Can't think of a title.

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

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

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

“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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wine and cheese nights mean introspective glee

Hmmmm....

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

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

And I really do like me.

Kenha ki gosta di SIDA?...

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

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

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

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

Step into my time machine...

Past:

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

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

Current:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reality Bites

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

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

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

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

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

Melodrama

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So until then.

Motivation

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

Happy camper gets shot in the heart

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

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

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

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

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

Island by island I go...

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

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

Okay, first up: Fogo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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