At least five wells...

2.5 yrs...

2011-08-28T14:52:00.000-07:00

They say you shouldn't go grocery shopping on an empty stomach. Has anybody yet coined the phrase, you shouldn't blog with tears in your eyes? Even if so, the extrovert I am, I shall type.

Just over 2.5 years ago I wrote my first blog entry. I was excited by the doors opening and adventures starting in Africa. Two years ago, almost to the day, I started my life in Cairo, Egypt. Now, is the night before I leave this continent(- at least for now.)

Of course, its almost mid-night and the taxi arrives at 7am. My bags are not yet packed and I still have to finish a report...but my phone keeps ringing and my heart keeps tugging...

People have always asked me why I chose to do my Master's degree in Egypt. American's somehow respect my individuality and just give me a puzzled look and keep their mouths shut. Egyptians usally laugh at me. Africans (the non-Egyptian ones) smile. I came to Egypt to do my MA because I wanted to work more with Africans, in particular I wanted to learn the East African flavors.

Now, two years later my facebook is full of memories and my phone keeps ringing with my East African family saying their version of "see you laters." I successfully accomplished what I came here to do and now I am leaving yet another family.

This is the most eclectic family however comprised of people from Sudan, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Somalia, Ivory Coast, Congo, Iraq (tho not African!) and me, from Amreeka (America in Arabic.) We have learned so much together through hard work, tears, challenges, a revolution, racism, discrimination, poverty... you name it, this group has overcome it. I could write a book on how much they inspire me...but now is not the time. I must yet again pack.

Life is what you make of it. Family- biological or no- are those with whom you share and love life. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to my Cairen family. Ma'salema.

Moments of disbelief and celebration.

2011-02-18T10:46:00.001-08:00

The night that Mubarak stepped down we were all jumping, singing, and just smiling in disbelief. As we were celebrating numerous times we were knocked off of our feet by people literally sweeping underneath us! People were already cleaning up! Word quickly spread for all hands on deck at 9am to start cleaning and repairing the Square.

The next morning I had work meetings and thus couldn’t be in the Square early but as soon as we were complete a group of co-workers walked to Tahrir. On the way a co-worker explained that she was in front of the National TV station the day prior and watched an incredible protest. The building was lined with tanks and military decorated the windows. Rolls of barb-wire fence divided the tanks and the people. She said at one point while the protestors were chanting, they knocked down the barbwire fence. They had a clear shot to the building (as long as they could get past the tanks). But instead of storming, the front line bent over, picked up the metal fence posts and re-instated the fence before resuming chanting! They didn’t want violence- they wanted rights! They knew that if they stormed it would be bloody and then the government would have his excuse to kill. The wouldn’t give that to him.
Through all their passion and demands- in the face of a major oppressor, the National T.V.- they remained rationale and peaceful. Amazing. Inspiring.

That afternoon walking through the Square emotions mixed between lack of breath in awe and an overflowing heart that translated to overflowing eyes.

A big truck towed a burnt police truck—the people cheered.
People- rich, poor, man, woman, young, old, with disabilities- came with broom and bucket to clean all of downtown. Where streets were normally cluttered with garbage and sprinkled with cigarette butts barely even dust remained.
A crane lifted a cement barrier from the middle of the road. The cement block was so representative of many life barriers and the struggles that hopefully, were removed the day prior.
People repainted the stripes on curbs, the arrows in the road and then human chains surrounded their work so as not to damage the fresh paint.
The Head of Defense drove through the middle of the Square and waved. It seemed he just came to appreciate the people’s efforts and to show himself. This is new to Egyptians.
Tent city folded up and blankets were donated.
Dirty city walls got a fresh coat of white paint and prideful, hopeful new murals emerged.
Cafes opened their doors and created ad hoc street cafés.
Civilians started directing traffic—and driver respected them! (normally there are traffic police but police were off the streets, and they’re not usually respected anyway.
People placed flower arrangements on tanks and took pictures with military personnel.
Egyptian music blarred.
People smiled from their hearts.
Fear had been replaced with pride and hope.

Whoever could have imagined that after people successfully decapitate a dictatorial regime, they clean and rebuild?!?! A popular sign that day was, “Yesterday I was a protestor, today I rebuild Egypt.”

As I said in one of my first posts, people were tired of garbage. Well, not only did they take care of the garbage but they restored downtown to better than its ever been before. One of my favorite signs from that day, “Dear World, Sorry for the disturbance. We rebuild Egypt. Love, Egyptians.” Cairo, is truly a beautiful city!

Day of Deliverance!

2011-02-18T10:17:00.000-08:00

If only we would have known—but really, NO one could have imagined this!

11 February, 2011
After prayer (12:30p.m.) we spent most of the day inside, not knowing what was going to happen, but expecting the worse. More people were protesting than ever before. They were in front of the National TV station, the Presidential Palace, Parliament and other major squares downtown. The T.V. stayed on most of the day but nothing really happened.

By early evening word had spread that Mubarak was in Sharm el Sheik, a resort town in the Sinai. Half believed it. Questions began to circulate, why would he leave Cairo? Should we expect another Tiananmen tonight? Did he just not care anymore? Was Suliman in power? A few hours later Suliman was to appear.

I sat next to my friend’s sister in the small sitting room, his parents were sleeping. CNN streamed in Suliman from National T.V. I don’t even remember the first words/sentence but within less than 30 seconds the CNN interpreter monotonous voice quickly gave way to incredibility, “He stepped down. Hee Stepped down. MUBARAK STEPPED DOOWN!” Not even the reporter could hide his disbelief (and I would like to think, his excitement!) I grabbed her arm and squealed with delight! I guess it was more than delight as I woke up his parents. I ran to change to street clothes again and call my protest buddy to come and get me— time to party!

Tahrir was incredible! Really, beyond description. Flags, music, people jumping, people hugging…actually, it was kind of like a mosh-pit too. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was surrounded by four guys I easily could have been trampled but it was a PARTY!

In 2002, when I was living in Brazil and Brazil won the World Cup it really felt like the country exploded with excitement. Nationalism was personified and I thought I would never feel such an incredible feeling again. Well, for a normally apathetic population to unite and mobilize to topple a three decade long, oppressive regime totally surpassed that feeling from Brazil! For the first time in a long time, people exercised their rights to Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Expression, Freedom of Assembly and true democracy—and they did it all PEACEFULLY… it brings tears to my eyes.

My words cannot do justice to feelings of empowerment, pride, relief, belief in power of people that night…there are plenty of videos on Facebook, Youtube and other internet pages that attempt it…
It was a truly incredible feeling…one I’ll never forget and hopefully never again take for granted.

the night of significant disappointment or perhaps too high of expectations

2011-02-18T09:46:00.000-08:00

Written at 2:30 am after returning from an extremely disappointing night- the night Mubarak did NOT step down.

The past few mornings I have visited Tahrir Sq, mostly to deliver food and basic supplies to medical and volunteer staff. It’s a truly amazing mini-city that they have built. A barber shop, medical clinics w/ free services/supplies, tent city w/ a day care tent, free cell phone charge center, stages w/ speakers and entertainment, media centers that display all the daily newspapers, etc. It’s one of the first times in the 1.5 years that I've been here that I haven't been harassed on the streets but instead actually interacted with Egyptian citizens from all walks of life.

Tonight around 7:15 pm I was returning to my house w/ my friend. Curfew was to start in 45 min and he got a call that Mubarak was in Dubai! We quickly turned on the radio, called our key contacts and consumed the rumor that Mubarak was to speak and perhaps even step down. I ran inside and changed my clothes (good running shoes and a scarf in case of tear gas) and dropped everything but my passport and camera. Within 3 min, two more friends had joined and we headed to Tahrir to participate in what we expected to be a historical night.

The energy was intense. As we passed through each security check pt (one must show id and get searched by civilians four times in order to enter the square) they asked us basic questions and rushed us through with an excited welcome. Flags were waving. Music from the 1973 victory over Israel played over loud speakers. Small groups of drummers danced and chanted.

A large "screen" suspended to a building projected Mubarak's speech a few hours later. The insufficiently large speakers turned up way too loud distorted the sound beyond comprehension (not that I can understand that much Arabic anyway!) The entire square w/ 1000s, perhaps millions of people, went silent. Egyptians are rarely silent and it was a tense and eery feeling. (The kind of feeling that makes you feel you have to pee, when you really don’t have to.) Cell phones and radios delivered the speech though his voice still projected over the square.

At certain points, small groups would start to chant in frustration. They were quickly squelched. And as he finalized his speech, curse words were quickly covered by angry chants. Silence errupted.

I was with five well connected guys who quickly got calls telling us to get out. A mob like feeling consumed the Square. As we quickly fled the square, I passed a women who just sat on the curb screaming. Her screaming frustrations quickly became mixed with body-shaking sobs. I cannot imagine her frustrations- her disappointment. We passed growing chants-- march to the Palace tonite! "Leave" mubarak. etc. Eventually we ran to beat the protesting crowds to the bottleneck exits and to get to the bridge before they over took our way home. We made it safely.

I haven't been personally involved since the beginning however anybody could have felt the 180 in emotions tonight. As we made our journey through the desert backroads one friend's lips were sealed with anger, another one basically said, "f*** it, he'll kill us all before he leaves." I sat and tried to analyze, of course we shouldn't believe he would leave so easily. Only 17 days to topple a military dictator after 30 years? We were foolish to believe it. The scariest thing to think about isthat Mubarak really has nothing to lose but his pride-- and that will not be taken easily. He's worth approximately $70Bil USD, cannot relate to Egyptian people and has basically done anything he (and the US) wanted for the past 30yrs...it's starting to look ugly. Who knows what will happen tomorrow. Most likely it will involve a lot of blood...

2011-02-14T03:42:00.001-08:00

Thank you for your patience. The mood in the country has signifcantly shifted and thus the on-slaught of posts.

more to come about the night of significant disappointment, the day of deliverance and rebuilding efforts...but for now, the police are protesting down my block and I have to go watch!

yesterday they, those who previously teargased protesters, were being tear gassed by the military. lets see what happends today! ohhhhhh, the irony!

Side-line struggles with blue eyes

2011-02-14T03:41:00.001-08:00

One of the biggest struggles has actually been “cabin-fever” and lack of freedom of movement. I am a very independent person (to say the least) and I have learnt that much of my inner contentedness (if that is a word) hinges on my freedom of movement. When my movement is restricted by curfews, protective hosts, and the “need” to have an Egyptian male companion I can become quite edgy.

The first few days, before moving to my friend’s house, I moved around cautiously but easy enough. Often times I could easily make my blue eyes bigger with that “I love you, Daddy” look and I could get into places without even showing my I.D.

As the days passed and protestors were not backing down the State started accusing foreigners of instigating the protests. At first we were all accused of being Israeli spies. (The “previous” !!  Egyptian government planted a lot of fear tactics to instill a hatred of Israelis by Egyptians). Its rather ridiculous if you really think about it- this was a peaceful demonstration by Egyptians against the government, why would they care about Israelis at this time??!
Then all journalists were under attack.
There were numerous incidences of foreigners being very randomly picked up on the street by police and military and being detained at State security/intelligence. My current roommate was also arrested and detained over night—very fortunately no torture tactics were used just intimidation. Nonetheless, the mood significantly changed towards foreigners for a few days which basically resulted in house arrest.

One of the funniest times was when the government said that foreigners were being given 100USD and being supported by KFC (yes, Kentucky Fried Chicken) do perpetuate the protests. (Yes, this was after it was discovered that Mubarak paid the camel and horse drivers 100LE to raid the protests.)The protestors simply came to the square with KFC bags held high! Eat that Mubarak!

I dyed my hair black before returning to Cairo; little did I know it would help me blend in so much better! Thus when I put on my big sunglasses, a current trend in Egypt and didn’t say anything, I could move around in the day but only with an Egyptian and usually male companion. I started to carry my passport everywhere. Once curfew came, usually 4pm, I was in the house. Even though the neighborhood was quite and safe and I was always with Egyptian men, it wasn’t worth the risk- for me or them.

I think I’ve watched more T.V. during those two weeks than in the past 10yrs of my life!

Eventually, the State realized that people weren’t buying the “blame it on the foreigners” tactic and many were actually offended. Apparently, the government did not believe that Egyptians could organize and execute these protests. Then when Suliman said that Egypt was not ready for democracy, that was the last straw and protestors and Egyptians really started looking out for foreigners.

Many questions…

2011-02-14T03:22:00.000-08:00

It seems like its been two weeks of “tonight’s events will be telling…let’s wait and see” or “lets wait another 24 hours and make a decision” or “I’ll call you in the morning if we can actually meet today…” Unstable or flexible, depends on your attitude.

To evacuate or not to evacuate, that was the first major question. The majority of my classmates evacuated. Of the 340 study abroad AUC students, 320 evacuated. UNHCR evacuated. Many foreign staff of non-governmental organizations evacuated. Many other countries evacuated their citizens (even for free and all the way back to the homeland—unlike the US!).

The first weekend, I had to entertain the question. Emotions changed by the hour but kept returning to waiting it out. Most of the phone calls circled around discussions of who was leaving and who would wait it out and where. I am in a unique situation in that I am in a safe neighborhood, with an Egyptian family and a number of close, male, Egyptian friends. Similarly, I am no longer here just for school but in fact have made a regular life. My work, my friends, my school, my home is currently in Egypt. Fleeing just felt wrong. Also, it definitely crossed my mind that all my refugee friends and many of my Egyptian friends cannot leave- if they can do it, so can I. It may sound a bit irrational but it was a real feeling. Another major factor is that my career path is focusing more towards disaster relief and humanitarian aid—this is the perfect training! If I can’t handle this then I need to reconsider my career goals. And of course, the patience and understanding of my Mom played a significant role in our decision. I do not wish to put my family under unmanageable distress and from our first phone call she expressed her understanding and respect of why I am here and my goals. I never desired to leave, she supported my decision making process and fortunately I’ve played my cards right and now I’m here until the end!

Religion in Revolution

2011-02-14T03:19:00.000-08:00

Religion is a big part of this world, this country and anybody who reads/cares about this part of the world thus its an unavoidable, bloggable topic!

When the protests first turned violent I’m sure many of you saw images of people praying in the street. According to Rosa the incident was like a movie. Protestors were throwing rocks and chasing the police. The police would throw back. Then the call to prayer came and the protesters just stopped and got down on their knees to pray. Like a staged choreography they all got in lines and just prayed. Meanwhile, the police just stood with rocks in hands, arms cocked to throw but who can throw at people praying? It reminds me of the scene in documentary on Mohamet Ghandi when he asked his “followers” to walk up to the police who automatically started brutally beating them. They desired peace and the police responded with beatings.

You can also find amazing pictures of human chains of Christians surrounding groups of Muslim’s praying- protecting them while they pray for protection. After the Jan.1 bombings in the church in Alexandria many Muslims went to church with Christians on the Coptic Christmas (Jan. 6). 2011 has brought great religious peace to the country.

While we’re not sure when or how this will end, it has been successful in uniting these two major faiths. Like my experiences in Senegal, there is nothing more touching than the call to prayer intermixed with church bells. Religion is powerful and when used with positive, open-minded and non-competing practice it can be absolutely beautiful.

Protecting Egypt…

2011-02-14T03:18:00.000-08:00

A man to whom I tutor English is a big corporate executive. I also called to check in on him as he lived in Maadi and per the news, his neighborhood was under attack of looters. The first time I called his wife answered in a state close to panic. We have never met nor talked before and she anxiously stated: “they (the looters) are here and he (her husband) is down there. They are attacking cars. We have to move.” I tried to help her assess the situation and come up with plans. She calmed enough and we hung up. Again, I just sat and could not imagine. Eventually, I got a hold of him. His sporty, aggressive side kicked in early when he heard the looters approaching. He told me, “Ellen, they were against everything that we stand for and everything that we desire in life for Egypt and our children. They came to destroy our hopes and homes. We caught them and you can’t imagine…” I cut him off there knowing his physique and passion and I said, I don’t really want to imagine but I am glad you and your family are safe. He then laughed and explained that his managerial nature kicked in as he organized phone trees and security shifts and street alarm systems for the whole neighborhood. He is proud to be an Egyptian.

Stories like this abound. I can’t imagine what would happen if Chicago neighborhoods joined together to protect themselves. Of course the situations are different but the solidarity and pride is quite overwhelming.

The first few days....

2011-02-14T03:12:00.001-08:00

25 Jan. First day of protest— though no one really knew what to expect. My internship explicitly prohibits participation in political events and demonstrations thus I only have accounts from friends.

My friend Emily and her Egyptian friend went out to the main square on Gamat el Dawal St. in Mohandeseen (a big neighborhood in Cairo). They arrived at 2pm, the supposed start time, to an empty plaza. Within five minutes, still alone in the square, her Egyptian friend started to curse the apathetic nature of Egyptians. And just as the curses started crowds flooded from three subsidiary streets. Hundreds from each direction, chanting, and waving their banners. She said it was just like in the movies!

Two of my Egyptians friends went to Tahrir that night and found amazing displays of solidarity and nationalism. People were beginning to set up camp, others walked around handing out sandwiches and blankets. For the first time that anybody could remember people from all socio-economic classes and men and women sat and chatted. My Egyptian friends said they actually felt a sense of eing Egyptian that night and were proud to be so. My foreign friend and I dually noted the change in sentiment and solidarity.

One of my first undergrad classes focused on the idea of nationalism. What creates a sense of nationalism? Similar language, religion, ethnicity or simply a common government and boundaries. Many Egyptians are proud of the history of their “mother-land” and contributions to society and of course nationalism is high during national soccer (football) matches, but other than that, this abstract concept is rather difficult to define. This Tuesday was a start to a whole new definition here in Egypt.

One of my classmates you could easily call a “protest-junkie.” She lives for this kind of stuff so, of course, she was in the front lines all day. We phoned throughout the day just to make sure we’re still alive and she shared some amazing stories. She emerged from the metro just as police started throwing tear gas. She said it stung like hell but she didn’t pass out! (there’s always a positive!)
As people started throwing rocks, the surrounding Egyptian men picked her up and threw her over the barricade to protect her. In Cairo usually the only time a man touches a women on the street is for his own pleasure. Not only had she been smashed against them with no groping but they had protected her. Quite a change of events in and of itself. She recounted that one of the most amazing moments however was during the rock fight during the call to prayer. (All mosques have loud speakers from which a man sings/chants five times a day throughout the entire city). She said the prayer started and all protestors immediately stopped throwing rocks to form prayer lines on the street. As they were praying, the police stood w/ arms cocked and loaded. Rather caught of guard, of course they couldn’t throw a rock at people praying!
She has some amazing pics and stories of a life time.

That Tuesday, not knowing what to expect and prohibited from participating, I had left my apt in the early morning and spent the day in Nasr City, a quiet neighborhood on the developing edge of Cairo. Seeing how things were still unpredictable I watched BBC all night w/ my British friend in her out-of-the-way apartment. Wed. morning I taxied home through eerily normal streets. I heard through news and friends that police descended and tear gassed the peaceful protesters around 1am.

Wed. 26
The city felt on edge all day. The unprecedented events and moments of nationalism had been physically cleared by the police earlier that morning, yet the mental images were still raw. That day I went for coffee with a new friend and did some errands. Everybody walked the streets with a bit of hesitation. It was just an awkward day.

Thurs. 27
Thursday morning was about the same. I took a long walk to Zamalek, an island in the middle of Cairo, and had lunch w/ a friend. That night a group of us even went out for a drink. Again it felt like a day in waiting with most discussions focused on hypothesizing scenarios for Egypt to come. Word was that Friday, after prayer, was going to be powerful and most likely violent.

Friday 28
My apartment is two blocks from Tahrir and on direct route to the Ministry of the Interior. I didn’t want to get stuck and nobody knew what to expect. So, contrary to cultural traditions, my friend Amr arranged that I stay with his family. I got up early Friday morning to make the family some cookies, took a shower then taxied to Nasr City. Not completely ready to just arrive at his house especially knowing that there were all to pray, I told him that I’d call him from Starbucks.

I arrived at Starbucks, bought a latte and settled in to read. I waited, intentionally about 45 minutes, then called. There was no network. Facebook, twitter and other electronic social networks were intermittent since Tuesday and now down as internet had been out all morning. To cut off all mobile communication was rather shocking.

It was 11am, things were supposed to erupt slightly after 12. People with scarves wrapped around their necks, big glasses on their head whispered in excitement of protests. Amr was sleeping- he usually sleeps through the mid-afternoon on Fridays. I had no network, no address and couldn’t return home. I sat, breathed and waited in hesitant confidence that Amr would come and get me.
Luckily, within 15 min, he came and my slowly growing anxiety subsided. 

While it started peaceful, things did erupt on Friday. Friends walked from Nasr City and Heliopolis to downtown (about a 1.5hr walk).

We watched T.V. news from Aena wa Gedu’s (Grandma and Grandpa’s) house all evening. It was only in Arabic so I had rather sparse comprehension of all the events. Still no phones or internet. We saw images of political buildings on fire. The military was called in and they were rather received as friends of the people and foes of the police. Rumors started that the police began to release prisoners from the prisons to wreak more havoc on the protesters and the city itself.

No internet, no cell phones. Luckily, I had a new “family” and was safe. I had no ideas about my classmates and co-workers…

Saturday morning I woke around 10 with cell phone reception. Ahumdililah! Calls in and out came quickly as I took inventory of my friends. Maggie had decided to stay in her apartment just above the Ministry of Interior, she was all but stuck in her apartment and passed a night filled with sounds and images of war. Rosa had been shot three times with pellets, and tear gassed but overall was ok. Most were making plans to evacuate.

Amr and I went to Spinneys (like Target- kind of) to stock up on supplies and food for the family. It was a mad house. As we started our shopping at 1pm they announced that they were closing for security reasons. We stood in the check out line for over an hour. People looked tense and tired- already. Mini- fights broke out in lines as people pushed to pay and get back home. The way home was tense. All shops were closed. Some barred. The heavy pollution only added to the anxious scene. People were practically standing in the middle of the road looking for a taxi or micro-bus to take them home. There was no calm before the storm.

We arrived home around 3:30 to find that a curfew from 4pm to 8 am. Again, a new experience.

Getting intense…
Saturday night was probably the most intense. I tired as much as possible to stay in contact with Maggie and Rosa. I’ve never been so grateful for phone reception. Rosa saw four people shot and killed right in front of her. Then she came home and the building across from ours was in flames. The next morning it was flooded as a water main had broken.

That night I called Rosa at least every hour. She was alone in the apt, building around were on fire and the street below was a literal war zone and she couldn’t make outgoing calls.

I talked to Maggie also about every hour. At one point our conversation was interrupted by a knock on her door. It was a police man only half in uniform, he came to beg for civilian clothes and few pounds to escape the area. For her security she refused to open the door but as she looked out the window she saw police men taking off their uniforms on the street and fleeing.

For part of the night, Amr and I just sat on the couch, not knowing what else to do. CNN and BBC only reported that Tahrir Sq was finally peaceful and the crowds were plentiful. They paid NO attention to the raging war that was happening just two blocks away! Rocks, bullets, tanks, military, police, civilians. Shops being looted and who knew if/when our building would catch fire too.

Maggie called and said that shooting from the inside the Ministry had stopped and angry protestors were pushing forward. Just then Amr got a call from a university friend who was a Captain in the police force and inside the Ministry. He called to say that they were almost completely out of ammunition and that protestors were advancing. Maggie watched them advance. Amr’s friend said good-bye…
We both hung up and just sat. There are two sides to every battle. I can’t say that I’ve had the best experience with police in Egypt. At the same time I understand that for many in was a form of employment. They were young men trying to help feed their families…

The first few days....

2011-02-14T03:12:00.000-08:00

25 Jan. First day of protest— though no one really knew what to expect. My internship explicitly prohibits participation in political events and demonstrations thus I only have accounts from friends.

My friend Emily her Egyptian friend went out to the main square on Gamat el Dawal St. in Mohandeseen (a big neighborhood in Cairo). They arrived at 2pm, the supposed start time, to an empty plaza. Within five minutes, still alone in the square, her Egyptian friend started to curse the apathetic nature of Egyptians. And just as the curses started crowds flooded from three subsidiary streets. Hundreds from each direction, chanting, and waving their banners. She said it was just like in the movies!

Two of my Egyptians friends went to Tahrir that night and found amazing displays of solidarity and nationalism. People were beginning to set up camp, others walked around handing out sandwiches and blankets. For the first time that anybody could remember people from all socio-economic classes and men and women sat and chatted. My Egyptian friends said they actually felt a sense of eing Egyptian that night and were proud to be so. My foreign friend and I dually noted the change in sentiment and solidarity.

One of my first undergrad classes focused on the idea of nationalism. What creates a sense of nationalism? Similar language, religion, ethnicity or simply a common government and boundaries. Many Egyptians are proud of the history of their “mother-land” and contributions to society and of course nationalism is high during national soccer (football) matches, but other than that, this abstract concept is rather difficult to define. This Tuesday was a start to a whole new definition here in Egypt.

One of my classmates you could easily call a “protest-junkie.” She lives for this kind of stuff so, of course, she was in the front lines all day. We phoned throughout the day just to make sure we’re still alive and she shared some amazing stories. She emerged from the metro just as police started throwing tear gas. She said it stung like hell but she didn’t pass out! (there’s always a positive!)
As people started throwing rocks, the surrounding Egyptian men picked her up and threw her over the barricade to protect her. In Cairo usually the only time a man touches a women on the street is for his own pleasure. Not only had she been smashed against them with no groping but they had protected her. Quite a change of events in and of itself. She recounted that one of the most amazing moments however was during the rock fight during the call to prayer. (All mosques have loud speakers from which a man sings/chants five times a day throughout the entire city). She said the prayer started and all protestors immediately stopped throwing rocks to form prayer lines on the street. As they were praying, the police stood w/ arms cocked and loaded. Rather caught of guard, of course they couldn’t throw a rock at people praying!
She has some amazing pics and stories of a life time.

That Tuesday, not knowing what to expect and prohibited from participating, I had left my apt in the early morning and spent the day in Nasr City, a quiet neighborhood on the developing edge of Cairo. Seeing how things were still unpredictable I watched BBC all night w/ my British friend in her out-of-the-way apartment. Wed. morning I taxied home through eerily normal streets. I heard through news and friends that police descended and tear gassed the peaceful protesters around 1am.

Wed. 26
The city felt on edge all day. The unprecedented events and moments of nationalism had been physically cleared by the police earlier that morning, yet the mental images were still raw. That day I went for coffee with a new friend and did some errands. Everybody walked the streets with a bit of hesitation. It was just an awkward day.

Thurs. 27
Thursday morning was about the same. I took a long walk to Zamalek, an island in the middle of Cairo, and had lunch w/ a friend. That night a group of us even went out for a drink. Again it felt like a day in waiting with most discussions focused on hypothesizing scenarios for Egypt to come. Word was that Friday, after prayer, was going to be powerful and most likely violent.

Friday 28
My apartment is two blocks from Tahrir and on direct route to the Ministry of the Interior. I didn’t want to get stuck and nobody knew what to expect. So, contrary to cultural traditions, my friend Amr arranged that I stay with his family. I got up early Friday morning to make the family some cookies, took a shower then taxied to Nasr City. Not completely ready to just arrive at his house especially knowing that there were all to pray, I told him that I’d call him from Starbucks.

I arrived at Starbucks, bought a latte and settled in to read. I waited, intentionally about 45 minutes, then called. There was no network. Facebook, twitter and other electronic social networks were intermittent since Tuesday and now down as internet had been out all morning. To cut off all mobile communication was rather shocking.

It was 11am, things were supposed to erupt slightly after 12. People with scarves wrapped around their necks, big glasses on their head whispered in excitement of protests. Amr was sleeping- he usually sleeps through the mid-afternoon on Fridays. I had no network, no address and couldn’t return home. I sat, breathed and waited in hesitant confidence that Amr would come and get me.
Luckily, within 15 min, he came and my slowly growing anxiety subsided. 

While it started peaceful, things did erupt on Friday. Friends walked from Nasr City and Heliopolis to downtown (about a 1.5hr walk).

We watched T.V. news from Aena wa Gedu’s (Grandma and Grandpa’s) house all evening. It was only in Arabic so I had rather sparse comprehension of all the events. Still no phones or internet. We saw images of political buildings on fire. The military was called in and they were rather received as friends of the people and foes of the police. Rumors started that the police began to release prisoners from the prisons to wreak more havoc on the protesters and the city itself.

No internet, no cell phones. Luckily, I had a new “family” and was safe. I had no ideas about my classmates and co-workers…

Saturday morning I woke around 10 with cell phone reception. Ahumdililah! Calls in and out came quickly as I took inventory of my friends. Maggie had decided to stay in her apartment just above the Ministry of Interior, she was all but stuck in her apartment and passed a night filled with sounds and images of war. Rosa had been shot three times with pellets, and tear gassed but overall was ok. Most were making plans to evacuate.

Amr and I went to Spinneys (like Target- kind of) to stock up on supplies and food for the family. It was a mad house. As we started our shopping at 1pm they announced that they were closing for security reasons. We stood in the check out line for over an hour. People looked tense and tired- already. Mini- fights broke out in lines as people pushed to pay and get back home. The way home was tense. All shops were closed. Some barred. The heavy pollution only added to the anxious scene. People were practically standing in the middle of the road looking for a taxi or micro-bus to take them home. There was no calm before the storm.

We arrived home around 3:30 to find that a curfew from 4pm to 8 am. Again, a new experience.

Getting intense…
Saturday night was probably the most intense. I tired as much as possible to stay in contact with Maggie and Rosa. I’ve never been so grateful for phone reception. Rosa saw four people shot and killed right in front of her. Then she came home and the building across from ours was in flames. The next morning it was flooded as a water main had broken.

That night I called Rosa at least every hour. She was alone in the apt, building around were on fire and the street below was a literal war zone and she couldn’t make outgoing calls.

I talked to Maggie also about every hour. At one point our conversation was interrupted by a knock on her door. It was a police man only half in uniform, he came to beg for civilian clothes and few pounds to escape the area. For her security she refused to open the door but as she looked out the window she saw police men taking off their uniforms on the street and fleeing.

For part of the night, Amr and I just sat on the couch, not knowing what else to do. CNN and BBC only reported that Tahrir Sq was finally peaceful and the crowds were plentiful. They paid NO attention to the raging war that was happening just two blocks away! Rocks, bullets, tanks, military, police, civilians. Shops being looted and who knew if/when our building would catch fire too.

Maggie called and said that shooting from the inside the Ministry had stopped and angry protestors were pushing forward. Just then Amr got a call from a university friend who was a Captain in the police force and inside the Ministry. He called to say that they were almost completely out of ammunition and that protestors were advancing. Maggie watched them advance. Amr’s friend said good-bye…
We both hung up and just sat. There are two sides to every battle. I can’t say that I’ve had the best experience with police in Egypt. At the same time I understand that for many in was a form of employment. They were young men trying to help feed their families…

Egypt

2011-02-04T09:29:00.000-08:00

I’ve tried for three days now to start an entry – I don’t really know how or where to start. So much as happened, so much remains uncertain. Sounds cliché.

Facts of the situation:
Egypt is in great turmoil.
I am safe and have been safe from the beginning.
My apartment is two blocks from Tahrir Sq (the main place of action) and has been on CNN numerous times. It is also the direct route the Ministry of the Interior, a target the first few days. Knowing this and the unpredictability of life in Egypt, I left my house last Friday morning .
I am staying with my Egyptian friend and his family in a safe and relatively quiet neighborhood.
I am intending on staying it through. A lot goes into this decision but I promise that I will be more responsible than stubborn.
Your prayers and support for all involved are a appreciated more than I can express!

If you haven’t been following the unprecedented and amazing coverage of the situation, you can find a wealth of info at CNN, BBC and please check out Al-Jazeera English. Especially in the past few days I have never been more impressed and grateful to courage and persistence of reporters. They are true heroes!

My roommate Rosa has been in the thick of things from day one. She has been shot multiple times (w/ pellet guns), tear gassed more than a couple of times, stuck in our apt one night as she watched the building across the street go into flames, and just last night she was detained and interrogated by Egyptian Security forces for 6+ hours. I think that finally scared her into retreat, but I’ve said it before so we’ll see how long she’ll stay put! While many of you may think this is absolutely crazy- you’re right, it’s not the life for everybody- at the same time she’s capturing some amazing things and is helping in anyway possible. Please keep her and all other risking their lives to bring a positive change. As soon as she blogs, I’ll pass along the site for more front-line news.

I will admit that I have not seen any direct action. My job contractually prohibits me from participating in any political events- for the safety of the refugees. Thus for the sake of my job and the security of my refugee friends, despite my desires, I did not participate in the first few days of protest. Then as things have turned uglier, in the past few days, it is evident that this in not my fight and I would be much more of a burden than a help w/ my blue eyes and lack of Arabic. My status as a female-foreigner, my current location away from downtown, and the eye’s of my friend’s family have made me all but dependent on the moves of my male-Egyptian friends to do anything or go anywhere. (Needless to say I’ve mastered the tight-jawed smile that really says “I don’t agree at all but urgh, I have to.”)

In one way, I struggle with embarrassment and shame about my retreat as I desire to work in conflict areas and disaster relief. At the same time, I must humble myself to realize that while I fully believe in human rights, this is not my fight. And as previously stated, I could quickly become much more of a burden than a help. I have resolved myself to do what I can in terms of moral support to refugee communities in my proximity for the time being.

Refugees are also at extreme risk because of deeply entrenched racist attitudes and general security issues in Egypt; not to mention, many of them fled their countries because of similar unrest and they simply do not wish to live it again. So, many of them have been locked in their houses for the past 8 days. There are a number of single mothers who are particularly afraid, for obvious reasons. To compound problems, many people in Egypt get paid at the end of the month- this did not happen in January, so money is very scarce. Thus the beginning of this week my friend and I drove around near-by neighborhoods to drop off cash and make friendly home visits.

I'm still working out specifics of other aid projects...more to come...we'll be in touch! ;)

I intend on writing more as emotions and internet allow, so feel free to stay posted. This country is filled with amazing stories and demonstrations of hope, democracy and solidarity. The news reports of Egyptians picking up trash on the streets. In Egypt, as in many other developing countries, trash is a daily part of life and people rarely think twice about it. Well, apparently the people are sick of trash. Please keep spreading the word of this amazing movement and show of what people can do in solidarity.

humanity

2010-12-11T04:51:00.000-08:00

On January 9, 2010 Sudan will vote on a referendum that could split the country North and South. The North, the seat of the government, has already threatened that the South will never be independent. The South, a land of different religion, language, and culture from the North has suffered long enough from the North and strives for independence. Sudan hosts the longest civil war in history. The location and motive of war has shifted throughout the decades; it currently resides in Darfur. Needless to say, this will not be a peaceful event whatever the outcome.

Many of the people I work with on a daily basis are from Sudan and have escaped its claws for a number of reasons. Torture, rape, destruction, death, they have out ran it. Now, they sit just a short plane ride away, in Cairo, in sickening anticipation of what awaits their family, friends and homes.

This morning in class at the training institute we addressed the pending referendum and the expectations of further forced migration. UNHCR- Egypt (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) is expecting about 20,000 new “migrants.” History shows it could easily be 2 million displaced. We are planning for a crisis. How do you plan for a crisis? How do you plan for death, destruction and desperation?

UNHCR in Egypt, Uganda, Kenya (all neighboring countries to Sudan) are meeting regularly to budget and plan for food, medical assistance, possible camp sites. Dr. Nancy, part of the negotiations, speaks very pragmatically about it. She’s been there done that before; it’s all part of disaster response. Yet we sit in a circle of chairs a mixture of Sudanese, Eritreans, Ethiopians, Iraqis, Somalis and I…they have all been through this before personally. You can tell hearts are beginning to beat faster as people start to shift in their chairs; rotating between twisting their hands or sitting on them. Feet start to cross and uncross, repeatedly. Then hands go to eyes and heads as the anticipation overflows into tears. Of the 22 trainees, 4 still have family in South Sudan, 3-4 others are from neighboring areas of Nuba Mountains or Darfur. What’s going to happen to their families? Can they get out in time? Many of the team members here do not have the proper documents to go and help, even to the border, thus they must sit and watch…
The heart of psychosocial work is realizing people’s basic needs and that people are intrinsically very pragmatic. The conversation shifts from what options might be to what can we do and how should we prepare…it’s a heavy morning. It’s going to be a tense next few months.

On a similar note, I just found out that my darling pal Lucy, with whom I shared life in Senegal (and can be seen in previous blogs) will be stationed at the heart of the vote where the country divides North and South. After Senegal, she took a post with the World Food Project to provide humanitarian assistance through emergency food delivery in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). She has since climbed to be base manager and recently was given the “opportunity” to serve in Sudan for the referendum. Yes, this sounds crazy to many of you however, these people will need food and she has been called to help deliver it. She and they will need your thoughts and prayers.

Overall, I don’t know what to say except that humanity can be disgustingly greedy and achingly inhumane. I am sickened by the fact that we are preparing for a man made disaster. On the other hand, collections of good hearts will struggle through the ugly to reinstall whatever humanity we can. Even if you’re not called to be part of the direct action, please pray and/or send good energies to Sudan and those serving in and around it during the next few months. Truly, it doesn’t matter if you’re Muslim, Christian, black or white…no human deserves this.

whole lot of chicken going on....

2010-11-10T12:48:00.000-08:00

Due to health concerns that exploded last spring this summer I decided to transition to a gluten free, lactose free life style. If I thought the dietary transition was a bit tricky in the States, then here in Egypt it could be a part time job. The life of a full time student and full time volunteer barely leaves time to cook however my digestive track insists that I eat “special- not-found-on the street” food thus I must essentially cook everything I eat. It’s a lot of time.

This past week I tried a new curry-honey-mustard baked chicken recipe. The recipe calls for a whole chicken and whole chickens are readily available in the markets, so I decided to try one. One time, I helped our domestique in Senegal, prepare a whole chicken. I have never prepared a whole chicken by myself. If you know me and my phobia of blood, bodies and everything associated with raw fleshy things you are correct to ask, what the heck was I gonna do with a chicken!

Got the chicken home—I chose the one that was already dead, feathered and cleaned. Ahamdililah! The recipe called to break/cut the chicken into smaller pieces. If the recipe wanted smaller pieces why did it originally call for a whole chicken? This is a recipe from the US- butchers regularly offer already cut up chicken…

I pinched the little leg- it bent like a real leg. I dropped it and my blood pressure followed suit. I turned around the pan—big whole in which I could see a backbone and blood. I turned the pan again- something that looked like a chicken’s anus. I began to prepare the marinade as the naked chicken sat on my counter.

After mixing the mustard and honey, I mustard up (yes, pun intended) the courage to snap off the back legs. I quickly washed my hands and fled the kitchen to catch my breath again. My head was spinning.

My guest was to arrive in 40 min. The chicken required 90 min to cook and in our nasty Cairen oven that means 2 hours and the naked chicken anus was still pointing my way. I called my friend for support and advice. She had none but told me to go buy already cut breasts. No. I debated calling my Grandma—but really, she’s in the States, she can’t break this chicken. I debated if could I just throw the whole bird in the pan and cook it? I mean that what they do in the movies for Thanksgiving. Then walked in my roommate! Thank God, for roommates!

About 4 min, a few grunts and sawing like sounds later, the chicken was in pieces in the pan. It turned out delicious! And of course I played the, “you don’t understand the sacrifice I went to w/ this dinner”…and he did the dishes! :)

happy working in Cairo!

2010-10-25T06:27:00.000-07:00

In school, I debate theoretical arguments such as the distinction between "inhumane and degrading treatment" v. "torture" and I read case studies about the gross lack of medical services available to refugees in Cairo. I walk the streets of Cairo harassed by macho comments, covered with dirt and sweat. I often ask myself, what am I doing here and why am I doing it here specifically. Today a few of collegues and I visited numerous non-governmental organizations (NGOs), community based organizations (CBOs), and schools in a predominatly poor and Sudanese area of town (one might say, the ghetto). These visits answered those questions and renewed my purpose and energy in Cairo.

The objective of the visits was to observe the organizations where the new psychosocial candidates will be hosted and what are there current activities, in addition to meeting other staff and board members of the organizations. Yet amongst the meetings, we walked through the streets, shook hands of random people, drank tea, avoided goats, horses, donkeys, dogs, cats and their remains. We saw real life.

While it’s great to understand the theories and case studies, for me, there is nothing more gratifying than working in communities, walking the streets and seeing/feeling the daily life of the people with whom I work. Today I got to see a side of Cairo that I have never seen. Granted it was a holiday thus, I’m not sure it will be the same the next time I return however it was fun to see daily life on a holiday!

One aspect of the visits that struck me was the discussion surrounding financial affairs. Some of the organizations survived essentially by volunteer staff, others sat around saying there was no funding thus no programming and others had international contacts that helped to secure external funding. One lady in particular who runs a nursery for babies and infants stuck in my mind. She talked in a very matter-of-fact way; she recognized the less than desirable conditions of the organization and families that frequent it, yet she spoke with such conviction and passion that re-instilled my faith that people are intrinsically good. She saw a need in her community and she does something about it, piece by piece, day-by-day, from the goodness of their heart, without renumeration and often at great expense, for the betterment of the community.

Then there were the ones that sat around waiting for funding. Frankly,they annoyed me and made me just want to push past and say, “excuse me, please get out of the way for people that are actually doing something!” It also reconfirmed how many of the daily activities and programs are initiated and maintained by women. Yes, we saw a lot of men at the heads of organizations and some were very effective and influential yet overall, I still have this feeling that women are the real movers and shakers.

During the site visits I also thought of Greg Mortenson’s comments in his book “Three Cups of Tea” when he speaks about how many cups of tea one must consume to get anything done. Sadly enough, as I’ve noticed in other developing countries, tea is frequently replaced by glass bottles of sugary soda. Do they think that all foreigners drink lots of soda? I can’t imagine it a question of access or price as tea is so easily available in Egypt. But I brushed my teeth three times when I arrived home.

Today, while a bit tired and dirty, I come home renewed. Last year I volunteered at the Refugee Legal Aid Project and lived in that community of people: staff, volunteers and clients. Today made me realize that 1) this year, I had been missing that sense of community and 2) that I where I might not get to work intimately with just one organization this year, it will be fun to mixed into a bunch of them!

round two....

2010-09-29T12:48:00.000-07:00

Second year of graduate school includes my practicum/internship/field component. Last year I independently volunteered at the refugee clinic providing legal services for refugees seeking resettlement, this year I will gain field experience for my secondary diploma in Psycho-social interventions in forced migration studies.

My diploma program (distinct from my MA in International Human Rights Law) is an intimate program of about 10 people and a very involved director, Dr. Nancy. It’s like a family that feeds off of and supports each others passions to work with and assist marginalized populations create and access community and social systems. This year this part of my Cairo family includes five other females: Americans, Egyptians, Europeans and Africans from all walks of life and Dr. Nancy, a psychologist who works and consults in emergency and conflict situations all over the world.

In such an intimate program Dr. Nancy got to know each one of us and our strengths, goals and weaknesses. In this way, we were able to dialogue and find individual field location that met all of the above needs. Recognizing my motivating and management skills, I will work directly, under the supervision of Dr. Nancy, in developing the Psycho-Social Training Institute (PSTIC) in Cairo. Dr. Nancy trained and graduated the first class of psycho-social workers this past May and in doing so grew the presence and need of psycho-social workers in Cairo. This year we will take on a new class of psychosocial workers, mostly refugee community leaders from Ethiopia, Sudan, Eritrea, and Somalia, In addition we continue to grow our networks in Cairo and with international organizations such as the UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), the International Office of Migration (IOM), Catholic Relief Services (CRS), and the Red Cross, to name a few.

Unlike some of my colleagues who were placed in established agencies as caseworkers, my responsibilities, along with my two wonderful partners Eklilu, Eritrean and Ali, Somalian, these past few weeks was to get things going: find office space, make budgets for office furniture, find painters, help coordinate interviews of perspective students and participate in the interview process. Quite different from last year at the refugee clinic, with Dr. Nancy we have a budget! and I won’t have to consume a whole weekend painting the office with my own volunteer team!!

What I’m most excited for however, is Dr. Nancy’s open-mindedness. This means that after I expressed that I’m interested in disability law and rights she told me that she would find funding for me to start a program for persons’ with disabilities in the refugee community! A week later, I’m now sitting in a waiting room for an appointment with three of the top (and most politically powerful) doctors for refugees in Cairo and later this week I will meet with two other international organizations to start my program assessment!

Needless to say I’m excited! I am contracted to approximately 30hrs a week for the practicum; however lives in crises rarely adhere to time schedules. So, this semester I’ll balance these new opportunities with three classes: Human Rights in Africa, Human Rights in the European System and a Psycho-social “problems” course. And for a bit more fun on the side I have 1 8-year old violin student who will only stand during his lesson if I get him a soda before class, and three English students looking to improve their conversation skills- I get paid to talk! Life is moving along!

First week back.

2010-09-12T03:42:00.000-07:00

On my way back to Cairo I realized that this was the first time I was going back to live in a country. I have visited a few of the other countries where I have resided but I have not yet gone back to live in one. This definitely has its advantages.

This time, I didn’t have to learn my Arabic numbers to walk through foreign streets to find a “home” but I had an apartment waiting for me. I have friends excited about my return. I know prices and where is the grocery store. I have a phone with local numbers. I know how to cross the street. I know how to tell off a rude man on the street. I know what to wear—or more importantly, what not to wear. It was almost a déjà vu moment; I quickly felt at ease.

The transition was ideal! Cairo, time change, transition in general, can be overwhelming. Last school year ended in an unhealthy way and four days after my return to the States I was working full time researching national criminal and immigration issues at a law firm in Chicago. I was super blessed to have such a great job and the support of friends and family all summer however to go right back to school without a slight mental break could have been disastrous! So, with a good week before school started, a good friend and I decided to spend some time on the Mediterranean.

We did nothing but sleep, eat and chit-chat for SIX whole days! Really, I felt spoiled! The polluted fog of Cairo was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t have to be covered but wore sundresses or just my bikini the whole week…we couldn’t escape Ramadan however, so seaside alcoholic beverages were a no go…either way we returned sincerely excited to be in Cairo with healthy, new energy and ready to start a new school year!

Arrival: Round Two

2010-09-12T03:40:00.000-07:00

I would be a liar if I denied that my heart sank upon arrival in Cairo. Blue skies were suddenly replaced by haze of pollution and heat. Whereas Paris was a bustle of organized and efficient smiling men and women, the Cairo airport hosted only clusters of worn-out looking men who simply stared. My first thought: of all the places in the world, why am I here?

I quickly stifled that thought because I am here. I chose to be here. I’m here for a reason (even if it’s not always clear.) Life is what we make of it. I learned a lot last year and I have another opportunity to avoid the same mistakes and to embrace new opportunities. I am the only one who can control my reactions and my actions—its gonna be a great year!

French

2010-09-12T03:28:00.000-07:00

“Would you care for red wine, white wine, Champaign or water?” is the way I started my trip back to Cairo. Air France is the way to go! (I chose red wine for the first leg of the journey and Champaign for the connecting flight.) While some may think that alcohol is bad for jet leg I think going to a Muslim country during Ramadan after a summer of great wine is worse!

Chicago to Paris is an easy flight- if for no other reason than the anticipation of arriving in Paris!! I arrived around 8am Paris time, 1am Chicago time and I had five hours until my next flight. I had to act fast to make the most of my time.

I relatively quickly passed through Customs— the first stamp in my renewed passport! I found the Centre de Tourisme and quickly tried my French. The lady kindly responded in English— ouch. She explained the transportation options that arrive in the city center and return to the airport. Then with a smile and a wink also quickly informed me that there was bus that the locals used-- for half price!-- if I was willing to walk a few blocks. Who wouldn’t love to walk a few blocks through Paris!

At that moment I caught myself in a giggle: I could have easily taken about an hour before leaving to plan out- or look at a map of the windy city—to know how to best spend these hours but of course, I didn’t. So, I jumped on the random bus that a random man said would pass by le Avenue des Champs-Élysées and headed into Paris with an only-American-would-carry-ridiculously-stuffed “purse” and carry-on suitcase. Only a moment of anxiety crossed ma tete that I have to make it back from downtown, through security and find my gate which could be in a totally different terminal in less than four hours. Pourquoi pas?!

The supposedly 45 min ride took an hour ten minutes so I closely kept track of time for my return bus. While I couldn’t possibly skip up cobblestone, windy streets w/ my luggage there must have been at least a twinkle in my eye. Really, there is nothing like exploring and enjoying a foreign city—by yourself! Such liberty!

I took a few pics of the Arc de Triomphe before heading back down the labrynth of streets. In the morning, the streets were just stretching awake however the markets were standing ready: truly, one of my favorite places in the world— a small, outdoor market on the streets of Paris. In quite an “Eat, Pray, Love” fashion I smelled every flower that I passed and bought an overly expensive carton of raspberries! I spoke French with the smiley lady in the bakery. I even squealed an “ou la la” as I sidestepped away from the man pushing a cart with stinky cheese! My 53 minutes of freedom in Paris was bliss!

Upon return to the airport I quickly found the terminal and passed through security—a tall, black French speaking man! And finally, as I waited in the terminal for my Champaign filled flight, I gave myself a French manicure!

summer

2010-06-30T18:47:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up early to go on a run...outside....fresh air...in shorts...

This summer I'm working as a law clerk doing legal research at an immigration law firm in the Chicago loop. Really, an unexpected dream come true. Three brilliant female attorneys, four wonderful female legal assistants and me. Strong, driven, hard-working women making a world a difference for our immigrant clients and their families. No men needed. No questions asked.

Today after another 8 hrs in the overly air conditioned law firm, I met a close friend for "happy hour." On a budget and wanting some fresh air we decided to meet for a picnic happy hour in Millennium Park. There we sat, in the middle of grass, two women in skirts above our knees, my shoulders were showing and we shared a bottle of a dry, robust, red wine- in public! Nobody cared. Nobody stared. We didn't have to hide the wine bottle. Or struggle to keep our scarfs wrapped around our shoulders. Fresh air.

As I rode "home" on the train I realized as I looked through the window into the next car-- there was a man squeezed up against a woman. No gendered cars. No one cared. No one stared.

I'm neither homesick nor very comfortable. The normal cultural adjustment phase has once again faded-- at least until I go back to Cairo in 2 months. I'm just noticing and appreciating the differences.

Grad school realization

2010-04-21T03:41:00.000-07:00

So you know you're in grad school in a foreign country when access to research involves reading a book in Italian to scour the footnotes to find references to sources in French and really this is only to put off the primary sources that are only in Arabic thus only accessible with a translator...at least I get to write in English!

choosing of the neediest.

2010-02-11T09:17:00.001-08:00

For a number of reasons, logical and reactionary, since the start of the new year we opened our services at RLAP to basically all refugees including Sudanese, Eritrean, and Ethiopian. These communities in particular face extremely hard luck at the UNHCR in Egypt. Only the most extreme cases are even considered for resettlement despite legal grounds for a case.

When word got out to the various refugee communities the office was literally bombarded by possible clients. A coupe of random days during a two week period in January, we had to shut the office doors and call in extra security to fend off literally hundreds of Sudanese begging to have their cases heard. A window of opportunity opened but a wall was needed.

I do not believe that the office appropriately estimated the number of people waiting to be heard and served. In response to the floods, a wonderful intern created a basic paper intake form. 4000 forms came back the office within a matter of days. The resourcefulness of these communities once again showed itself as there are basically three different handwriting sample for each community and each story contains similar phrasing. Not everyone knows how to write and those that do had a lot of work to do!

This week we started to go through the forms- sort of a triage system. Who might have a case? Who has suffered but just not enough? Who has a priority case?. The process itself is a psycho-social study. The new interns in the office, obviously struggle the most as we hear, “Oh my gosh they’ve all been raped. They’ve all lost family…I feel soo bad.” I started to explain to a new intern that its normal and eventually she’ll start to “feel” who really has a case and (un)fortunately we start to harden up and it won’t affect you as much…I grab my stack of Eritrean applications and despite a few years of experience I too am bombarded with hopelessness.

I can breeze over the home country catastrophes…war, attacks, bombs, milita, rape, torture, family dying… but the continual persecution hits me… “my husband died, I’m alone with four children for the past 6 years, one is paralyzed from the bullet wound, I have no protection…” I reach the end of one particularly NOT compelling case and she writes, “Can someone please help me?” I freeze and show it to my colleague who simply hands it back with a shrug.

I feel it’s unfair. These people are given a chance to tell their stories. Paper cannot tell a story. Many of these cultures practice oral traditions, paper can’t capture emotions of a story. Many have security issues, thus with all of there personal and family information on the same page, they refuse to disclose their full story on paper. Many have been through numerous interviews where they have learned to give only the information they think We want to hear. Is this the best way to handle this situation? They try to transmit their desperation…how am I supposed to play “god” and decide who deserves a chance? What if the intern next to me read it, would she give someone a chance that I say has no real chance?

As a service provider I can understand limitations. Certain rules limit the amount of people that can resettle, quotas- or perhaps political influences, either way the UNHCR has (some argue inhumanly and injustly) limited the numbers of applications from these communities. I mean, how do you choose when almost all have been tortured, raped and lost family members? Who has the worst of the horrific stories? At the same time, there are legal grounds for resettlement and more importantly, they’re human. Doesn’t everybody deserve a chance? I’m starting to really think that I’m naïve to believe this.

Good things have come out of this. We have found numerous urgent situations that we will work to immediately service. These cases might have remained silent—or even died away—if we hadn’t opened our doors. I am also positive that through the information we have collected invaluable statistics will be available for analysis and hopefully policy change.

I’m not sure how to end this. It was a heavy day in the office. It’s going to be a delicate and arduous next few weeks. Aid is tough. Its one of those situations when you want to help—but its out of your control.

my quest to organize 2010!

2010-01-16T07:04:00.001-08:00

I am the first to admit that I am completely dependent on my day planner. Yes, I'm even one of those people who when I'm sitting on public transportation and have nothing to do will "read" my day planner. I like organizing. I like planning. Little did I know, however, how particular I am about the format of my daily planner/agenda until I tried to find one in Cairo.

I like a portable planner, preferably one that can fit in different size purses, including the small ones. Of course, I need lots of room to write, including weekends... I ask my friend with a car to help me find one.#

Store #1: All planners are "Arabic" style. I can get used to opening it "backwards" (Arabic: write right to left, open books from the "back" cover). The week starts on Sunday because weekends here are Friday and Saturday. All days, months etc are in Arabic which would be good daily practice. However, one page per day is not an efficient use of space nor is it conducive to visualizing long term planning...sorry, try again.

Store #2: only wall calendars based on the Muslim calendar. They reminded me of Grandpa's Farm Bureau calendar...something to hang on the wall, tear off the page each day and it generally ends up a couple of weeks behind. Nope, try again.

Store #3: exactly what I was looking for but only 2009. That won't work.

Between store three and four, I start to feel a bit desperate. In exasperation, I tell my friend that I now understand why Egyptians are always late and don't ever plan anything! There are no planners! I start to ask my stereotypical culturally philosophical questions: "how would Egypt be different if Egyptians had planners? and were taught to use them? how do professionals keep track of appointments? etc..." My friend asks me why so many different types of planners exist and exclaims that all Americans are really OCD about time organization ("time is money!")

FINALLY, store #4-- I find a small, well organized-- tho I must compromise because it doesn't have a separate page for each month-- planner. I'll take it!

While I normally do not advocate for big box stores, this is one instance where I wish I had an Office Depot! I guess another cultural adjustment--- or something to be sure to add to my Christmas list from the States next year!

Happy Birthday BLOG!

2010-01-04T09:23:00.001-08:00

So its almost one year to date since I started this blog. This time of year stirs the need for reflection and perhaps determining new goals, aspirations and desires for the year to come. I, thus, feel it appropriate to take a moment to do just that.

What actually stimulated this desire for reflection and projection was when I checked my bank account. I first realized that this time last year I was still working…I don’t wish to qualify if it’s a good thing or not, but it seems much longer ago that I was in such a stable and comfortable life. At the same time I feel incredibly blessed at the opportunity to NOT work for an entire year and still be abroad.

2009 was a full year: full of growth, of travel, of new friends, new languages, new experiences…

I started the year by wrapping up lose ends in freezing Chicago with a bundle of excitement with the idea that I had Absolutely NO idea what was in store for my life! I “moved” to Dakar, Senegal: my first time (more than 24 hours) in Africa and in a Muslim country. I re-acquainted myself with the initial frustrations of learning a new language and the process to the joy of being able to fully express myself in that language. I became close to yet more Rotary host brothers. I traveled to remote villages to experience an anthropologists dream. I ate new foods. I danced. I played the djembe. I ran by the ocean. I created pottery in silent laughter.

I returned “home” to Chicago for a fast five weeks. I re-adjusted to life and realized blessings of both cultures. I visited Rotary clubs. I played with my niece and nephews! I saw my little brother graduate. I did my first detox diet. I went to a wedding every weekend. I danced. I hugged my dad and chatted with my mom.

At the end of August, now an even better packer, I moved to Cairo, Egypt: my first time in the Middle East and NE Africa and my first time in grad school! I found an apartment. I met new friends. I found an internship. I learned to ignore the most annoying men I could ever imagine even more. I ate new food. I had my first stress related panic attack—or 4. For the first time I realized that I cannot always give 100% in everything I do and said, “that is sufficient.” I’m starting to learn Arabic.

I still do not really know where my life is going but I am content with that and content with the direction it seems to be taking. It’s fun to think that I’ve acquired vocabulary of three different languages in one year. I’m still very excited to be in Africa. I love my graduate program and the people that I’ve met through it. With all the “I”s in this entry, I feel that my year is a bit selfish and egotistical. Perhaps it is… At the same time my current quote for 2010 is: "The life of an individual has meaning insofar as it aids in making the life of every living thing nobler and more beautiful" Dr. A.Einstein…woooohoooo, here we go 2010!

Christmas in Egypt

2010-01-04T08:49:00.000-08:00

This is not the first year that I've spent Christmas abroad, without family and without snow but it was the first Christmas that I spent in a country that largely does not recognize the holiday. Cairo, as a metropolitan city, has a rather large expat community that demands a small Christmas market, nonetheless I think it would not have been difficult to pass through the 25th of December without special recognition. While the past few years in the States I have tried to deny the materialist side of Christmas this year I realized how much sentiment it adds to the holidays: no parades, no Christmas carols, no decorations in the streets, no "Merry Christmas" greetings... At the same time, it was a beautiful thing not to have think about Christmas shopping or what to wear to Christmas parties and all the stresses that come with the holidays! (If Christmas stresses you out you should consider celebrating in a Muslim country because then you only make it what you want it to be!)

With Lies in town it was a whirlwind of a week during which time we did our best to bring in the holiday cheer. While I cannot say it had a very Christmas-y feeling we had tons of fun and perhaps I should just consider it a 'different' way to celebrate.

Pict 1: our "family" Christmas dinner. My friends, foreigners and Egyptians, Christians and Muslims got together for a potluck dinner on the 25th. Being that it was the holidays and most of us were without family and tradition many of us splurged to make our favorite food. I finally found avocados and made guacamole! It was the fastest dish to disappear which only contributes to the "different" way to celebrate Christmas!

Picture 2: After "mid-night" mass- that was supposed to start at 11, but the choir started around 11:30 sang for 40 minutes and didn't really end until 2am-- we celebrated Jesus's b-day in the club! I celebrate my b-day in the club, why wouldn't Jesus! We even drank wine in the club bc ya know, Jesus turned water to wine! Happy Birthday JESUS!!

Picture 3: The Christmas choir at church. It truly was beautiful and was possibly the only time it REALLY felt like Christmas; no matter in what language the Choir sings "Silent Night" it can always bring a tear... One of my Muslim friends accompanied us for his first time in a church. I was once again able to say, "When you can bring this kind of music in a mosque, I will consider converting!..." I interpreted the readings for him that were in French and he interpreted the Homily in Arabic! love multi-lingual masses!

Picture 4: one of the last nights of finals week my two friends showed up at my door with a surprise Christmas tree! It might be a bit lopsided, but its real and brings a Christmas smell every time we walk in the door. Amanda and I took a small study break to decorate it and here she gave it appropriately gave it a garland turbin!

Like on Thanksgiving, my friends united to create our own "family." I once again feel blessed to have such great new friends and memories with them. At the same time, thanks to technology, I was able to share a bit of holiday spirit with close friends and family at home. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JESUS!! and a (belated) Merry Christmas to all!

SantaLies came to town!

2010-01-04T07:55:00.000-08:00

My first visitor!!! Lies, my good friend and travel buddy who I met in Senegal, came to visit me over Christmas break! Lies finished her first semester of teaching, I finished my first semester of grad school.....watch out Egypt!

Team shisha!!

The sphinx got some special visitors!!!

We went shopping in the market but when the male vendors got to be a bit too much decided to work on our bell-hops! Pourquoi pas?!

Of course time for cocktails on the beach!

Just like the good ol' days in Senegal, Mr. Lonely Planet proved once again priceless!

We also figured out that our bargaining skills were still pretty good as not only did we enjoy this deeelicious mango juice, but walked away with the mugs as souvenirs! Never hurts to ask-- w/ a big smile and a wink! :)

We also visited some mosques...

And of course, a trip to Egypt wouldn't be complete without camel rides at the pyramids! (Finally after 4+ months in Egypt, this was my first time to see the pyramids also!)

Doesn't it make you want to visit too??!?!!! :)

Cultural interpretations

2009-12-01T02:08:00.001-08:00

I passive aggressively ask him, "Do you really want that 2nd cigarette?" I immediately feel like a controlling friend who should let him do what he wants. He immediately puts the cigarette away, smiles and says, "Thanks for caring about me."

He asks, "you don't feel jealousy? Jealously shows how much one cares." (I've heard this argument on EVERY continent and EVERY country visited!) I respond that people are independent and can make their own decisions. I trust my friends.

Cultural interpreations.

Health Update

2009-11-30T13:52:00.000-08:00

So in my post about finding medical attention in Egypt, I mentioned that it was suggested to me by an Egyptian doctor that Egyptian medical practioners grossly over prescribe. Well, a friend coming back from Dubai this week informed us that the Egyptian government, in efforts to curb the further spread of H1N1, is now handing out doxycycline, an antibiotic (one used to prevent malaria as also noted in a previous post), to all international travelers entering Egypt. The official upon quesitoning said it was just tylenol.
WHAT? Unprescribed antibiotics handed to everyone in the international terminal?...don't know where to start...

Btw, my health is back in tact, alhumdililah!
I found it quite a miracle how efficient the health care system is in Egypt considering its lack of organizaiton and efficiency in other daily tasks. Furthermore I cannot express how amazing it is to live in a society where insurance works. I had to 2 urine analysis, a urine culture, and a full gynecological exam and didn't open my wallet!! Eventually I asked the doctor at AUC if I need to pay and he said, "you paid your semester medical fee of $85, right? then you've already paid for everything." WOW! $85 all inclusive!

The most memorable moment of it all is when this supposedly super famous gynocologist who's so aged that I wonder if his 'crystalized" eyes can actually examen me says, "you know you are in Egypt? You've heard of 100% egyptian cotton? from now on, 100% egyptian cotton panties." (sorry if thats too personal but I thought it was hilarious considering the circumstances!) Even me with my phobia of medical things can say that the medical services in Egypt are worth a visit! Just take prescriptions with grain of salt.

Thanksgiving!

2009-11-30T11:16:00.000-08:00

As we all know, Thanksgiving is a purely American holiday (except for Canadian Thanksgiving, of course.) However, it goes without saying that where there are Americans, there will be Thanksgiving!

This year I was blessed to spend a meal and the
day with my new "family" from my MA program and their special friends. We were gonna cook but frankly, there were too many for our student budgets. So we decided to go to the American diner in town that served the classic Thanksgiving meal.

These are the lovely girls that make up my new family. Truly don't know what I'd do without them!

The full group of Thanksgivingers! For a couple of people in the group it was the first Thanksgiving!

We ended back up at Danielle's flat for pumpkin pie and homeworkless chillin. Someone tried to insert Christmas decorations and even Christmas carols....but that will have to wait for a new post!
Happy Thanksgiving!!

remaking RLAP

2009-11-30T10:53:00.000-08:00

They say that feelings of claustrophobia are common among victims of traumatic situations. Well, claustrophobia also limits those that serve victims of traumatic situations.

Stress is a common visitor at the Refugee Clinic and it showed itself in numerous fashions depending on numerous factors: how many people could crowd into the office, the bathroom drain overflowing, UNHCR unjustly denying another refugee claim, and constantly disappearing pencils. Well, finally it got to be too much.

Enviornment plays a large role in the way people feel and act. Like most non-profit, social service agencies, at RLAP we do the best we can with what we are given. Well, to put it diplomatically, the physcial space at RLAP was not the most comfortable. As you can see in the picture, one could easily confuse our legal aid office for a psychotic day care to the point where the backs of chairs became wall decorations as they fell apart, one by one.
Some things in life we must deal with...other things we can change. This office needed a makeover-- urgently and seriously. So that's exactly what we did. Once again we learned that you can't lose anything by asking! So, in a weekend a team of legal advocates turned painters (I purposefully omit the adjective "professional"). See our progress!

Change, one door frame and one refugee case at a time!

It was an interesting weekend as "US" painting styles, mostly learned by painting dorm rooms, met Iraqi painting techniques as prefered by civil and technology engineers. I can't report that the expertise of engineers dominated the system but it was a good lesson of working together and seeing new ways of doing things.

In Egypt, you don't waste time w/ paint samples, you mix your own shade! Ahmed, Leticia and I work out the perfect pistacchio green!

This used to be that horrid, overstimulating blue room (see 1 picture). Now, Kate calmly and proudly interviews her clients in our "new" office.

And within a weekend, we're back to full operation! Next step, more pencils and new chairs...

Dr visit in Cairo....

2009-11-09T10:47:00.001-08:00

So I seem to have come down with a slight infection-- no, not swine though the stigma remains. Going/finding a Dr in a foreign country is always...an experience...

I'm not one to voluntarily visit Drs.--however, I've been told that in Cairo its much better to visit a Dr than a hosptial, so why risk getting worse?
A few days after the onset of symptoms I decided I must do the responsible thing and postpone my start time at work to see a Dr. I arrived at the AUC-Downtown clinic and was told to wait until the female doctor was available, because of course I could not speak with a male medical professional.

With no one in the waiting room- 20 minutes later it was my turn. I saw the female dr and told her my syptoms. Without any examination or further questions, she wrote down 4 different medications: topical, internal etc...Surprised by her quick determination and trust in my not-medically trained hypothesis that was only based on basic internet search, I was a bit skeptical to say the least. I asked what other syptoms I should look out for and how could I have contracted this? She assured me it was from using restrooms outside of my house and watch out because its the first signs of diabetes! HA! (really, its nothing serious...)

At that, I pleasantly smiled, thanked her for the time, collected my things and walked out the door. I threw the prescriptions away on my way out of the lobby.

4 days later, I visited the clinic on New Campus. There was only a male doctor-- uh oh! I insisted on seeing him-- even tho it was a rather female based issue. I figured, if he works at AUC, meets many Westerners and is a medical professional- he WILL handle my case. This is a medical issue- not cultural. So I walked into his office and as point blank as possible told him all of my female issues. He handled the issues well- but perhaps was taken aback by my frankness. Either way-- he told me I needed some lab work and prescribed a basic antibiotic- I later confirmed that it was a conventional antibiotic. good start.

3 days later at 9 am I took the risk that anything in Cairo is open before 10am and attempted to find the lab-- 49 Nubar St, supposedly right by my apt building. Well....20 is next to 13, next to 41...the other side of the street is also "specially numbered." I had forgotten my phrase book at home so, w/ my lack of Arabic I finally mime my way to 49 Nubar. I now have 20 minutes to pee in a cup and get to work... I realize I have no idea how to say "lab" in Arabic, I'm completely illiterate in Arabic and all signs are in only Arabic. I attempt to mime "lab" or "Dr" to the doorman (if you can think of a way to mime that to an uneducated man please tell me.) He told me 12th floor. Didn't help- still can't read Arabic of the closed doors. Try again- this time 4rd floor--- same. Next he asks if I'm married.
I walk away almost late to work, frustrated by my lack of Arabic, hating feeling like I need someone to help w/ a basic task in life, my schedule is too full to waste this time and don't get me started on Egyptian men.

I get to work and good ol Ahmed writes "lab" in Arabic for me.

One week later (infection still present- but not growing- I hope!) I make time to find another reccommeded lab. 1 Talat-Harb St. I arrive and am told its about "5 min walk down Tahrir St" I ask myself: 5 min Egyptian woman pace, or crazy American woman pace...I walk. I arrive and am told its on Nubar St. aw heck no...I go to work.

3 days later (so now I'm 2.5wks after initial symptoms)- I realize I'm being stupid and irresponsible and am determined to find this lab. Another Arabic speaking friend calls the lab, gets the address and hours of operation, writes it on a piece of paper and I'm on a mission! I meet the same doorman who proposed a week early- show him the piece of paper and he motions to the 3rd floor. I find it-- one block from my house is the lab!

Tom and Jerry is playing on the TV. The Egyptian man sitting next to me laughs at me everytime I laugh at Tom and that poor dog. Finally, I get to pee in a cup! Of course, there is no water to flush the toilet or to wash my hands in this medical lab but the secretary says, "nooo problem! water finished"....whatever, mission accomplished! now, when my results will be in...who knows?!

Random tidbit I learned while chatting w/ an Egyptian Dr in the gym locker room:
Egyptian Drs always WAAY overprescribe. There is a belief in Egypt that the Dr does not do his/her job w/o prescibing a medication. Thus at least one prescription is written at every apt. For this reason, obviously, there is a high resistance rate to antibodies...hum, a bit of Egyptian medical-cultural knowledge!
Also, she got very uncomfortable when I started to undress- in the female lockeroom! She walked out of the room to let me have my privacy...a doctor. a female locker room. we're both females...hum.

eieiei, life

2009-11-09T10:44:00.001-08:00

To my devoted readers, I apologize for the gap in posts however grad school has officially consumed my life. I too have felt the absence of posting- thus I will do my best to continue with more regularity...then again, who doesn't like a surprise- and paitence is a virtue! :)

weather

2009-10-30T01:08:00.001-07:00

It came to my attention this week that I haven't checked a weather report in more than 2 months...

Hailing from the mid-west where we can have four seasons in one day, its nice to know today warm. Tomorrow, warm. Saturday, warm.

Chicago: chilly in morn. Cloudly mid-morning. Shed the jacket and enjoy the sun and humidity on the way out of the office. Snow by dinner...
Cairo: warm and polluted.

mornin'

2009-10-21T03:22:00.000-07:00

In the corner of the mint green “office” the little curly haired boy’s smile barely showed over the edge of the table. He was happy to have attention and to be drawing with his Dad. His Dad drew a simple airplane with a straight face obviously not knowing how or what to do with emotions. The baby girl tearlessly wimpered on her mother’s lap as a robe prohibited access to her only source of food. The mother briefly mentioned to the interpreter, an Egyptian girl who grew up in Jersey and was struggling through Sudanese Arabic this early in the morning at 10am, that she was raped once but “weirdly” tortured by the guards. Oddly enough, I would like a banana...

Meet Ahmed.

2009-10-16T08:08:00.000-07:00

I would like to take a moment and pay tribute to a new and wonderful person in my life named Ahmed. Ahmed is the "office manager" in the Legal Department at the Refugee Clinic where I volunteer. I have strong reason to believe that he, his wife and son are refugees from Iraq who are now rather established in Cairo. Over this past week, in particular, I've had numerous opportunities to personally interact and benefit from Ahmeds', kind-hearted, thorough, paitent yet just ways of dealing with everybody comes to or calls the office. From these experiences, I'm inspired that it really is the "low guy" on the totom pole that can make the world so wonderful. He has no idea I'm writing this.

Ahmed coordinates the schedules of approx 10 interns, one manager, one Dr and all volunteer interpreters, like its as easy as eating a small ice cream cone. I've rarely seen someone, and a man especially!, multi-task with such efficiency and a warm smile.

Example 1: Early in the week, an interpreter was urgently called onto another case, thus leaving me and my client awkwardly staring at each other with no place to go. Without hesitation, Ahmed just moved the phone to our table (to monitor it) and assumed the role of interpreter. Working with interpreters can be a challenge due to trust issues in the form of the questions being properly translated, the complete answer coming back etc. If you've played the game "Telephone" you get an idea of the instability.
With Ahmed, it was seemless and he immediately instilled trust and confidence in me, the advocate, and the client, a mentally abused Iraqi refugee. On top of it all, he caught small cultural elements and suggested things that I never would have caught onto. For example, the client mentioned that his torturers spoke Arabic but with a certain accent/dialect. Ahmed directly translated this to me, then gently added, "Members of Al-qaeda are generally known to speak in that accent and they've also been known to occupy that area of Iraq. Would you like me to ask if he thinks his captors where specifically members of Al-qaeda?" I have no idea the details between militia groups, Al-queda, government insurgencies etc. He was so respectful and gentle in his questioning and I was really bummed when another inpterpeter came to relieve him of his duties.

Example #2. It was 11:15am and my client who was supposed to arrive at 10am called to say he was just 5 mins away. In the States, I would have said, "Nope, sorry. Too late. You'll have to wait for another appointment." They would never be 1.5 late for an appt to the UNHCR, they won't be for me either. In addition, its their case; if they don't really care about it I have other things to do too.
Well, in Egypt, as many other countires, time is MUCH, MUCH more flexible. So, Ahmed comes in and tells me the situation. I'm trying to be culturally sensitve but I also have class in 2 hours and have scheduled my time...Its a follow-up appointment and I do have some specific info I need from him. I explain this connundrum to Ahmed and he pats my shoulder and says no prob. He will give the client the remaining 10 min of his original appointment time and then he needs to leave and wait for another appointment. Ahmed very much agrees with me in that the client must respect time; our, his and in general. He explains the situation to the client (man-man, Iraqi-Iraqi, in Arabic which works better than me: young, female with interpreter) and everybody is happy.

This week we also established "our secret" connection-- we're both play the violin! His brother is actually the head conductor in Jordan and regularly performs for the King/Queen of Jordan! So we've talked about music and orchestra all week and in those rare moments in the early morning when its just the two of us in the office, he hums or sings his favorite concertos to me! Don't tell him I told you this!

In between all of this scheduling, interpreting, phone answering, smiling, he takes apart and repairs the small fan that makes everybody so much more comfortable! So here's to that quiet guy, who: takes care of that one extra phone call as you run out of the office, does everything that doesn't fall under anybody elses job description, makes the coffee in the morning, who's smile can bring your stress down 5 notches because its comfortable and really makes the office run though nobody fully recognizes it as they run past him. Here's to Ahmed!

urgh...

2009-10-13T03:41:00.000-07:00

My client's final statement: “I am asking that UNHCR please protect me”

UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees; UN's agency for refugees)? Protect a person?
Large governmental institution + individual that’s been seriously shit on his entire life...can there really be a relationship?

Why must a person, a human being, get to this point that he must turn to a soulless, bureaucratic agency to save his life? Perhaps give him a life?

He has no idea where his family is- perhaps, never will again. He is heartlessly ridiculed for the way his tongue makes words even though they are the same words that others say with a different accent. He is tortured because he was born to his parents, of his particular tone of skin, he has been runnig for 15+ years…

Why/how can people be so stupid and cruel to treat others this way that force him to run…and turn to…the UNHCR?
I should be grateful that such an institutional organization and world collaboration exists, but right now, I cannot.
WTF?

FIFA in Egypt

2009-10-11T12:25:00.000-07:00

THe U-20 (under 20) World Cup is currently being played in Egypt!! My friend and I took advantage of the siutation and attended a game yesterday-- but not, Egypt or US-- Brazil, of course!

"Futball" stadium in Cairo. Really the stadium was quite empty but they gave away a lot of seats to soliders to make it look as if lots of people were there. Thus, this was the only full section- besides the "Brazilian" section!

GOL! Finally, Brazil got in the game and gave us something to cheer about. Chants in Arabic and Portugese continued strong through the second half and overtime. Once it got started it didn't stop until Germany went home crying! "eu sou brasiliera....muito orgulho....muito amor...":)~

After 1 overtime session, they went home crying!

Love Brazilian football!

2-1 and Brazil advances....

Work experience

2009-10-11T03:49:00.001-07:00

Last week at work I had my first victim of torture. We were to spend a couple of hours documenting his testimony and case for resettlement. We started off gently and after explaining what we were to do, I assured him that I understand that these questions might be very difficult, and we can stop or take a break at any time.

We start the process and the story is builiding. He's captured, beaten, then we reach the first instance of torture. He starts to explain it to me, then starts to point at affected areas of his body-- his mutilated finger in particular. I continue to type the story and...blackout. What the heck was I thinking?! I have a severe phobia of medical things, I can't talk about phyical torture!
The interpreter and my client help me to the bathroom where I work to re-compose myself. I guess I should take my own advice of taking any necessary breaks.

That afternoon I told my boss that I can't do anymore torture cases. So, my next case is a former child solider...
I guess I can't complain that I'm getting such great field work experience right off the bat and can really start to determine my niche-- or areas to avoid- in the field!

back to school, finally

2009-10-11T03:22:00.000-07:00

So the swine flu recess is finally ended and we're back in classes! It was great to have some human discussion again, after 2wks of electronic discussion and it was much appreciated to actually discover what the profs expected and their teaching styles.

My Wed night class is "Intro to Human Rights and Humanitarian Law" and taught by an attorney from the US who is also currently head of the dept. She stresses that the field of law is based on authority. At this point in our careers, we most likely have no original thoughts and everything must be cited/quoted from the original source with a clear structure of argument. It goes something like this: "David Kennedy, on page 18 paragraph 3 of his 2002 article states that....Rosenblum on pg 4 argues that....I, therefore, question the motives of x, y, z." The discussion continues with a directly challenge with equally assertive vocabularly and well-founded examples. Its intense, requires a lot of prep work and a relatively strong sense of security or the ability to B.S.

Thursday night, I have a class that counts toward my diploma program entitled: Systems Approaches in Psychology. The students comprise of people from the MA program in family and children pyschology, Forced Migration and Refugees Studies (CMRS) and me from International Human Rights Law (IHRL). The tables in the classroom form a large square to faciliatate discussion (and I'm sure to discourage the socratic method that the pyschology dept does not embrace). As it happens the 5 pyschologists sat on on one side of the square, the 5 from CMRS sat on the opposite side and I, from IHRL sat at one end. Segregated by depts, we could have played dept Family Feud! My legal training and background became very clear when the prof responded to a student by gently saying, "Well, I don't want to argue you, but I see it a slightly different way...." and my head reared up from my notebook w/ a questioning look. I was stunned that a prof didn't want to challenge or argue!

So, I go from, "I am right. You are wrong. And I can prove it with x, y, q and z." to "I feel that...and we can't neglect the emotional needs of ..." As an new attorney friend put it, "Thats what you get for trying to personify law!" It's gonna be a fun semester!

Jim and Amanda...not together, of course.

2009-10-01T09:53:00.000-07:00

So, of course, the day after I disclosed my new friendship w/ Jim via this blog, he gets daring and leaves the kitchen. We came home that night and he was chillin on the wall and, of course, Amanda saw him first...
his new- and permanent- home is outside.

Amanda, my roommate, is smiling too!

This is her "traditional" niqaab (veil), abaya (robe). She doesn't really wear it out...at least not yet!

who's asking questions now...

2009-10-01T09:44:00.000-07:00

Today my first appointment at the refugee clinic started as normal.

Me: "So, did you ever work directly or indirectly w/ American forces/comapanies in Iraq?"
Iraqi: "Yes."
Me: "Under what circumstances?"
Iraqi: "I was part of the Iraqi Police special forces, Anti-Terrorist dept in Baghad..."

Holymoly, what I am doing asking questions to him?! Half way through I did have to humble myself and verbalize my nerves by asking him please not to judge my interrogation style. Luckily, he was a smiley guy and said, "No prob. I know what you want and where you're going..."
phew.

reflections on lecture 1

2009-09-17T04:57:00.000-07:00

Tonight I attended a lecture given by an Egyptian Human Rights lawyer who has worked with refugees and Internally Displaced Peoples (IDPs) from Darfur for the past 9 years. (In case you care, in super simple terms: a refugee is a person seeking refugee who has crossed an international border whereas an IDP is someone who has been forced to relocate but within the same country (i.e.: people from New Orleans that relocated to Chicago after Hurricane Katrina are IDPs)).

It’s situations like these that make me feel truly naïve to what is currently, in the very moment that I’m writing, happening to human beings in the world and more so, to what atrocities “human beings” are capable of committing.

Genocide is happening today- in Darfur, Sudan. (And in case you didn’t know, Sudan is the country south of Egypt.) But it’s more than genocide. For example, women in supposedly protected camps are getting raped as they go to the bathroom. They started asking for a brother/husband/son to accompany them, but that just led to a killed brother/husband/son and a raped women. Not worth it, to some. If they desire to prosecute 1) there are unreasonable court fees, which no one has and 2) if the accused is not convicted then the woman risks flogging for infidelity. That’s ONE injustice besides genocide.

March of this year, 13 International Aid agencies were kicked out of Darfur…thus IDPs are grossly increasing and aid is grossly decreasing…

I’ll stop here but if you want to read more the International Refugee Committee, (www.irc.org) in particular has done some great work on the ‘situation.’

The stories he told were almost incredible, but what really struck me was to be able to listen to a man who has dedicated (conscientiously or not) to getting on the inside and serving these people. He has learned and continues to learn how to maneuver systems based in corruption and vile hatred. He risks his life for justice because as he said, “peace does not exist without justice.”
I must say it really re-affirmed what I am doing in Cairo, it adds a lot of fuel to my fire to learn and be able to fight and simultaneously intimidates me about how much I have to learn…

wines about swine...

2009-09-17T04:55:00.000-07:00

Today I arrived to library on a wave of rumors that class is to be cancelled until Oct 3 due to H1N1 (aka: Swine Flu.) In about 15 minutes the rumor was confirmed by an official email from the VP of some important position that upon mandate by the Egyptian government all classes are cancelled until Oct 3rd.
There were 3 confirmed cases in a dorm over the summer, which of course caused a lot of hype. Additionally, earlier in the spring, Egypt killed all of its pigs which apparently resulted in a nasty, stinky garbage problem. All other universities and most schools have been closed, buts that has largely been accepted as an excuse to not go back to school until after Ramadan. There are no current, confirmed cases of H1N1.

I have noticed, more than once, when I enter a metro car women quickly gather their children to create as much distance as possible between them and I. The children proceed to cover their mouth and nose until I leave the car. It is generally the more traditional women, who don the full black robe and veil, thus I had tossed it up to a possibilities of many fears of the unknown. Just recently I began to fully understand the true basis of their fears. I have definitely felt discrimination and the feelings of being the minority but this is my first experience with stigmatization.

On the other hand, I have had many rebellious urges to use the “fear” in my favor. Men on the streets of Cairo could be amusing if they weren’t so annoying (a blog completely devoted to these frustrations is in the works!) A couple times in passing their rude/uneducated/appalling comments I have so greatly desired to give a hacking cough while clutching my chest. Then quickly turn w/ an innocent smile and extended hand to say, “hola, me llamo Maria. I come from Mexico (one of the countries w/ highest concentration of H1N1). Will you pleeeaase marry me?” Oh my, I can’t imagine what they would do!….but not yet fully understanding what it means to live in a police state where with a population of 18mil and 3+mil are employed by the Secret Police and still no grasp of any useful Arabic, my urges turn to a smart smirk hidden as I tuck my head and quietly pass them.

So you know you’re in grad school when people are upset that classes are cancelled. But have no fear! Time will not be completely wasted because the library, where the majority of the student body hangs out to use the computer lab is still open. The food court, where I’m sure the food and cleanliness standards are completely standardized, is still open. The gym, where there are no towels, sanitary wipes or soap for the patrons or the machines, is still open. And me, in the meantime, will continue to read. This week’s article, the Roles of International Organizations: WHO!

my new place...

2009-09-15T06:30:00.000-07:00

The kitchen w/ gas stove and fridge and a li'l geko that lives in the sink! Amanda, my roommate, saw him the first day and freaked! Luckly, she doesn't cook much, so she doesn't know that I still see him....I kinda like him. His name is now Jim.

I met my roommate, Amanda, at grad orientation. She is studying Mid-Eastern Studies, Islamic History stuff. We have a lot of similar quirks but most importantly similar study habits. She hails from Tucson, AZ and is lovely!
This weekend, Eid, we are traveling to Dahab, in the Sinai Penninsula to go snorkling for her b-day! And take a camel ride!

My room.

The window overlooks a mechanics shop (I think). I love the breeze but am quickly finding that an open window means I have to dust and sweep almost everyday!

More pics to come...we are slowly decorating, putting things together. Once its picture worthy, they'll be up!

The Palace...aka New Campus

2009-09-15T06:22:00.000-07:00

American University-Cairo new campus opened just last year. It's palatial and a beautiful testiment to Arabic architecture. Which simultaneously makes it a labrynth of offices and classrooms that can take hours to navigate!

Both of my programs are still on the 'old' or downtown campus, which I've yet to photograph. I'm very glad that most of my classes will be at the downtown campus bc its a five minute walk from my apt, whereas downtown is an hour or two bus ride each way.

My Thursday night class, however, is on the New Campus. When I first arrived to class last thursday night, the entire 'palace' glowed beautifully in the desert. It was calm, quite and with a peaceful desert breeze-- a true oasis to Downtown Cairo!

Pics of Cairo...

2009-09-15T06:02:00.000-07:00

Arriving in Cairo...the Nile!

Midan Tahrir is the Downtown of Cairo. Consistantly cluttered with crazy, honking traffic. The big building you see is the Arab League.

The salmon pink colored building is the Egyptian Museum. It is HUGE! No labels! No organization. I'm sure it would be amazing, if I knew what it all was!

Zahi Hawas (Secretary General of the Supreme council of Antiquities) says that the next greatest archeological discovery will take place in the basement of the museum!

Sleep.

2009-09-15T05:56:00.000-07:00

Going to sleep is the most difficult part of moving. There is nothing I can do but be patient as my body learns to recognize this as “my” bed now.

I’ve slept on a lot of different beds/places. I’m amazed at how the subconscious establishes different levels of physical and psychological comfort levels (aka: how quickly one can fall asleep, how ‘hard’ one sleeps, awareness of dreams etc). In my new bed, my body is most comfortable creating a hypotenuse of the bed- completely diagonal. Am I claiming territory?

Dreams during the first few weeks are always bizarre and vivid: goals scored in orange Tri-City soccer shirts; old neighbors delivering flowers at violin recitals; dance partners from around the world, in one club. For what is my brain searching?

My body starts to process the “stresses” of the day. I lay here, my physical body ready for sleep, yet my mental/emotional body still hyper-responsive and just waiting for the next move. It realizes that the people, heat, Arabic, tasks await it tomorrow. Insha-allah.

One consistent element of going to sleep- no matter where I am, it always ends with just me and my thoughts.

Que suena con los angelitos…
Don’t let the bed bugs bite…
Boa noite…
Ma’is-salaama…

What am I really doing in Cairo?

2009-09-13T02:25:00.000-07:00

I’m in Cairo to get my Master’s Degree. Insha'Allah (God willing), in 2-3 years, I’ll have a MA in International Human Rights Law with a diploma in Psycho-social Intervention of Forced Migration Studies…yea, yeah basically what all those pretentious academic titles mean is that I’ll better understand International Law systems, the wonders and loopholes of Human Rights and I’ll be able to better serve migrant groups who are being relocated to other countries. Or to break it down further, I’ll be reading about 40-60 hours a week, then writing papers!

On the side, at least for now, I’ve landed an internship at St. Andrew’s Refugee Center. Looking for volunteer opportunities in a random book about Cairo, the organization sounded interesting so I emailed the contact person and went to just see what services they offer and where I might fit in. The minute upon entering the agency gates, I felt very at home. It was great to see clusters of Sudanese, Somalis, and Ethiopians around the yard! I felt very at home with their huge white tooth smiles- tho I was once again the only white girl! Well, long story short, not long after I met the director of the agency, who very quickly inquired into my background and what made me move to Cairo, she asked me to be part of their legal team! Al-humdililah! I feel super lucky to be able to see and work with the ‘other side’ of the refugee journey. The agency I worked for in Chicago resettled refugees from all over the world and I was part of an amazing team of legal advocates that assisted these people with their immigration papers. Now, in Cairo, I’ll be assisting refugees- mostly Iraqis- apply for resettlement to the States. I’m very intrigued to see what issues arise on this side of the ocean/process, but more so, with contacts still in Chicago, I hope to be able to provide more information of the realities they will face in the U.S.

Then on top of that, the Director of my diploma program at AUC initiated a partnership between Unicef and St. Andrews to bring in a team of psycho-social specialists (basically psychologists/social workers trained in trauma issues and intervention for individuals from community based cultures. The US is very individualistic so specialists can assist at the individual level. Specialists who work with people who live in community based societies, or societies where family networks/reputations/etc take priority over the individual, need to consider not only the individual but where and how that individual fits into the bigger social picture.) So, not only will I be assisting with refugee applications to the UNHCR but as the program w/ Unicef develops I’ll be interning for both of my programs at the same time! Al-humdililah!

So, school is 40-60 hours a week, internship 20 hours requirement (but social services always demand more!)… I hope I will know someone who wins the lottery and is willing to share with me otherwise a part time job is really going to overload my week!

Me and Ramadan in Egypt

2009-09-13T02:24:00.001-07:00

Prior to coming to Egypt I recognized that I would be arriving at the very beginning of a month of fasting, Ramadan. According to Wikipedia, during which time the Muslim world “refrains from eating, drinking, smoking, and indulging in anything that is in excess or ill-natured; from dawn until sunset. Fasting is meant to teach the Muslim patience, modesty and spirituality. Ramadan is a time for Muslims to fast for the sake of Allah, and to offer more prayer than usual. Muslims ask forgiveness for past sins, pray for guidance and help in refraining from everyday evils, and try to purify themselves through self-restraint and good deeds.” My 6 month introduction to Islam in Senegal left me very content and comfortable living inside Muslim traditions. I was excited to observe, feel and live in a predominantly Muslim city during this very special season. People warned me that it was “different” to “super annoying”—I thought that impossible and was rather honored to partake. Yes, I know I’m a dork but it excited me.

When I arrived and my body was re-acclimating to the dry heat I felt extremely uncomfortable and even guilty drinking water in public. Nobody else was and it seemed like all Westerners were trying to be respectful of Ramadan restrictions, to the point where I was sick when I got home. You’re probably saying I was being ridiculous to get sick but you trying being the only white girl, by herself, not wearing a headscarf and then drink water in front of people who were also extremely thirsty! Now after two weeks, I’m over my guilt and now can drink when my body demands. Egyptians Muslims might get arrested for breaking fast during the day in public, but I’m not Egyptian nor Muslim.

Another aspect of life that greatly changes during Ramadan is the daily schedules. Office hours at school are until 1:30pm, little street shops are open until 2-3pm so if you don’t have it done by then you must wait until after iftar (breaking of the fast at sundown). Iftar starts between 6-7 depending on the sun’s schedule and the streets are absolutely—and oh so pleasantly—quite. Until about 8pm when all shops re-open and people flood to the streets to smoke sheesha (hookah), drink tea, eat sweets until around mid-night.

Due to these schedules, one must rush, which is a really a joke in Cairo, to get anything done in the morning. Then, for non-Muslims, wait until 8pmish to get anything else done. It also means that all of my night classes which are to normally be from 5-7:30pm are currently 8-10:30pm. After which, each night my roommate and I have gone shopping for towels, general apt items, groceries, the latest Cairien fashion etc and never find ourselves home before 1am!

So really now, almost at the end of Ramadan, lets just say that my sentiments have changed quite a bit. Here are my real questions. How is it a fast if there is a huge meal served around 6:30pm, another one at mid-night and another one just before sunrise? Isn’t that just a change in schedules? How is it a real sacrifice when the government changed the clocks back this year to make iftar an hour earlier? After talking to some Egyptians females who say that Eid (the break of Ramadan) and the days to follow have the highest incidents of sexual harassment and sexual violence because un-married men have been celibate the entire month, can they really say they are cleansed after the month? Perhaps, “built up” is better!

I guess it’s somewhat comparable to Catholics in the US during Lent. Status-quo Catholic in US: “Yes, Jesus suffered and died to save my sins. I’m going to give up Diet Coke. Except for Sundays!”

I realize that these are stereotypes and generalizations—but they are based in reality. Really, I’m not trying to offend anyone (I apologize if I did). I’m once again in a unique position with “new culture eyes” that allow me to questions many things about a culture I don’t yet understand. I’m trying to question and not judge. So at the same time, to be fair, I must also question who I am, what I do and why I do it. Ramadan has been an interesting experience. I’m intrigued to see how I’ll feel about it next year, once I better understand the language, the people and have seen life in Cairo w/o Ramadan interruptions.

Adjusted

2009-09-13T02:16:00.000-07:00

I’ve now lived in my apartment for 1 whole week. I have been in Cairo for just over 2. For some reason, it feels much, much longer than two weeks. I’m not sure if that means time is moving slowly or quickly. Perhaps, because the learning curve is so high and one must accomplish so much, so quickly, in order to set up a new life in a new country the amount of things I’ve accomplished makes 2 weeks feel absurd. Either way, I feel rather ‘adjusted.’

The transition has not been at all difficult for a number of reasons. One, is the wonderful network of people who agreed to host me the minute I stepped off the plane. Friends of friends of friends of a friend, who are now all of my friends!, have really made this the smoothest transition imaginable. (Insert here background music: “It’s a Small World After All.”) From the grocery story, to the book store, to the metro, to a local British watering hole, they have given me or showed me everything for which I could ask.

The second reason emerges from my other ‘experiences.’ I don’t think I’m capable of feeling awkward anymore. I don’t think I get embarrassed. Sweat doesn’t really bother me anymore. And I know for a fact that I can navigate a city and new cultures, by myself, with only hand/sign/body language!

Another reason is the amount of comfort or recognizable objects available- which make anybody feel more at ease. Wednesday night I walked out of class feeling overwhelmed after having read just the syllabi and I looked at my roommate and demanded a McDonalds’ milkshake! We walked across the street from campus to the McDonalds that sits between the KFC and Hardies. I went to buy hair products: do I want Pantene, Fructis, Dove etc? Peanut butter- Jiff or the kind from Saudi Arabia? Do I want Raisin Bran for breakfast, Activa yogurt, or an individual Quakers’ oatmeal packet? Yes, if one desires US products, all of the options are here too!

I can’t say that I honestly enjoy that, especially after living in Dakar where I didn’t see a McDonalds or Starbucks for 6 months. Yet, oddly enough, I have indulged in a McDonalds’ milkshake, a Snickers, etc. I very rarely eat any of that in the States. Perhaps this is really why the transition has gone soo smoothly...nothin’ like the power of comfort food. J

On the other hand, one other element of life in Cairo that I’m gluttonously enjoying is all of the fresh food. After living with the dictated menu of a Senegalese host family for 6 months followed by 6 weeks of breakfast, lunch, coffee, and dinner dates in the US it is absolutely wonderful to control my own diet! We’re on the tail end of peach season, I have bottle of fresh tamarind and hibiscus (bissap!!) juice in my fridge, spices assault your nose on almost every corner, and pomegranate season is on the way! Unlike in the controlled food markets of the US, the fruits and veggies here are perfectly deformed, of natural color and succulently delicious!! My good buddy John is also quite the cook and as his new sous chef I’m learning tons of new dishes that will make a very eligible Lebanese wife! yummy! It sounds like a “food blog” is necessary…stay tuned!

How to find an apt in Cairo.

2009-09-03T00:16:00.001-07:00

There are a few ways to begin:
1a) Find a friend who "knows" somebody and can give you a lead;
1b) Start walking around the desired neighborhood and ask the bowabs (doorman/maintenence man) if there are any open apts;
1c) Pay a simsar ("realistate agent") a ridiculous fee to show you around a desired neighborhood;

2) Find a friend who speaks Arabic and can go hunting with you;
3) Learn Arabic numbers so you can locate specific buildings;
4) Walk up many flights of stairs looking for an office that one would not normally assume to find in an apt builiding, such as "Mecca Electric" (a good way to see how the building is maintained, but be careful not to pass judgement too quickly);
5) Awkwardly introduce yourself to random man who works in random office and ask if he knows of any extra apartments;
6) Of course he does so he takes you down/up the rickety elevator and opens the door to an available apt.
7) Language barriers and accents greatly diminish any confidence of the real price which changes between 2500 and 1500 every 5 minutes;
8) Ask friend to read through the contract in Arabic;
9) Tell random man that you will call him later with your decision as you walk out the door asking if yourself a million questions of what you got yourself into but proud that you got yourself safely in and out of the experience.

The Metro

2009-08-30T10:34:00.001-07:00

If it weren’t for the intense heat and Ramadan’s ban of liquids, I could probably sit on the Cairo metro all day.

I can’t help but stare.

First of all, Alhumdililah that Amanda told me, cars are gender restricted. There are cars for only women. There are cars for only men and there are cars for families. At least, I think that’s how it works. Red and green above the door symbolize that women can enter. I’m not yet sure what each color really means, but I know I can enter in either red or green. The male only cars are almost always packed like sardine cans. The women only cars I can usually always find a seat. Which begs the question where are the women?

The stations are empty during prayer time, of course. Thus, this is the best travel time for me!

During almost all of my rides today a man or boy came on the female car to sell goods. He would walk once down the aisle carelessly tossing products into the women's laps as his mouth went on like a auctioneer. Then he would start the aisle again collecting money or recollecting the product. I saw a small sewing kit, band-aids, kid’s balloons, paper fans and small school supplies. I’m not sure I have to wonder if he sells these products in the men’s car.

So, besides the colors above certain car doors there is also a drop down sign for women on the platform to approximate where the “women” car will stop. I find it quite funny, however, that men pay it no attention. So, when the train stops and they see they are in front of a “women” car they scramble to their own car door. Don’t you think after living here, they would recognize the signs existence? When a man accidentally gets stuck on a “women” car there are a couple of disgruntled looks but the only time I’ve ever seen a woman say anything is w/ the door still open…I wonder what happens, (if) a woman gets stuck on a “man” car?

Today I saw a new family waiting for the train. The woman was bottle feeding the baby and the man was very attentive to both of them. As the train approached she removed the bottle, he took the baby, she took the diaper bag and they proceeded to different train cars. I wonder why they didn’t go in the ‘family’ car? Perhaps I’ve misread the existence of a ‘family’ car. I’ll have to clarify that.

What also is amazing to me is the women’s clothes. This heat in the States suggests a strapless, just above the knee, simple cotton/linen dress. However, I can’t do that here. So, today I went out in a mid-calf skirt and a linen shirt w/ ¾ length sleeves. If my sweat glands were paid over time they would be banking right now! Soaked in places I can’t even discuss. Yet, about 90% of these ladies were in full length skirts that cover their ankles, some of them heavy denim. Shirts, sometimes 2-3 layered that cover from a high neckline to their wrists. And on top of that, literally, 1-3 head scarves. Now, don’t get me wrong I’ve seen women dressed like this before but when I am, at times, the only one NOT wearing it—it hits a bit harder.
I’ve never really delved into Islamic Studies or Gender Studies but, in my un-educated-in-this-dept opinion, I can easily see how this is a form of oppression. In addition, no one can drink water from sun up to sun down (its Ramadan, the month of fasting in Islam)! No wonder the women car is empty—I’d stay home too!!
Now please don’t get me wrong, I really have nothing against Islam. In fact, I’m very intrigued by it. (Why do some women where all black and cover their faces? Why are some in all black, but expose their faces? Why are some in regular street clothes just layered so to cover all skin? Why did Senegalese women not wear the same style of clothing though they are Muslim? Why don't more men in Egypt wear the long shirt/robe, as Muslim Senegalese men do?) In all honestly, seeing all of this makes me desperate to learn Arabic and to have just the slightest hope that one day these women will open up to me so I too can see behind the veil…

...for now I will keep sweating in the metro.

Orientation and Friends!

2009-08-30T10:33:00.000-07:00

Saturday was grad school orientation. I was excited to see the new oh so talked about campus, meet people and get this show on the road. Apparently and ironically that after moving across two continents, I was nervous, because I couldn’t fall asleep last night. Nerves? Heat? Jetlag? Who knows…

The new campus is huge and beautiful!! Literally on the desert it’s covered by a huge blue sky and surrounded by a constant grey border where desert winds meet sand. While it could easily resemble a fake backdrop in a mall photobooth, it is beautiful! When one looks past campus landscaping a grey wall appears to almost cut off the rest of the world. I’m excited to be part of it!

I’ve yet to see the ‘old’ campus in downtown Cairo. Most of my classes will be downtown while the law library, professors offices, the gym and university activity is at the New Campus. Not as convenient as I anticipated and hoped for especially w/ only AUC buses to transport us the 1-2 hour commute each way (depending on traffic). As always, we’ll make do.

For those of you who have ever moved before, especially to a foreign land with a foreign language, you can empathize with the sentiments of having to create an entirely new friends/family network. For those of you who have not moved, well, its a bit unstable. You find yourself waiting in lines, climbing stairs, craving coffee, wiping sweat next to a stranger and you realize that first impressions are a rather big deal and that you have an entirely clean slate. NO ONE knows you or where your from or what you've done etc. Its quite an exhilerating opportunity to (re)define oneself.

After finding the room of International Human Rights Law people— my new colleagues, some conversations quickly started up, other awkwardly stumbled. “So, where you from?” “where'd you do your undergrad degree” is how it usually starts and then we basically come to the conclusion that non of us have much in common except the fact that we’re alone in Cairo and looking for friends. That in and of itself is basis enough to start a “friendship” and now I can actually scroll through my cell phone contact page!! It was fun to hear where people have studied, what languages they speak, what brings them to Cairo etc. I’m excited to start a program with such a diverse group of people, with diverse travel histories, language experiences and independent goals!

Moving to Egypt

2009-08-30T10:31:00.000-07:00

So, I'm back to blogging by popular demand. I'm also back in Africa after a 6-7wk lovely stint in the States. Except this time, I'm on the other side of the continent in Cairo, Egypt.

This has been an amazingly smooth transition. Through a friend of a friend of a friend I have been soo warmly received by complete strangers! They have opened the doors to their flats, their kitchens and their knowledge of Cairo and living in Egypt. It makes everything so much incredibly easier when you have someone to help you with the little ins and outs of life!

Here are some things I've learned, felt or noticed in these first couple of days:
- I really like meeting people on long plane rides. If both parties are willing, there is really a lot to talk about when faced with only a seat back in front of you;
- You can buy a visa at the Cairo airport for $15USD. Why USD I don’t know. It’s really only a sticker. Does that mean it’s only a moneymaker?
- The neighborhood Doqqi is pronounced like, “Doh e”
- Despite the heat and symptoms of dehydration I do feel guilty drinking water in public. Is it guilt or respect?
- The streets are empty during prayer time but especially during Iftar—the breaking of the fast at sundown.
- You can find Chiles, TGIFridays, Starbucks, McDonalds, KFC and all that stuff in Cairo. It kind of disappoints me after living in Dakar w/o any of it. Though the H&M does not disappoint me!
- “shukran” means “thanks” in Arabic.
- There are separate metro cars for females which are much more empty than ‘male only’ cars.
- Despite harsh legal consequences, homosexual is not uncommon (yes, that's a double negative!);
- Respectful Muslim girls like to pole dance in private…;
- A box of Raisin Bran cost between $6-7USD;
- Egyptian beer is called Stella or Sakara and Egyptians cannot buy it during Ramadan. One must carry passport at all times;
- Its really difficult to navigate the streets of Cairo by myself when I don’t read numbers in Arabic;
- Arabic numbers are very easy to learn;
- I drank the water right away and didn’t get sick…at least I don’t think so…there goes my detox diet!;
- There are no begger kids on the streets like in Dakar;
- Traffic is crazy like in Dakar but instead of annoyed honks followed by a slew of insults in Wolof, Cairiens let out more of a ‘yooohoo, comin’ through” honk.
- While the street might have 3 painted lanes, Cairiens can fit at least 5 cars!
- I have no idea how people lived abroad without internet and cell phones!
- Peaches and figs are in season!! Ohhh soo good! Watermelon is definitely not!
- Cairiens hang skinned, headless animals in the street like in Dakar. My friend mentioned as walking down the street: “buy the meat w/ all the flies on it bc the one w/o flies is covered in RAID”
- small bills and change is once again hard to come by and I must once again start to horde;
- there is a hoodie hanging by the door to slip on when the delievery man comes bc females must always cover the shoulders;
- While a bit overwhelming, its fun to look at the different style of apts in all parts of the city and see the horrendous Egyptian style furniture!
- I’m really liking it!

When world's collide...

2009-07-10T07:36:00.000-07:00

Transition is a necessary and interesting processess...one definitely learns a lot about oneself and the world. Sometimes the world can be so small, sometimes overwhelming large, most confusing is when the two collide...

Things I've noticed during this time of collision:

- grass; the smell of fresh cut grass;

- cold liquid milk not temperate clumpy powdered milk;

- cookie dough!;

- overwhelming full pantries and a simultaneous 'need' to go grocery shopping;

- people chat on their cell phones not just give utilitarian commands to conserve precious minutes;

- a closet of shoes that I can wear because I don't have to walk through sand;

- pickles!;

- soap and toilet paper in every bathroom;

- nothing will ever replace a hug from Dad or a convo with Mom;

- kids commanding their parents...not the other way around;

- the possibility of being in a house by yourself;

- chilly weather;

- no banana sellers on the street, I must go to that big supermarket;

- the T.V. speaks English and Spanish not French and Arabic;

- no daily mosque calls;

- electricity is dependable;

- stuff everywhere;

- I can walk down the street without being asked for money;

- people can walk by without acknowledging you;

- family is the most important support network, on whatever side of the ocean.

(more to come...)

HIV and me.

2009-06-29T07:44:00.001-07:00

Last week I had another “never thought I’d be doing this” experience—an AIDS/HIV test! No it was not another one of my sick, “why not/ porque no/ pourquoi pas?” moments. I had to get the test for my visa and admission to AU-Cairo. For those who are not familiar with the procedure, as I was not, it’s a simple blood test (‘simple’ for those that don’t have phobias of medical facilities and procedures). In Dakar, there are many, many facilities that do the test for free. I had to fight a bit to get my name on it for bureaucratic reasons because normally it is done anonymously. The ladies were exceptionally nice and I got my results back within 20 minutes! “absence of HIV antibodies” it read.

The experience was overall very interesting because I had no idea how to deal with the topic culturally. I haven’t been able to feel if it is still a taboo topic, if its “o.k.” to talk about with immediate family members or if I could go public. I had no idea how people would react; would they believe it was really for Egypt or would they think it was just a cover up for an unscrupulous personal life? So, not knowing what to do but not having any shame in the process and feeling I couldn’t hurt anybody, I thought I would whole heartedly help in the destruction of the taboo status…I told almost everybody I know! No problems.

Also in true Senegalese style, as I was going through the “Pre-test counseling” the lady asked my marriage status and once she found out that I was single without a boyfriend in the States and I’ve some how, beyond her wildest imagination, have managed to live in Senegal for 5.5 months w/o boyfriends offered to introduce me to all of her brothers and male cousins. When I politely refused she warmly assured me that I’d for sure find a husband in Cairo! Look at that, HIV counseling and Relationship counseling all in one and for free! What more can a girl ask for?!
HIV Test…check that one off the list…

Reflection...

2009-06-25T11:50:00.000-07:00

It’s this time of the transition process where one gets trapped between two worlds, two families, two languages, two life styles. Sentiments change with the hours. Reflection is unavoidable.

Things I’ve come to love:
- Hibiscus juice, or more commonly known as Bissap. Red, sweet, makes mouth happy;
- Welcoming everyone every time you or they walk into the room, people are important;
- Knowing that I can drop in on anybody at anytime and its never a problem, people are important;
- Cold showers, it’s hot;
- Using the brown crayon to color my friends;
- Family meals, everyone waits for everyone to arrive and we all eat lunch and dinner together;
- People who walk meter after meter w/ you just to make sure you arrive;
- Drums morning, noon and night;
- Coffee sellers on the street. They push little red Nescafe carts around so that you can have coffee any time day or night and for only 50cfa (less than 1USD);
- Peanuts- sugar or roasted;
- Fridays. Unlike the US with its ‘casual Fridays’ in Senegal, Friday is the day to sport your best wears. Its not ‘church clothes’ but ‘mosque clothes.’ The streets are filled with color!;
- My host brothers;
- The ability and true freedom to talk about religion in all parts of daily life. The co-existence of religions;
- Mangos…after every meal;
- Reading novels in French and discovering new vocab;
- The OCEAN!! The waves! (the salt I’m still working on loving…)
- Mint tea that takes hours upon hours to make and serve;

Things I won’t mind leaving behind:
§ Taxi men, Honking taxis, Negotiating prices with taxi drivers;
§ Expensive fresh fruit;
§ Palm oil or oil in every meal…fried food, ughhh!
§ Cockroaches;
§ Fish bones;
§ Slaughtered goat parts in the sand/street;
§ How most Senegalese don’t use toilet paper but a sort of water cleansing system that leaves the toilet seat constantly wet;
§ Begging children;
§ Garbage in the street;
§ Hand washed, stretched out and sun faded clothes;
§ Construction materials that take up the entire sidewalk for weeks at a time and force you to walk close to annoying taxis;

Some things I wish I could change:
§ The idea that I NEED a husband;
§ The conviction that all white people are rich;
§ Literacy rates and access to education, especially for girls;
§ The number of hours I had to spend in the physical classroom that took away from the life classroom;
§ Complacency or the acceptance of certain things without proactive efforts that could be sooo simple to make things work any better;

Things I wish I could do differently:…I don’t go there, everything happens for a reason.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. -Mark Twain

Randomness...

2009-06-22T01:58:00.001-07:00

This is going to be a random collection of things.
Friday, June 19 was a day of awareness for Drepanocytosis or Sickle-Cell Anaemia. Sickle-cell anemia is a life-long, genetic and hereditary blood disorder that affects the red blood cells. Life expectancy is shortened, with studies reporting an average life expectancy of 42 and 48 years for males and females, respectively. Approximately one-third of all inhabitants of Sub-Saharan Africa carry this gene. It’s usually found in the same regions where Malaria is/was prevalent thus can also be found in Northern Africa, the Mediterranean, Turkey, Saudi Arabia. Approximately 300,000 children are born each year w/ the disease. According to the National Institute of Health, approximately 1 in 5,000 carry the disease in the States and it’s most prevalent among African American populations. I didn’t know any of that before Friday.

Carriers of the disease are much more susceptible to Malaria. Before I came to Senegal I had heard of malaria. When I arrived in Senegal, it was treated as a normal element of life in Senegal: everyone in my family has had it at least once. My friend Brian has it now for the fourth time. I have two weeks left…(fingers crossed!!!) Its existence is unavoidable thus it creates a very pragmatic mindset for Senegalese, that I admit, I’ve not yet fully acquired.

Rainy season is almost upon us. Every evening the sky becomes more grey and heavy. What does rainy season really mean? It means, constant flooding in the poorest neighborhoods. That means sewage everywhere…that means public health disaster…It means sleeping under the stagnant air of mosquito nets every night. It means swarms of mosquitoes and any one of them can knock you out for a week—possibly longer-- with malaria. It’s precipitated by growing heat and humidity. Thus the cockroaches have left their homes to fill our homes: the bathroom, the kitchen, the hallway, the stairway…every night cockroaches. I must say I’ve gotten to the point of just looking at them and making a wide circle to avoid them. Who am I to determine who/what has a right to live?

It’s getting hot. I used to say that I really like heat. I still do but my hair hasn’t been completely dry for a week. There is always a bit of sweat. I’m in simple sun dresses, how do Senegalese still manage jeans and long sleeve shirts? My friend visited a neighboring town today and he said it was 46˚C (115ishF) at 9am. It’s hot. I wonder if I’ll be cold in Chicago in two weeks?

I’ll be back in the States in 2 weeks. It wasn’t exactly as planned, but considering I had no real plan it doesn’t really matter. I’ve been accepted to the Master’s Program at American University in Cairo, Egypt for the fall. So, I’ll be back long enough to say hi and repack then off to Egypt for two years! Two weeks left…where does the time go?

What it means to be sick in Senegal...

2009-06-16T13:38:00.000-07:00

It means:
-you must explain to every Senegalese you encounter that you will not shake their hand so as to prevent the spreading germs; then when they look at you like you’re a crazy American who is over paranoid about ‘germs’, you walk away;

-to explain to your host family that its not a good idea that you eat from the same common plate, or share a spoon w/ a host brother because, yes this spreads germs too; (“germs” is not a common concern here—everyone is family, same ‘germs”)

-the first sign of headache or fever brings the automatic question: “Do I have malaria?” “How long should I wait to get tested?”

-when you try to explain your ailments to the pharmacist its better just to write because a head cold does not help the accent;

-when the pharmacist hands you 4 different boxes of medication you must decipher the medical instructions in French to really know what each one does…why would he try to sell me one medication that makes the nose stop running and an anti-decongestant? Oh right…I’m white …money….

- frequent power outages cuts off the ceiling fan for hours at a time—the only hope of air circulation as you lay under your mosquito net—so you strip off almost all of your clothes except the t-shirt that soaks up sweat. Then it miraculously comes back on full speed and you start to freeze. Great for the body temp!;

-when your head is whirling from a pounding headache, your body is dripping sweat with fever and you’re trying to stabilize yourself on the toilet and determine which end it will come out of first, the cockroaches on the bathroom floor make for a great momentary distraction;

-a great lesson learned: check the expiration date on your medication before packing them. My Tylenol expired in February…there is no Tylenol at the local pharmacy…I don’t know who to trust and I can barely pronounce “acetaminophen” in English, let alone French;

- it’s a great start to loosing the 3 kilos gained by eating rice and fried fish everyday!

-what doesn’t kill ya, only makes ya stronger!

2009-06-07T06:16:00.001-07:00

I just saw a man running and smoking a cigarette at the same time. I've seen some puzzeling things in this world, but really?...

Another Saturday morning...

2009-06-07T05:34:00.000-07:00

You know the feeling when your heart is happy? When the muscle emulates the smile of the Valentine’s Day symbol? I feel that this morning…J I just spent another Saturday morning at Ibou’s workshop making ceramics, helping lil’ kids paint their masterpieces and joking with deaf and mute young adults.

(pic: Ibou with a proud student)

When I went to St. Louis in early March with the handicap kids I met a wonderful man named Ibou who over the past 12-15 years has completely dedicated his life to helping those rejected by society: mostly handicap and street children. He’s just one of those simple, rather timid guys who simply loves to help people. He has converted his humble home into a workshop, open 7 days a week, where only a tiny room w/bed and small fridge rest as his personal belongings. He shares everything from personnel items to passion for the arts. He currently employs about 15 children, many of whom are deaf and mute. In addition, he feeds them daily breakfast, lunch and an afternoon snack. Many of these kids cannot afford school or cannot go to school because there is no program to assist their needs. He has taught them a trade, but most importantly, he has taught them self-confidence.
(pic: the workshop)

Since St. Louis, I have spent every available Wednesday and Saturday morning there in silent laughter. They have even started to teach me French Sign Language! And to further emphasize my amazement described in my last blog—those employees that manage to hear some sounds and can ‘grunt’ back in response (sorry, I don’t know the appropriate term) understand and can respond in French and Wolof! Even though they can’t talk, they’re bi-lingual!

(pics:two of the boys who work for Ibou.)

Appropriate to the circumstance, words can’t describe how I love to work along side them! Thanks to the generous donations of friends and family (including Rotary family!) in the States this week Ibou and I are going to buy 2 big gas tanks for the workshop. The tanks will allow for a more even pressure and larger ‘cooking’ capacity for the ceramics. When I told him this morning that friends have donated in order to help his dream, his large black eyes filled w/ tears and he gave me an awkward hug and a whisper “merci beaucoup”

Lovin' languages...

2009-06-04T06:13:00.000-07:00

I am flabergasted. I just got a ride from a Rotarian and he was explaining the nuances between two synonymous words in French. Like most people in foreign countries, he took advantage of being w/ an anglo-phone and explained the acute nuance in English. He then gave me a example of similar phrases in Wolof. About 3 minutes later he mentioned that he’s originally from Cape Verde (the island nation off the coast of Senegal. The national language is Portugese but the local language is Creole-Portuguese). I threw in, “oh, I speak Portugese too!” He then switched the conversation in to Portuguese! That’s four distinct languages, fluently implemented within a matter of about 5 minutes!! I’m so jealous!
Yes, I can understand/speak multiple languages but my brain still has a VERY difficult time separating them all. I will fully admit that currently when I open my mouth with the intention of speaking Portuguese it comes out in French. Spanish speaking abilities hit the back burner a good couple of months ago. I’m not saying that I’ve lost it all—the speaking is just delayed-- because thanks to my i-pod I still get a daily dose of each language. Sure, it could definitely be the fact that I’ve stuffed 3 new languages in my head in the last 7 years, they’re all of the same linguistic family and I didn’t start at infancy…either way seamless transition is something I definitely aspire to and dorky as it is, I would be super interested to know how the brain acquires and digests languages.
The language abilities in W. Africa is one thing that completely amazes me. Senegal has a number of local languages depending on the geographic region and the ethnic group: Wolof, Peul, Joola, Manding, Sereer etc. However, for many reasons, urbanization being the main, almost everyone speaks Wolof. In addition, once of school age (if the family can afford school) they quickly acquire French. The facility was specifically evident when we were in the Casamance. There the local language is Joola (in French: Diolla) but there is also a large population of Pulaar (people who speak Peul). Yet when the groups mix everyone speaks Wolof and then you throw in a bunch of white tourists and its switches to French. These are not dialects mind you, they are distinct languages. How can the brain handle that?
I shouldn’t limit it to W. Africa though because even my European buddies could switch with ease. Jonathan my Swedish buddy easily slid between Swedish, English and French. Lies can switch between Flemish, French, English and a bit of Wolof…
The most obvious of deductions, for me, is that it’s an “American thing.” While our passport might get us into many places we are definitely less developed in the language department. And if one begins to suggest, “why learn other languages when everybody speaks ‘our’ language?” well – um, that deserves another blog. Until then, I better get studying!

Family: Goree and Guacamole

2009-05-27T10:10:00.000-07:00

As mentioned in my previous blog, my goal for my last couple of weeks in Senegal is to dive into life in Dakar. The first target: my host family!

Of course in this predominantly Muslim country, last Thursday, the Catholic Holiday of the Ascension, was a national holiday that cancelled all formal activity. It was a perfect day to take the lil’ host brothers to Goree Island, a small island not 3km from Dakar that stands as a symbol of the Atlantic slave trade. It apparently was discovered by the Portuguese around 1444 and was passed through the possession of the Dutch, British, and French before finally returning to Senegal with Senegalese independence in 1960. Due to its small physical size, only a small percentage of the millions of slaves from W. Africa actually passed through the island. It was mostly used as a commercial trading point nonetheless, it plays a significant role in the representation of this dark period of history.

Ok, so I try to ensure that I have smart little brothers, but it was also a holiday—enough of the academic stuff! Mustafa, Mame Moussa, Lucy and I took the 20 minute ferry to this “Island of No Return.” We started the perfectly sunny day at the Women’s Museum. After which I, of course, showed my lil’ brothers what it really means to have a sister, as they had to sit and wait for me to buy local jewelry! Lots of beads! After lunch of a long promised pizza, we visited the Maison des esclaves (Slave House). The most frequently visited tourist attraction is divided into holding chambers for men, women and children, which served as a last residence before they were shipped overseas. The described grim conditions gave any eerie sense to an otherwise beautiful day. We then explored the petit island a bit more before heading back to mainland. Great day of family bonding and fun in the sun!

When one resides with a host family, it’s pretty much required to cook a ‘meal from home.’ Well, I’m not about to perpetuate this whole American Hamburger thing, so, considering available ingredients, next on the list was tacos! Cilantro is impossible to find here so I can’t say it was really “Mexican” but they loved it! At first glance at the green paste they pronounce as, “gu-ca-moleh” nobody would try it. I insisted that after all the things I have put in my mouth without a single clue or question of what it might be, they must at least try… grimacing faces quickly turned to big smiles and heaping spoonfuls! They also found it quite “interesting” that I would suggest eating uncooked onions—greased up, cooked-until-nutritionally dead onions are in almost every Senegalese plate. The idea of raw veggies is quite bizarre. Even my host Dad, whos praises are more than few and far between, helped himself to second large serving! I think I successfully destroyed their notions that toubabs can’t cook!

In mention of my host Dad…we, in particular, have made quite a bit of progress this week. He is a very proud Wolof man (of Olof origin) and he insists almost everyday that I speak Wolof. Every day when I arrive home, he or one of his friends gives me a fast slew of questions in Wolof- which of course, they have no real intention of me understanding. When I politely try to ask, “ca veut dire quoi en francais?” (that means what in French) they throw their head back in laughter and start the daily chant, “She hasn’t learned anything!” While they say it in jest, its gets a bit tiring- especially on those emotionally sensitive days in the exchange process. Well, this week when he started his chant, I looked him directly in the eyes (which a young person is never to do to an elder in Wolof culture) and I proudly stated, “I have learned a lot in your beautiful country—but NOT Wolof.” He stopped, gave me a smirk and a pat on the back. I haven’t heard the chant since!

So, things with the Senegalese family are going great and I look forward to the next month together. I must also throw in that things with the American family are also great as another nephew was born this week! Bienvenue, Luke James et felicitations a Tom et Melissa!!!

2009-05-19T14:16:00.000-07:00

why is it that when things start to feel comfortable, change is always just around the corner?

oh, and this whole gift for languages thing...I'm not sure I consider it such a gift anymore being that I have to translate my CV into 3 additional languages....did you know that Microsoft Word's Dictionary now has the language option: Espanol (Etados Unidos)...

Photo snaps of the Casamance...

2009-05-17T05:26:00.000-07:00

The beach at Cap Skirring was one of the most beautiful I've seen in the world. Being that it wasn't tourist Season or saison des espanols (apparently lots of Spaniards come every July), there was no one but us and a couple of stray bulls.

Yep, he's really popular everywhere. Pic of the three Americans and two local guys.

One afternoon we visited a village that makes cashew nuts. I had absolutely no idea how much work it is to get just one nut. weeks and weeks...did you know that someone has to shell each individual nut from the fruit...after its been cooked, dried for 3-21 days (depending if its rainy season) then roasted, then a skin is shaved off...I now understand why they're expensive!

Me w/ local rasta guys and the regional delicacy-- palm wine! Lots of rastas in the Casamance. They don't do much but pot and assist with local image to the tourist industry.

Tons of flamingos! They're a beautiful and rather regal looking species. I especially enjoyed watching their knees bend "backwards."

The usual walk to a local village. Hot, dry, big baobab trees, mud huts. The houses in the Casamance are much bigger than other regions and sometimes made to house entire villages and their livestocks, particularly during colonial times.

Typical plate... "gumbo" which is really a bed of white rice covered in a green sauce made from okra, lots of palm oil that includes lots of different kinds of sea food. Its a dish full of lots of surprises!

Its all about who you meet...

2009-05-17T04:55:00.000-07:00

So my month of discovering Senegal has finally ended and I’m back in Dakar for the rest of my scholarship period, 2 months. Our last trip to the Casamance (SE Senegal) was just as everybody said it would be—beautiful.

The Casamance is noted as the most beautiful region of Senegal however if one decides to venture there the most prudent will tell you: “oh, noo! It’s much too dangerous.” Secluded from the rest of Senegal as it’s snuggled between the Gambia and Guinea Bissau, with its diverse climates, luscious fruit and natural resources, the Casamance flounders between struggles for independence and submissive national peace. The locals will affirm that while random uprisings exist it’s overall very calm and well worth the risk.

The beaches were beautiful (if you read in French, check out “CapSkirring” blog), the people were amazingly hospitable, the fruit overly abundant (I think we ate our weight in mangoes and its not even peak season), the weather was hot but not unbearable. We did not pre-program this trip but instead decided to go with only our guidebooks and the wind. It was a great decision! We discovered great places but most remarkable were the people we encountered.

Just arrived to the village of Oussouye (uu-sue-e) we were walking the streets looking for a place to stay when we stumbled upon Santa Claus’ hideout! Practically in the middle of the street, like he was awaiting our arrival (after all, he does know all the bad/good lil’ boys and girls), was this elderly, very round man with white hair, a white beard and sparkling eyes shielded by tiny gold rimmed glasses. He nabbed us with his smile and led us to an auberge (hostel). Claude is his ‘hideout’ name and he claims to be a Frenchman who owned three restaurants in France, two of which he only employed handicap persons, before things fell apart with his wife and he moved to Senegal. Now embraced as an intimate member of the Diolla community (local ethnic group), he knows all of the secrets.

1) The first afternoon he led us to a neighboring village to the private home of the women who runs the women’s pottery commune. She gave us a private demonstration and was extremely hospitable.
2) Our second day there (bike ride day!), he led us into the middle of the forest where he had some of his local friends prepare a local feast. One of them took a pirogue (sm) boat to cut the oyster encrusted mangrove roots while the other prepared the fire. In the meantime, we sat on a log with a mat of palm leaves in front of us. I used to think that oysters look like tiny fetus in a shell—I couldn’t eat them. However, being that they went to all this effort, I thought I should at least try one. So, with knife in hand, I cautiously pried open one of the warm shells, still attached to the mangrove root. The juice dribbled down my arm as I flicked the tiny muscle into my mouth…well, about 25 delicious pieces later I could only groan with delight! Love ‘em- who knew?!
3) When you think things can’t get any better, that night SC/Claude agreed to make us dinner! Fresh salads of carrots and cucumbers covered in Greek style yoghurt w/ mint etc (and unless you live on fried fish and fried rice w/ no fresh veggies for 4 months you’ll never fully understand this as a delicacy). Salads were followed by fresh fish kabobs and chocolate crepes to top it off…oh, Santa Claus….:)~ (insert more groans of delight)
(photo: Animist King, Jonathan, Lies and new Scottish friend)

We also met a Scottish speech therapist who is traveling W. Africa on a bike. She doesn’t speak French, is a vegetarian and travels alone. Never say never!
We also met the Animist King. He reigns from Oussouye and covers about 18 villages to the border of Guinea Bissau. He is the only one to wear an all red boubou and he let us ask him any question we liked for about 45 minutes. I’m not sure how to explain this situation. To prepare yourself to see a real-life “King”…Animism …any question…very interesting.

For more than half the trip we were accompanied by John, random English ‘explorer.’ After working for about a year as a lawyer in England he decided that wasn’t the life for him so he has since: run a marathon in Laos, in flip-flops; was conveniently close to Indonesia after the Tsunami of 2004 so dedicated 5-6 months getting local communities back on their feet; rode clandestinely into Pakistan in a trunk of a car; crossed the Mauritanian desert, on foot, alone; the list goes on... We shared many great stories and belly-aching nights of laughter. (John in a fish sorting truck)
So while the landscape and cultural discoveries were unforgettable it was really the people that made the trip. When all together, we comprised of a: Swede, Belge, Canadian, New-Zelander, Englishman, Scottswoman and 3 Americans. Love it! For Jonathan (Swede), Lies (Belge) and I, it was our 4th trip together in Senegal and it was a truly special one at that. Jonathan left Senegal the same day we returned to Dakar. Lies leaves in 10 days. I still have two months, for which I’m very excited.

The more I have traveled outside of Dakar the more I have picked out things I don’t appreciate about it. So, with my French really rolling now I’m going to completely throw myself into life here. While I might not end up loving the city itself, as this trip has reaffirmed, it’s all about the people. I look forward to spending more time with my host family, getting in some quality time at local NGOs, establishing deeper local roots and overall, falling in love with local culture!

Cap Skirring....

2009-05-17T04:51:00.000-07:00

Le crépuscule est tombé, donc tout le monde à laisse les vagues pour aller se doucher—sauf mon ami et moi. C’était trop joli pour laisser le soleil se coucher seul donc nous l’avons accompagné en marchant sur la plage. Bien sûr qu’en attendant nous avons trouvé un bar avec une bouteille de vin—mais au retour je n’ai jamais vu une chose aussi joli. La plage était énorme—et vide. Les vagues présents—pas trop fortes mais pas silencieuse. La lumière lunaire apportait un équilibre parfait. Même les filmes ne peuvent pas créer une scène aussi somptueuse…

Birthday Wishes

2009-05-01T04:35:00.000-07:00

Another year has come and gone...in my life, that is.
First and foremost I would like to send a sincere thanks for all the love and hugs sent across the ocean via snail mail and/or email. I must say, I was the most popular girl at the school's mailbox! I really can't begin to express how much it meant to me that so many people took time to send cards-- especially because I've come to learn it is not part of US culture. Thank you, thank you! It really is the small things in life that count.

So, what did I do for the my Golden Birthday?...I must say it was a birthday I shall never forget.
I actually spent the weekend at World Youth Day for West Africa. In a town about 2-4hours N of Dakar, NW Africa came together to praise and celebrate God. Once again, in a predominantly Muslim country, it was a great experience. It was once again a weekend of simple accomodations but we met lots of cool people. I now have friends from Gabon and Congo!

The weekend was ironically sponsored by a local beer company, so like all good Catholics, the eve of my Golden b-day Lucy, Cody, our new international buddies and I could throw back a couple of cold ones! I was off to a great start!

Sunday, my birthday, the final mass was supposed to start at 9:30...long story short around 11:30 in 90degree heat w/ the sun beating directly down on the crowd smashed into a stadium like sardines the mass was just starting- but with a military band and political talks about the church's role in Africa... sun burn. Tired, hot and dirty, Lucy, Cody and I decided to skip out and find our own way back to a real mass in Dakar.
The rather normal, tired, hot, sun-burnt and dirty we found a ride back to Dakar. About an hour into the drive a young lady decided to cross the street without looking just as we were wizzing past. Being that it was my birthday, I was in the front seat and thus got a front row seat as we hit her, she rolled over the hood and landed back on the side of the road! By the grace of God and miracles, she was o.k...no blood or broken bones...we were all shaken up quite a bit...
Our hired taxi took off with her to the local hospital and we were left under a tree in mid-day heat...about 1-2hrs later we found another ride...
Finally we made it back to Dakar where my host family had forgotten it was my birthday. Birthdays are not really celebrated here, and I knew that so I bought myself a doughnut, took a cold shower and decided to give myself a good long night sleep- in a bed- for my birthday!
So once again, thank you all so much for the letters of love! It really made the day a special day!

I'm now off to my last trip... tonight 7 of us will take an all night boat ride to S Senegal, the Casamance. Everyone says its beautiful, green, lush and with lots of mangos! They also speak Creole Portugese...so I have a feeling its gonna be a great week!

The wheel goes round and round...

2009-04-29T13:51:00.001-07:00

As stated in previous blogs, my Rotary district here consists of 14 NW African countries. April 16-18 was the District Conference in Lome, Togo to which all of us “Scholars” were required to attend. (Gosh, I hate being told I have to travel to another country!)
The weekend conference started with presentations of the flags that were accompanied by country specific traditional dances. The conference center was overflowing with national pride. After l’overture the conference broke into individual presentations and speeches about Rotary business. During the first morning, at the very last minute, the four of us where run up on stage, in front of 800 people and told to give an impromptu speech—in French! Gotta love impromptu speeches in foreign languages! J Rotary is really good at nurturing that life long diplomatic skill!
The weekend consisted of many diplomatic smiles, hand shakes and good eattin’! The union of 14 countries rendered the conference like none other I’ve experienced.
The one thing I took away from our time with Rotary was the feeling of hospitality. The Wolof have an idea of hospitality called Teranga which roughly translates to my house is open to you at anytime without questions asked, and you shall be treated as family. While I don’t find that this concept transfers easily to Western cultures, and Dakar is quickly becoming very westernized, the hospitality was received in Togo and by Togolese Rotarians was unparalleled.
Paul, a current Rotary President of one of the five clubs in Lome, met us as the airport with smiles and welcoming hugs and his generosity didn’t let up until we were back on the plane a week later. Throughout the conference it was very evident that Paul is a very important person, not only to Rotary, but in Lome and in Togolese society. Nonetheless, he spent hours of his busy schedule with the four of us simple students and without any feeling of rush or bother. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that in the States, or even if I’m capable of giving like that.
(Photo: Senegalese lady scholars avec Paul during our last hours on the Togolese beach)
When we traveled to N. Togo we had no pre-arranged plans and only a 10 year old guidebook to get us around. Not to worry though because we met Rotarians on the bus who without hesitation agreed to find us a hotel and arrange any travel plans. Then to top it off they arranged a special club dinner just for us! Due to the conference, they had originally cancelled their weekly meeting but they reinstated it so we could get to know the club and vice versa. Not only did we generously eat and drink with them but most importantly, they sat and talked with us. They spent almost 3 hours with us where age, race and nationality played no part as they sincerely wanted to get to know us, like family.
(photo: dinner with Rotary Club Kara, Togo)
The generosity and hospitality that we lived in Togo was absolutely astonishing. People have asked me if I’m scared/nervous to travel by myself. I’m not by myself, I’m with Rotary. Wherever I see the Rotary Wheel I know someone will be there for me. On the other hand, unfortunately, I have found that some Rotarians hide under this same wheel and are not as willing to share such generosity. Overall, I certainly don’t believe it takes a large organization to create such hospitality. We witnessed a beautiful thing in Togo that challenges me to be more selfless and to realize that simple acts can go a long way. I really hope someday I can pass along the same selfless giving of time and sincere hospitality.

Go to Togo.

2009-04-28T11:59:00.000-07:00

I’ll never forget a family of Togolese refugees that I had the honor of working with in Chicago. Actually, I’ll never forget their laughter—and how they created a contagious chuckle that makes every part of the body jiggle with glee. This family alone was enough me make me want to go to Togo. Plus, after 3 months of living on the edge of the Sahel Desert, it was wonderful to see the green, green of Togo and to be wrapped in humidity for a week. Our main reason for going was the Rotary District Conference, but as Cultural Ambassadorial Scholars we had lots of other curiosities to squelch!
Animism is very active in Togo and many voodoo practices that currently thrive in the Caribbean and N. Brazil originated in current day Lome. So of course we had to visit the famous voodoo market in Lome. There was a very real presence in the market to which we had our distinct reactions. I, was thrilled! This was another anthropologists dream. So many questions I had! Why do some tongues stick out? Why fur on some, while other skulls are stripped? Jamie, the soon to be Dr., easily explained how dangerous it is that they crush monkey skulls to drink in a potion because the proteins are so similar to human proteins and the combination… Lucy, contemplating God’s call to be a nun, was the most guarded against the devilish presence. Cody, the male, I’m not sure what he was thinking. It was quite an experience.
Aside from the Conference we didn’t have an established program and we were open to whatever options we encountered. Cody, through his alma mater, has some connections to a Benediction Monastery in N. Togo. We also could have taken day trips to Benin and Ghana. Exercising our democratic rights we all agreed to stay in Togo. Thus Sunday morning we jumped on a bus to the northern village of Kara.
27km outside of Kara, further isolated from the world, we arrived at the magnificent Benediction Monastery; a true oasis of peace in the middle of the bush. I was definitely needing some “me time” thus was super excited for our mini retreat. The 15 resident monks very generously received us.

Unfortunately, a little Togolese bug decided to crawl through my intestines and wring them for all they’re worth. So I spent most of our time between the toilet and my bed. From our little travel health pamphlets, we think there’s a good chance it was giardiasis or “Beaver Fever.” It really wasn’t all that bad though because just across the way was the chapel from which every couple of hours the beaver was calmed by the singing of Togolese monks! I’ve never been one for chant but put an African drum beat to it—on top of a secluded mountain--- I could have stayed for days! Our last night at the monastery there was a rain storm. Once again after living in a relatively desert climate, I was thrilled to smell and feel rain!
While at the Monastery we were also able to visit local villages. Some also speak Peul, a local language in Senegal but the Pulaar (people who speak Peul) are a nomadic group who stretch across the continent. So, while my Peul greetings didn’t work, I was able to learn another dialect of Peul. One man was so excited to see us he gave us each an egg for lunch! Unfortunately I couldn’t eat, but everybody said that quail eggs are very good!
Overall, our time in Togo was great! Many times we jiggled with glee! We felt so welcomed by the people and the warm climate! It was a great change to crazy, cluttered life of Dakar. Here are some random things I learned about Togo: (photo: There were bilboards everywhere advocating abstinance. Togo has a relatively low HIV/AIDS rate, but its still prevelent. There are no such billboards in Senegal.)
-Togo is technically a democratic country but the fact that the same family has been in power for over 40 years tells a different reality.
-The last “President” has approximately 100 kids between his 47 wives. I thought the Muslim polygamy rule of 4 wives was a lot but apparently in Togo a man can have as many as he can financially support. He was in office for 30 years before his youngest son took over 10 years ago. The Sunday before we left for Togo another son attempted to kill the current President. Brother is in jail. We didn’t notice any unrest—thank the Lord!
-Mina and Ewe are the dominant local languages. French is the official language.
-Togo was controlled by Germans until after the 1st World War when France and England redrew the national boundaries. Many locals still refer to a large part of Ghana as ”Togo Britanique”
-Togo is a Christian country, though it’s mostly animist.
-The streets are full of moto taxis which apparently emerged after the economic crisis of 1994.
-Many men have clear-cut scars on their face. This is done as a right of passage and each clan, or local group, has a distinct marking.

(Photo: local gas station and this one has oil too!)

catholic in a Muslim country...

2009-04-15T06:17:00.000-07:00

I am Catholic. More so, I am catholic.
One thing I love about being catholic is that even though this is the sixth country and fourth language in which I’ve celebrated Holy Week, I celebrated and participated in the same process as every Catholic around the world! So what’s it like to celebrate Holy Week and Easter in a predominantly Muslim country? It’s rockin’!
I’ve found that I can truly examine and search for who I am and what’s important to me when I compare it to another way of doing things. It’s kind of like you never knew how good momma’s cooking was until you left home. Once you’re out and you see other people doing similar activities but in a different way, you must question which is the best way of doing it? Or, why do I do it this way? Or, how can we maybe do it together, better?
In Senegal, Muslims and Christians live side by side no quarrels or qualms. Quite the contrary actually, everyone benefits from each holiday. For example, all schools-- private, public, Koranic, Christian-- were given a two week Easter holiday. All children dress up for Mardi Gras, or Fat Tues. On Holy Friday all of the Christian families make ngalax (a very sweet but wonderful mix of peanut butter like paste, millet baobab fruit juice and lots of sugar) for their Muslim neighbors. During the Islamic holiday, tabaski (last yr during the month of Dec.) all of the Muslim families share the slaughtered goat with the Christian families.
So, on Good Friday at 3:30pm, Lucie and I joined about 1000 other Catholics at our local church for the Stations of the Cross. It was very reverent and it was beautiful to hear the story in French. (Just think, it was Saint Pierre that betrayed Jesus three times, not St. Peter!)
Later that evening we returned for Adoration and Veneration of the Cross. With the amount of people present at the services the collapsible walls of St. Pierre de Baobab allowed the beauty of the service to be shared with the surrounding neighborhood. That means that the meditative singing during the Adoration was joined by the daily 8pm Mosque chant. Whereas one might think it would be a dissonant relationship, it was quite harmonious—everyone was praying at the same time!
Lucie and I decided to brave the Saturday Vigil. At 10pm the masses came out in their best suits and boubous. It was done in true Senegal fashion of “why rush?” – four hours later, at 2am, we were still rocking the Alleluias! Alleluia with a full African choir is a real ALLELUIA!
It was all a beautiful sharing of faith and Sunday morning I woke up a greeting of Alleluias from my Muslim host family!

E=mcsquared; toubab = money

2009-04-13T14:46:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure there’s been a day where someone has NOT asked me for money or a cadeaux (present). When we were in Tamba, it got to be quite overwhelming and even a bit annoying. At times we couldn’t walk properly because of the hoards of kids with outstretched hands pleading, “cadeaux, cadeaux, cadeaux”.

When I walk down the street little kids run from their houses with hands out stretched. One little boy who was well clothed and looked decently feed, interrupted his basketball game to give me a pitiful face with an outstretched hand, “toubab, give me 100cfa or bread to eat.” I stopped and asked him, “Why do you ask me? Have you asked your friends? Senegalese are very hospitable, I’m sure they could give you something to eat.” He looked at me like I was crazy.

I got into a taxi a couple of weeks ago and as I shut the door the driver immediately turned around and bluntly proclaimed, “ you have lots of money.” I was quite tired and didn’t feel like discussing this again so I matched his directness with , “and how do you know that? You think I have lots of money because I’m white? You think all whites have money…?” It was a bit assumptive and over the top, but he didn’t say another word.

There is a system of belief/education…I’m not really sure what to call it, that some Islamic
schools teach their boys. The boys are called talibes. Instead of having class all day, they give the boys old cans and turn them to the streets to beg. They believe it teaches them to be humble and to accept what God gives them in life. Many layers to the system exist, and I don’t yet fully understand it so I won’t attempt to explain it. But what I do know is that the streets are filled with little boys in raggy t-shirts who beg for money and toubabs are a main target. As a toubab, I must realize that I can’t give to everybody. I usually don’t give money, fruit is a good option for me. Sometimes I ignore them, sometimes I try to be creative…

For example, one time a small group of boys approached me. I had a 100cfa coin. I gave it to the first little boy with outstretched hand, BUT I took back 75cfa- 25cfa and 50cfa pieces from his little pile of coins. I gave the 25cfa to the next little boy. And made change with the 50cfa piece to be able to give 25cfa to the remaining two boys. They stood there in utter shock that this toubab would make change! Everyone benefits from a simple lesson in socialism!

On the flip side of the coin, one morning I was at the boulangerie (bakers) and a little boy came up to me asking for a money or bread. I looked in his can and found 150cfa, the price of a baguette. I picked the coins out of his bucket, gave them to him and pointed at the loaves of bread. I work for my money and so does he. Perhaps, I do have a bit of the US capitalist system in me.

I can’t even begin to enumerate the amount of times people have bluntly asked me for money or expected me to pay or give presents simply on the assumption that because I’m white I have money. Sadly enough, I’ve had to distance myself from the family in Yoff where I teach English because I believe they see me only as money. And even yesterday, the man from whom I buy my daily banana said, “Its Easter, you should give me a present” and he rubbed his fingers together in the international sign for money. I thought we were simply buddies…

As always, I have tons of questions and hypothesis constantly running inside my head: what is my social responsibility?; What did colonization really do to these cultures?; How can they truly believe that all white people are rich?; How many things would be different if US films and T.V. demonstrated that not all Americans live in mansions, drive nice cars, and eat McDonalds everyday? Will I be able to have a true relationship/friendship in Senegal without the other person expecting any financial gain?...while I’m not rich and have worked hard for this opportunity, I do have more money and opportunities then most of them ever will. How do I rationalize that? How do I justify that? How do I live that?

Perhaps I’m not fully understanding something. Perhaps they mean something different in the cultural language which I don’t fully comprehend yet. While these thoughts run inside me I must be careful with what comes out of me. Whether I like it or not, I am—24hrs a day, a representative of the U.S., of white people. For some, I might be the only white person they talk to in their life. What they think of me and our interaction they might permanently attach as a label for all white people. This is a huge responsibility.

a week in St. Louis, Senegal...

2009-04-12T12:47:00.000-07:00

At the end of our trip to Tamba, my Belgian buddy Lies asked if I could help chaperone a school trip to St. Louis, a city in NW Senegal, for the first week of April. Of course I jumped at the chance, then three days before the trip I was even more excited when I discovered that she works with handicap kids! So, on Tuesday morning Mar 31, I rolled out of Dakar w/ 40 mentally handicap kids packed three to a seat, bags lining the floor, mattresses secured to the roof and everybody excited for a week excursion! The moment the bus left, two of the adults started jamming on the djembes (traditional Senegalese drums). The bus instantaeously exploded: everybody was dancing, singing, clapping. My heart was truly happy!
We arrived quite later than expected and I quietly excused myself to fulfill my Rotary responsibilities. There is a very hospitable club in St. Louis and I was able to present myself and my projects to them. I was excited to see women in the club, being that my club is the only club without females in Senegal. (Me with President of Rotary Club in St. Louis)
I returned to the school around 9:30-10pm and the kids had still not eaten dinner and there was no water until morning (think: 40 kids, 10 adults, after a day on the bus, who couldn’t drink, brush their teeth, wash, or flush until morning). It was a pretty good indicator for how the week was to go in terms of organization. For example, the daily schedule allotted 30 minutes in the morning to wake up, wash 45 handicap kids and prepare for the day, when there was only 1 bathroom, w/ 1 working shower and the toilets were constantly overflowing. I can barely get myself ready in half an hour! Go with the flow…I’m glad I wasn’t in charge!
Besides the frustrations with the management and organizational elements, the kids were absolutely fabulous! They emote such an innocent and unbridled happiness. It was really cool to see the moments where they just let go and danced, or sang or colored. They knew they were safe without societal threats or physical dangers; they were appreciated and understood.
After everybody was ready for the day, we did some easy school projects which consisted of arts, ceramics and simple games. They were so proud of their work, it was fun to share! After lunch, the first day we all went to another large park/reserve but didn’t see any animals. You can’t really expect 40 mentally handicap kids to stay quite for 2 hours as they walk through a park looking for animals…some of them can’t even walk for two hours! The second afternoon we all went to the beach to play soccer and just chill. Even despite some physical difficulties their passion was not lacking for the national game!
The first night after dinner we had a camp fire w/ djembe music. I am still utterly amazed at the innate reaction Senegalese have to music. The drums start and within the first few beats they spring from their chairs in what Westerners would find to be a random flinging of arms and legs. Of course, a camp fire in the middle of 40 overly stimulated mentally handicap kids who are wildly dancing makes any Westerner with a sense of legal liability cringe, but, we got through it and even got a limbo line going! The second night we opted for a ‘simple’ dance party without fire, though “simple” once again undermines the fervor of the dance.
It was an exhausting week—I might have averaged 4 hours of sleep a night to muster up patience for special needs kids with whom I don’t share a common language. Whereas prior to this week I noted a significant absence of physical contact and hugs, during the week the kids hugged me, held my hands, and cuddled next to me enough to make up for the previous 3 months and perhaps get me through the next 3! It was such an honor to work with these special kids and see such an intimate side of culture- what they do with their special needs citizens. When in Iwol, the Basari mt. village, there was a young girl with obvious physical deficiencies and most likely mental issues. In the village they shunned her, the kids threw rocks at her and one adult even beat her when she tried to sit next to us. I can’t imagine the struggles this little girl will encounter in her life. The kids at Centre Amintata Mbaye also encounter many struggles that are easily avoidable in the States, however, in the school setting, they are understood, loved, and appreciated. It was great to see and wonderful to share in these experiences. I really feel like I have a special place in that school’s community and look forward to working with them again!
So, Friday morning Lies, Jonathan and I gladly saw all the kids off as we were to stay to explore St. Louis for the weekend. After a week of less than desirable bathrooms and sleeping conditions, it was once again such a treat to enter a simple hotel room—there was a bed! And there was a shower head! And the shower had hot water!! ahhh, simple luxuries! Friday we walked around St. Louis, and it is GORGEOUS! It really reminded me of Seville, Spain. (Seville: Madrid; St. Louis: Dakar). It’s accessible, friendly, clean, and allows for real life opposed to bustle of city life. St. Louis is an island cut from mainland Senegal by the Senegal River. A huge fishing community sits on the coast and claims the best seafood in all of Senegal. The buildings, while collapsing/disintegrating, were beautiful and whisper of a colonial story. The active colors in the streets in combination with the odd angles of falling building in the middle of construction could be a photographers dream. St. Louis is simply charming.
Saturday morning we pulled ourselves out of bed early because it was Independence Day and we were in Senegal’s first capital and another school needed our help. We went to Jonathan’s school, where he gives six English classes a week to 60-80 students per class! That morning a select class was to march in the Independence parade. The kids were superbly behaved and marched like a well trained army. Once downtown, we waited for over 2 hours for the rest of the parade participants. Finally we began to march- the first school behind the military!! They were soo proud. We marched in front of the mayor and all the people who think they’re super important. We marched for all of 45 seconds and that was the end! Of course, that’s a parade in Senegal: prepare the kids for weeks, get matching t-shirts, wake up early, wait over 2 hours then be extremely proud to march for 45 seconds! Either way, all the profs and my family think I’m super cool because I marched in the Independence Day Parade in the original Senegalese capital!!

Preventing further MALARIA madness

2009-03-21T12:30:00.000-07:00

I am not a Dr. and I do not pretend to be one. Prior to leaving the U.S., I visited 3 different medical professionals and institutions for proper medical travel preparation. I was prescribed Mefloquin- generic of Lariam but not one medical professional asked me about any prior psychological history. On the plane over here, my seat neighbor expressed great shock that Mefloquin is still legally on the market. Upon arrival in Senegal, I began to have bizarre and frequent dreams. I asked around and found it common knowledge that mefloquin is, “scary.” Now, three months into travel I have not slept an entire night without disturbing dreams/neurotic thought processes. This week I stopped taking it and now I search for a new med.

I am scared about the lack of info I found in the States. So I've taken some time to compile some info. There needs to be more options and discussion for other people going abroad. The following information is by no means comprehensive nor should it be taken for medical advice. It is a starting block for further education and discussion and is actually snipets of a flier I plan on emailing to the medical institutions I visited. If you know someone who would benefit from it, please contact me at ellenk_miller@yahoo.com or check out the sources listed below.

Malaria is a serious and sometimes fatal disease caused by a parasite that commonly infects a certain type of mosquito which feeds on humans.

Usually, people get malaria by being bitten by an infective female Anopheles mosquito. Only Anopheles mosquitoes can transmit malaria and they must have been infected through a previous blood meal taken on an infected person. When a mosquito bites an infected person, a small amount of blood is taken in which contains microscopic malaria parasites. About 1 week later, when the mosquito takes its next blood meal, these parasites mix with the mosquito's saliva and are injected into the person being bitten.

Signs and symptoms of malaria
Symptoms include fever and flu-like illness, including shaking chills, headache, muscle aches, and tiredness. Nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea may also occur. Malaria may cause anemia and jaundice (yellow coloring of the skin and eyes) because of the loss of red blood cells. Infection with one type of malaria, Plasmodium falciparum, if not promptly treated, may cause kidney failure, seizures, mental confusion, coma, and death.
How soon will a person feel sick after being bitten by an infected mosquito?
For most people, symptoms begin 10 days to 4 weeks after infection, although a person may feel ill as early as 7 days or as late as 1 year later. Two kinds of malaria, P. vivax and P. ovale, can occur again (relapsing malaria). In P. vivax and P. ovale infections, some parasites can remain dormant in the liver for several months up to about 4 years after a person is bitten by an infected mosquito. When these parasites come out of hibernation and begin invading red blood cells ("relapse"), the person will become sick.
When and where does a person stand the most risk of contracting malaria?
Dusk: Mosquitoes are most active in the early evening. The best way of avoiding malaria is not to get bitten, so take precautions.

THE DRUGS
Preventative Drugs:
Chloroquine Aralen, Avloclor, Nivaquine, Resochin
Chloroquine/proguanil Savarine
Doxycycline Vibramvcin
Atovaquone/proguanil Malarone

Drugs for Treatment: (uncomplicated)
Amodiaquine Camoquine
Artemether/lumefantrine Riament, Coartem
Chloroquine Aralen, Avloclor
Mefloquine Eloquine, Larium, Mephaquin
Atovaquone/roguanil Malarone

Chloroquine/Paludrine Two chloroquine tablets weekly, plus two tablets of Paludrine daily is the traditional regimen, starting one week before travel and continuing for four weeks after return. It is safe and licensed, but is not effective in much of sub-Saharan Africa, Amazonia and South-East Asia.
Lariam One tablet weekly, starting two-and-a-half weeks before travel and continuing for three to four weeks after return. Effective in most parts of the world, except for northern Thailand, the "Golden Triangle" (parts of Burma, Laos, Thailand) and other parts of South-East Asia. Unpopular, on account of relatively high rates of side-effects compared with other drugs.
Doxycycline One tablet daily, starting one week before travel and continuing for four weeks after return. Carries a risk of an exaggerated sunburn reaction that ranges from three to 10 per cent, and has a tendency to cause thrush in women. Unsuitable for children or during pregnancy.
Malarone One tablet daily. Fully licensed for treatment of malaria (in at least 32 countries), but not yet licensed for prevention. In trials, the rate of side-effects was no greater in people taking Malarone than in those taking a placebo. It is believed to be the most effective of all of the options. Expensive.
Savarine One tablet daily, starting one week before travel and continuing for four weeks after return. Each tablet contains both chloroquine and Paludrine. The total dose of chloroquine is higher than with the weekly regimen and there is strong evidence that this is a more effective option. Savarine is licensed throughout the EU, with the exception of the UK and Germany. Expensive.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/722068/Malaria-why-you-are-denied-the-drugs-that-could-save-your-life.html

EDUCATE YOURSELF!!
http://www.cdc.org/
www.who.org
http://www.malariaandhealth.com/
http://www.malaria.org/
www.malaria.com

Travel Part 2...Kedougou and Basari Co.

2009-03-20T07:04:00.000-07:00

The second part of the trip I like to think of as first hand “cultural ambassadorial experience”. There are no words to describe all of the smells, dirt, smiles, sweat, basic human need and emotions that swarmed the group, but I’ll try…
Our first night out of the park we stayed in Dar Salaam Village. We were greeted with the luxury of a toilet and an actual shower head in each hut and two choices for dinner! WOW! During dinner we heard chants and drum beats from the neighboring village. The guide gained us entry into the village where we witnessed an anthropologists dream. Illuminated by an almost full moon, women chanted and danced in a circle to the beat of 4 drums. The male leaders of the village sat to one side and interjected some sort of story during the change of the chants. Encompassed by a collection of huts, warm bodies and the swarm of music- it was like being in another world. I was entranced, with a barebreasted woman sitting next to me, when I felt a tug on my pony tail followed by girlish giggles. Taking the hint, I released my pony tale to let my hair fall across my back. Not thirty seconds later, no less then 10 little hands were stroking my ‘white-girl’ hair with amazement and more giggles. With my permission, my whole head was quickly transformed to braids. An unforgettably intimate and truly blessed experience. (photo: me w/ girls who braided my hair)
The next day we left our truck and rented two 4x4s to travel to Kedougou, a village further SE in Senegal. A lot more dust, rutty roads, and sweat later we arrived to meet our next guide and buy cadeaux (presents) for the villagers. In order to enter the villages, it’s recommended to present soap, candles, matches, candies for the kids and kola nuts. We also stocked about 50 liters of water—6 days, 7 people-- you do the math.
That afternoon we each packed a small overnight sack and enough water to climb a mountain, spend the night and descend the next day—about 2L a person. It was around 85-90 degrees and dry heat. After about 40 minutes of climbing we were joined by shoeless little kids in pieces of cloth, with snotty noses and crusty hands, their mothers with big bundles of sticks or buckets of water balanced on their head were not far behind. We quickly distributed our first candies and climbed the rest of the way with a brown eyed children holding each hand. More children with bloated bellies, from malnutrion, soon surrounded us beseeching our cadeaux and the realities of an isolated, mountain life quickly assaulted the group.
The village of Iwol, established in the 15century, was the first Bedick village in Senegal. They speak Bedik and thanks to 17th century colonists are Christian- though like most Senegalese, are also Animist. Approximately 530 people live in the village.
After the sun went to sleep and we were formally welcomed by Jean Baptist the village tourguide-pharmacist-religious leader-school teacher we found ourselves face to face with lots of curious kids. One of the most beautiful traditions of the trip started then; we sang “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” and “If You’re Happy and You Know It” in no less than 4 languages in each village! We couldn’t really talk about anything and there was no electricity to interrupt our attention so we shared what all humans share—children’s songs and smiles!
The next morning after sleep on uneven, hard bamboo mats covered by plastic-y prayer rugs, the 7 of us shared a fifth of a bucket of well water to wash our hands, face and feet. Do we use our precious potable water to wash hands, and brush teeth before we have to climb down the mountain in the heat? …Our more than rustic accommodations were further stretched as some female members of the group were afforded the “opportunity” to ponder what African mountain women do during menstruation. There are no toilets- only wholes in the ground, no water to wash, no waste baskets, no chocolate and no place to buy feminine products. We didn’t have the language abilities nor the established relationships to ask our questions—so we “adapted.”
The next village was Ibel, home of our guide. Upon arrival we basically waited out the heat of the day under the shade, on another hard, uneven bamboo bed. Ibel was a larger village with a rather developed school. Close to Ibel was a marble mine. As our guide, born in this region, proudly showed us the beauty of un-treated marble I, as innocently as possible, asked, “So, who manages these mines?” “Italians and French” he responded. I followed up with, “who owns the land? Or, who do they pay to access the mines?” A bit perplexed by my questions, he explained that they pay the workers who cut the marble. I insisted, but do they pay for the natural resources and opportunity to use the land? He didn’t know for sure, but was pretty sure they just paid the workers. I then gently asked, “What are the people going to do once all the marble is gone?” He didn’t have an answer…I remained silent in frustration…I later found out, he doesn’t even know what marble is used for or how expensive it is in the Western world... (photo: me checkin out the marble w/a saying from the current President)
That night our guide arranged for a village dance. All of us were sat on a bench and 5 musicians with instruments I’ve never seen before cordially entertained us. At first a local woman would pull one of us gently in the middle of the circle and let us humiliate ourselves with our white-person lack of rhythm. Well, there’s no way in heck that I’m going to just sit in a village in the middle of nowhere with drum beats swirling and amazing African dancers letting it all loose and not jump in the middle. So, Lies (Belgian buddy) and I grabbed two local kids and jumped in the middle of the circle. The circle quickly collapsed into a mess of flailing arms, legs and smiles! I’m proud to report that my Brazilian dance skills definitely let me hold my own with the best ‘em. There’s nothing like dancing under a full moon with a bunch of locals in the middle of an African village! (photo: Ibel's cheif and top counsel members)
The next day we ventured further south to Basari Country to visit the villages of Dindefelo and Dande. At one point we thought we had crossed into Guinea—but I think it was a fake border crossing that allows the locals to earn some extra income… We took a late morning hike through some rather dense forest/bush. Now almost a normal occurrence, we passed groups of topless women with interesting facial piercings washing clothes or themselves in the river. About 35 minutes into the hike, a chorus of chimpanzees announced our arrival to the cascade (waterfall)!! Hot and dirty we all gasped at beauty this 100-150 story high waterfall—and the opportunity to get in the water and cool down (yes, also possibly parasitic waters, but there’s no way we could resist!) ahhhhhhhhhh.
After lunch and again waiting out the worst of the heat, our guide told us we were going to visit one last village—on top of the mountain. So late afternoon we sweated up an extremely steep climb. We saw yet another village, the source of the waterfall and even a cave with bats. Then around dusk we started to get a bit nervous, we couldn’t stay the night up here…let’s just say if you really want to heighten your senses, climb down a steep mountain in the dark, with two flashlights for seven people. I’ll spare the details for all concerned; we all made it safely.
It was moments like those, however, where we really came together as a group. Sure some were extremely frustrated, and even terrified. But really, I’ve learned that I can waste my energies being peeved at the irresponsibility of the guide who lead us into the ridiculous situation and worried about the bug that made my leg bleed or I can take it step by step knowing that I have to get down somehow, at sometime. Why waste my energy being angry over something I can’t control or change at that moment. Similarly, (un)fortunately through my travels abroad and working with refugees/migrants I’ve established a rather absorbant emotional barrier. It has helped to digest great emotional shock and has allowed me to witness many things without judgment or qualifications but just to accept that they exist. It came very handy throughout the week... (photo: helping ladies in Dande crush millet for the night's meal)
This trip was an escape from city life in Dakar, but it was hardly a vacation. As difficult as it got, not one person complained the entire week! When the holes in the roads got bigger, we sang louder. When we didn’t see an elephant we rejoiced in seeing a family of monkeys. When the mountain got steeper we simply waited to catch our breath to start again. And as Jamie cried one night, “I’m so dirty, I have to wash my soap!” I couldn’t count the layers of dirt, sweat, bug spray, sunscreen and whatever else was out there. Yet at the same time, through all of the layers, I’ll never forget the laughter of the kids, the singing and the dancing. As I’ve felt in numerous countries/cultures, life can be hard—but it’s what you make of it—and it can be simply beautiful.
(photo: that's not a wicked sandal tan, it's dirt!)
Now I’m back to long days but productive days in Dakar. I have a new French tutor who I consider to be the Goddess of French Grammar. My French capabilities are going to skyrocket!! There are local elections this weekend. It’s nothing compared to Presidential elections nonetheless one never knows. We appreciate your prayers for a peaceful democratic weekend in Dakar. If you have questions or requests for pics feel free to email at ellenk_miller@yahoo.com

Travels to Tamba...Part 1.

2009-03-20T06:30:00.000-07:00

My host mom has told me that if I sit up straight while I eat, then all the food will go straight to making a more plump—and thus more desirable—derriere. Well, I just flattened my best efforts in a 20 hour trip across Senegal! Last week I rejoined my travel buddies for an unforgettable trip to SE Senegal.
Our trip started at 5am with 7 adults crammed in a 1970s station wagon called a septplace. Upon mention that I was going to Tambacounda, everybody responded: “ooo, the road is awful” Well, I fully agree. About 2.5 hrs out of Dakar, the road turned into a sand pit that sometimes traveled in a straight line. Everything and everyone quickly turned sweaty and covered in dust.
Around 4pm we arrived in Tambacounda, affectionately referred to as “Tamba.” In Tamba we transferred our sweaty, dirty—but excited-- bodies to a 4x4 truck. We then traveled 3.5 more hours into la Parc National du Niokolo Koba, welcoming the fresh air. (photo: Jamie, Jonathan and I finally in fresh air)
We arrived to the campement de leon around 10:30pm and finally got to eat. Throughout the trip we often times arrived at the table where there is no menu and you eat what you are served. Everyone gets the same plate and it’s usually some sort of meat—I stopped asking what it was, which means, I often times had no idea what I was eating. Always an interesting experience! We quickly retired to our double bedded huts and were sung to sleep by hippos!!! Hippos sing!!! Well, kind of groan—nonetheless super cool!
The park is notorious for its wild animals and even though we didn’t see any lions, we had a rooaaring great luck with hippos, crocodiles, warthogs, birds, antelopes, and multiple kinds of monkeys! Our two days in the park consisted of early morning rides through the park spotting animals. Returning to cool off in possibly parasitic waters—it was so hot, that we really couldn’t care (I’m not dead yet, but I will get a blood test when I get home). We then waited out the hottest part of the afternoon and finished the day with another ride see the animals retreat for the evening.
During the first day, we came to a bridge which our driver insisted that it was too dangerous and instable to cross. He persisted for probably five minutes with us females, then quickly turned to Jonathan with the challenge to cross. Astonished at the quick change in opinion, I challenged why it was ok for Jonathan to cross and as expected his response: “It’s just to dangerous for females…” Well, of course, I was the first female to cross, and after all of the females crossed he practically crawled across in fear, only to defend his masculinity. Oh, the hilarity of machismo!
The second morning, four of us climbed in a boat to look for hippos and crocs. Yes, we intentionally searched for extremely dangerous animals in their natural habitats. We didn’t sit too near the edge of the boat. Not only do hippos sing, but they live in family groups, are very territorial, stay under water all day but come up approx every 10 mins for air. They are huge, powerful but beautiful.
We also saw a croc that we were sure was dead because he was so far from the water. After our guide threw some rocks at it, he descended from the truck to poke the croc with a stick (we all stayed, tight in suspense, in the truck). The croc quickly came back to life with a huge snap of the jaw and luckily he ran in the opposite direction of the guide. Our screams probably scarred the croc into never again leaving the water! Lesson to learn if you ever come across a croc: its their strategy to wait out prey. It waits, and waits and waits then in a flash can jump to attack. Incredible first hand experience—that I never want to see again!
We also saw a leopard- but it was encaged because it was abandoned in infancy by poachers then raised by humans. Still nothing to be messed with….

PUMBA!!! Disney made him out to be much better looking than he is in real life. He has a mullet.

Lots of baboons running across the terrain. I had hoped it was a lion that had made them run-- nope.

Our group, immitating animals.

ahhh...shopping...

2009-03-02T04:51:00.000-08:00

After 6 ridiculously full days of class, projects and meetings, Sunday was a much needed day of fun in the sun. Lucie, Jamie and I started our day of relaxation and exploration with a decadent pastry from the European bakery. Deeelicious! After strolling the length of the beach taking random pictures of goats and perogues (long boats) we crossed to Island Ngor. Ngor is a very affluent part of Dakar where there is a large concentration of Europeans, Americans and resort vacationers.
Not really knowing what to expect of the island we just wandered. The sun was strong but not overwhelming. The ocean waves were rolling and once past all the tourists, the island was beautiful. (We’re not really tourists, by the way, because we ‘live’ here—it’s a pride thing for exchange students). So, enjoying a day on a rather tropical island—there are palm trees and even a monkey-- without commitments and responsibilities what do three women do? …Go shopping!!

Shopping in foreign countries can be overwhelming and in Dakar it can be a war zone! Normally you arrive to the markets and a merchant opens your taxi door already insisting you visit his/her shop. A lot of times you don’t even have to leave the taxi because anytime you stop someone is at your window telling you that you need their product. In Dakar, men sell phone cards at every corner. People escort you down the market ways showing you their portable wares: sunglasses, socks, wood carvings, bras, you name it. Simultaneously, shop keepers, or perhaps a better description is hut-keepers, sing/chant/whistle at you calling you madam, mignon (cutie), lovely lady and also try to convince you that their product is the best even though all their neighbors are selling the exact same thing. At the same, guard your purse like it’s your passport! On top of it all, everything is negotiable. Rule of thumb is that the real price is a quarter of the asked price. By the time you get through the whole Wolof greeting and the bargaining every item takes at least a 5 minutes.

Today however was different. While overlooking an ocean cliff we were approached by a local artisan with a typical basket of wares on her head. Normally, we would walk away quickly and slightly annoyed. She was jolly, friendly and surprisingly, not overly assertive. She started a conversation and we were soon digging through her basket of goodies with shrills of oohs and aahs. We sat, talked awhile and came away with beaded necklaces, bracelets and earrings. Nothing like a little retail therapy to add extra spring to our step!
On our way back to the boat Jamie spotted a small sign for a local gallery. Again not knowing what to expect, we wandered in. Unlike a normal market we were greeted by no one but a little monkey! We continued to wander through the normal paintings of all colors and sizes, carvings, drums and finally purses/bags! The owner eventually arrived to assist with our choices. Lucie and I picked up a local cloth bag, Jamie got a little traditional painting and then we all got invited to tea by the shop keeper. Porquoi pas? (why not?)
We chatted with Lu for a while about Senegal and life in general. He even invited us to come back for a weekend b-b-q!
(pic of Lu and Lucie in the gallery)
Walking away from it all we somehow always feel the need to justify our purchases. As previously stated, all prices are negotiable. We know that they are trying to rip us off because we are white. My bargaining and language capabilities are now getting to where I can get down to the real prices. However, if I was to buy a necklace in the States, it could easily cost $10USD. Should I insist on playing the rigid game to pay only $1.50 when I know this is the lady’s only income and she has five kids to feed? Rich is relative. What is our responsibility to just prices?
Also, there are so many beautiful things to be desired. Alligator purses, exotic wooden drums, and delicately crafted bracelets; however I don’t know anything about animal rights laws in Senegal, I know a lot of specialty wood is endangered, almost extinct and I just can’t wear ivory, knowing its also endangered. On the other hand, the guy is just trying to make a living, he only has access to certain resources and is trying to compete in the local market. What is our responsibility to sustainable products?
So we do pay a bit more than the locals and I have sorely denied myself beautiful local artisan jewelry. Decisions. All considered, we are ecstatic about our purchases and the fact that we could buy in a calm and personal market. It was a refreshing day in the sun and fresh air! I'm now revived and ready to take on another week...

Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will...

2009-02-28T17:44:00.000-08:00

This week in Senegal a journalist was sentenced to three years in prison for saying something about the national government laundering money. My tutor says this isn’t the first nor will it be the last time that a journalist is convicted and imprisoned in Senegal. After a brief conversation, in French, about freedom of speech and institutional corruption, he confirmed that with the justice system in its pocket, presidential powers dictatorially convict and imprison journalists for ‘bad mouthing’ the government. This has greatly disturbed me.
I go home for lunch to find another view point. My host Mom and Dad adamantly affirm that freedom of speech and democratic institutional transparency is alive and well in Dakar. Furthermore, the system was correct in its conviction because the journalist was given the opportunity to prove his statements and he didn’t- therefore he is guilty. Being the usual devil’s advocate, I respectfully challenged them to define ‘truth’ and ‘proof’ and question if perhaps the courts could have alterative motives (opportunities to practice being passive arise daily thanks to Wolof culture!). With vigor they insisted—“not in Senegal. Journalists must tell the truth because we can’t just have people going around writing whatever they want. Again, he was given an opportunity to prove himself and he failed.” Excited to understand more Senegalese culture, I politely proceed, “In the U.S. there are many different news sources, similar to here in Dakar. With the rights afforded by our Constitution people can write anything and it is up to the people to decide what to believe…” They found that a waste of time.

This evening I went with my Maltese-Jamaican-Chinese, net-working, crazy-energetic friend who has great dread locks to meet with some local film makers: a Senegalese documentarian and his French producer friend. They create films, my friend creates markets. Long story short, they thus far have two beautiful and high quality documentaries about environmental issues in Senegal. Well, that’s how they pitched it to us. As I was translating for my buddy I realized that while these documentaries definitely address environmental concerns in Senegal, there was a strong political undercurrent. We asked, “where have these films thus been shown?” They replied, “At one film festival in Paris…its too dangerous to show them here.” The conversation unfolds to examplify fear of oppression of speech/press/art.
The issues are real: streets washing out and homes constantly flooding during rainy seasons which translate to tragically decreased productivity not to mention immense nesting grounds for malaria invested mosquitoes; no regular garbage collection which translates to heaps of rubbish everywhere that street children rummage through only to find nasty disease, etc. Really, these problems could be easily mitigated by government attention. But, if a government refuses to let the issue be acknowledged then there is no problem.

I’ve heard and read about people being denied of freedom of speech and press. Nonetheless, it’s really struck a strong and out of tune chord this week. My American bred mind is really struggling with what it means to live in a society that could suppress the power of words.

So, while I can’t currently reconcile the bigger issue, I can do something else. (Frustrations are just opportunities that need actions!) The desire is to give African artists a platform from which to expose their art. I currently have access to copies of both documentaries in French, and we’re working on subtitles in English then Spanish and German (Its currently in Wolof). English should be ready to ship within a couple of weeks (I’ll keep you posted!). If you or anybody you know would be interested in seeing the documentaries and/or hosting a screening please let me know and we’ll get you a copy. They are both about 30 minutes long and display beautiful scenery of Senegal; nothing gory, no nudity, nothing overly depressing, just real issues. It’s a great idea for French clubs, university language depts, community organizations, local rotary meetings or a free evening to learn Wolof! Let me know: ellenk_miller@yahoo.com

Going on Margaret Mead’s words: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” So, while this might not solve the issue--- who knows, one day, it just might!

Beggnaa togg (Wolof: I like to cook)

2009-02-21T12:59:00.000-08:00

1) me learning to dice an onion in the palm of my hand--- dank, dank (Wolof: slowly, slowly). My skirt is a batik I made at a workshop- traditional wrap around skirt. Its mostly worn in the house. because its not considered "well dressed."

2) Memouna getting the plates ready. Big bowl for kids.
Big plate for the parents who eat in separate room.

3) Left to Right: Moussa, Moustafa, Mame moussa’s
knee, neighbor/cousin w/ mouth open

4) Left to Right: girl cousin, uncle, host mom, host dad

5) it must have been good!

I've learned...

2009-02-21T01:17:00.000-08:00

- Friday is the day every one wears their best boubous for the mosque and that all commercial venues are closed the entire afternoon;
- The currency is called Central African CFA franc(for short: say-fa) and is shared between 6 countries in West Africa. Nobody ever really knows the current exchange rate but it balances around 500 cfa/ $1 USD;
- A banana is around 100cfa, 50cfa for a sm. cup of oddly spiced coffee, 25cfa for the perfect size bag of sugared peanuts. I always have a 25cent piece in my pocket!
- Mamadou is the name of the man who sells me a banana everyday on my way to school. We always share a thumbs-up as I walk home from class;
- The post office, the only place you can buy stamps, runs out of them;
- How to eat/pick-apart an entire fish with just a spoon;
- Taxis honk at me because I’m white, therefore I must not want to walk. Or perhaps they think I can not see them despite the fact there are always at least 5 that pass you at the same time and they are bright yellow;
- A taxi is a taxi even though: its missing the entire inside door panel, any door handle, there’s a whole in the floor (one lady shoes fell through the whole and at the end of the ride she had to walk barefoot to her destination!) the turning column is broken thus all turns are three point turns and you have some sort of animal tail attached to the exhaust pipe;
- If time schedules exist they are rarely heeded;
- Deggnaa Wolof (I understand a little bit of Wolof);
- Everyone must listen to the mosque prayers projected over loud speaker 5 times everyday, despite the mixture of religions;
- Senegal has one of the lowest HIV/AIDs rates in sub-Saharan Africa; nonetheless there is a lot to be done;
- It takes approximately 5 days for a card to arrive to Dakar from the US. I strongly encourage all to try! Ellen Miller
Villa 509, Sicap Baobab
Dakar Fann
Dakar, Senegal BP 5270
- If you give one exchange student a hug, you’ll find that everybody wants one;
- Everybody needs hugs and if you give one, you also get one! Please hug someone today;
- Tubaab means ‘white person’ in Wolof. I hear it a lot of the streets., especially from li'l kids;
- A couple of jumping jacks and push-ups prior to a cold shower makes it much more “refreshing”! Ei!
- Senegalese music is very similar to Brazilian music but danced like Mexican music. My body is confused;
- There is a lot of need in the world and it is difficult to know where to start;
- All prices are negotiable;
- You get a much better price if you start every conversation in Wolof by offering peace (saying hi), asking how s/he is, asking how is the family and then thanking god that all is good-- even if its not really, you don't say so. You should start every conversation with this progression or could be considered rude. It’s tough stuff for a direct person;
- Religion in Senegal: 94% Muslim, 4% Christian, 2% other religion, 100% animist;
- Due to animistic beliefs of demi-gods constantly floating around, you should not comment on how cute/adorable is a baby. The gods could latch on to the baby’s soul and then you are cursed with bad luck and most likely harshly ostracized from the community. In a culture based around family, this is severe. Try looking at a baby and new mother and not issuing compliments!
- How to control emotions when a man looks me in the face and tells me that women are less logical than men but not have the desired grammar or vocabulary to respond… Then to kick his butt on the volley ball court!
- There are various kinds of anti-malarials (meds to prevent malaria). Lariam (generic Mefloquin), Doxycycline, Malorin and several more. All have different side effects. Mefloquin robs me of sleep from 3-5am every Wednesday night and bizarre dreams frequently invade. If you must take them be sure to do your homework first, you’d be surprise that a lot of US medical clinics don’t know their malaria facts;
- Ocean waves crashing against the rocks have interrupted every single one of my runs on the beach. I love it;
- Rotary members are similar around the world;
- Everything in Senegal is pas grave (French: not a big deal)
- daily cuts in electricity— pas grave
- no change in any store or at any street stand so that some times you can't buy something or must you forfeit your change— pas grave
- Amuma jekker ak doom (I don’t have a husband or kids in Wolof) Though it usually comesout something like, “Yes, I’m married. He’s works with the Peace Corps in Dakar. He is very strong and jealous.”
- If you can’t communicate, a smile and high five says a lot.
- Even in Africa, there are still only 24 hours in a day and I only have one heart and two hands.
- I have a lot to learn…

"...a journey without challenge has no meaning; one without purpose has no soul..."

2009-02-12T08:18:00.000-08:00

As stated in my first entry, Rotary has challenged me to do something. Here's what I've been able to accomplish my first month...
With the help of Cody Fischer, Rotary Scholar from MN, we connected my club, Dakar Soleil with a club a couple of clubs from Minnesota, USA. Through Rotary Matching Grants a project has been funded to distribute mosquito nets to a local village to prevent malaria. This year the project was independently funded and was able to distribute over 500 mosquito nets. The mayor of one village said this was the first year in 20 years that there were no deaths from malaria! Just think what we can do next year!

Here I was able to translate to seal the deal for the mosquito net project between the President of my club, Jose and Ann, Rotarian from MN. Being that it was only my second week of speaking French I was very glad that my club president also speaks Portuguse. It was a tri-lingual conversation but it got the job done!

There are currently 4 Rotary Scholars in Dakar. Cody, Me, Jamie (Canada) and Lucie (New Zealand, not pictured).

One of the questions during my interview for the grant was: "What are three of the biggest problems facing US society and what would you do to fix it?" First on my list was education standards and reform. I didn't realize at the time, that I would focus much of my Rotary scholarship on education issues. Cody and I have started an English Club at a local elementary school. We give two, one-hour classes on Monday and two, one-hour classes on Friday afternoons. As I learned from my teaching experience in Brazil, I have a lot to learn myself about how to teach in another language. Commands, games, songs, activities-- all in French! It's really made my French/English dictionary a close friend! This week we taught "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes!" Its gonna be great fun! (Pics will come as soon!)

Last night my club (I must say the best club in Dakar!!) hosted a dinner for the District Governor. Unlike districts in the States, my district here covers 14 countries! On the right is my club President, and next to him is the Govenor from Togo. It was a great night and I was able to make some great connections and was even invited to sit at the head table with the Governor!!

Our district conference is in April and the four of us look forward to traveling to Lome, Togo.

For more information on Rotary: www.rotaryinternational.org

pourquoi pas? (why not?)

2009-02-12T06:18:00.000-08:00

I’ve had blisters on every toe and what I now believe to be permanent blisters on the balls of my feet and heels. My toe-nail polish is peeling. I am a pedicurist’s worst nightmare.
I’ve worn only 4 pairs of sandals during the past month- I usually can wear that many in one day in the US. Life has started.

I am woman. He is man. Therefore we must marry. NOT! In Brazil, almost every time you dance with a different guy, you might be asked if you want to kiss him. It can be annoying. It can be fun. In Senegal, you get asked if you want to get married. At this point, it is simply annoying. They are so persistent. I don’t need another French tutor. I don’t need another Wolof tutor. I don’t need a Creole tutor. I don’t need to be married. I don’t need to have a boyfriend. I don’t need someone to take care of my every need. I don’t want to be another wife. I am capable and independent, thank you!

Last weekend, Moussa (host brother) asked if I wanted to go to this club with him and his friends. I had just finished a week of receiving annoying texts from a guy self made excuse was that I didn’t want to date him because I’m afraid of falling in love with him. Fine, whatever, you want to believe! So, when Mousa’s friends never showed I was a bit skeptical. Even though Moussa has been rather stand offish, almost ignores me, I was just not willing to trust. He asks me to dance. Ok. Simple enough. We dance, he meets my friends, I even buy him a beer. We leave the club around 4:30am, and he says he hasn’t had such a great night in so long and can’t wait to come back next week. He has endless compliments about my dancing. Then, the end of the night—of course we have to go home together, we’re host brother and sister—he says goodnight with a high five!! No attempts at kisses or marriage!!!!! I was soo excited, relieved—phew. I went to bed with a big smile! I think I have a friend- just a friend, finally.

It’s amazing what you can clear up when you actually understand a language. Moussa is actually 32, not quite my age. Not married and Mousatafa and Mamoussa are not his kids. They are his nephews. Moussa is the nephew of Mariam, my host mom, grandmother of Moustafa and Mamoussa. Their mom, dad and lil’ sister are in Italy.

It’s common for foreigners to receive Senegalese names. My new Senegalese name is Memouna Ndaye.

Last Sunday I helped prepare the lunch of Yassa (Chicken with citron/onion sauce and white rice). Moussa and I had arrived home around 5am and I woke up around 9:30 to start cooking the lunch for 1:30-2pm.I watched the domestique cut off the legs because I couldn’t do it. I learned to dice an onion in the cup of my hand. Of course, it’s dangerous and I would have been twice as fast if I did it on some sort of makeshift cutting board, but then it wouldn’t be Senegalese style. Plus, if I get tocook w/ another host family, I want to show them that I can do it. And it makes for less dishes! :)
By the time I served it and got back to the plate, there was barely any left! So I worked all morning while everybody slept and relaxed, then I barely got any. C’est le vie. I guess I can take it as a compliment that it was all gone, or perhaps they were just being polite…

Last week I started tutoring a little boy in a local neighborhood. When I arrived in their humble home, it was immediately like family. It was beautiful. There were 4-6 women cooking HUGE amounts of food. Tons of color. I really believe some of the most memorable moments of life occur while cooking w/ groups of women. The colors of the boubous (traditional clothes) and all the food, w/ the chips of paint on the walls and the flowers that somehow appear in cement was beautiful. The intimacy and spontaneity- it was a moment that only happens in a travel abroad. I’m really excited to become part of the family.

One month has come and gone. It is a lot of energy to start a new life, in a new language let alone two new languages, relatively by myself. I must be patient. I must be flexible. I must be realistic. This is life, not a vacation. Phil Cousineau’s The Art of Pilgrimage; The Seeker’s Guide to Making Travel Sacred reminds me: “Pilgrimage is the kind of journeying that marks just this move from mindless to mindful, soulless to soulful travel. The difference may be subtle or dramatic; by definition it is life-changing.”
I’m ready.

I would also love to hear what’s going on in life around the world…please comment or email me at ellenk_miller@yahoo.com

Today, I wonder...

2009-02-02T13:57:00.000-08:00

…what it would be like to be the second, or third, or fourth wife?
…what it would be like to be able to love more than one person- equally, at the same time?
…how can some males truly still believe that females are less valuable/productive/intelligent/etc than men?
…how some women believe that they are less than men?
…why are people different colors/shades?
…what the world would be like if everybody was exactly the same color?
…how languages originated?
…how did people determine what sounds mean what?
…what are the cultural/sociological risks to a society in which the mother tongue is not written but only orally transmitted?
…what are the benefits?
…how long it will be before they slaughter the goat on the corner?
…what is the best way to execute philanthropic work?
… what really pays in the end, financial efficiency or relationships?
…who/what is “poor?”
…why platonic relationships are so difficult, if not impossible, to create and sustain?
…if learning two distinct languages, simultaneously, could physically swell the right side of my head?
…if my brain will explode from thinking too much?

2009-01-30T00:57:00.000-08:00

Our group walking to our huts for the weekend.

Our 'room.'

Jamie and I in the mangrove. The tides are low in winter thus the dry land.

Typical Senegalese dish. Rice, fish (Baracuda) and cooked veggies.

Our weekend destination.

Adventures in Toubakouta

2009-01-30T00:45:00.000-08:00

Last weekend I traveled to Toubakouta in the Sine-Saloom Delta of Senegal w/ a group of 13. Toubakouta is a city, but also a region of ecological reserve with mangroves and supposedly some of the best bird watching in the world! I was the only American w/ 6 Canadian, 2 English, 4 Swedish and 1 Belgian. We left around 5:30 Saturday morning all piling into a septplace (Bush taxi). It was my first time out of Dakar—more importantly, my first time IN Africa.

The sunrise was incredible. The African sun is magnificent!! It really looks like a huge ball of fire—like in the movies. The baobab trees are amazing. Their gargantuan trunks support a random spray of branches covered in spindly twigs. The twigs mimic the twisted, warted hands of the Wicked Witch. Nonetheless, they are beautiful—majestic. It is the symbol of Senegal and they tell a great story—one I’m just beginning to comprehend.

(photo: mangrove delta during the winter)
We traveled for about 5 hours and finally arrived at the Keru Bamboung. We then climbed into a pirogue (long boat) and traveled through an inlet of the ocean for about 30 minutes. Mangroves surrounded us. It was rather chilly (about 60degrees), especially with the breeze. Then we arrived on some shore of fine sand and were met by 3-4 men who helped us out the boat and were to be our guides for the weekend.
(photo: our taxi!! At least for our bags, we walked)
We then walked for about 20 minutes through the sand—I believe we crossed a peninsula of some sort. Finally we reached the ‘encampment’ for lack of a better word. It wasn’t quite a resort but it wasn’t camping. I got to share a bed with Jamie (Canadian Rotary Scholar) and it was to be my first time with a mosquito net around me. Touba supposedly has a lot of mosquitoes, all year round though we didn’t really see many. There must have been some, because I just got word that Jonathon, our Swedish travel buddy, was just diagnosed with Malaria….oops! (It’s actually quite common here and not as big of a deal as we make it in the States—about half of the current students have had it and have managed just fine.)

We were told that lunch would be at 2pm, but then sat there until 4pm waiting for food! Of course, people were crabby. We hadn’t eaten all day and our journey started at 5am! My American impatience was definitely coming out despite my best efforts. I had already mentally budgeted my lunch time for eating and napping. Well, now my nap was gone! Time schedules, ha! It was also interesting that I kind of expected them to come out with free drinks or something in compensation for making us wait 2 extra hours at the table. Nope, that expectation must just be the American in me.
(photo: tree with vulture during one of our walks)

After lunch we went for a walk through the mangroves. Babakar, a man who looks like a chiseled, decadent statue of 85% cacao chocolate, led 7 of us females through murky, muddy waters up to our mid-thighs with only the oyster encrusted roots of mangrove roots to grab onto. I couldn’t help but giggle with disbelief as the mud stuff squished between my toes, “of course I’m wading through mangroves in Africa—what else would I be doing?” An unforgettable “sensation.”
Yes, I was concerned about what could be in the water. Babakar insured us that there was nothing in it such as large animals or snakes. Also because it was salt water Jamie and I were pretty sure that no parasites could get us—and I found comfort in the fact that a local was in the water too. If there was a problem with the water 1) it wouldn’t be a tourist place and 2) a native wouldn’t be walking through it. We made it through ok---at least as far as I can tell thus far!

(photo: our bathroom. the shower is the head hanging down with trickling water pressure. the toilet flushes with the help of a cup of water from the bucket next to the toilet. the long 'pipe' is the wash system that made toilet paper not 'necessary.' all water comes from the reserve above.)

After dinner Babakar was taking people out to look for hyenas. (yes, purposefully looking for animals that could eat us-- in the dark…) While the idea was awesome, I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle the dark. The dark was more intense than the back of your eyelids in a dark cellar. No light pollution, no lamp posts. COMPLETE darkness such as I’ve never experienced before. I decided that Lion King had enough hyenas for me.

The next morning I went with a small group on a 1 hour nature walk that took 3.5hours. We were very diligent in our search for warthogs- Pumba!- but no luck. Maybe next time! I did thoroughly enjoy the choirs of 100 of birds laced in the Baobab trees.

On the journey back, I realized that things are becoming “normalicized.” On the way to Toubakouta we rode in relative silence, in awe of the true existence of the cluster of grass roof huts. They are not just images on TV. Now we ride home to the chatter of “Would You Rather” like the baobab trees are an every day occurrence. The sunset snapped us back into silence only broken by the click of camera shutters. The huge orange ball quietly blazes across the unrestrained horizon of pinks and purples. Senegal…
(photo: sunset w/ Baobab tree)

Monday morning I woke up thinking in French!!! It was just coming out! I was sooo excited. Of course, I don’t have all the words and my grammar is still rather confusing to follow but I can make sentences and it comes naturally. I’m very grateful it happened so quickly—now I can make friends!

This week I also attended my first Rotary meeting. I think I’m the lucky one of the current scholars because my club seems super active and fun. I really look forward to working with them.
Now, week four...

2009-01-21T11:30:00.000-08:00

Dakar local game at the National Stadium.

View from the roof of my house unto the soccer field next door.

Juxtaposition of worlds. A man washes goats hides as another man kite-surfs just behind him.

The door to the living room, from the open air center of the house taken from my bedroom door.

My room, closet and 'princess' canopy that doubles as a mosquito net.

week one, plus a couple...

2009-01-18T14:59:00.000-08:00

A couple of interesting things to share:

Friday evening we went to a local soccer game. For those who have never been to a soccer game abroad—you should, but with caution! This was the local championship game; between neighborhoods. It was held at the national soccer stadium—which was about half full. Of course, we (6 of us) were the only white people in the entire stadium. Eventually the white jersey team scored. Crowd goes wild! People screaming in French, Wolof or just screaming and dance awesome African dance moves! Half time, there’s a small band. Second half starts and the ‘other’ team scores a couple of minutes in. All of a sudden the field is filled with smoke bombs and all we can see of the other side are small fires popping up in the cement stands. Some smoke clears and we realize that the other side has split like Moses should be standing on the score board. The police AND present military personnel go running with full size shields and long rubber clubs to meet the divided people before they get to ‘our’ side of the stadium. “Our” side of the stadium just watches in disbelief and start to strategize a possible evacuation plan. After a 15-20 minute delay, with the teams jogging and doing warm up on the side lines—the ruckus is squelched.
I was in a similar- though slightly more treacherous- situation in Argentina in 2001. Thus I was fairly surprised that the only time our side of the stadium really reacted was when one of the police rough-handedly removed a rowdy crowd member. After the fact, I realized that it was pretty cool that the crowd wouldn’t let the police over step their boundaries either.

Then Friday night I was coming home from a friends and I got lost in the taxi. I might normally ask myself: how could this happen and how could it really be my fault? Well, there are no real fixed addresses. Similarly, it’s also quite Senegalese to tell you that they know something and to really pretend they do, but in reality have no idea. Thus, being in a sprawled city of approximately 2 million inhabitants, where I’m sure no urban planner has ever visited or been invited and after being here for 1 week I was expected to find my way home, in the dark, w/ no address and do it all in French or Wolof… HA! Riiight!
It took twice as long than expected and I ended up paying more than anticipated but I made it! For those of you wondering why he wouldn’t just drive off and possibly hold this American for ransom, I don’t think that was really an option for him. The way and amount of times he questioned if it was really my neighborhood and if I was really ok makes me think he really wanted to make sure I got home safely. Of course once I got out he was probably thinking that all Americans are this naïve and/or ridiculous….oops. I plan on getting a map this week and maybe even a tour!

THEN, late that night I did have my first ever run in with Montezuma’s revenge. Yes, it followed me across the ocean! For those of you who don’t know about the revenge, lets just say “severe traveler’s gastro-intestinal issues.” I’m glad to say it didn’t stay too long and today I actually woke up slightly hungry! One important lesson reinforced during this experience: don’t put off until tomorrow what can be done today. If you only have 4 sheets of toilet paper, don’t wait until the next day to get more because you never when you might really need it. I guess it’s all part of the experience…

The rest of the week was rather uneventful. I’m rocking out past tense in French! Next weekend, I might take to a boat ride to the Gambia (find it on a map and tell a friend!!) with a young British girl, Swedish guy and 62 year old nun. In the meantime, more walking through sandy dust clouds to school, eating unrecognizable meats, French, and hello Obama!!

In less than 100 hrs...

2009-01-11T15:13:00.000-08:00

…so much can happen.

The 24 hours of travel went by faster than expected. On flight 2 of 3, I sat next to a very nice gentleman on his way to Dakar. He is a senior project manager with a major development organization; in particular water and environmental development. Jackpot! He has been all over Africa and has numerous contacts on the continent and in Dakar! Being that I’m very open to staying anywhere on the continent after my 6months in Dakar and have always been looking into development I knew he was surely God sent!

All my flight connections went smoothly and the international flight was actually almost too short to get any sleep. I arrived in Dakar around 6:15am (12:15am Chicago time). My luggage thankfully arrived w/ me! It was completely dark and the moment I stepped off the plane I was assailed with the smell of warm air! A smile took over my face and heart! I had arrived!

I was warned that the Dakar airport can be overwhelming with swarms of taxi drivers offering to carry your luggage and whisk you away. I think my time on the US/Mexican border grew me immune to pestering men who “want to help”—I easily ignored them. I waited but 2-3 minutes then I saw a guy a good distance away who was holding a sign w/ my name on it. Well, this guy who picked me up (I still don’t know his name) was everything I imagined a gorgeous Senegalese man to look like!! Besides the warm air, my first thoughts were: “If they’re all this gorgeous—God help me! And Allah help me!” :)

He doesn’t speak much English and my French is still pitifully weak. But he, of course, asked me if I was excited about Obama. We then started to ‘discuss’ music. Much to my happy surprise, he explained that salsa is big in Dakar! Who knew! I rode the rest of the way with a huge smile. I didn’t have the French vocab (or even the English) to explain what utopic feelings consumed my body at that time. Again: I amin Africa, it is warm, there is salsa music, I’m starting life anew-- and it all started w/ a gorgeous Senegalese man at my side! :)

He brought me to my host family who definitely weren’t expecting me that early. But they made up my bed and showed me to my room. My room is cement walls w/ a single bed that ends in the closet of two shelves and a hanging rack w/ no hangers. A large “princess canopy” covers my bed but I was told I wouldn’t need it now. There aren’t so many mosquitoes in the winter. (75 degree winter!).There is a cement desk under the window covered in a drape that resembles a long pillow case that matches the sheets on my bed. The door to right of the window also has a matching long drape. Though I still haven’t figured out why because the door is right behind it! A shelf is secured to the wall next to my desk. My forehead meets the bottom of the shelf,(men are very tall here) so all the tip-toe reaching will be great for my calves! As I laid to down to rest only another smile could show how much I enjoy the simplicity!

Thursday, day of arrival, was a Islamic holiday so nobody worked and nobody really talked to me for most of the day. They left me to “rest in my room”. Finally, Mousa (my host brother) came home and invited me to his room, with his friend, to hang out and listen to music. Mousa is around my age (I think), married, super skinny, a journalist, and a non-threatening guy. He also speaks English but agreed to only speak French, unless necessary.

Mousa and his two boys (9 and 12) and I had lunch and dinner with the domestique (live-in maid). Meals are communal. Everybody sits around one large plate of rice or couscous with some sort of meat or fish. They use spoons, I think because of me, but traditionally eat with their right hand. (The left is reserved for bathroom purposes).

Another major difference I will have to adjust to are the Turkish style toilets: aka a whole in the ground that you squat over! It’s an adjustment and I think I will forever wear skirts…

Friday I started language class. My prof is Rudy Gomis from the Southern part of Senegal. He plays in the Orchestra Baobab who are super famous and super good. He’s played on Letterman, nominated for a Grammy and has played at the HotHouse (my fav lounge in Chicago) at least 10 times! He also speaks Creole Portugese! Parts of Senegal and Cape Verd off the coast of Senegal speak Creole Portuguese. Thus I’m hoping my Portuguese will be of some use so that I’m not completely in the dark with languages.

At school I met the other Rotary student, Cody, who arrived in mid-November and various college students who are on study abroad. I never thought that I would say this, but I was glad to be able to speak English and ask some general questions about getting life started.

I made it to the beach both Saturday and Sunday. It’s about a 15 minute or $4USD taxi ride! Though most Senegalese are wearing sweaters, hoodies and scarves, we Americans headed to the beach! I got sun burnt! Sunday I also explored the downtown of Dakar on my own.

As my i-pod filtered in a shuffle of Brasilian samba, American country and Mexican banda the streets around me were a bustle of French, Wolof and I’m sure many other languages. People sell peanuts, shoes, fruit, peanuts, bags and more peanuts on the dusty sides of the street. (Peanuts are a major export) There is no grass and a lot of garbage. A lot of women are in traditional African mumus-- here they are called boubous. Some of the younger lady boubous remind me of Spanish flamenco dresses with the way they accentuate the hips and rear. It could be overwhelming. I’m sure if this would have been my first experience abroad and I knew absolutely no romance languages I would be incredibly overwhelmed and wondering what I had gotten myself into. Now, I just laugh at the thought that in a couple of months—perhaps weeks—this will all be normal to me.

So, now I have to get ready for another day of cramming French, some Wolof, not stepping on goat poop in the street, Turkish style toilets and whatever is thrown my way. I am safe. I am happy and once again learning my strengths and weaknesses. I thank you for your thoughts and prayers.

1 day prior to departure.

2009-01-06T07:06:00.000-08:00

I've quit a job I absolutely loved, in an economic recession.

I sold my car, in the middle of winter.

I've given away or donated over half of my personal belongings, even shoes.

I moved from a great apartment in the middle of a great city, back to my parent's home in a white, affluent, suburb!

I'm 25 and moving to... anywhere in the world, first stop Dakar, Senegal!

Tomorrow I leave for the north-west coast of Africa. I've always known that someday I must go to Africa. I've always known that someday I will throw myself into the world. Tomorrow is that day! :)

Through the Cultural Ambassadorial Scholarship of Rotary International, for the next 6 months I will be:

-living with a host family in Dakar;

-studying French and Wolof (a native language of Senegal);

-finding a volunteership or job in development and/or policy;

-falling in love with Senegalese culture and people;

-dancing on the beach!

At an orientation conference last winter a Rotarian clearly laid out the expectations of this opportunity. He stated that the quantity of money granted could build 5 wells in Haiti, thus save hundreds if not thousands of lives, but instead it is given to me. I must now prove that I am worth- at least- 5 wells.

Come along with me on this journey. Study French, or any other language, with me. Find Senegal on a map and tell a friend. Step out of your comfort zone. Here we go...

At least five wells...

2.5 yrs...

Moments of disbelief and celebration.

Day of Deliverance!

the night of significant disappointment or perhaps too high of expectations

Side-line struggles with blue eyes

Many questions…

Religion in Revolution

Protecting Egypt…

The first few days....

The first few days....

Egypt

humanity

whole lot of chicken going on....

happy working in Cairo!

round two....

First week back.

Arrival: Round Two

French

summer

Grad school realization

choosing of the neediest.

my quest to organize 2010!

Happy Birthday BLOG!

Christmas in Egypt

SantaLies came to town!

Cultural interpretations

Health Update

Thanksgiving!

remaking RLAP

more readin'

Dr visit in Cairo....

eieiei, life

weather

mornin'

Meet Ahmed.

urgh...

FIFA in Egypt

Work experience

back to school, finally

Jim and Amanda...not together, of course.

who's asking questions now...

reflections on lecture 1

wines about swine...

my new place...

The Palace...aka New Campus

Pics of Cairo...

Sleep.

What am I really doing in Cairo?

Me and Ramadan in Egypt

Adjusted

How to find an apt in Cairo.

The Metro

Orientation and Friends!

Moving to Egypt

When world's collide...

HIV and me.

Reflection...

Randomness...

What it means to be sick in Senegal...

Another Saturday morning...

Lovin' languages...

Family: Goree and Guacamole

Photo snaps of the Casamance...

Its all about who you meet...

Cap Skirring....

Birthday Wishes

The wheel goes round and round...

Go to Togo.

catholic in a Muslim country...

E=mcsquared; toubab = money

a week in St. Louis, Senegal...

Preventing further MALARIA madness

Travel Part 2...Kedougou and Basari Co.

Travels to Tamba...Part 1.

ahhh...shopping...

Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will...

Beggnaa togg (Wolof: I like to cook)

I've learned...

"...a journey without challenge has no meaning; one without purpose has no soul..."