The first time I went to Guinee I found myself in a group of a women, preparing a meal in the outdoor kitchen. We were across the dirt road from the main house, sitting outside a half- built, cement construction. French was still mostly a foreign language and the women's Soussou pure magic.
Someone handed me a woven sieve filled with rice. She picked out a stone and ceremoniously tossed it on the ground. The meaning was clear. They left me alone with my job and busied themselves with the numerous other components of preparing dinner for the troupe.
I sat there, basking in their small talk, suspecting the mundane but reveling in a sense of secrets and knowledge being passed around. I shook the rice back and forth and every so often gave it an experimental toss. I did't see anything that looked out of place.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I did it with all of my being. I smiled and occasionally threw out a grain, committed to cleaning rice. Or at least appearing to.
It's a moment that's been coming back to me recently. That feeling of wanting to be useful, wanting to fit in and belong, of having a pass of sorts based on my outer appearance (men weren't cleaning rice, nor were they expected or invited to) but despite best intentions, I am overcome with feeling slightly lost, unsure of my direction or my purpose. What I know is that with all of my being, I am cleaning rice.
25.12.16
18.12.16
Election music
Contrary to the drama of the US elections, on this side of the pond elections are much more subdued (well, the leading up to anyway. The aftermaths have their own drama.) I did read a comment or two about the excessive length of the American elections, which I might agree with, though I definitely believe there is a 'too short' period as well. (Surely there's a scientific study out there designed to determine the ideal length of a campaign season.)
Here, it seems to begin with the music. I noticed it about a week or so ago. Large trucks with open backs and blaring speakers ride through the streets. Dancers with candidate tee-shirts wave and undulate as they pass by. A political parade minus the politician. The candidate's poster is plastered to the front and back grill and wherever else there is space. It is an effective method for getting attention. I'm not sure what else it gets. Or who picks the music. It doesn't seem to have a message but rather is whatever is hip and hot at the moment.
Then the posters begin to show up. There are small black and whites, reminiscent of a mug shot, others are bold and colorful. Some are pasted onto large plywood triangles set up for just this purpose, a ready made billboard- larger than life and showing smiling, well dressed politicians eager for your vote. There is often a tag line but not much more. I wonder where these people have come from.
I don't watch tv and so maybe there are debates or public service ads designed to reveal a bit more about the candidate than their stylish wardrobe. The newspaper stands appear slightly more congested lately, and so maybe something can be learned from there.
But it feels so sudden and so incomplete. I want to know who you are and what you stand for. I want to know about your hidden talents and whether or not you can dance. What's your history in politics and what property do you hold? What are your business connections and who is your spouse?
Maybe none of that is really important ....maybe the majority of citizens already know...? Election in fast forward is how it feels, so completely opposite of the long, drawn out theater that American elections have become. Surely there's a middle ground?
In the meantime, impromptu parades and the latest in election music will have to do.
Here, it seems to begin with the music. I noticed it about a week or so ago. Large trucks with open backs and blaring speakers ride through the streets. Dancers with candidate tee-shirts wave and undulate as they pass by. A political parade minus the politician. The candidate's poster is plastered to the front and back grill and wherever else there is space. It is an effective method for getting attention. I'm not sure what else it gets. Or who picks the music. It doesn't seem to have a message but rather is whatever is hip and hot at the moment.
Then the posters begin to show up. There are small black and whites, reminiscent of a mug shot, others are bold and colorful. Some are pasted onto large plywood triangles set up for just this purpose, a ready made billboard- larger than life and showing smiling, well dressed politicians eager for your vote. There is often a tag line but not much more. I wonder where these people have come from.
I don't watch tv and so maybe there are debates or public service ads designed to reveal a bit more about the candidate than their stylish wardrobe. The newspaper stands appear slightly more congested lately, and so maybe something can be learned from there.
But it feels so sudden and so incomplete. I want to know who you are and what you stand for. I want to know about your hidden talents and whether or not you can dance. What's your history in politics and what property do you hold? What are your business connections and who is your spouse?
Maybe none of that is really important ....maybe the majority of citizens already know...? Election in fast forward is how it feels, so completely opposite of the long, drawn out theater that American elections have become. Surely there's a middle ground?
In the meantime, impromptu parades and the latest in election music will have to do.
The next post...or ...All the little I can do
It's that season. Despite nearly 10 years in Africa, this remains the season where I lose track of time. I guess I am still waiting for the cold of winter to set in. I have to keep reminding myself what time of year it is, and that the new year is approaching. I always have a sense that I will miss it. Being on vacation from school only adds to my timelessness.
Contract season is also about this time for the international teaching world. It has passed seamlessly for once. I've secured a new post for next year in enough time to return my "intent to return" as a negative, comfortable in the knowledge of a new post for next year. We are going to Mali.
Mali has been on my list since I began teaching in Africa so I am extremely excited to be able to accept. Top it off with the fact that I've already worked with the director and can be assured that our educational philosophies are a good match. It feels like so many positives coming together for a prosperous new adventure.
In the meantime, I still have 6 months or so left to get through here in Abidjan. I begin to wonder what I can do, or should do, to expand my experiences here. I don't have a fuzzy warm feeling of the country though I sense it is more to do with the moments in my life than the country itself- perhaps.
I want to take advantage of the remaining time to see more, do more, understand more, but I also sense that if I couldn't make it happen in 2 years of living here, it's not likely to happen in the next 6 months either.
It's also the season for elections.....in Congo. Although the outgoing president never organized any elections. The people have decided to uphold their constitution and so we wait- tomorrow being the deadline- to see how the citizens take hold. It's sure to be intense and my thoughts remain concentrated there, in a country I have grown to love and support, despite my distance.
#telema The government has called for a cut in all social media and phone connections. I am confounded by the public-ness of this. The letters are posted and the news is out. People are preparing to be cut off from the outside world. Activists have been kidnapped and the military is in the streets. More is coming. As much as I believe Kabila will see that the revolution is not virtual, but real, and the media blackout will not change events- I wonder. What if the providers simply refused? Where is that one strong, convicted mind that will simply continue business as usual?
And how will we get notice of what is happening? I am having faith there is a plan for this but I have no inside knowledge this time around. I am far from events, a mere witness. So I rest in prayer, in positive energy, in sending strength and courage for the newest of posts- the interim government that must take place when all else falls apart.
And I do not doubt that many will pay, have already paid and are paying now with the supreme sacrifice. And my heart is there too. All the little I can do from where I am.
Contract season is also about this time for the international teaching world. It has passed seamlessly for once. I've secured a new post for next year in enough time to return my "intent to return" as a negative, comfortable in the knowledge of a new post for next year. We are going to Mali.
Mali has been on my list since I began teaching in Africa so I am extremely excited to be able to accept. Top it off with the fact that I've already worked with the director and can be assured that our educational philosophies are a good match. It feels like so many positives coming together for a prosperous new adventure.
In the meantime, I still have 6 months or so left to get through here in Abidjan. I begin to wonder what I can do, or should do, to expand my experiences here. I don't have a fuzzy warm feeling of the country though I sense it is more to do with the moments in my life than the country itself- perhaps.
I want to take advantage of the remaining time to see more, do more, understand more, but I also sense that if I couldn't make it happen in 2 years of living here, it's not likely to happen in the next 6 months either.
It's also the season for elections.....in Congo. Although the outgoing president never organized any elections. The people have decided to uphold their constitution and so we wait- tomorrow being the deadline- to see how the citizens take hold. It's sure to be intense and my thoughts remain concentrated there, in a country I have grown to love and support, despite my distance.
#telema The government has called for a cut in all social media and phone connections. I am confounded by the public-ness of this. The letters are posted and the news is out. People are preparing to be cut off from the outside world. Activists have been kidnapped and the military is in the streets. More is coming. As much as I believe Kabila will see that the revolution is not virtual, but real, and the media blackout will not change events- I wonder. What if the providers simply refused? Where is that one strong, convicted mind that will simply continue business as usual?
And how will we get notice of what is happening? I am having faith there is a plan for this but I have no inside knowledge this time around. I am far from events, a mere witness. So I rest in prayer, in positive energy, in sending strength and courage for the newest of posts- the interim government that must take place when all else falls apart.
And I do not doubt that many will pay, have already paid and are paying now with the supreme sacrifice. And my heart is there too. All the little I can do from where I am.
15.12.16
The Problem with Giving..or The Echo of Truth
A long time ago, in another place and another time, a friend spoke to me about giving. "They don't even ask," he said. It was a program that was offering food- some kind of breakfast- for people. If you know me, you know I've forgotten the details, the context, the citations. But I remember the big idea. The program was offering bread. And the people, despite being known for eating bread, wanted something healthier. But no one asked and they just assumed bread was the thing- forgetting that people are often faced with hard decisions, decisions made not from choice but from necessity. Given a choice, they didn't want bread.
What I took away from that conversation is that, in the act of giving, to be truly useful, you need to consult the people you are giving to. It sounds like elementary advice. But it is a step often ignored in the vain of....'we know what you need/want.' Or perhaps 'this is what I want you to want.'
Despite my lesson, I find I am facing the truth of the matter once again. In the blah of Abidjan that I am confronted with, and following my nature of wanting to do more than just me, there was the case of Melissa. Remember her? Girl child on her way to education? Because I believe in education. Because I am a teacher. Because everything I read tells me literacy is the path to improving not just one generation, but a future generation.
We've gone through a few tutors for Melissa. The first found us a second who eventually said he couldn't continue. "She doesn't respect me," he said. But I think the real cause was rather, she doesn't have a strong command of the French language. She has no base in reading and too often the questions posed were simply not understood. He took her silence as disrespect, or maybe it was just an excuse to say he couldn't handle the task.
In any case, I sought out a real teacher. Someone who knew what we were up against. Someone who could begin at the beginning. Someone who'd instructed my own child. But Melissa didn't come. She hung out after school playing with friends. I imagine her in the very throes of childhood. Her 12 year old body delighting in the socialization and carefree ways of a much younger child. When she showed up late for the session, for the third time in a row, I asked her what time school ended. She put a finger to her lip and tilted her head.
It was clear she'd either lost track of time in her joy of playing or she'd deliberately passed her study hour with friends. The professor had long since gone home. He'd had requests from other families that wanted his time. Families where kids showed up on time. Took their studies seriously.
"La mama ne pas interesse," he told me as we waited. It's not possible to impress the importance of education on a child whose parent does not reinforce it. I felt a gnawing at my gut. I knew he was right. I can offer, but I cannot force. I can value, but I cannot impose.
In the end, we had no choice but to discontinue. The mom is too focused on having help with household chores. She herself is not literate. She tells me, "If it doesn't 'stick' this year, then she won't continue."
It's not about sticking. I know the girl is sitting through hours of hours of class in a language she barely understands. How can it 'stick?' She's bored, confused and lost in her daydream world. She needs focused study, one on one that addresses her specific needs. I know this. I believe in this.
But mom wants someone to help with the baby, to help with cooking, to help with the washing. She's looking at today and I am looking at tomorrow.
There is a narrow part of me that doubts my intention. Where is she going anyway? Won't knowing more just make her aware of what she can't have? Isn't ignorance bliss and the reality is education doesn't always lead to a job, especially in Africa. A stubborn part of me resists.
In the end, it doesn't matter what I want or think or value. She is not my child. She will learn what is important from her mother. I am a little crushed. I am wracked with guilt. Isn't there more I could do/should have done?
This evening, her mother approaches me with a request. She says she's bought some land and wants an advance to start construction. I don't know what to say.
I'd been planning to let her go in the new year. I'm tired of the halfway job, the house full of kids, the chaos, the lies and the taking advantage. But in her words I hear the echo of truth. She was raised with a farming mother. Farming is what she knows. If I wanted to help, maybe I should have asked. It seems like the brilliant solution I forgot to consider.
Except she wants the advance for sand and cement and building. I am not sure I believe her. She is skilled in the art of knowing what she knows when it's convenient and not knowing when it serves it her best.
I'm not sure how to go forward, wracked with guilt and indecision. I have needs too. A job is a job. My priorities for my child take precedence. My priorities for myself...right? But I get all confused at certain moments. I wish it was more, I wish it was less. It's all the problem with giving. Finding the balance between what you need and what you can offer.
What I took away from that conversation is that, in the act of giving, to be truly useful, you need to consult the people you are giving to. It sounds like elementary advice. But it is a step often ignored in the vain of....'we know what you need/want.' Or perhaps 'this is what I want you to want.'
Despite my lesson, I find I am facing the truth of the matter once again. In the blah of Abidjan that I am confronted with, and following my nature of wanting to do more than just me, there was the case of Melissa. Remember her? Girl child on her way to education? Because I believe in education. Because I am a teacher. Because everything I read tells me literacy is the path to improving not just one generation, but a future generation.
We've gone through a few tutors for Melissa. The first found us a second who eventually said he couldn't continue. "She doesn't respect me," he said. But I think the real cause was rather, she doesn't have a strong command of the French language. She has no base in reading and too often the questions posed were simply not understood. He took her silence as disrespect, or maybe it was just an excuse to say he couldn't handle the task.
In any case, I sought out a real teacher. Someone who knew what we were up against. Someone who could begin at the beginning. Someone who'd instructed my own child. But Melissa didn't come. She hung out after school playing with friends. I imagine her in the very throes of childhood. Her 12 year old body delighting in the socialization and carefree ways of a much younger child. When she showed up late for the session, for the third time in a row, I asked her what time school ended. She put a finger to her lip and tilted her head.
It was clear she'd either lost track of time in her joy of playing or she'd deliberately passed her study hour with friends. The professor had long since gone home. He'd had requests from other families that wanted his time. Families where kids showed up on time. Took their studies seriously.
"La mama ne pas interesse," he told me as we waited. It's not possible to impress the importance of education on a child whose parent does not reinforce it. I felt a gnawing at my gut. I knew he was right. I can offer, but I cannot force. I can value, but I cannot impose.
In the end, we had no choice but to discontinue. The mom is too focused on having help with household chores. She herself is not literate. She tells me, "If it doesn't 'stick' this year, then she won't continue."
It's not about sticking. I know the girl is sitting through hours of hours of class in a language she barely understands. How can it 'stick?' She's bored, confused and lost in her daydream world. She needs focused study, one on one that addresses her specific needs. I know this. I believe in this.
But mom wants someone to help with the baby, to help with cooking, to help with the washing. She's looking at today and I am looking at tomorrow.
There is a narrow part of me that doubts my intention. Where is she going anyway? Won't knowing more just make her aware of what she can't have? Isn't ignorance bliss and the reality is education doesn't always lead to a job, especially in Africa. A stubborn part of me resists.
In the end, it doesn't matter what I want or think or value. She is not my child. She will learn what is important from her mother. I am a little crushed. I am wracked with guilt. Isn't there more I could do/should have done?
This evening, her mother approaches me with a request. She says she's bought some land and wants an advance to start construction. I don't know what to say.
I'd been planning to let her go in the new year. I'm tired of the halfway job, the house full of kids, the chaos, the lies and the taking advantage. But in her words I hear the echo of truth. She was raised with a farming mother. Farming is what she knows. If I wanted to help, maybe I should have asked. It seems like the brilliant solution I forgot to consider.
Except she wants the advance for sand and cement and building. I am not sure I believe her. She is skilled in the art of knowing what she knows when it's convenient and not knowing when it serves it her best.
I'm not sure how to go forward, wracked with guilt and indecision. I have needs too. A job is a job. My priorities for my child take precedence. My priorities for myself...right? But I get all confused at certain moments. I wish it was more, I wish it was less. It's all the problem with giving. Finding the balance between what you need and what you can offer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)