. Most don’t, and those who do tell us they don’t want to take her in because she has mental illness, which comes from evil spirits, which cannot be brought into their house cursing their family. A touch of the animist traditional that is still often clung to, even in the “big city”. So for now she has to stay, and as much as we care about her, it’s frustrating. Today she and Aracy fought—again—(this time it was Aracy’s turn to start with the perturbation), nails, fists and all. And guess who was in the middle of it all—me. Again. Generally I’m there grabbing an arm, helping hold a girl back, etc. but today it was practically just me. Everyone else was either eating lunch or laughing at the scene being made, so it was me pushing them apart and getting clawed in the process. Others eventually helped, but the madness continued for the rest of the afternoon. And of course the rest of the girls, hearing a fight, came running to watch the spectacle, like it was a circus show, egging them on and then starting their own fights to get attention. Like a vicious cycle. It’s enough to drive you crazy. We’re all quickly reaching our limit.

On the bright side, the secretary and I registered all the donations today so that if anyone goes through and steals something, we’ll know what’s missing. It’s sometimes alarming how little trust exists in the Center.

sao domingos 024

2007-01-28T18:54:00.000-01:00

sao domingos 024, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

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:)

spoons2

2007-01-28T18:49:00.000-01:00

spoons2, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

This is when I taught the neighborhood in São D how to play spoons. It was in the quintal of my homestay house.

meninu lindo2

2007-01-28T18:41:00.000-01:00

meninu lindo2, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

This kid is so cute. I look at his picture when I need to smile.

carla and catalini

2007-01-28T18:35:00.000-01:00

carla and catalini, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

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

2007-01-28T18:29:00.000-01:00

non-ET group.jpg, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

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

2007-01-28T18:22:00.000-01:00

batuk man, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

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...?

2007-01-28T17:52:00.000-01:00

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.

Just trying to find my way home

2007-01-24T12:56:00.000-01:00

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.

Hello...?

2007-01-15T11:22:00.000-01:00

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!

Mostra-m ki bu ten

2007-01-13T12:51:00.000-01:00

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.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

2007-01-09T19:03:00.000-01:00

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:)

News Briefs

2006-12-30T10:39:00.000-01:00

12/27/06

Wow. A month without journaling. Not just a lack of updating the blog, but no journaling whatsoever. My head might explode from the pressure. For now what I think I’ll do is limit it to a number of short-ish news briefs to catch you up on what has been going on here, random tidbits, etc. and then later I will spend some time really taking care of my thoughts and feelings. Maybe when I take vacation in January I can just sit on the beach and write…Okay, so here goes, in no particular order:

My CEJ counterpart Paulo confessed his love for me about a month ago, just as I had dreaded since day one. I don’t care to repeat all of what he said, but suffice it to say that the words “passion” and “physical” were used more than once. As well as the phrase “even though I have a wife…” Welcome to Cape Verdean culture. Apparently I’m supposed to suck it up and, while repeating a firm “No”, deal with him eyeing me daily and making every possible attempt to win his way into my pants one sickening caress of the arm at a time. Fat chance, Guido. N ka gosta.
Zelda is still at the Center and on different medication that makes her loopy and talkative, yet for the most part calmer and not so much suicidal. I took her and the other girls who stayed in the Center for Christmas to my house to make banana bread on Christmas Eve. It was all I could do to keep her in the house and not running all over town, but hopefully she had an alright time.
A surprising 29-ish girls were able to spend Christmas with either their families, friends of the Center, or Ivete and other employees, so only 9 girls had to stay at the Center and spend it alone. I was worried they would be really sad knowing they couldn’t be with their families, that their families don’t exist, or that no one specifically invited them to stay on Christmas day, but it turns out they had several visitors and had a good time with each other and the mães. So much better than last year, when apparently some families that arranged to take in some of the girls for the holidays rejected them to their faces, saying they only wanted the cute littler ones. Anyway, most were able to have a home to stay in, which has made it pretty quiet around the Center lately. Much more easily manageable, if not slightly eerie.
I just had my 23^rd birthday last Friday, and it turns out another PCV has the same birthday, so we had a joint party in Praia, and she invited a ton of Cape Verdean friends—we had a blast! One of the best birthdays I’ve had in awhile. There was dancing, eating, and general merriness, not to mention gorgeous Cape Verdeans. These next two years are going to be trouble…;)
Christmas day I went to São Domingos with the banana bread the girls and I made and spent the day with my host family and all our neighbors. I don’t know, my first Christmas away from family and out of the country was a little weird. It just didn’t feel like Christmas. Very anticlimactic. They all celebrate it, it’s a Catholic country, and they generally make a big lunch or dinner, but it’s not quite the big deal we make it in the States. Which is both excellent and a little sad. There’s no heavy-duty consumerism, frantic shoppers, overcrowded malls, cheesy Santas everywhere, worries about buying everyone’s presents, “Grandma got run over by a reindeer”, and blinking lights that are due to give one an epileptic seizure. Yet there’s also no wonderful scent of pine trees beautifully decorated in your living room, no Frank Sinatra singing classic Christmas carols, nothing even closely resembling snow, no hot cocoa in front of a fire with your family, no waking up Christmas morning and making strawberry and whipped cream pancakes and bacon, and no Paige, Lindsey, Mom, and Dad. The last part’s the hardest.
Christmas evening we had all the PCVs on the island who could come and had no family to visit over for dinner at our house. We decorated with a few lights, bought some cheap Cape Verdean white wine, and enjoyed each other’s presence. It was simple, brief, and nice. I got to talk to my family later that evening, which made it all worthwhile. The next day we slept in, made a big brunch, and laid around watching Sin City, like true Americans. Raise your hand if you thought the Peace Corps would be full of watching DVDs on a laptop…No one? Me neither.
A couple weeks before Christmas all the CEJ youth volunteers went to the beach for a day of relaxing to celebrate a year of work in the community. We had a nice time, all together, talking and listening to loud Angolan music no one really understands but puts on repeat five times in a row. We were set to depart at 7:30 and actually left at 10—so the usual. Once we got there everyone lingered around on the beach, not really daring to go in. I asked why no one was getting in, though I partially assumed the answer already, and they responded “We don’t know how to swim.” It wasn’t the first time I’d heard this in Cape Verde, but the more people I asked the more I realized: no one in Cape Verde learns how to swim as a child. And they live on an island. Surrounded by water. I find it fascinating, or at least a little weird. Maybe those who live directly on the beach have a little more knowledge of how to make their way around the water, but these 20-year-olds had no clue. The minute they found out I taught swimming lessons in the States, they excitedly begged me to teach them. It was hilarious watching all these pseudo-adults flailing around in the water, trying so hard, yet so scared of drowning. When you’re used to teaching 2-7 year olds it’s a pretty funny sight. They kept freaking out and clinging onto my neck. So I guess no Cape Verdean summer Olympics contestant for any swimming event.
In T-minus 7 days, Mel and I will be leaving to bask in the warm sun of our vacation in Sal and Boavista—I absolutely can’t wait. It will be brief but glorious, and then we get to come back to In-Service Training the next day where all the PCVs will be together in Tarrafal, so we’ll get to do a ton of catching up! I’m so giddily ready to see everyone, share war stories, and just enjoy each other’s presence. And be at the beach for a week!
After almost 3 months of service, my CEJ counterparts and I tried to finally sit down and officially define my role at the center—how I’m perceived, exactly what I’ll be doing, etc. It went a lot better in my head than in reality. I hate that feeling that people you’re trying to work with on something are more interested in what they have to say than in how you are going to fit in or your perspective on things. It basically felt like they were wanting me to just come in and be another worker-slash-volunteer that comes in and does a few activities for a couple years, then goes on her way. The trophy white foreigner they can bring around to events and meetings to say they have international help. Which in their reality maybe is true, but I was hoping that the things I end up doing there would be the type to continue beyond my service. The whole point is to do things that are relevant for them in a way that they will want to carry it on in the future, things that don’t require my presence. Instead, they got really excited about wanting me to come teach English. I told them I have no problem helping with that, but I don’t want it to be the priority of my presence there. When I leave, who will be “the English teacher”? Is that weird? Maybe I should just suck it up and do whatever it is they tell me to do or seem to need me to do, after all I’m supposed to be open and flexible, here to serve. But sometimes it just seems like their perspective is so limited, just thinking about a small group of people, rather than the huge things they can accomplish using that small group as a start. Every time I press for things or insert my opinion, I get this machismo response of “whoa, down girl” and expressions of shock that the little blonde girl might actually have an opinion or want to accomplish something. Like it just couldn’t be possible. I always feel this attitude with them that they get impatient working with a girl, whose sole purpose in being there is supposed to be flirting and looking good. But I guess that’s just something I’ll have to overcome during my time here, not let it overshadow what needs to be done. And my task really will be to see what the youth want to do, what the kids involved actually need and are willing to be involved in. Not the two guys in charge of it all. So that will be my goal.
As for what I’ve been working on at all three of my jobs and what I’m signed up to do in the next two years, here’s a list of projects/programs/activities:

Behavioral evaluation of the girls at the Center (that huge chart I was telling you about is underway and in the process of working out the kinks)
I am official fundraiser for the Center, organizing any efforts to bring in funds for projects and necessities, including grant-writing, asking for donations, and general fundraising events
I am also official coordinator of all outside excursions, field trips, and exchanges that take place with the girls of the Center—they’re hoping to do big trips once or twice a month and a little one every week
I am working on starting a small library in each of the ICCA (previously ICM) Centers, which involves book collection, asking for donations, fundraising, etc. etc. etc. and will then start a program to promote reading in the Centers, which currently doesn’t exist—no one here reads for pleasure…or for school for that matter
I will be starting English classes at both Centers (here and in Picos) for the high school kids who have English, and I will probably be starting English classes at the CEJ as well
I will soon be starting work on a large-scale (hopefully) photography project that will tie in with my thesis project, where the girls at the Center and maybe even girls from the CEJ will be given cameras, training, and a particular objective related to critical consciousness, leadership, and changing your community; this will then eventually turn into a wide-scale exposition with the intent of opening people’s eyes to the needs of girls in our community, and the ability of youth to express their voice through photographs
I hope to organize by next summer a Peace Corps project called Camp GLOW which is a leadership camp for girls; I haven’t decided how large this camp will be, but it will go beyond the girls from the Center to include the whole island, hopefully spreading the trend to eventually involve other islands
I’m trying to get CEJ youth and youth from the high schools to start a tutoring and/or mentoring program for younger kids in the community who need role models and/or help with studies. It started with a focus on the kids from the ICCA Centers (of course), but will hopefully extend to the SOS (other local orphanage started by a foreign NGO that I talked about a long time ago) and other local children
I want to start a girls’ group at the CEJ, as if I needed any more activities specifically related to girls
I and another Volunteer are creating a life-sized game for youth that centers around life skills, critical thinking, and Cape Verdean culture that can be played with various different populations within the country and can be boxed up and easily transportable
I might possibly be helping with an inter-island soccer tournament that is being started by another Volunteer, gathering a team for Santa Catarina and helping that to get kicked off. We’ll see how much time is available for this…

So that’s all the current larger projects, not including all the day-to-day craziness that makes up a part of my three jobs—aren’t you all jealous? I have my doubts that all of this can be done, but I’m sure going to try. And after all, the whole goal is to truly do very little, to get members of the community invested enough to do it on their own, so that they’re learning how and are more likely to continue it in the future. The problem then is motivating Cape Verdeans…

12/28/06

Today is one of those days. Those days when you question everything about yourself and just generally feel blue. I sit here and think about what makes me think I’m qualified to do much of anything. It’s one of those times when everything I see and experience make me question everything I’ve learned and think I can offer, wondering if any of it is true or worthwhile. And I’ve been down this road before—you all know it, I’m sure I wrote about the same thing not too long ago. But it’s back. That nagging feeling that nothing I do is right or really helping anyone. Looking at the massive list of things I’m involved or getting involved in I wonder if any of it will go the way it looks in my head, or if it will all fall to pieces, or if it was wrong to plan any of this in the first place. It’s so frustrating trying to get people to help you with anything—most of the time they either want you to do it for them or try and pawn it off on someone else, if they even care enough to want it done in the first place. It’s not a fair assessment of Cape Verdeans in general, but damn it’s hard to motivate anyone. And that’s my job—youth mobilizer. And I can’t even do it! I can’t seem to get people excited about things or coming up with ideas of their own. They’re not used to thinking critically for themselves or trying to problem solve, or even coming up with creative new ideas for anything. They sing the same 5 damn songs without thinking of coming up with anything new. They play one card game and one outdoor game, refusing to learn new ones. And maybe that should be okay: maybe I should let it go and leave them to their one of everything and assume they’re happy that way. But then why am I here? Sometimes everything is just so vastly different it’s hard to wrap your brain around it. Not only is the language different and so frustrating, as you continue to make huge mistakes and can’t articulate yourself to save a life, but the mentality is just completely foreign. Yeah, I know, welcome to an entirely different culture in an entirely different country with an entirely different history. I knew it was coming, and everything’s clearly explainable to me, but being here it’s just different. I can say I knew it all beforehand, but it’s just different. There’s so much pressure from the development world to accomplish, to do something, to create something, to make a visible difference, to understand it all. And a big part of me just wants to play anthropologist, to watch people, to understand the culture, where it all came from. But being in a country that’s just starting the development boom where everything changes, all new things are coming in, the world is starting to open up (globalization-wise) and all very quickly, there’s just too much pressure for movement. No time to sit back and let the history seep in, no time to appreciate where it came from or worry about what should and shouldn’t be done or changed or “improved”. It’s all too fast for me, and my moral compass is going crazy, shouting cautions that are overshadowed by the development mantra, the “bigger, better, faster”, the presumptions of what is needed and what they should want. The conflict is about to make my head explode, and God I just want to be. Just be. Just sit and breathe in who I am, let the warmth of where I’m at wash over me, without pressure, without forward motion, just there. With me. In me. Around me. And I know that some of this judgment, this pressure, comes from within me, the need to be a certain way, the inability to make mistakes, the incomprehension of fallibility. The funny thing is I was just at the point where I was happy, completely happy with myself. I knew my goals and dreams, I knew what I believed, what I wanted, had so many possibilities. Why does doubt come so fast, and where does it come from? Like a freight train, blindsiding you until you don’t know which way is up. So someone show me the way, what is the answer? Just tell me there is some point when it all makes sense. Clarity. And right now I want Emily here. You always made things clear for me, no apologies, everything just simple and happy. You allowed me to be. And I miss you desperately. I bet you never realized how much one little school year could have made a world of difference to me. Just tell me there’s a tiny corner in your heart for me and I’ll be okay. Just breathe. Breathe…

blog photos

2006-12-07T11:51:00.006-01:00

blog photos, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

This is from a birthday party we had at the end of the month for all the girls who had birthdays during the month of October. Such sweet smiling faces:)

blog photos

2006-12-07T11:51:00.005-01:00

blog photos, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

How can you not love these faces?

blog photos

2006-12-07T11:51:00.004-01:00

blog photos, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

This one's my favorite. This really is the life!

blog photos

2006-12-07T11:51:00.003-01:00

blog photos, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

blog photos

2006-12-07T11:51:00.002-01:00

blog photos, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

We took some of the girls on a short hike (I wrote about it earlier), and we had a great time!

blog photos

2006-12-07T11:51:00.001-01:00

blog photos, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

This is a picture of Zelda, and the younger girls is Simone. This is how I like to think of her, in the moments when she's content.

blog photos

2006-12-07T11:51:00.000-01:00

blog photos, originally uploaded by courtdog88.

There's always dancing going on in the Center, this is their favorite one to choreograph, "Assim como a costa"...somehow I haven't gotten sick of seeing it yet.

How to save a life

2006-12-07T10:42:00.000-01:00

Check out my darlings and the AIDS ribbons we made--not as fancy as what you can buy elsewhere, but I think from scratch is more fun, and they liked doing it:) So for a quick update on AIDS day since I have but a few minutes to write: We had a silent march through Assomada and since everyone was hemming and hawing (sp?) on the AIDS ribbons and getting them ready, we took it into our own hands, and made about 150, and of course when people saw them, everyone wanted one and I had dozens of hands in my face to be given these homemade pieces of red cloth. So next year I assume they'll actually want to organize the ribbon-making--sometimes you just have to do it and later people will see. Anyway, I took all the girls and their ribbons and as many white-ish t-shirts as we could gather and we met the others for the parade. Then Lauro, the filthy perverted Brazilian (I'll explain later) in charge of AIDS in Assomada decided he wanted the girls from the Center to lead the parade, to walk in front of everyone and be set apart. Well, imagine the looks on the faces of 20-ish young girls who have never been told they were special for anything good in their lives. They were elated. "Us?!" Yes, you. And so we paraded proudly through Assomada and ended in the plaza, where a small stage was set up for Lauro to talk about AIDS and invite people to come share music, poetry, whatever they wanted. So I nudged the girls and told them they should do the dance they are always choreographing in the Center, and so they eagerly jumped onstage and it felt like it was "AIDS day slash girls-from-the-Center day". I was beaming. Of course after that about 75% of the activities that were planned for the afternoon were cancelled due to people not showing up or falling through at the last minute, true to Cape Verde style. But it's par for the course. Next year I'll know what to look out for and how to make sure everything's organized better. So much for thinking my CEJ had it under control.

I wanted to write a lot more, more personal, more what I'm feeling, and more what's happening with the people around me, but I need to sit down and do that when I have more time, not when I'm in the PC office hungry and ready for lunch. So I'll just try and post more pictures.