You would think being in Ohio one would be experiencing sub-freezing temperatures, but alas, I brought the warm weather with me. The other day it was up to 60 degrees! And then in true Ohio erratic fashion it was freezing rain the next day. So I'm still holding out for snow. I guess the man upstairs has yet to receive my 'let it snow, let it snow' memo.
Just been enjoying the $1.54 a gallon gas prices and traipsing all over the state to visit friends and family. Gotta love the holiday chaos... Soon we'll be welcoming 2009 with a bottle of Amarula - the nectar of elephants (or something to that effect) - that I lugged over from Africa.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Turkey time...!
Lights aren’t on but somebody’s home… It was brought to my attention the other day that I have been a bit behind in correspondence. So tonight after catching a Grey’s Anatomy rerun (yes, they do have TVs in Africa), my plan was to sit down and catch up on unanswered messages. Two thoughts in and suddenly, my laptop screen became the only source of light in the house. I actually had to carry my laptop around the house so I could locate my cell phone – which typically serves as my flashlight during electrical outages (though attempting to locate eyeglasses in the dark with a mere cell phone light is no simple task…).
So tomorrow is Thanksgiving! How does one celebrate Thanksgiving in Maputo, Mozambique, you ask? Well to begin, I discovered butternut squash ravioli at the deli earlier in the week (tastier then you may think… though not quite up to pumpkin pie standards) and am presently enjoying the delicacy - albeit lukewarm and in the dark. Perhaps it’s to my benefit that I can’t see what I’m eating. Tomorrow though I’ll be enjoying the fact that I’ll be one of the few people in town on holiday, going horseback riding with a friend and her family, and ending the night with a motley crew of Americans. When it comes to holiday celebrations far from home, we're not too picky, any American is considered family on Thanksgiving.
Happy Thanksgiving to all!!
So tomorrow is Thanksgiving! How does one celebrate Thanksgiving in Maputo, Mozambique, you ask? Well to begin, I discovered butternut squash ravioli at the deli earlier in the week (tastier then you may think… though not quite up to pumpkin pie standards) and am presently enjoying the delicacy - albeit lukewarm and in the dark. Perhaps it’s to my benefit that I can’t see what I’m eating. Tomorrow though I’ll be enjoying the fact that I’ll be one of the few people in town on holiday, going horseback riding with a friend and her family, and ending the night with a motley crew of Americans. When it comes to holiday celebrations far from home, we're not too picky, any American is considered family on Thanksgiving.
Happy Thanksgiving to all!!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
It's hot and muggy and... November?
I cannot believe November is here! I remember when October arrived and I was in shock. By the time year 2009 arrives, I'll be left thinking someone gypped me a few pages in my calendar. Though I must confess, I'll be elated when December arrives - for I have a roundtrip ticket home! I'll celebrate my big 2-5 on Pearl Harbor Day here (quick, who knows their history?) and be on an Ohio-bound plane a week later. I can't wait for the temperature shock. I'll return to Moz just in time for the commencement of the rainy season (and the ensuing plethora of mosquitoes).
At present, someone is having a hey-day on the drums just down the street. I should be excited about this cultural experience but should this last too much longer it just may interfere with my sleeping hours. Unforgivable transgression. Not sure what the occasion is either. Even the pet pig and dog seem befuddled. They don't celebrate Halloween here and I doubt an Islamic holiday (the predominant faith) is the root of all this commotion. On random Fridays I've been seeing little parades but big enough to slow traffic. These Mozambicans, they're always celebrating something, always making excuses to party. Seriously. Their Saturday nights last until they go to church the next morning. Around 10ish or so they go to the discotheque, stay there 'til about 2am at which time they go to the after-party bar until 5am-esque (or maybe it's 7am...gives you an idea of my own stamina...), and then onto the after-after bar. Then you see all of them out on the beach Sunday afternoon, drinking their cold beer, loitering around the chicken braai (barbecue), and catcalling poor unsuspecting white girls.
Everyone stoked for election day?! Or perhaps stressed is the more fitting word. I have sent in 2 absentee ballots just in case one gets clogged up in the African postal system. The official absentee ballot was hand-delivered to me last week (courtesy of an American diplomat whose son I work with) and then I hand-delivered its return, directions read twice over to ensure I didn't lick in the wrong place (they're so particular with these things, one wrong step and it ends up in file 13 (that being the trash). I sent in the backup write-in ballot 2 weeks back, at which time I informed my mail courier the importance of the letter "muito importante." His response was saying "Bush" and making a machine gun gesture with his hands and then indicating "muito dinero" wiht his fingers. So apparently this African who survived decades of civil war in his own backyard (lasting up until 10 years ago), thinks we Americans spend a lot of money on war. How's that for insight? The South Africans I work with were pretty impressed with the bona-fide absentee ballot. I quote, "Wow, it's so official looking. And you can actually vote when you're out of the country? What an organized voting system you Americans have!" I suppose Florida's "hanging chad" fiasco is relatively minor compared to Zimbabwe's politics next door.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
the Real diagnosis
So I was at a baby shower this morning (apparently I’ve been here long enough to be invited to such gatherings) telling my friend about my massage experience (see earlier post) when my synapses started firing. Earlier this week I found a tick clung to my upper leg likely from my weekend in the woods. I pried it off, ended its life and briefly thought ‘oh, I hope I don’t come down with something.’ A few days passed. Not wanting to be a hypochondriac I blamed abysmal sleeping hours and dehydration for headaches and fatigue. Blamed the massage for feverish symptoms and achy legs and incoordination for increasing pain in the pelvic area. Well, well, well… within an hour of this conversation (and my friend witnessing my indifference towards a chocolate confection), we found ourselves hopping from one medical clinic to the next in search of a tick bite fever test. Then came the painful process of getting blood drawn. I am cursed with tiny veins, so tiny that the Red Cross always turns me away when I want to give blood, so add a lesser qualified individual to the mix and ouch… meanwhile with each jab I’m thinking about the prevalence of AIDS (or SIDA as it’s known here) and praying that the needles are properly sterilized. I’ve been assured that they are but still… I was tested for malaria and tick bite fever and the verdict received an hour indicated the latter – yep, a parasitic bite, full blown African tick bite fever a cousin to Rocky Mountain spotted fever. A round of antibiotics and days of sleep and I should be trading in my present-sloth habits for energizer bunny-like qualities. Combined American and local remedies (as gifted to me by friends) have included chicken & pumpkin soup, mango juice, honey, a dark chocolate bar, and puppy kisses. The illness by the way can be best described as having a bad hangover 3 days straight and wishing you could walk with one leg (the bit, infected leg makes walking a painfully unpleasant endeavour).
In other news… I have a car to drive now!! So one small step for global warming, one giant leap for my independence! I have nearly mastered left-side driving, driving the wrong way down ill-marked one way streets, and receiving honks whilst conquering this foreign driving concept of round-a-bouts (but significantly less in volume compared to India, the honking that is). More importantly, I have learned that red stoplights, especially in the early a.m. hours, should be observed as 4-way stops. Due to habit, I was sitting at red stoplights for like a good 5 minutes, no sign of traffic in town, just waiting, waiting, waiting… and my boss was wandering why it took me so long to get to work in the morning… I was quickly enlightened of the “stop, look for police, if none, then go” policy. Now I mainly slow down for speed bumps, large potholes, and people who appear to have a blind spot for moving vehicles (hmm, kinda like Miami students).
Stay well, get well... take care.
In other news… I have a car to drive now!! So one small step for global warming, one giant leap for my independence! I have nearly mastered left-side driving, driving the wrong way down ill-marked one way streets, and receiving honks whilst conquering this foreign driving concept of round-a-bouts (but significantly less in volume compared to India, the honking that is). More importantly, I have learned that red stoplights, especially in the early a.m. hours, should be observed as 4-way stops. Due to habit, I was sitting at red stoplights for like a good 5 minutes, no sign of traffic in town, just waiting, waiting, waiting… and my boss was wandering why it took me so long to get to work in the morning… I was quickly enlightened of the “stop, look for police, if none, then go” policy. Now I mainly slow down for speed bumps, large potholes, and people who appear to have a blind spot for moving vehicles (hmm, kinda like Miami students).
Stay well, get well... take care.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
playing catch-up
I noticed that I’ve been lagging in communication…
Here are a few posts from the archive that didn’t get the publish nod initially…
9/28/08
It's been a something-kind-of- month. Words -English, Portuguese-Shangaan-or otherwise -elude me. I can't even seem to find music these days to fit my mood. Aye aye aye. So two weeks ago, about 3 now around 9/11, my grandmother had a stroke. The kind that knocks you straight into a coffin. Except she held on for 2 weeks. I received news by email from my father. Receiving such news is never good timing. For me it was mid-day just prior to the arrival of a client. So I held on saw the client through and then made it an early night at work, went home, downloaded and used Skype for the first time to make the call home. I was close to my grandmother; she is much to blame for my traveling ways. I think she owned and could quote every National Geographic from 1950 onward. One of the few who could longitudinally/latitudinally locate Mozambique without a blink of the eye. And probably the last person to receive a postcard from me. Hearing and now dealing with the news of her impending and subsequent death I can only liken to an experience I had as an 8 year old. Somehow that year my family came about acquiring a skateboard. One of those used but new-to-you toys. I remember getting on it thinking how cool I was, moving not terribly gracefully but moving forward nonetheless and suddenly, no warning, WHAM on my back, wind completely knocked out of me. I stumbled over to my dad who asked what had happened. And though I knew exactly what happened, I could say absolutely nothing. The words had been knocked out of me. I could only gesture. That gesture led to my father taking the skateboard out with the trash. The analogy continues with my siblings becoming upset with me and then me becoming more so, etc. So I must confess if I haven't already, it's been a rather difficult 2 weeks. Luckily there have been some distractions. Last weekend, I took an 8 hour road-trip to Durban, South Africa for a rugby match. We had a fun time in spite of (or perhaps because of) the pouring down rain as we played. This past weekend was spent in Swaziland at an oh-so-much-needed-tranquil game reserve. One of the few in Africa in which one is allowed to walk freely among the animals. There are no lions, rhinos, elephants, or hippos in the park...whew. One only needs to be wary of crocs, black mumbas (southern africa's most aggressive and poisonous snake), and foul-mood warthogs. I saw all 3. Limbs and sanity still intact. Blood pressure still wavering. While I wish I were home right now, watching the leaves begin to change and being with my family, I still recognize the reasons for being here. Solace in my surroundings is hard to find but lately I've been discovering some diamonds in the rough, in myself. So I wait until Christmas to be reunited in my family when holiday time and funds are more accommodating.
------
Today marks the day of my grandmother’s funeral. Being part of a family that’s so close, though no longer geographically, it’s difficult for me to grasp my inability to be part of such significant family function, the celebration of my grandma’s life. In some ways, I think my present grieving state stems more from my distance than my grandmother’s passing. Or perhaps her death was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I think I was emotionally exhausted long before I received news of her sudden illness. Leaving “home” at 5:30am and returning at 9:30pm does little to keep a person rejuvenated. At least now when I ooze with emotion, I have something more animate to lay blame to. Death warrants tears and tissues, tiring of a workaholic lifestyle apparently does not.
-----
9/7/08
Tashi delek, bom dia!! I suspect you are all alive and well and perhaps downing your share of foreign-labeled beer. FYI, the brand of Mozambique is Laurentina. You even see old geezers playing checkers (with blue and red beer tabs) on recycled Laurentina cardboard boxes. I made the mistake once of ordering it in South Africa and got the look I get when I try to speak Portuguese to taxi drivers. Then again I also receive perplexed looks when I ask for water in South Africa. Apparently, British English is the only accepted English accent this part of the world. And to think that I'm suppose to be the speech therapist! I'm the one forever being enlightened as to the 'proper' way of saying things, particularly by my Brit housemate, i.e.:
- tea = the beverage as well as the evening dinner (learned through a very confusing conversation, something to the effect of me trying to convey that caffeine at 8pm is not conducive to sleep and my housemate countering that you sleep better with food in your tummy…)
- see you now = see you later
- see you now now = see you soon
- in a trice = in a minute
- midnight feast = late evening snack filled with sugary sweets
- robot = stoplight
- nappy = diaper
- Dutchmen = well-rounded men (physically) who fancy hunting, wearing 2-toned shirts, and consuming excessive amounts of alcohol whilst watching rugby. They consider chicken a vegetable (description based on true stories).
- loo = restroom
- jersey = coat/jacket
- vest = sleeveless/tank top
Frequent use of "keen" and "lovely" comparable to the adolescent usage of "like."
"Quite" replaces 'really.'
"If you're KEEN, you can ask your friend to go with us to the beach. It's quite LOVELY this time of year." "I think she was quite KEEN on going next week with her family. They are LOVELY people."
When I was in India this past summer one of my professors had flip flop paranoia (called "slops" here) Well…. Healthcare 101. If you have a cut on your foot, ugly or not, cover 'em up. My friend's foot was swollen, a tad on the warm side, in pain, yet she was convinced it was from 'walking on it funny.' Foot with cut + swollen appearance + warm to the touch = INFECTION! If you ever find yourself matching this equation and you're in a 3rd world location (Miami's Student Health Center may fit this description), soak your foot in salt water (bucket of warm water + good dosage of salt, i.e. 1 cup), dry, put honey on gauze over the wound to draw out the infection (bacteria like honey), then find the nearest healthcare provider and get yourself on an antibiotic and don't don the "slops!" I may be a hypocrite by sporting flip-flops daily but my feet are at least laceration-free…
Here are a few posts from the archive that didn’t get the publish nod initially…
9/28/08
It's been a something-kind-of- month. Words -English, Portuguese-Shangaan-or otherwise -elude me. I can't even seem to find music these days to fit my mood. Aye aye aye. So two weeks ago, about 3 now around 9/11, my grandmother had a stroke. The kind that knocks you straight into a coffin. Except she held on for 2 weeks. I received news by email from my father. Receiving such news is never good timing. For me it was mid-day just prior to the arrival of a client. So I held on saw the client through and then made it an early night at work, went home, downloaded and used Skype for the first time to make the call home. I was close to my grandmother; she is much to blame for my traveling ways. I think she owned and could quote every National Geographic from 1950 onward. One of the few who could longitudinally/latitudinally locate Mozambique without a blink of the eye. And probably the last person to receive a postcard from me. Hearing and now dealing with the news of her impending and subsequent death I can only liken to an experience I had as an 8 year old. Somehow that year my family came about acquiring a skateboard. One of those used but new-to-you toys. I remember getting on it thinking how cool I was, moving not terribly gracefully but moving forward nonetheless and suddenly, no warning, WHAM on my back, wind completely knocked out of me. I stumbled over to my dad who asked what had happened. And though I knew exactly what happened, I could say absolutely nothing. The words had been knocked out of me. I could only gesture. That gesture led to my father taking the skateboard out with the trash. The analogy continues with my siblings becoming upset with me and then me becoming more so, etc. So I must confess if I haven't already, it's been a rather difficult 2 weeks. Luckily there have been some distractions. Last weekend, I took an 8 hour road-trip to Durban, South Africa for a rugby match. We had a fun time in spite of (or perhaps because of) the pouring down rain as we played. This past weekend was spent in Swaziland at an oh-so-much-needed-tranquil game reserve. One of the few in Africa in which one is allowed to walk freely among the animals. There are no lions, rhinos, elephants, or hippos in the park...whew. One only needs to be wary of crocs, black mumbas (southern africa's most aggressive and poisonous snake), and foul-mood warthogs. I saw all 3. Limbs and sanity still intact. Blood pressure still wavering. While I wish I were home right now, watching the leaves begin to change and being with my family, I still recognize the reasons for being here. Solace in my surroundings is hard to find but lately I've been discovering some diamonds in the rough, in myself. So I wait until Christmas to be reunited in my family when holiday time and funds are more accommodating.
------
Today marks the day of my grandmother’s funeral. Being part of a family that’s so close, though no longer geographically, it’s difficult for me to grasp my inability to be part of such significant family function, the celebration of my grandma’s life. In some ways, I think my present grieving state stems more from my distance than my grandmother’s passing. Or perhaps her death was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I think I was emotionally exhausted long before I received news of her sudden illness. Leaving “home” at 5:30am and returning at 9:30pm does little to keep a person rejuvenated. At least now when I ooze with emotion, I have something more animate to lay blame to. Death warrants tears and tissues, tiring of a workaholic lifestyle apparently does not.
-----
9/7/08
Tashi delek, bom dia!! I suspect you are all alive and well and perhaps downing your share of foreign-labeled beer. FYI, the brand of Mozambique is Laurentina. You even see old geezers playing checkers (with blue and red beer tabs) on recycled Laurentina cardboard boxes. I made the mistake once of ordering it in South Africa and got the look I get when I try to speak Portuguese to taxi drivers. Then again I also receive perplexed looks when I ask for water in South Africa. Apparently, British English is the only accepted English accent this part of the world. And to think that I'm suppose to be the speech therapist! I'm the one forever being enlightened as to the 'proper' way of saying things, particularly by my Brit housemate, i.e.:
- tea = the beverage as well as the evening dinner (learned through a very confusing conversation, something to the effect of me trying to convey that caffeine at 8pm is not conducive to sleep and my housemate countering that you sleep better with food in your tummy…)
- see you now = see you later
- see you now now = see you soon
- in a trice = in a minute
- midnight feast = late evening snack filled with sugary sweets
- robot = stoplight
- nappy = diaper
- Dutchmen = well-rounded men (physically) who fancy hunting, wearing 2-toned shirts, and consuming excessive amounts of alcohol whilst watching rugby. They consider chicken a vegetable (description based on true stories).
- loo = restroom
- jersey = coat/jacket
- vest = sleeveless/tank top
Frequent use of "keen" and "lovely" comparable to the adolescent usage of "like."
"Quite" replaces 'really.'
"If you're KEEN, you can ask your friend to go with us to the beach. It's quite LOVELY this time of year." "I think she was quite KEEN on going next week with her family. They are LOVELY people."
When I was in India this past summer one of my professors had flip flop paranoia (called "slops" here) Well…. Healthcare 101. If you have a cut on your foot, ugly or not, cover 'em up. My friend's foot was swollen, a tad on the warm side, in pain, yet she was convinced it was from 'walking on it funny.' Foot with cut + swollen appearance + warm to the touch = INFECTION! If you ever find yourself matching this equation and you're in a 3rd world location (Miami's Student Health Center may fit this description), soak your foot in salt water (bucket of warm water + good dosage of salt, i.e. 1 cup), dry, put honey on gauze over the wound to draw out the infection (bacteria like honey), then find the nearest healthcare provider and get yourself on an antibiotic and don't don the "slops!" I may be a hypocrite by sporting flip-flops daily but my feet are at least laceration-free…
Friday, October 3, 2008
the African definition of a "massage"
Ouch. Ugh, I thought massages were suppose to make you feel better not induce further agony. My calves are experiencing charlie-horse like symptoms and my neck is in want of pain killers. I should've learned my lesson in Thailand. In Africa, apparently a massage goes something to the effect of.... you waltz in, in my case, wanting some unwinding-Friday relaxation...the masseuse strips you of your clothing save for a little loin cloth thingey...turns on some African vibes...puts this, I swear it's piri-piri (hot sauce), lotion on you (it's laced with something with a kick - cayenne, jalapeño?) and then spends the next 60 minutes brutalizing every tender spot in your body. And because the little masseuse ladies speak only the local African tribal language of Shangaan they don't seem to pick up on Portuguese/English expressions (or are masochistic) for 'stop' 'OW!' or subtle hints of me inching away from their digging claws. 3 hours later I can still feel the heat emanating from my body and my legs are feeling very whiny. If it wasn't for the gecko that stalks my bathroom floor, I would consider its cool floor a resting place for the night’s slumber. Though I suppose that would lend to other achy ailments. 2 months shy of celebrating my quarter-century mark and I'm already facing hot flashes and arthritic pains! The traditional African healer I saw a few backs did not foresee this – that or chose not to deter me from my encounter with hot, pain-inducing massages. A real African treat for the “Gringo.”
Friday, September 12, 2008
my Postal address
Due to popular request, my postal address...
Maria Wellman
Private Bag X11340
Suite 566
Nelspruit
South Africa
1200
To my knowledge it costs 94 cents to mail a letter. I don't have the opportunity to check my mail very often (last time followed a 2 month drought) but I get excited nonetheless by the prospect of it. I don't think there are any rules against what you can send though perishable items and weapons of mass destruction I don't recommend. Moz has enough land mines. I do welcome mixed CDs (presently in a Norah Jones mood) but enjoy all varieties (try to refrain from Hanson and Clay Aiken-types). I could really go for some cocoa (bittersweet powdery kind) as I came up shy when trying to make chocolate no-bakes tonight. A former staple of my diet despite its diabetes-inducing qualities. Also like books (minus those from the depressing genre). :)
Maria Wellman
Private Bag X11340
Suite 566
Nelspruit
South Africa
1200
To my knowledge it costs 94 cents to mail a letter. I don't have the opportunity to check my mail very often (last time followed a 2 month drought) but I get excited nonetheless by the prospect of it. I don't think there are any rules against what you can send though perishable items and weapons of mass destruction I don't recommend. Moz has enough land mines. I do welcome mixed CDs (presently in a Norah Jones mood) but enjoy all varieties (try to refrain from Hanson and Clay Aiken-types). I could really go for some cocoa (bittersweet powdery kind) as I came up shy when trying to make chocolate no-bakes tonight. A former staple of my diet despite its diabetes-inducing qualities. Also like books (minus those from the depressing genre). :)
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Far Far Away Land
Feeling very far from home this week. I can get on Skype and not miss a moment with my sister but navigate my way back to the States for my grandmother's funeral takes a full 2 days. And a lot of money. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and death is a not-so-subtle reminder of that.
Ironically, it's September 11th.
Ironically, it's September 11th.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
the Winds of Africa
Last night was so windy I thought the wolf was going to blow the house down. For once I was quite glad I had glasses to keep the sand from blowing into my eyes. At rugby, a friend's face was streaked with tears from the unpleasant sand-in-the-contacts combo. By the night's end, I had a captive audience for my tornado tales. Apparently, they are uncommon on this side of the ocean. My 8 year-old housemate's son has concluded that driving into a tornado would be like riding a roller coaster, complete with swirls, upside down spirals and stomach-lurching drops. His sister and mum were thinking otherwise.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Excitement abounds!
Multiple reasons to be happy today.... 1) We have water again (after a 3-day hiatus) and 2) I figured out to post pictures!!!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Outward Travels
So today’s highlights have been making Coca-Cola with my housemate’s son (yes, I have THE secret recipe), chasing after the family’s pet pig with a spray bottle (not sure why), discovering a nutella-esque substance in the pantry, and a 2-hour energy-depleting, joint-stiffening induced rugby practice. The big Kwa-Natal vs. us meager Mozzies match is just 3 weeks away and I have missed a number of practices and co-ed games due to my soul’s traveling nature.
Two weeks ago I went to Cape Town, South Africa for a 10-day holiday with my housemate, my colleague and her significant other. We saw and did much. Cape Town is just divine, truly a gem of Africa. The city situated between mountains and ocean has a very San Francisco feel. Curvy streets, sublime views, funky fashion, seals in the bay, and lovely vineyard to the north. We gave our palates a test in the vineyards. Mine has yet to differentiate between effervescent fruit flavors and underlying dark oak tones. I can however differentiate between a merlot and a dessert wine! Sorry, I disappoint wine connoisseurs everywhere.
Most entertaining though I think was recognizing how a mere month in Moz had me thinking differently in South Africa. For one, going to the grocery store was like walking into a SuperWalmart for the first time. I would pick up one item go two steps down the aisle and realize there was something even better, set aside the former item, pick up the dazzling new one and continue my quest leaving a Hansel & Gretel like trail about the store. I forgot how good croissants could be (until the 7th morning when I realized mixing up the breakfast options might be a good idea). I was also amazed by the roads. If we ever tried to drive that quickly on a Moz road, we would have a) been crashed into by someone possessing actual driving skills b) incurred whiplash and/or a concussion c) lost a tire and/or other important parts d) gotten to our said destination at the appointed time (a first).
But it’s good to be ‘home.’ Life has a little more character and suspense around here even if it means taking cold showers and forever having black-bottomed feet.
Two weeks ago I went to Cape Town, South Africa for a 10-day holiday with my housemate, my colleague and her significant other. We saw and did much. Cape Town is just divine, truly a gem of Africa. The city situated between mountains and ocean has a very San Francisco feel. Curvy streets, sublime views, funky fashion, seals in the bay, and lovely vineyard to the north. We gave our palates a test in the vineyards. Mine has yet to differentiate between effervescent fruit flavors and underlying dark oak tones. I can however differentiate between a merlot and a dessert wine! Sorry, I disappoint wine connoisseurs everywhere.
Most entertaining though I think was recognizing how a mere month in Moz had me thinking differently in South Africa. For one, going to the grocery store was like walking into a SuperWalmart for the first time. I would pick up one item go two steps down the aisle and realize there was something even better, set aside the former item, pick up the dazzling new one and continue my quest leaving a Hansel & Gretel like trail about the store. I forgot how good croissants could be (until the 7th morning when I realized mixing up the breakfast options might be a good idea). I was also amazed by the roads. If we ever tried to drive that quickly on a Moz road, we would have a) been crashed into by someone possessing actual driving skills b) incurred whiplash and/or a concussion c) lost a tire and/or other important parts d) gotten to our said destination at the appointed time (a first).
But it’s good to be ‘home.’ Life has a little more character and suspense around here even if it means taking cold showers and forever having black-bottomed feet.
Friday, August 8, 2008
A Pig's Feast
So does anyone have any idea what to feed a pig? Moments ago I was pathetically devouring the last of the peanut butter when I heard what sounded like a man coughing up his last lung. At first I thought the sound was coming from upstairs (creepy) before realizing that it was outside but quite close outside. So with near-empty peanut butter jar in hand (a very choice weapon), I cautiously followed the sobering sound. Only to happen an ugly, hairy, and at present, hungry little pig, which I think may be the much-rumored about pet of my host brother who is gone for a number of days (along with the rest of the fam). As sleep would be welcomed this evening, I'm open for pig-caring suggestions. Presently, he's been served the dwindling and beginning-to-smell remnants of the fruit bowl (apple, tangerine-esque fruit, and lemons).
This past weekend I took a breather from city life, heading north about 2 hours to stay with a friend who essentially lives in sugarcane fields. In way of cities, Maputo is a fabulous cultural mecca, but in way of me, I fancy crickets chirping, bullfrogs croaking, and cruising on red sandy roads. So to the 'country' I went. My friend is an accountant in Xinvane a little village that has emerged from the surrounding sugarcane job beacon. Sugarcane fields stretch far. Since sugarcane is processed after it is burnt there's always a stream of smoke coming from some land in the distance. Always traces of black bits on your car, plants, undersides of your feet. Before being harvested sugarcane stretches higher than corn (complete with the tassle-like decoration on top) and is so thick that I doubt any movie would portray someone running through it. I chose to run alongside the fields. Afterwards learned from a rather astute 8 year old that big snakes lurk in the cane fields. I think his exact words were, "Snakes aren't very polite to people who wander into their hangout." He then proceeded to whip out his little hand ax and chopped a stalk for me to taste. Mildly sweet, chewy like celery. Since the cane fields are at the convergence of two rivers, we attempted to go fishing nearby. Unfortunately, the locals outsmarted us, 'illegally' placing nets that stretched across the river, literally preventing any sign of life to pass through to our bread-bated fishing poles. So we wound up packing our kayaks and headed east for the beach that bordered an Indian Ocean inlet. It was a nice relaxing weekend, an eye-opener to how most Moz natives live, and a mere introduction to how beautiful, vast and diverse the place I now call home is. Learning what villages sell the best cashews...counting the guiness-record-setting number of passengers that squeeze into a chapa ("taxi")...witnessing Zionist baptisms (wow)...identifying my first 'Jesus' bird (this bird really does walk on water)...scrounging grocery shelves for fleeting traces of the only imported chocolate - Cadbury (my palate is getting spoiled, my cash flow not-so-much)...drinking real fruit juice (so real that to be honest i have to add water for my formerly-diluted-not-yet-acclimatized tastebuds)...
But the real learning experience has been in the working-world. Work hard, play hard. I easily put in 10 hour days. There are so many people needing services and so few resources that my day quickly fills up just meeting with families. It's heartbreaking and exhausting. My job in and of itself is a complete switch from what I was doing in the States. Back home, my clinical experience was primarily working in acute-care hospitals with adults suffering from neuro-cognitive injuries (strokes, gunshot wounds, traumatic brain injuries). Here the focus is early-intervention. So I'm in the home working with the family, in the school working with the teachers, and in a private practice for those in between. Last week we had a promising meeting with an orphanage director. A literacy program is in the works. Fingers-crossed. But the schools here, ugh... I visited a 'special needs' school last week. 3 rooms, solidly built but decaying furniture, walls completely bare save for chipping paint. The kids arrive at school in the morning, eat a meal, are sometimes supplied with crayons so they can scribble. Little to no activities are planned. They have lunch by 11:30 and then the next 3 hours serve essentially as "nap time." The television is turned on, the kids are handed magazines (no variety) as if they need to perfect their 'flipping-the-page' skills. It's a shame. Some of these kids are really quite intelligent, quite creative. The same ones that typically act out and cause behavioral problems because they're so bored. Then there's the expat community that we serve, the children of diplomats. Therein lies another issue. Many of these children have well-educated parents who want to save the world through their NGO or diplomatic connections but then fall short in recognizing the importance of being a parent. I am no parent but I think acknowledging the needs of your child is an integral part of being a good one. Putting a bandaid on a wound from years of neglect isn't what I do, trying to get a child's family involved in their learning is. My ability to do so is a work in progress as is diplomatically reminding parents that they have children… (still tweaking the family-friendly phrasing on that one). Of course, there are the parents that are absolutely fabulous and inspiring and should grace the cover of some 'parenting for dummies' book. My favorite is probably the Indian mom who always has something cooking on the stove when I arrive (and the verbal recipe in tow) and is a team leader in her child's life.
So in a nutshell, from 2 weeks worth of work, that's the gist of what I do.
If time allows, I'd love to get a research project going but… sleep isn't too terribly overrated.
Anyway, thanks to all who have sent me messages. If you made it this far in one sitting, I am duly impressed. To be honest my right foot has fallen asleep, tingling sensations in my left foot are in quick pursuit (a sign of how thrilling I find myself). Despite my slumberous state, I thought it best to send (what I thought was going to be) a quick update before I depart for a 10-day holiday to Cape Town. We're trying to write it off as a work trip by setting up an observation with some autism expert but really we just wanted an excuse to let loose (i.e., sky-diving, a wine & bike tour?, cage-diving with sharks…). So just saying hey while all my faculties are still intact! Haha, well, take care all. Oh and keep me posted on the Olympics!
This past weekend I took a breather from city life, heading north about 2 hours to stay with a friend who essentially lives in sugarcane fields. In way of cities, Maputo is a fabulous cultural mecca, but in way of me, I fancy crickets chirping, bullfrogs croaking, and cruising on red sandy roads. So to the 'country' I went. My friend is an accountant in Xinvane a little village that has emerged from the surrounding sugarcane job beacon. Sugarcane fields stretch far. Since sugarcane is processed after it is burnt there's always a stream of smoke coming from some land in the distance. Always traces of black bits on your car, plants, undersides of your feet. Before being harvested sugarcane stretches higher than corn (complete with the tassle-like decoration on top) and is so thick that I doubt any movie would portray someone running through it. I chose to run alongside the fields. Afterwards learned from a rather astute 8 year old that big snakes lurk in the cane fields. I think his exact words were, "Snakes aren't very polite to people who wander into their hangout." He then proceeded to whip out his little hand ax and chopped a stalk for me to taste. Mildly sweet, chewy like celery. Since the cane fields are at the convergence of two rivers, we attempted to go fishing nearby. Unfortunately, the locals outsmarted us, 'illegally' placing nets that stretched across the river, literally preventing any sign of life to pass through to our bread-bated fishing poles. So we wound up packing our kayaks and headed east for the beach that bordered an Indian Ocean inlet. It was a nice relaxing weekend, an eye-opener to how most Moz natives live, and a mere introduction to how beautiful, vast and diverse the place I now call home is. Learning what villages sell the best cashews...counting the guiness-record-setting number of passengers that squeeze into a chapa ("taxi")...witnessing Zionist baptisms (wow)...identifying my first 'Jesus' bird (this bird really does walk on water)...scrounging grocery shelves for fleeting traces of the only imported chocolate - Cadbury (my palate is getting spoiled, my cash flow not-so-much)...drinking real fruit juice (so real that to be honest i have to add water for my formerly-diluted-not-yet-acclimatized tastebuds)...
But the real learning experience has been in the working-world. Work hard, play hard. I easily put in 10 hour days. There are so many people needing services and so few resources that my day quickly fills up just meeting with families. It's heartbreaking and exhausting. My job in and of itself is a complete switch from what I was doing in the States. Back home, my clinical experience was primarily working in acute-care hospitals with adults suffering from neuro-cognitive injuries (strokes, gunshot wounds, traumatic brain injuries). Here the focus is early-intervention. So I'm in the home working with the family, in the school working with the teachers, and in a private practice for those in between. Last week we had a promising meeting with an orphanage director. A literacy program is in the works. Fingers-crossed. But the schools here, ugh... I visited a 'special needs' school last week. 3 rooms, solidly built but decaying furniture, walls completely bare save for chipping paint. The kids arrive at school in the morning, eat a meal, are sometimes supplied with crayons so they can scribble. Little to no activities are planned. They have lunch by 11:30 and then the next 3 hours serve essentially as "nap time." The television is turned on, the kids are handed magazines (no variety) as if they need to perfect their 'flipping-the-page' skills. It's a shame. Some of these kids are really quite intelligent, quite creative. The same ones that typically act out and cause behavioral problems because they're so bored. Then there's the expat community that we serve, the children of diplomats. Therein lies another issue. Many of these children have well-educated parents who want to save the world through their NGO or diplomatic connections but then fall short in recognizing the importance of being a parent. I am no parent but I think acknowledging the needs of your child is an integral part of being a good one. Putting a bandaid on a wound from years of neglect isn't what I do, trying to get a child's family involved in their learning is. My ability to do so is a work in progress as is diplomatically reminding parents that they have children… (still tweaking the family-friendly phrasing on that one). Of course, there are the parents that are absolutely fabulous and inspiring and should grace the cover of some 'parenting for dummies' book. My favorite is probably the Indian mom who always has something cooking on the stove when I arrive (and the verbal recipe in tow) and is a team leader in her child's life.
So in a nutshell, from 2 weeks worth of work, that's the gist of what I do.
If time allows, I'd love to get a research project going but… sleep isn't too terribly overrated.
Anyway, thanks to all who have sent me messages. If you made it this far in one sitting, I am duly impressed. To be honest my right foot has fallen asleep, tingling sensations in my left foot are in quick pursuit (a sign of how thrilling I find myself). Despite my slumberous state, I thought it best to send (what I thought was going to be) a quick update before I depart for a 10-day holiday to Cape Town. We're trying to write it off as a work trip by setting up an observation with some autism expert but really we just wanted an excuse to let loose (i.e., sky-diving, a wine & bike tour?, cage-diving with sharks…). So just saying hey while all my faculties are still intact! Haha, well, take care all. Oh and keep me posted on the Olympics!
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Bom dia (a Portuguese hello)!
Temperatures have warmed up a bit. A week ago I was walking about the house clothed in 3 layers and a blanket for a cape downing copious amounts of hot chocolate in efforts of warming myself and now I sit outside in the half sun in a mere t-shirt (and pants, of course, rolled up in capri-like fashion, secured in place with the ever-functional safety pin). Apparently, it's quite humid here in Maputo, given its ocean-side location, though I never notice it the level of humidity until I don new clothing in the morn - clothing that's always a smidge on the damp side (NO, there's no mold lurking in the crevices of my clothing - but sand, YES!) In the shade it's always cool, in the sun refreshingly warm. It gets dark about 5:30 pm (it's winter) and reportedly light out around 4ish am. No idea about the latter. Getting my beauty sleep in while I can.
Btw, I'm 2 for 2 in converting Brits to hot chocolate. Imported Nestle is quite the seductive, magical mix... if nothing else, hot chocolate will be my footprint left on Moz's red, sandy soil.
So I alluded to the popularity of rugby in my last message. Expect many more such allusions as I am now on a Moz rugby team. Ha, ha, ha... (nervous laugh). Apparently, my history of bruises, severed bones, junior high flag football scars marks me as the optimal rugby player. I merely went to watch a game on the beach and found myself in practice at the crack of dawn the next morning. Seriously, I do not exaggerate. So now Saturday mornings find me practicing lateral backward passes whilst dodging wayward, curly-haired children and seaweed clumps along Maputo's seascape. Our first big (female) tournament game is in Durban, South Africa in 2 months. Local co-ed games take place 4pm every Friday. Girls-only TBD. I'll likely arrive home shy a few teeth. But the rugby crew is a good one. A kaleidoscope of ethnicities - South African, Zimbabwean, Irish, American, Mozambican, British... etc., etc. So playing is a comedy of errors. Yesterday, a South African kept shouting, "Ford, Ford" and finally I had to stop the game and ask what the heck "Ford" was (given the context, the automobile definition seemed unlikely). Apparently, "Ford" is "forward." Haha, oops... Sorry, guys, someone has to keep the "stupid American" stereotype prospering.
So it would probably be a disservice to you guys if I continually painted a pretty picture of life in Maputo...Mozambique... Africa. Don't misunderstand me, I am enjoying my place here but like anywhere there are pros and cons. Being that I reside in a city of 2 million people, a city surrounded by barrios of poverty, crime is on the rise. I spent much of last week exploring the city with a sketch-of-a-map, keys, and phone in pocket only to find out over the course of the weekend through acquaintances that Maputo isn't the safest place for such traipsings. So while I survived a summer hanging in Over-the-Rhine (with subsequent paranoia), I will have to be a bit more cautious gauging the distance of shadows before me and perhaps (ok, will) curb my independent spirit. And take my host fam's big white dog with me on morning runs. This said, the Mozambique natives are very friendly, often saying hello and offering an even bigger smile when you respond. And the street vendors, beggars here are like no other I have encountered. All you have to do is say no and they leave you alone. None of this following you like a puppy dog nonsense. Why the other day some guy tried selling me sunglasses (what's a city without the token "bona-fide Oakley" seller?), which I didn't want. Instead, I was searching for a taxi and told him as much so he directed me to where I could find one, kindly leading the way for a block-and-a-half and then upon seeing that I was safely in a taxi, he returned to his sunglasses-selling-stand.
A city of contradictions.
Btw, I'm 2 for 2 in converting Brits to hot chocolate. Imported Nestle is quite the seductive, magical mix... if nothing else, hot chocolate will be my footprint left on Moz's red, sandy soil.
So I alluded to the popularity of rugby in my last message. Expect many more such allusions as I am now on a Moz rugby team. Ha, ha, ha... (nervous laugh). Apparently, my history of bruises, severed bones, junior high flag football scars marks me as the optimal rugby player. I merely went to watch a game on the beach and found myself in practice at the crack of dawn the next morning. Seriously, I do not exaggerate. So now Saturday mornings find me practicing lateral backward passes whilst dodging wayward, curly-haired children and seaweed clumps along Maputo's seascape. Our first big (female) tournament game is in Durban, South Africa in 2 months. Local co-ed games take place 4pm every Friday. Girls-only TBD. I'll likely arrive home shy a few teeth. But the rugby crew is a good one. A kaleidoscope of ethnicities - South African, Zimbabwean, Irish, American, Mozambican, British... etc., etc. So playing is a comedy of errors. Yesterday, a South African kept shouting, "Ford, Ford" and finally I had to stop the game and ask what the heck "Ford" was (given the context, the automobile definition seemed unlikely). Apparently, "Ford" is "forward." Haha, oops... Sorry, guys, someone has to keep the "stupid American" stereotype prospering.
So it would probably be a disservice to you guys if I continually painted a pretty picture of life in Maputo...Mozambique... Africa. Don't misunderstand me, I am enjoying my place here but like anywhere there are pros and cons. Being that I reside in a city of 2 million people, a city surrounded by barrios of poverty, crime is on the rise. I spent much of last week exploring the city with a sketch-of-a-map, keys, and phone in pocket only to find out over the course of the weekend through acquaintances that Maputo isn't the safest place for such traipsings. So while I survived a summer hanging in Over-the-Rhine (with subsequent paranoia), I will have to be a bit more cautious gauging the distance of shadows before me and perhaps (ok, will) curb my independent spirit. And take my host fam's big white dog with me on morning runs. This said, the Mozambique natives are very friendly, often saying hello and offering an even bigger smile when you respond. And the street vendors, beggars here are like no other I have encountered. All you have to do is say no and they leave you alone. None of this following you like a puppy dog nonsense. Why the other day some guy tried selling me sunglasses (what's a city without the token "bona-fide Oakley" seller?), which I didn't want. Instead, I was searching for a taxi and told him as much so he directed me to where I could find one, kindly leading the way for a block-and-a-half and then upon seeing that I was safely in a taxi, he returned to his sunglasses-selling-stand.
A city of contradictions.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
THE cloth of fashion
So I'm a bit of a texture freak... (as evidenced by my inability to consume fizzy drinks)... so Mindy (the Moz colleague who is working her charm to detain me here indefinitely) took me capanola (sp.?) shopping today. Capanolas are to southern Africa as saris are to India. Typically of a cotton blend, capanolas are essentially a sheet of fabric about a meter or so in length (you do the conversion) and are the epitome of multi-purpose functionality, serving as beach towels, skirts, table cloths, thingey-carrier, etc., etc. And they come in all colors, designs, and TEXTURES! So I was just having the most fun today hitting up all sorts of street stands feeling and checking out all these fabrics. Some are soft and thin, others are starchy and sturdier. And the coolest part is trying to identify where the capanola originates from as evidenced by the design. Some designs are made by using wax (think Easter egg dyeing) as seen in Tanzania, others with a flour paste (Zambia/Zimbabwe), indigo dye (Nicaragua), I forget Swaziland, and in Mozambique the design is big plaid. And IF there's a big central design (i.e. picture of the prez), upon wrapping it around your bottom in a skirt-like fashion, the design supposedly always ends up gracing (and drawing attention to) your arse. Neat. Given this, mine are making for very nice curtains.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Moz at last
So with jumping time zones and oceans and whatnot, I've kinda lost track of time but I'm thinking about 2 months ago I was in India dodging malarial mosquitoes, amoebic dysentery, and sandstorms. So not much has changed for me. ;) Btw, I'm alive and functioning quite well. I've been in Africa about a week now, Mozambique almost 2 days. Temperature check 68 degrees Fahrenheit.
I spent the better part of last week in the Kruger game reserve which covers the expanse of the South Africa, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and Swaziland borders. Amazing sightings. Elephant, giraffes, impalas, zebras, wildebeest, warthogs, rhinos, hippos, crocs.... so close that you could quite literally put your hands between their snappers (not highly recommended). Unfortunately, the big cats were playing hide and seek. I could only spot lions with my binoculars - which was close enough for me. Any closer and I probably would've peed my pants!
Other news... I have committed my first felony (I think). "Dog trafficking." While we (my colleague Mindy and I) were in South Africa, she bought a puppy. A weiner dog better known as a "sausage" dog in this part of the world. Apparently crossing borders with animals is a big no-no and one is forced to pay huge bribes to get the job done. So when we arrived at the Moz border, Mindy got all the crossing-the-border paperwork done while I went 'for a walk' with the pup hidden in a blanket. Mission accomplished. The smuggled puppy is safe and sound in Moz and I sleep well at night (barring jet lag interferences).
South Africa reminded me very much of the States (except their way of thinking), their cities resembled any other American or European city, while Mozambique is considerably different. Much poorer, obviously. In Maputo the capital city where I live there are about 4 roads that are decently paved, the rest are dirt, gravel, or a sketched paved job at best. Some road construction is occurring due to the impending elections. Gotta snicker when it comes to presidential election year projects. I hear Bush has plans for offshore oil drilling in the states... Grocery stores here are kinda like potluck. One day you have a surplus of mangos but a bleak supply of milk, the next day it's bread and berries, so the grocery store stock dictates the meal of the week. I brought my host family chocolate chips from the states and they thought it was Christmas in July! Apparently, chocolate chips are a rare commodity even in South Africa. For shame, my sweettooth may take a hit. Rugby is all the rage. Then again I live with a Brit. Though Maputo is a beautiful city, there's loads of rubbish about the streets. Mozambicans do not plan for the future and recycling is even more of a bizarre concept than American baseball. Our attempt at recycling is drinking filtered water from emptied liquor bottles. (Yes, it's quite comical to take a huge swig of water from a Jack Daniels bottle.) We have a maid. It's not that we need a maid but rather that it provides a job for a Mozambican. So either you donate the money to some nonprofit and the country gets half of it or you have a maid and they get it directly, 100%. We have a nice little system. I put my dirty clothes in the laundry basket (it's dusty here, white socks, what?!) and by the days end, it's clean, folded, and atop my freshly made bed. We also have a language exchange system going. I teach her English, she teaches me Portuguese. "Bon dia!" (good morning). The kids (age 7 & 9) that I live with are also aiding on the language front. They're multilingual with countless passports. Their mother is British, their father American, their stepmother Dutch, their school is French.... they speak English (Brit & American accents as needed), Dutch, French, Portuguese and have likely picked up some Afrikans (South Africa) and Swahili (Tanzania) in their travels. Needless to say, I am fascinated and jealous. And having a difficult time transcribing their speech.... ;)
Well, much exploring awaits...!
I spent the better part of last week in the Kruger game reserve which covers the expanse of the South Africa, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and Swaziland borders. Amazing sightings. Elephant, giraffes, impalas, zebras, wildebeest, warthogs, rhinos, hippos, crocs.... so close that you could quite literally put your hands between their snappers (not highly recommended). Unfortunately, the big cats were playing hide and seek. I could only spot lions with my binoculars - which was close enough for me. Any closer and I probably would've peed my pants!
Other news... I have committed my first felony (I think). "Dog trafficking." While we (my colleague Mindy and I) were in South Africa, she bought a puppy. A weiner dog better known as a "sausage" dog in this part of the world. Apparently crossing borders with animals is a big no-no and one is forced to pay huge bribes to get the job done. So when we arrived at the Moz border, Mindy got all the crossing-the-border paperwork done while I went 'for a walk' with the pup hidden in a blanket. Mission accomplished. The smuggled puppy is safe and sound in Moz and I sleep well at night (barring jet lag interferences).
South Africa reminded me very much of the States (except their way of thinking), their cities resembled any other American or European city, while Mozambique is considerably different. Much poorer, obviously. In Maputo the capital city where I live there are about 4 roads that are decently paved, the rest are dirt, gravel, or a sketched paved job at best. Some road construction is occurring due to the impending elections. Gotta snicker when it comes to presidential election year projects. I hear Bush has plans for offshore oil drilling in the states... Grocery stores here are kinda like potluck. One day you have a surplus of mangos but a bleak supply of milk, the next day it's bread and berries, so the grocery store stock dictates the meal of the week. I brought my host family chocolate chips from the states and they thought it was Christmas in July! Apparently, chocolate chips are a rare commodity even in South Africa. For shame, my sweettooth may take a hit. Rugby is all the rage. Then again I live with a Brit. Though Maputo is a beautiful city, there's loads of rubbish about the streets. Mozambicans do not plan for the future and recycling is even more of a bizarre concept than American baseball. Our attempt at recycling is drinking filtered water from emptied liquor bottles. (Yes, it's quite comical to take a huge swig of water from a Jack Daniels bottle.) We have a maid. It's not that we need a maid but rather that it provides a job for a Mozambican. So either you donate the money to some nonprofit and the country gets half of it or you have a maid and they get it directly, 100%. We have a nice little system. I put my dirty clothes in the laundry basket (it's dusty here, white socks, what?!) and by the days end, it's clean, folded, and atop my freshly made bed. We also have a language exchange system going. I teach her English, she teaches me Portuguese. "Bon dia!" (good morning). The kids (age 7 & 9) that I live with are also aiding on the language front. They're multilingual with countless passports. Their mother is British, their father American, their stepmother Dutch, their school is French.... they speak English (Brit & American accents as needed), Dutch, French, Portuguese and have likely picked up some Afrikans (South Africa) and Swahili (Tanzania) in their travels. Needless to say, I am fascinated and jealous. And having a difficult time transcribing their speech.... ;)
Well, much exploring awaits...!
Monday, July 7, 2008
Bound for Africa
Well, I am almost out the door to Africa. Quite literally as all my tickets indicate that today is the day I leave. So before I go, I thought it best to wrap up a loose end, a few final words from my Tibetan experience in India.
Here is an excerpt from my journal dated 5/21/2008...
"I'm emotionally exhausted. Day after day speakers, reputable ones from the Secretary of this to the Secretary of that, individuals who work closely with the Dalai Lama, including an individual who was part of the delegation to China 2 weeks ago. Day after day, they tell their story, the plight of the Tibetan people. It's harrowing and horrific. The human rights violations cannot be denied. Having a voice means life imprisonment, taking pictures = 10 years. People are shot/killed, women sterilized against their will, others forced off their land under the guise "that their farming has caused erosion and floods" then the Chinese build shops where fields of sorgham once were. Phone lines in monasteries are tapped. Never mind the number of monasteries that have been destroyed since the Chinese occupation. Individuals who speak to the media "disappear." With the construction of a road connecting Beijing to Lhasa, Han Chinese are being shipped in by the thousands. The Chinese outnumber the Tibetans on Tibetan soil 7.5 million to 6 million people. Chinese is the language of instruction in schools not Tibetan, not the native and known language of the people. Not surprisingly, literacy rates among the Tibetans hovers around 25% (or 40% as the Chinese claim). In the markets in exchange for goods, natives must speak the langauge of their invaders. Pictures of the Dalai Lama must not be seen and words of him and his 'clique' not heard. It's cultural genocide. It's sad and it's happening and I don't see an end in sight. At least not an optimistic one.
The Tibetan people are one of such graciousness and warmth. When running one day, I, for just a moment, lost my way (imagine that... :) and a Tibetan woman directed me to the path. Not a word was exchanged (except many thank yous from my end) just a knowingly pointed finger. Another day a group of us were shopping in town when it began to rain. A woman ushered us over to provide us with plastic bags for formely purchased paper-wrapped goods. Once more no words were exchanged, just a smile and what seems to have become my favorite phrase "tu che" (thank you)..."
And now I begin my next journey...
Here is an excerpt from my journal dated 5/21/2008...
"I'm emotionally exhausted. Day after day speakers, reputable ones from the Secretary of this to the Secretary of that, individuals who work closely with the Dalai Lama, including an individual who was part of the delegation to China 2 weeks ago. Day after day, they tell their story, the plight of the Tibetan people. It's harrowing and horrific. The human rights violations cannot be denied. Having a voice means life imprisonment, taking pictures = 10 years. People are shot/killed, women sterilized against their will, others forced off their land under the guise "that their farming has caused erosion and floods" then the Chinese build shops where fields of sorgham once were. Phone lines in monasteries are tapped. Never mind the number of monasteries that have been destroyed since the Chinese occupation. Individuals who speak to the media "disappear." With the construction of a road connecting Beijing to Lhasa, Han Chinese are being shipped in by the thousands. The Chinese outnumber the Tibetans on Tibetan soil 7.5 million to 6 million people. Chinese is the language of instruction in schools not Tibetan, not the native and known language of the people. Not surprisingly, literacy rates among the Tibetans hovers around 25% (or 40% as the Chinese claim). In the markets in exchange for goods, natives must speak the langauge of their invaders. Pictures of the Dalai Lama must not be seen and words of him and his 'clique' not heard. It's cultural genocide. It's sad and it's happening and I don't see an end in sight. At least not an optimistic one.
The Tibetan people are one of such graciousness and warmth. When running one day, I, for just a moment, lost my way (imagine that... :) and a Tibetan woman directed me to the path. Not a word was exchanged (except many thank yous from my end) just a knowingly pointed finger. Another day a group of us were shopping in town when it began to rain. A woman ushered us over to provide us with plastic bags for formely purchased paper-wrapped goods. Once more no words were exchanged, just a smile and what seems to have become my favorite phrase "tu che" (thank you)..."
And now I begin my next journey...
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Back in the m.stein
It's pitch black outside and my body thinks it is time to rise and shine. Despite pep talks, my body refuses to recognize that we are no longer on Indian time. However, it does readily accept bowls of ice cream with hot fudge topping (evidence is noticeable on my shirt) and slices of strawberry shortcake immersed in the decadence of cool whip (Brian's birthday cake...mmm mmm). So you could say that I made it home safe and sound and in culinary terms am adjusting well. My luggage however... is MIA (missing in action). Once my luggage finds its way home, I am hoping to post entries from my journal since I was unable to keep you posted while in Asia due to the poor access to functioning Internet.
And then before long (a month to be exact), I will be out the door again. Mozambique beckons.
And then before long (a month to be exact), I will be out the door again. Mozambique beckons.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Tashi Delek (a Tibetan hello)
Well, well, well... so I finally got my act in gear. A posting from the depths of the Himalayans. Internet here is intermittent at best ~ that's my excuse. (Never mind the naps and the bubble-blowing fun with the Tibetan young 'ins).
I have been in foreign lands for a good week and a half now but it feels longer. Much longer. I have seen many beautiful things, tasted many strange things (dragon fruit, anyone?), and have felt a range of emotions from the exultant high of seeing the Taj Mahal in all its glory to the heartache of witnessing the plight of Tibetans. And the latter, latter for which I am at present feeling admittedly a bit emotionally exhausted.
7:30-8:30 - Meditation
8:30-9:00 - Breakfast
9:00-10:00 - Buddhist Philosophy class
10:30-11:30 - Tibetan guest speakers
12:30 - 1:00 - Lunch
Afternoon activities vary - shopping trips, bookstore/library browsings, visiting the Children's Village (home of Tibetan refugee children), hikes, napping...
6:00-7:00 - Yoga (imagine a Buddhist monk in a red jumpsuit... ;)
7:00-7:30 - Supper
Evenings activities vary... Tibetan documentary viewings, open mike on the rooftop, downing a handful of Benadryl and calling it a night (last night's choice...jet lag).
Kale shuko!!
(a Tibetan 'goodbye')
Monday, April 14, 2008
foreboding jet-lag
Today's big purchase ~ my ticket to Africa. Total time, if my calculations are correct... 34 hours in transit. The things I do to save money. I guess sanity is expendable ;)
Depart: July 7, 2008 @12:27pm
(Dayton-Atlanta-D.C.-Doha (Qatar)-Johannesburg)
Final Arrival: July 9, 2008 @ 5:25 am
Good thing I can eat, sleep, and read anywhere. I hope?
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
In recent weeks, I have been wishing that my passport could be cloned. I fear I am going to find myself in Kazakhstan before the international embassies sort out the who, what, when, where of me.
First off in May & June, I will be completing a research project with the Tibetan Ministry of Health meaning I'll be high-fiving the Dalai Lama, striking a few yoga poses, and dodging some local scuffle. Mission best accomplished if my face doesn't wind up gracing the cover of the NY Times.
Then to bring an answer to my father's looming question regarding job prospects, yes indeed I will put my college education to use. Not in Ohio, the U.S., or even in a country where English is a native language. Nope. Maputo, Mozambique - or "Moz" as the locals say (as told to me by a non-local). I will be collaborating with the country's lone speech therapist (in a country that's twice the size of California, nearing 20 million populates). The native language is Portuguese with some tribal languages thrown in just for fun. Due to its port location, Arabic, African, Portuguese, Asian cultural influences abound... and elephants, cheetahs, giraffes, zebras are just a backyard away.
In a month I'll be graduating, in 2 months returning from Tibet, and in 3 months stepping foot on African soil. Much to do.
My schedule as I know it....
May 10: Commencement
May 11-June 7: Thailand, India, Tibet trip
(Home in the m.stein for a month)
July 7: Mozambique... (First stop ~ Kruger National Park in South Africa)
Cheers!
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