THE FELLOWS BLOG
Psst. Psssst. Pssssssst.
The Senegalese hiss. I don’t quite understand why, but they hiss at you. They hiss at each other. They hiss at everybody. Instead of saying, “Hello!”, they just go “pssssst.” It’s how people in Senegal try to get your attention. And it’s not just because I’m American. They do that to each other. They hiss at people just to ask “where is this bus going?” or “how far is the supermarket from here?” It’s so strange.
So I was hissed at by some child. He also tapped on me. He was a beggar. I said “sarax si agg na” which is “I’ve already saved my soul today” essentially. It’s suppose to get rid of beggars. The kid stared at me and a huge smile came across his face. Read more…
Awkward Moments
I turned the corner and all of the sudden there was a wall of backs in front of me. What in the world! I thought, what are all of these people doing? I had just finished lunch at my host house and was on my way back to the Baobab Center for a Wolof lesson. Normally I would be winding my way through people resting on the street and ignoring all of the taxis that honk at me because they think white people need taxis. Today however empty cars clogged the streets. Only a few women and children were walking around. All of the men stood shoulder to shoulder in big groups on each side of the street. The only sound was the prayer being called from the mosque across the street. Then I realized it was Friday, the day all men go to pray, and therefore a completely normal occurrence. So I silently made my way through the groups of people and empty cars to the Baobab Center, feeling a little awkward and out of place. I have a feeling I will experience many more moments such as this in the months to come.
Language, Langue, Lengua, 语言, Laaka
I’ve never been very good at languages. I’ve always had a tough time learning them and mastering them. But knowing a language tells you so much about the culture of its people. Yes, the roots of it might be Germanic, or Arabic, or so on. Knowing that may tell you the influences and the roots of the culture. But more importantly, the words can tell you the people’s values.
I was learning Wolof the other day, and we were curious what the word “sad” was. My teacher looked at us confused. We asked her again, slower. But once again, she looked at us with a blank expression. It turns out, there is no direct translation for “sad” in Wolof. There is a word for crying, or a word for mad or angry, but there simply isn’t a word for “sad.” And that fits perfectly. The Senegalese aren’t a sad people. Passing then on the street, they are always laughing or smiling. They simply look happy. And I find that incredible, that as a people, they can be so cheerful. They aren’t rich; the quality of life here is way below that of the US, yet they don’t care. Why can’t Americans be so happy all the time? Why can’t we just be content with what we have? We’re always looking for more, looking for something that quenches that unquenchable thirst. Maybe we should learn a few things from the Senegalese. Read more…
Dinner with the Thiaws
The habits of dinner are very very different here than they are in the US. It takes time to adjust, and I still haven’t quite adjusted to it. Breakfast and lunch are at pretty normal hours; whenever you wake up, which is around 8 or so, and around 1-2 respectively. However, dinner is just incredibly late. I don’t quite understand how the Senegalese curb their hunger. We don’t have dinner until 9:30 here. In the US, I get hungry around 6 or 7. Perhaps they snack, but I rarely see my family snack. One thing they do here that Americans don’t tend to do is nap. A lot. The Senegalese usually return from work in the middle of the day for lunch. They also might take a short nap since they’re already home, and they definitely shower (the Senegalese tend to shower 2-3 times a day to combat the humidity and heat, which is causing my wardrobe to rapidly disappear). But maybe their naptime makes them less hungry? Who knows. They also tend to go to bed incredibly late and wake up incredibly early, since they nap so much.
Like I said, my family eats at gender-segregated table. Well, the other night, the men of the household weren’t there for dinner. So lucky me, I got to eat dinner alone. I asked the women why they never eat at this table, or why the men never eat at their table, hinting at the fact that I didn’t want to eat alone at this big table on the other side of the room. They simply said that that’s just how it is. My table is for the men and guests, and theirs is for the women. I just have to go with the status quo. Read more…
Mayan Wedding
Today after our regular Spanish and ixil classes went to a small town call San Antonio, Aguas Calientes (hot water) about 20 minutes away from Antigua. We meet with two women who are part of an organization called ” Ixel.” All done by hand they create very typical Mayan clothes as well as others that are very colorful and vibrant. With the money they make through their art they support their community by making sure that kids have food, education and clothes.
As my eyes started to wander inside their shop I found myself very inspired and excited to see so many different designs in the fabrics. As part of their culture and as a way to identify what city a person is from they make each outfit differently compared to the neighbors from cities nearby. It amazes me the complexities that co-exist with the simplicity of their traditions. Read more…
Dear Sir, I Concur
I just read Alec’s post “Sodoku?!” and I must say that I have had the same experience here in Guatemala! The first night that I stayed in my homestay we watched The Fast & The Furious on TV. Though I had known my family for only a few hours, we chuckled at the same parts. Granted, I was chuckling because I remember what the lines were in English and they were chuckling because they understood the Spanish dubbing, but it made me realize that there are some very basic things that are just universal. (Like how cute Paul Walker & Tyrese are.)
Also, this morning for my refaccion or “light refreshment” as my dictionary puts it (AKA snack!) I had two clementines or mandarinas. I love clementines with a passion! At home I eat them by the box full every week. And now here I am gobbling them up with the same enthusiasm thousands of miles away from Raleigh. (And I would also like to point out the fact that these clementines were almost certainly grown organically, locally, and picked when they were perfectly ripe, and also cost less than 25 U.S. cents whereas at home they would have been sitting in Whole Foods for 6 dollars. Just a strange thought that occurred to me while I ate. As an American I used to think of my standard of living as superior, but in some ways, I am the one who is missing out because I can’t grow my own limes and
So, yes, Alec you are completely right that we all have more in common than we think. It’s a great thing to realize, because it makes this incredibly different place seem like it could be home for me too.
Journal Excerpt – 10/10/09 – Climbing Volcano Pacaya
“…After passing through what appeared it must be the last bit of civilization before the volcano, we came across this covered, but open-air shelter filled with over 20 men — as well as a few children holding marshmallows up to the bus window trying to wordlessly convince us to purchase the colorful, gooey treat. We chose — or our driver, I guess — chose a guide for the rest of the journey…After passing this shed which surely must be the last sign of civilization, we drove about 5 km and entered into a whole other town. When we parked, our van was quickly surrounded by men on horseback, hoping we would opt for a taxi, rather than hiking ourselves…”
“…We began climbing — getting quickly exhausted on the first kilometer of steep concrete stairs — completely plastered in horse droppings…”
“…I don’t know if there was another option or not, but our guide took us esquiando down the volcanic sand…”
“…Generally, there’s something really surreal about roasting marshmallows over lava, but I couldn’t even begin to complain because they tasted so incredible…”
Overall, what a day.
The chicken bus has changed my life.
The chicken bus has changed my life.
As you read this post, please keep in mind that on my commute home yesterday, I was carrying a bag of 12 eggs in my right hand. 3 of which were already broken.
The “camionetas”, as they are affectionately called by Guatemalans, are a great way to start the day. Each ride on the camioneta is a brand new experience. They speed off as soon as you step your foot off the bus, sometimes soaking you in water. To get to seats at the back of the bus, you often have to pass through a nonexistent gap between two people who are leaning against each other because they are both sitting three to a row and falling off their seat, or sometimes even slide past someone who is standing in that nonexistent space. Read more…
Pictures In My Head
Pictures of you, pictures of me, hung up on the wall for the world to see.
The courtyard in my house is roughly a 12/12 square with an extra 4×6 rectangle added onto it. From me at 8 o’clock I have the grey concrete hallway that leads to my room and the stairs. At 10 there are the two bathrooms/showers- one for the men, and the other for the women. At 12 there is the banana tree- curved by the weight of this unfippened bananas so that it touches the boys molting white wooden bathroom door. At 1 there is the door to the room that I should have been in ( but now Ama is). I had to move because one of the biggest rainy seasons ever brought floods and water damage to almost every home- leaving dankness and mold. At 2:30 there is the kitchen, another 4×6 rectangle, filled with its counter, refrigerator, and few cabients. OUtside its door sits the gas tank with its signle burner on top, and right next ot it lies the oron charcoal holder- the two things which prepare every meal my family and I eat. And then at 6 lies the cream colorred cement wall that separates Mousa’s room from the courtyard.
I roasted coffee beans tonight on our little courtyard over the charcoal. We then ground them and will have fresh coffee tomorrow morning (I’ll drink it for the experiance, but seriously, its so freaking hot right now, 101 heat index with ridiculous humidity). The smell of the beans was amazing- there of course was the smell of coffee, but there was also something much sweeter, almost of cinnamon and cocao. Then we roasted peanuts in their shells.. and I just ate them. Yep, fresh hand roasted peanutes.
En Ville
This morning all six fellows, along with two guides, piled into a Tata bus for an outing down town. And by bus I men a large van with about six rows of benches five seats across. We entered by jumping through a door in the back and folding down the middle seats to make our way to a free seat. We then banged along; barley moving however, as we sat crammed together. At one of the many stops we climbed to the front and jumped out the side door.
While waiting for the next bus we were surrounded by a group of little boys. They came up to each of us without stretched hands. Most of us just smiled and shook our heads no, but Alec, remembering what we had learned in class the day before, said, ‘ba beneen’, meaning later. This caused the little boy to burst out laughing and instead of go away hold up his hand again and again just so he could hear Alec repeat the phrase.
When we reached down town we split into two groups to walk around. After squeezing through vendors, cars and people at the market, our guide took us to a Senegalese restaurant. While waiting for our food we had some peanuts. If they had not been in peanut shells I would not have known what they were. Each “nut” had a soft white case around it and was shaped more like a corn kernel as opposed to the typical “American” shape. When I bit in it tasted nothing like what I think of as peanuts and was soft and fleshy. For lunch we had traditional Senegalese food which is usually rice with meat or fish and root vegetables such as carrots and potatoes. All in all it was a fun outing!
laptop computers and blueberries
Sitting on the roof balcony of my new home, the call to prayer rings out loud and strong. Wispy clouds scatter the dark sky pinkened slightly by the lightsbelow. The shape of a bat darts overhead every once in a while. I write by the light shining through an open doorway through which I can see a low bed dressed in a sheet of silk, slightly grimy white walls, a tiled floor. In the corner stands a table covered in various bottles and other colorful plastic items and next to that a stationary bike – a surprise for sure when I first saw it. One of those unexpected things, funny little details, often traces of modernization, that makes you laugh inside. (For example hearing Aby Diallo, our homestay coordinator, call blackberrys, blueberries, a very strange phenomenon in her opinion, or seeing my wolof teacher make fun of all the medications Americans recieve at the baobab center. I need wood not iron he says.) And then there’s the lap top computer left on the doorstep, the chord disappearing inside the room.
The silence in the house below is a little earie and I wonder where everyone has gone. I arrived this evening just before sunset in good spirits after a three hour wolof lesson and after having somewhat successfully shaken the hands of the various people seated in plastic chairs out on the street (their smiles are every bit worth the awkwardness) to find the kids and their mothers all hanging out up here on the roof balcony. Not sure what to do after having greeted them I just sat down on a step to watch, trying to catch a few familiar words. I don’t think they minded, but its always hard to know at the beginning. Its hard to know when its appropriate to ask questions and when it isn’t. Its not that I’m afraid of being the silly tubab (there’s not much I can do about that anyways) more just of being rude.
The full day cultural session that we had at the baobab center yesterday was I think very important because there are certain aspects of Senegalese culture that a foreigner may never understand because they are not really talked about. One for example is that a host is very unlikely to confront a guest if he or she is making them uncomfortable. They will only gradually distance themselves from you while you wonder where you went wrong. The purpose of our full day of cultural learning at the Baobab center yesterday was to prevent this from happening, but as I am discovering now, finding your place as a guest in a new household is and will always be a delicate process. Where to find the balance between too reclusive and too outgoing, too helpful and too lazy? Exactly where these lines fall is what varies from one culture to the next. As a guest for example in an American household I would never leave my plate sitting on the table or not offer to help with dishes, but here I can see that my offers only bring up awkwardness in that I’m interfering with separate spheres of the guest and the host.
But anyways, back to the first scene. Imagine that balcony roof top: dimly lit pinkish sky, tiled floor, concrete walls, various chairs of different materials and shapes scattered about. Little kids in shorts and soccer jerseys eating porridge out of tin cups with large spoons. An elderly woman covers her head and shoulders in a pink veil, unrolls her plastic matt and bends up and down on her hands and knees praying the rhythm of the call from the mosque. On one ledge there is a wooden calabash bowl, probably containing the porridge, and then there is the laptop computer. Everyone’s attention is drawn to a small window open on the screen in which a music video is playing. But there is no sound because the computer lacks speakers. The older woman praying swats at her son to move out of her way so she can see the screen while she prays.
The preservation of traditional culture, interrupted so minimally by the presence of this computer – a useful tool to be sure to enable the spread of ideas, awarenss and global colaboration – is encouraging. But what about the day they install the speakers? What changes will that bring?
Sodoku?!
It’s weird to think that so many things in Senegal and so many things in the US are actually quite similar.
I ordered just a simple omelette for lunch; essentially a fried egg. It’s weird to think when you order a fried egg anywhere, a fried egg will always be a fried egg. You can’t really fry an egg differently in US than in Senegal, or in Japan, or in Australia. Granted, the eggs may be different quality or different size, but essentially, an egg is an egg. Yet they are so delicious, anywhere you eat them. Read more…
Third Day in Guatemala
Today is the third day since we landed in the calm and vibrant country of Guatemala. After staring the morning with a long shower not knowing if after we would have to carry water in buckets we could not wait to meet our families. The day went as usual with patient for a good breakfast in a local restaurant in Antigua while our bags were already heading the road to our new homes in Santo Tomas, Milpas-Alta.
To energize after having a food coma from breakfast we played a game call Red Rover where we divided ourselves into two teams creating two horizontal chains parallel to one another. One team had to hold hands while calling the name from the opposite team to come running as hard as they could and break the chain. If that person got to break the chain they automatically belonged to that team. The team that had more people won and of course I was lucky enough to be part of that group. If you haven’t yet played Red Rover I recommend it. Read more…
A Day at the Market
“Ask 6 tomato vendors how much a pound of tomatoes costs. What is the disparity in pricing?”
This is one of over a dozen questions on a single sheet of paper we were handed in the main Antigua market. Beck, our Antigua contact with Social Entrepreneur Corps, gave us this survey as a means with which to begin to understand the many dynamics of the local marketplace.
As we went around to different vendors of various items — from nuts, to avocados, to pirated DVDs — we were forced to acknowledge the staunch discrepancies in pricing both between sellers and between buyers.
Drunk Puppy?
I was in some basement that I’ve never been in. There was a red cup of some clear liquid in front of me, and a puppy on the ground. It was an adorable puppy; brown with white spots. I didn’t know what the cup was full of, but the puppy spilled it over, and started drinking from it. I figured it was just water and let the puppy continue. But then I realized, it wasn’t. I picked up the puppy and put it on the other side of the room. But the puppy couldn’t walk in a straight line. The puppy was drunk! Read more…
Out on A Different Boardwalk
Under the boardwalk, out of the sun
Under the boardwalk, we’ll be havin’ some fun,
Under the boardwalk, we’ll be fallin in love.
As the sun beat down today, lifting moisture into the air and slowly boiling us, Gaya, Matt, our guide Adama, and I walked along the boardwalks of Dakar… and by that I mean we went to the markets.
Back to the beginning though. This morning Gaya, Hilary, Victoria, and I- the Four Toubabs- made our way to the post office for some spectacular spending of mail. Two things- 1) In order to hear the post worker say anything, you had to lower you head to the counter in order to hear through the hole the really, really, fast French being sent to you 2) You must be careful with the change that you walk in with, as they prefer to only give you lucky amounts of change back. Unfourtunately I had no change, forcing me to recieve the unlucky coins back in my hands.
Food, Family, and Witch Doctor?
Today was our culture orientation, and wowee, did we learn a lot. So many new ideas, new concepts, new values, just a whole different way of life that I find so fascinating. We began with food and lunch. So first off, much of the time Senegalese eat on the floor with a huge communal bowl. You first wash your hands in a water basin. Then you come and sit at the mat without shoes. You wait for the host to give the signal that it is okay to begin eating. There’s always certain foods in the middle that’s there to share, like a whole fish, or a big carrot. You must share those. You can take some, but you must put it back. Now you eat with hands a lot of the time. With my family, we eat with spoons, but you do eat with hands. So we ate with our hands, and it’s so weird. You make balls of rice and fish and carrot and cabbage and just stuff it in your face. Remember, no left hand! By the end of the meal, my hand was actually burning from the habañero juice. And I had food all over my face. It’s a lot harder than you think. The rice isn’t like asian rice. It’s not sticky, it’s greasy. I can’t wait to come home and cook this and have an actual Senegalese meal with you guys! Read more…
Meet the Thiaws
We were finally introduced and dropped off at our homestays today. My family are the Thiaw’s (pronounced Chaw). They’re extremely extremely nice. The home is quite big. I get my own room, with my own bathroom! It’s a pretty nice set up I’ll admit.
It’s quite hot, since the house doesn’t have much circulation. I don’t really know much of the house at all. I’ve only been in two rooms, mine and the living room. That’s the only two places I feel welcomed. I don’t want to go into their bedrooms.
The people there are EXTREMELY nice. The only issue: I actually can’t talk to them. My French is so minimal and their English isn’t great either. So there is VERY little talking. In fact, close to none. On top of that, my family is an extremely quiet family. They don’t really talk at all either. They don’t talk much to each other. That’s the thing I’m worried about. All the other homestays seem to be so social and so loud and festive, but mine isn’t at all. I’m afraid I may not get a taste of that side of Senegalese home life. Hopefully in the village I will. Read more…
First day in my new home!
Bonjour!
I find myself now in a cyber not too far from my new home in Mermoz, a neighborhood of Dakar across the VDN highway from the Baobab language school in SICAP baobab. Amongst the usual street noises through the open door I can hear singing, a sort of chanting coming from a small group of men standing in the middle of a football court, dressed in long colorful robes. I hqve no idea what caused this spontaneous burst of song, or if it is a common occurence; but I hope it is because its beautiful and their passion is remarkable. Read more…
Culture Shock?
When the other fellows and I arrived in Dakar four days ago I had no expectations other than being over whelmed. Having never been to Africa I knew I would never have been able to imagine things such as the level of humidity and heat or the sheep that look like goats grazing in the medians. However, after a few days of living in an apartment with the other fellows; eating Senegalese food, taking cold showers and learning how to use a non flushing toilet I was looking forward to meeting my first host family, prepared to make many life style adjustments. So when I arrived at my host house I was surprised to find a flushing toilet, toilet paper and of all things hot water. When it was time for lunch we sat down at a table to a western style meal with plates and silverware.
Desole, I thought you were Senegalese!
As everyone I have ever come into contact with knows I like to talk. I love to have discourse about things of substance. I know there are different forms of communication but it pains me to not be able to speak French or Wolof. I have so many questions. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the awkward similes and hand gestures that are used when someone doesn’t know the language. I think that it is a part of the fun of learning but it can only get us so far. Read more…
dancing barefoot, heading for a spin
So.. my plans to write more frequent blogposts didn’t come to fruition. Obviously. I had every intention to update my blog, but the U.S. Training Institute was such a constant whirlwind of activity. Any and all free time that we Fellows had was devoted to reflecting, talking and just catching our breaths. True, some of the other blogs were updated, but they are written by those with characters much more disciplined than mine.
Neighborhood Sortie
I couldn’t sleep last night. The terror of not being able to communicate with the Senegalese, the fear of being alone, kept me up most of the night. I woke up at 2:30 in the morning and didn’t sleep the rest of the night. Perhaps it was the jet-lag. Who knows. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. There are three million people in Dakar. I’m surrounded by people, yet somehow, I can barely communicate with any of them. How frightening is that? My language-speaking insecurities scare me. What if I can’t learn French fast enough? Read more…
A Smattering Of First Day Moments
- I got a red hard cover moleskin in the airport because I think I’ll run out of space in the ones I have now. It was a great success.
- My last American meal (in Dulles) was Pizza, oh so great.
- There were a ton of MBA students on the plane, and when we were telling them about GCY the repeating phrase (one of the girls literally said this 12 times) is that we seem really mature. Read more…
Familiar First Impressions
(Here is a journal entry i wrote yesterday morning. The “quartier” we are in is in fact called “SICAP rue 10.” I am able to post this blog thanks to the amazing persistence of Ananda who managed to find a internet connection at about three feet off the ground in the doorway in between the hall and the sitting room…)
We are in an apartment somewhere in Dakar and it would make sense for it to be in SICAP Baobab because I know that to be the location of our language school. My body feels warm and kind of swollen, especially around my feet which felt way too big for my little pink sneakers after a total of twelve hours on a plane last night, which technically was this morning. At 5 am we arrived. “Cheerio” said the South African pilot over the microphone, and the windows fogged up ominously as we rolled into port. The humidity hit us like a block of thick, heavy air. We kept on grinning, shaking our heads and catching each other’s eyes, widened in amazement that wow, we really were in Africa.
Pasteles y trajes de baño
This morning I awoke gradually in utter darkness because there is no outside window in my hotel room. I woke thinking there was a frequently traversed railroad track behind the hotel, when in reality it was just cars on the cobblestone streets outside the hotel.
Thus began a day of exciting exploration. We first went to a very quaint little commedor where I ate eggs and beans. Something new on my breakfast menu. Read more…
Happy Birthday To You…
Today was our first day in Guatemala. Already I feel a warm spot in my heart opening up to embrace this place! I must admit though, that I was finally able to name the fear that has been lurking behind all the excitement and euphoria of the last 12 days, and that fear is the fear of loneliness. It seemed like a very real possibility as I sat on the curb today while the other fellows walked around Antigua’s only supermarket looking for shampoo… I felt a barrier from the fact that I am a “gringo” and will never really be able to fit in & a barrier from the fact that the side of me I can and do express in English and to my American friends is not quite the same person who can be expressed here in Guatemala. Read more…
The Smell of Chinatown
We arrived early this morning. When we landed, the condensation immediately collected on the windows. The plane said it was about 85 degrees outside. With the temperature combined with the humidity, I knew it was going to be awful. I began to sweat profusely the moment I stepped off the plane. It was disgusting. Yet oddly settling, just simply because I was in Dakar. The flight, including the layover, was 14 hours long. But it was worth it. The long awaited arrival had come. Read more…
Oooh Baby baby it’s a wild world.
Oooh baby baby it’s a wild world.
This famous Cat Stephens song, Wild World, unofficially became the GCY founding class theme song the other day after Marguerite requested it a million times over on every van ride. I don’t think any of us have been able to get it out of our heads yet. Seriously everyone keeps singing it and if I didn’t like the song a lot, it would have gotten really old by now.
But that’s not the case because as I’ve gotten to know the lyrics very intimately, it turns out to be one of the most appropriate theme songs Marguerite could have possibly chosen for this momentous occasion. Completely at random, I might add. Read more…
Oooh Baby baby it's a wild world.
Oooh baby baby it’s a wild world.
This famous Cat Stephens song, Wild World, unofficially became the GCY founding class theme song the other day after Marguerite requested it a million times over on every van ride. I don’t think any of us have been able to get it out of our heads yet. Seriously everyone keeps singing it and if I didn’t like the song a lot, it would have gotten really old by now.
But that’s not the case because as I’ve gotten to know the lyrics very intimately, it turns out to be one of the most appropriate theme songs Marguerite could have possibly chosen for this momentous occasion. Completely at random, I might add. Read more…
A Speech!
Here is a copy of the speech I wrote for the Global Citizen Year reception and “fellow send-off” in the Bay area, last Tuesday, September 29th. Despite some rather chilly weather and a power outage, spirits ran high and I felt so honored to have to chance to share some of my writing and some of my thoughts with such an audience!
Walking Away to Discover Something New
I just finished packing for Senegal. I can’t believe it. In three hours, I will be at the airport, waiting for my flight to DC, then my flight to Senegal. In 24 hours, I will be in a different country, a different continent; across the Atlantic Ocean. I never actually thought this day would come, you know? This idea of a gap year, was simply an idea. I said I would do it. I was all talk, but never did I think I would walk the walk.
I Can’t Believe I Wrote That.
Today Tori Hogan was here at Ions leading a session on Media Training during which we discussed filming, photographing, and blogging about our experiences in the coming year.
Tori asked who among us had prior experience in any of these arenas and it caused me to remember that in middle school I actually did have a blog that I wrote in very regularly, without any notion of balancing my voice with an overarching purpose. Additionally, I had been thinking lately that the really formal way I approach this blog might be getting in the way of how well you get to know me through reading my posts. So in the interest of finding a way to better represent my voice in my blog posts for the coming year, I decided to rediscover what my uninhibited 13-year-old voice had been like, since I remember my middle school blog as being a great outlet. I also remember spending a great deal of time on my blog, picking out fonts, text colors, re-reading previous posts, and just generally being over pleased with myself. What I couldn’t remember was what I wrote about, which seems odd, since what you write is what makes a blog meaningful. But anyway…
I Can't Believe I Wrote That.
Today Tori Hogan was here at Ions leading a session on Media Training during which we discussed filming, photographing, and blogging about our experiences in the coming year.
Tori asked who among us had prior experience in any of these arenas and it caused me to remember that in middle school I actually did have a blog that I wrote in very regularly, without any notion of balancing my voice with an overarching purpose. Additionally, I had been thinking lately that the really formal way I approach this blog might be getting in the way of how well you get to know me through reading my posts. So in the interest of finding a way to better represent my voice in my blog posts for the coming year, I decided to rediscover what my uninhibited 13-year-old voice had been like, since I remember my middle school blog as being a great outlet. I also remember spending a great deal of time on my blog, picking out fonts, text colors, re-reading previous posts, and just generally being over pleased with myself. What I couldn’t remember was what I wrote about, which seems odd, since what you write is what makes a blog meaningful. But anyway…
Coming Together
He say “I know you, you know me”
One thing I can tell you is you got to be free
Come together right now over me
-The Beatles
Last Saturday, around 4pm Pacific Standard Time, the Founding Fellows of Global Citizen Year came together. Drawn from opposite sides of America, we were all a motley crew: some of us in rain jackets or blazers and others in dresses and t-shirts. We may have looked like a separate entity, but this in fact was the physical beginning of our cohesiveness as a group.
Inspiring Stories
At the risk of sounding cliche, I would just like to say that the past few days have been some of the most inspiring and stimulating of my life. From our vantage point up here in the hills of the Intitute of Noetic Sciences in Petaluma, CA, spending one pleasant hour after the next listening to the inspiring stories of travelers, professors and social entreprenuers, its hard to see anything but hope and optimism in our surroundings and our future. This place feels like a sort of safe-haven or mini paradise with its beautiful weather, wholesome food and the company of cheerful, enthusiastic, now-familiar people.
The Latest News
GCY is perpetually introducing me to things that make me think “HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS BEFORE?!” Last night was no exception. AFTER our incredibly eye-opening and very full day (not leaving out an incredible dinner at an authentic Guatemalan restaurant…) which you will no doubt hear about from other Fellows, we got a surprise. If we were exhausted from waking up at 5:45, traveling in the back of a shock-less van, pumping blood flow to our brains in order to ask relevant questions of the incredible people we had spent our day meeting and/or the inevitable food coma that a chile relleno will bring on… our excitement brought us back to life upon stumbling out of the van right in front of the San Francisco office of Current TV.
Day Recap: David Abernethy, Nathaniel Whittemore
David Abernethy, Emeritus Professor of Political Science at Stanford, was introduced by Abby Falik as one of the single most important people in engaging her in global development. He described development in terms of different groups; personal development focuses on our capacity to handle problems while the development of human “groups” will focus more specifically on improving other capacities: be it the ability to raise money or to feed more homeless people. Further, development can be measured in different roles – social and economic. Using various per capita measurements from the World Development Report, we examined how we can start to understand development within a nation.
A few days ago = a thousand miles, tears, laughs and thoughts ago
An excerpt from my moleskin entitled On the plane to California:
Finally. Life feels like it has not been lived for the past week. Only one thing on my mind, guiding my every action: this departure. It felt/feels like a point of no return and I wanted to make sure that I didn’t leave anything behind or leave one thing undone. And yet the home that I left behind me looks not like a place that I have departed from purposefully, but one that I have left in haste: the paints left to harden on the palette, my books, shoes, socks and papers scattered on the kitchen counter, shirts dangling out of open drawers in my bedroom. Papers litter the floor and sweatshirts tumble out of an open closet. I left the house like I would any other morning, except it didn’t feel right this time being unable to imagine the day that I will return. A finality in departure and a length of absense that I could not and am only beginning to understand. Read more…
Day 3: Center for Creative Leadership
The organization, Center for Creative Leadership visited IONS today to teach us all about creative leadership. Their focus was to help us discover what kind of leader we are and how we can improve our human connections and collaborations to become better leaders. Our facilitators were Joel Wright and Sarah Miller. Joel and Sarah have been doing this for very long, and they were very kind and easy to work with.
Training: Day 1
This is going to be a stub of an entry because I am flat-out exhausted. I just want to let everyone know that I’ve arrived at the training institution at the Institute of Noetic Sciences and it is beautiful! The scenery and the landscape are amazing. We had our first meeting with everyone in an oak grove with gorgeous sunlight filtering through the treetops. There’s a garden where you can pick and eat fruit right off the bushes; cute, clean facilities and buildings; and stunning mountain vistas everywhere you turn. The atmosphere is perfect for team building and to begin our Global Citizen Year together. I’ll post pictures when I take them.
Dear family,
Dear Mom, Dad, Matt, and family,
These last few days, weeks, and months of my time at home have really brought out the depth of our familial bonds and have served to emphasize the significance the last eighteen years has had on my life. The frantic packing escapade managed to distract me from some of the more profound and emotional realizations taking place at the moment.
The most significant of which dawned on me while I was sitting on a fallen log in a captivating oak grove in Petaluma California with the ten other fellows as we were beginning to discuss our plans for the upcoming year. This is the moment when it really set in that the relationships in my life will never again be the same as I move into this new and exciting chapter of my life. Read more…
Pivotal Moment
oh heavens -
Inevitably my life is changing, and with it so must I.
I feel the perpetual momentum of time, always moving, pushing and prodding, propelling me forward.
Days slide through and behind me, passing, approaching with frantic pace to my departure – the pivotal moment.
From this point, for me, nearly everything will be different. I will be wound round through a torrent of unpredictability. These years spent, compiling elements of comforts to a nest of well known, well loved habits and routines - I will leave them behind. Their significance, carved into the walls of my soul, will remain only in the impact they’ve impressed upon me. These I will allow to wane beneath the magnitude of what is to come. They will be a casualty to the brooding nature of the unwritten future.
with question marks in my eye
As the only fellow who has yet to write a blog post, I’m forcing myself to write today – only three days before our Global Citizen Years officially start – out of guilt and a little bit of embarrassment. It’s not that I forgot about it, I just honestly could not think of anything to say. It seemed very bland and quick to introduce myself:
Victoria Vu-Nghi Tran-Trinh, age 17, half Vietnamese and half Chinese but born and raised in Boston (the real Boston).
Likes: vegan food, vegan shoes, human rights work, LOTS of music, writing, fashion, indie flicks, books and puppies.
Dislikes: sleeping in, the Twilight series, suburbia, improper grammar and incorrect spelling, Styrofoam, books-turned-movies and my lack of an artistic forte.
Seeds at the Farmer’s Market
I am writing on the train, or on the “T” as we like to call it here in Boston, rushing off to work (I am a hostess at an Italian restaurant in Cambridge) after a wonderful morning at the Hingham Farmer’s market on behalf of GCY. The Farmer’s Market, set up in a parking lot along the beach in the Hingham harbor is a humble and yet for me, inspiring place to be as it is full of lots of good people doing good things for each other (and whole universe of others) by buying good food – or “good, clean, fair food” as the Slow Food mantra goes. I was very excited to start to spread the seeds of Global Citizen Year at the local level, and of all places to start, I felt this was it.
Fellow Gaya Morris at the Hingham Farmers Market
After staying up late last night filling in bubble letters on a poster of the GCY logo (now thats what I call love) I was up early this morning loading the car, and was one the first to arrive at the market. Greeted as “the girl who nearly crashed their computer” with my lengthy vendor application, I was given a spot in between the oatmeal and face-painting. My mother and I devised various ways to display an array of my past artwork under the canopy of our tent and I wrote in colorful, large letters on poster board: “Commission a Portrait to support the gap year movement” and “I am going to Senegal for seven months to learn about the developing world, please support me!” I felt tempted to write a whole paragraph on one of the poster boards (there was just so much I wanted to say) but my parents advised me against it; and painfully simplistic though the signs were, they certainly attracted questions, which is what I wanted.
Seeds at the Farmer's Market
I am writing on the train, or on the “T” as we like to call it here in Boston, rushing off to work (I am a hostess at an Italian restaurant in Cambridge) after a wonderful morning at the Hingham Farmer’s market on behalf of GCY. The Farmer’s Market, set up in a parking lot along the beach in the Hingham harbor is a humble and yet for me, inspiring place to be as it is full of lots of good people doing good things for each other (and whole universe of others) by buying good food – or “good, clean, fair food” as the Slow Food mantra goes. I was very excited to start to spread the seeds of Global Citizen Year at the local level, and of all places to start, I felt this was it.
Fellow Gaya Morris at the Hingham Farmers Market
After staying up late last night filling in bubble letters on a poster of the GCY logo (now thats what I call love) I was up early this morning loading the car, and was one the first to arrive at the market. Greeted as “the girl who nearly crashed their computer” with my lengthy vendor application, I was given a spot in between the oatmeal and face-painting. My mother and I devised various ways to display an array of my past artwork under the canopy of our tent and I wrote in colorful, large letters on poster board: “Commission a Portrait to support the gap year movement” and “I am going to Senegal for seven months to learn about the developing world, please support me!” I felt tempted to write a whole paragraph on one of the poster boards (there was just so much I wanted to say) but my parents advised me against it; and painfully simplistic though the signs were, they certainly attracted questions, which is what I wanted.
Many, Many Faces: a fundraising art project!
As you may already have heard, each GCY fellow has committed to fundraise a minimum of 2000 dollars before our departure. We have been writing letters, emails, talking to friends and family and some fellows have even hosted events in their home communities. The idea is that, besides of course raising needed funds, we will learn how to become advocates for what we believe in, which is this organization and the importance of understanding across gaps to end inequality, ignorance and divisions….
Because GCY is not just about us. It’s about exchange and connections: both learning from and influencing others.
Fundraising
Asking for money is not a skill that comes easily. In high school instead of selling a hundred dollars worth of chocolate like I was supposed to I often paid the school and gave the chocolate to my friends so I would not “bother” anyone. Therefore, the task of raising two thousand dollars for the Fellows Fund has been extremely daunting. Due to the movement building purpose of fundraising, not to mention the amount of money, I knew this was not something on which I could just use my babysitting money. I would have to reach out to family and friends and in doing so figure out how to ask for donations without feeling guilty.
To get started a few weeks ago I wrote letters to family and friends asking them for support and inviting them to a dessert buffet and GCY info session. I was pleasantly surprised by the number of people who responded to my letters. It has been especially exciting to talk to middle and high schoolers who are interested in taking a Global Citizen Year in a few years.
The dessert buffet and info session was a great way for me to share with people what I will be doing this next year. In addition, a neighbor who does research as an epidemiologist in Senegal agreed to share his experience there. This was a wonderful opportunity for me to learn more about the country and made me even more excited for the year to come!
So while I am still not at the point where asking for donations is easy this experience has made me have more faith in other people. I have come to the realization that people are actually interested in what I am doing and want to be involved in the GCY movement!
Have A Little Faith
When the road gets dark
And you can no longer see
Have a little faith in me.
-John Hiatt
When you read the headlines in today’s newspapers and websites, anything but the feeling of faith is conjured up. Disgust, anger, sadness, shock, fear, even humor, resonate everywhere, but faith almost never appears. What about the non-stop coverage of all the religious debates, or the investigative series about less common religions you ask? Well, in all honesty, when you see one religion going after another like a pack of hungry hyenas, how much faith in a God, much less anything does that really inspire?
Down to earth
So I’m not really sure why, but for some reason traveling always puts me in the mood for writing – airplanes, cars, trains. I’m on an airplane right now, about to take off. Maybe its the feeling of movement underfoot, or the wide open spaces that fill a lighted window.
Here is a fun fact about me: I love being up high. I love hiking, running, walking and climbing to the top of things – whether it be a rocky mountainside, a hill in the park, or the bell tower of a Roman Cathedral. I like the feeling of openness at the tippy-top, and I’ve been thinking, maybe it has to do with my craving for perspective: to be able to see as much as I can, all in one glance. The vastness is never any less stirring, no matter how long you look.
Losing Coastlines
Who said sailing is fine? Leaving behind all the faces that
I might replace if I tried on that long ride,
looking deep inside but I don’t want to look so deep inside yet.
-Okkervil
For me, realization is the coast of the sea. As you leave the water to go back to the beach you notice the tide receding, the little crabs burrowing back in the sand, all the shells that it would not be a good idea to step on, and the rush of the ocean… then you get hit by the wave that has been building the whole while that you have been walking out.
Now there are two types of realization: one comes from being the person getting tossed and tumbled by the wave, i.e. the one who gets introduced to the seafloor on a first name basis. The other is the person laughing from the beach thinking that they will always watch out for waves now. While they empathize, they do not have the vivid memory of having a shell unceremoniously shoved up their nose as a constant reminder.
Guns Aren’t for Killing?
When I keep seeing these videos of guns rights activists outside of Obama health care rallies my stomach twists into knots. Sure, Second Amendment activists at these events haven’t yet been acting criminally, but I can’t help but feel that we take for granted our ability to have legitimate, nonviolent, political dialogue in this country – and that these people, who aren’t acting violently, are serving as kindling for radical, violent behavior.
Chimerican
It jiggled with every vibration of the table. That thing on my plate was out to get me. No way was I going to eat something known as the slug of the sea. It had brown leathery skin, coated in the oil of the sauce. When the light caught it just right, it looked like freshly formed obsidian. I stared at it knowing that if it had eyes, it would be staring right back.
“Just eat it! It’s a delicacy! You know how much it costs? You know how many poor children in China would kill to eat the way you do?” my mom screeched in Mandarin, her eyes gleaming with anger. Read more…
Father Knows Best
Tonight the fellows had one of our bi-montly conference calls that we use to check in with one another and talk about the latest and greatest news. This evening we had the pleasure and privilege of having documentary film-maker and “citizen journalist” Tori Hogan on the line to tell us some of what she encountered in her own experience with international aid. Specifically, Tori’s films focus on the efficacy of international aid, and in our discussion she brought up the idea of making sure our expectations of our roles were realistic. Her wise commentary brought to mind a witticism of my father’s, passed on to me jokingly on many occasions: “Set your expectations low, and you’ll always be pleasantly surprised.” Read more…
Dangerous Men Defy the Laws of Society
A question that is asked often of me is how and why am I so different. People ask me this as though I am supposed to fit my entire life experience into a cute little nutshell. So that they can then compare me to their pre-conceived notions of how young black males are supposed to behave and think. These people want me to make them feel comfortable about their own ignorance. So instead of turning into the angry black man (which is usually misunderstood) I very assertively pacify the inquirer’s curiousity with an answer that is tactful but yet still true to my roots.
I tell them, “I am not different and there was no eureka moment every experience in my life has been based solely on survival and so I am who I am because I had to be.”
and so it begins…
As my senior year came to its finish, I was faced with a most intimidating situation. Like others of my age and my position, it came time for me to consider how I would move forward with my life, in which of endless options of direction.
I was made to consider what meant most to me. The responsibility of the choices I was to be making brought the need to evaluate my priorities, to make best guesses as to what would fulfill and nourish my passions. How to create in myself a wealth of life and interest, to evolve my mind and spirit to better experience the journey that lays long and unknown before me?
Prime time for the thinking cap. Read more…
Spiraling Down
I’m waiting for my moment to come, I’m waiting for the movie to begin, I’m waiting for a revelation, I’m waiting for someone to count me in.
-Keane
Before Global Citizen Year I was waiting for something more… more than just the expected path. Graduate high school, go to college, graduate college, fall in love, get married, have kids, live happily ever after. Basically, Exhibit A of a cookie cutter life (not that there’s anything wrong with that). I just wanted more, and GCY gave it to me.
Inside a bag of peanuts
Earlier today I was sitting the car wondering what on earth I was going to write for my first blog post, what little piece of myself I should toss out there into cyber space, when I opened a packet of dry roasted peanuts. It was a shiny red package the size of a tea bag that I had picked up on a Delta Airlines flight a few weeks ago and had tossed in my bag for moments such as this.
I have never really liked peanuts, but after returning from a six week trip to Senegal last summer I have found them particularly difficult to eat. Read more…
Smile in Every Picture
This expression “smile in every picture because that may be the only one people see” is one that came to mind a few weeks ago as I was sitting in the staff room of a YMCA residential camp, a small room with two computers with Windows 95, three dilapidated couches, and an old television that doesn’t have a DTV box and wont get reception. I was sitting there on my “short night off”, a two hour period when half of the counselors at a time can hang out in the staff lounge or do laundry, and I got in a rather heated discussion with some of the other counselors. I overheard some of the pool lifeguards complaining about one of my campers, an eleven year old who lives in Caracas, Venezuela and came to camp speaking no English what-so-ever. For the purposes of my story I will call him Antonio.
The Hardest Part… Yet
When I applied to this program I knew I would be branching far out from what my other friends will be doing this coming year in college. Of course, I was excited to think of all the real world skills I would gain that could never be learned in a classroom. Learning a language by making embarassing mistakes in front of those to whom it comes with the ease of breathing is so much better than repetition and memorization while sitting at a desk!
What I didn’t realize was that I was going to be learning real world skills long before I even discovered what country I was going to be assigned to, and I’ve come to believe this might be the hardest part: fundraising. Read more…
Share the Earth
My name is Zuleika Lewis. I was raised in Venezuela since I was three months old with my grandparents. My parents died of HIV when I was 6 years old. In 2005 I came to live here in California with my aunt as freshman in High School. At the start of my freshman year, my English language skills were limited to “hi”. Everything was new to me and I did not know how the system worked not only in the educational sense but also within the culture that was going to be my new home town. Read more…
Parlez-Vous en Anglais?
About three weeks ago I sat in the garden of a home nestled in the heart of a tiny French town. My ears buzzed as I struggled to piece together the jumble of words around me. I have enough trouble comprehending when my English speaking friends talk all at once so attempting to understand the bubbling French teenagers felt nearly impossible. As you can probably imagine my head was thrown when the question “why are you here?” was spoken in perfect English. I looked around to find myself answering a smiling boy with what to me was the obvious answer: “to learn French.” Read more…
Oh, The People We Meet…
I think I’m probably not the only one who meets a new group of people and tries to create associations between individuals in this new group and people who I’m already familiar with. For example, I walk into a room where I don’t know anyone and – oh – I haven’t even learned this kid’s name but he really reminds me of my friend Jack. Doing this is convenient because it lets us feel like we already have a certain connection to people we haven’t actually spent time with. Read more…
Between You, Me, and the Wall
Recently, I spent the week at my grandmother’s house in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. My Mama Shirley asked me if I would please finish the rock wall she had started to build around her new garden. I saw the faintest trace of the path she had taken into the woods in her initial foray for rocks, and followed it as best I could through waist-high ferns and wiping spider web off my face in what was, I’ll admit, a comical and inefficient manner. I had to dig rocks up from underneath leaf litter and moss while braving creepy bugs that surged out from underneath, then carry them back to the garden a few at a time. Each time I stumbled back and forth, the path got wider and clearer, and eventually my cousin found a pitchfork for me that made it easier to uncover the rocks. Ultimately, I finished my project with a wall that made my Mama Shirl happy.
Now you ask, “Laura, why this innocuous story?” Read more…
Whose God?
Ever wonder if why you’re alive is because you were born on the winning team? Ever looked at the TV and thought about how this is really happening?
Ever said something stupid with no idea how powerful those words would be? Oh, I don’t know what to say, oh, whose god would want it this way?
- The Benjy Davis Project
Take a globe up in your hands, maybe start spinning it like a basketball, and let your finger land anywhere. It may land of one of the seven continents, of which six are inhabited. Within those six continents, then lie many people. Of these people, therein lies a massive disparity. Simply put, there are those with money and opportunity, and those without money, who have never been given a chance. I have the privilege of being born in the United States, one of the richest countries on the globe…and it still has widespread poverty. So there are rich and poor people in America, just as there are in say, Rwanda. What is the big deal then, is there really a difference? Read more…
The Road Less Travled: Which Path Will You Take?
Just listed on the College Board website there are over 600 profiled majors, and that doesn’t even cover the plurality of subjects being created this very moment. In today’s day and age the college & career processes are quickly being expedited. I clearly remember sitting in my homeroom during sixth grade planning out the next seven years of my life, all so that I could get into any college and department I wanted to. This seems great, right? Planning is supposed to help everyone. There’s just one problem… when you’re in sixth grade, much less in high school, you have no idea what you want to do with your life (at least the majority of people don’t). Sure, I’ve wanted to be anything from an archaeologist to a cardiologist, but to say the least, those are differing interests. So the question stands, how do you find out what you really care about? Where you want to impact the world? If you even want to impact the world? Read more…
ARCHIVE
- Billion-$-o-gram: puts the cost of taking on some of our global challenges in perspective - http://bit.ly/acH9Uy @jakebrewer
- New Fellow responds to Boston Globe article in a Letter to the Editor - "Gap year rooted in student's desire to grow" http://bit.ly/98SWYh
- About to announce country placements to our 2010-11 Fellows- Fellow FB wall: "G-C-WHY are you still keeping us in suspense?!"
