PARASITES!

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

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

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?

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

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'...

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

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...

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

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.

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.