Promising to swear off traffic stories, I do understand that there are other points of focus- stories worth telling. Somewhere in the blog world, things can get muddy. I suppose it is all about returning to audience and remembering who you are writing for and why. Unless you're a nonblogging blogger like me who is mostly just writing to make sense of muddled thoughts and incoherent experiences.
I think, back in the beginning of this whole experience, I spent a lot more time examining my inner conflicts and confusions publicly- though I admit to trying to keep a very low profile. According to my stat counts, I am still pretty low profile but definitely more aware that anyone can find me here. Students, parents of a student, friends, enemies.....anyone. And it affects what I am willing to put out there. To be fair, I think I understand the blogging field to be one of lighthearted comments on life...or, to describe the academic blogs I keep up with- succinct points of view on pertinent developments in the field (of whatever topic the blog is about.)
Of course there is an overwhelming number of us who began just to keep friends and family updated on our lives from a distance. My friend- mentor, workout encourager and overall hero of fitness blogs here and admits freely to searching for topics to write about. Because after awhile, life is life. Finding ways to make it interesting and unusual can be a daunting task in the face of a Kinshasa afternoon. At one point she states:
"My excuse for the last 2ish weeks has been that life has been full of heart wrenching "stuff", disappointment, broken promises and things that are hard to deal with
sometimes! That is all I will say about that....................."
She goes on to come up with a list of 20 items that could serve to satisfy those interested in her well being. But of course, I got stuck back at the introduction. At the "heart wrenching stuff." Because sometimes that's the stuff we need to hear from people we know to make us feel like we're not alone in our struggles, to make us feel a bit more human and occasionally, to help us find some purpose (yes, I can support you through this. Let me help.)
While I admire her greatly and look forward to taking her classes, we're not actually that close. So I have no idea what the "stuff" is or how she is handling it. I am nowhere near socially adept enough to know how to bring it up or how to move our friendship closer. I am reminded of someone else on campus who came right up and planted herself firmly in front of me, asking a barrage of questions I was completely unprepared for. It turned me into a babbling idiot spouting out much more personal information in those 4 minutes than I have ever shared with her in our 6 years of working together. And, no, I don't especially feel any closer to her or more like a friend. So that's probably not the approach I will emulate.
But it does leave me wondering. About the stories we choose to tell, and the ideas that vulnerability makes you stronger or more likeable. Not that I am especially trying to be either. Sometimes I do regret the stories I have told, or the audience I have told them to, but mostly I am busy trying to keep it all tucked away someplace private where it can't be dissected or judged or too closely examined.
You can't really be a successful writer like that, can you?
23.10.13
Why I can't believe this....
Haven't been to the airport in...ahem....a really long time (unfortunately.) But apparently there is a new guardian of traffic.....this lovely robot- which is a grand excuse for another traffic story. While it's amazing that the robot is outfitted with a surveillance camera....I'm just not sure what it plans to do with the photos. And I have an incredibly hard time believing motorists will accept the guidance of mere metal.
Mostly due to what I witnessed yesterday.....which made me nostalgic (not for the first time) for those 4-way stop sign intersections. You know the ones....you arrive there at the same time as another car, you both start to go, make eye contact and then wave each other on...which then results in a bit of confusion about who should actually go first because you are both just too polite to make the move. Inevitably you both sit for a minute pondering the situation before someone makes the go ahead.
In Kinshasa however, things don't go exactly like that. My "favorite" carrefour- 4-way intersection- has a completely different ambiance. Arriving here, one must make a death-defying dash across the roadway, forcing the vehicle in between oncoming traffic, turning taxis and pedestrians. No one stops to let anyone else pass. Even in the presence of the policewoman trying her hardest to maintain order and direct traffic.
Yesterday as we were passing through, she had her arms out and back facing the other lane. A clear signal for them to stop. We had the "green." But the large taxi buses didn't stop and kept turning into our lane despite her signal and my furious hand gestures and screaming at them. "Ce claire, ce vous qui doit arrete!" They didn't really care, just smiled and shrugged and kept on driving. Until there is an accident. Which was bound to happen. One of the large taxi buses hit another large SUV trying to make the turn. The policewoman was now completely surround by cars on all sides, each at their own angle directly aimed at an oncoming vehicle. A real life pick up stix game with no clear solution on who should- or even can- move first to unravel the whole mess. The two drivers involved in the accident begin shouting at one another, which is a process that must run it's full course, further blocking traffic until they've each exhausted themselves.
Most incredulously, after the heated screaming match, they both drove away, one with a patch of scratches and white paint on his front bumper. No insurance reports, no police reports, no police comment on the entire affair in fact and...I guess, no harm done- this time.
While I am impressed to hear that it was a woman's engineering group that came up with the robot model.....I think the aspect they are truly missing is the social/legal implications. There needs to be consequences. In the wild west of Kinshasa, you can easily drive on the wrong side of the road, drive on the sidewalk, pass on the left- or the right- drive down the middle of the road creating the infamous "third lane" and sometimes even a fourth and fifth lane or whatever other driving whims you might have in the moment (stopping in the middle of the road to take on or discharge passengers for example.)
The robot is reported to be able to change height (if I am reading that right....it gets a little hedgy with the French) and so perhaps it wouldn't be too much to add in a mechanism where it can descend from it's perch and tap drivers over the head when they commit an infraction. Just a little tap.
UPDATE: The very same day I wrote this post, I ended up driving past the robot. Turns out it's not very near the airport just out by the palace du peuple. It wasn't impressive or imposing. In fact, if I hadn't written this, I might not have even noticed it. I wasn't driving so that makes a bit of a difference, but it blended in with all the other metal of the traffic. It wasn't very tall and didn't stand out at all. We were half way past it before I even realized it. In the end, I can see it would never be the threatening figure that would be able to get down and give wayward drivers a wallop.
Mostly due to what I witnessed yesterday.....which made me nostalgic (not for the first time) for those 4-way stop sign intersections. You know the ones....you arrive there at the same time as another car, you both start to go, make eye contact and then wave each other on...which then results in a bit of confusion about who should actually go first because you are both just too polite to make the move. Inevitably you both sit for a minute pondering the situation before someone makes the go ahead.
In Kinshasa however, things don't go exactly like that. My "favorite" carrefour- 4-way intersection- has a completely different ambiance. Arriving here, one must make a death-defying dash across the roadway, forcing the vehicle in between oncoming traffic, turning taxis and pedestrians. No one stops to let anyone else pass. Even in the presence of the policewoman trying her hardest to maintain order and direct traffic.
Yesterday as we were passing through, she had her arms out and back facing the other lane. A clear signal for them to stop. We had the "green." But the large taxi buses didn't stop and kept turning into our lane despite her signal and my furious hand gestures and screaming at them. "Ce claire, ce vous qui doit arrete!" They didn't really care, just smiled and shrugged and kept on driving. Until there is an accident. Which was bound to happen. One of the large taxi buses hit another large SUV trying to make the turn. The policewoman was now completely surround by cars on all sides, each at their own angle directly aimed at an oncoming vehicle. A real life pick up stix game with no clear solution on who should- or even can- move first to unravel the whole mess. The two drivers involved in the accident begin shouting at one another, which is a process that must run it's full course, further blocking traffic until they've each exhausted themselves.
Most incredulously, after the heated screaming match, they both drove away, one with a patch of scratches and white paint on his front bumper. No insurance reports, no police reports, no police comment on the entire affair in fact and...I guess, no harm done- this time.
While I am impressed to hear that it was a woman's engineering group that came up with the robot model.....I think the aspect they are truly missing is the social/legal implications. There needs to be consequences. In the wild west of Kinshasa, you can easily drive on the wrong side of the road, drive on the sidewalk, pass on the left- or the right- drive down the middle of the road creating the infamous "third lane" and sometimes even a fourth and fifth lane or whatever other driving whims you might have in the moment (stopping in the middle of the road to take on or discharge passengers for example.)
The robot is reported to be able to change height (if I am reading that right....it gets a little hedgy with the French) and so perhaps it wouldn't be too much to add in a mechanism where it can descend from it's perch and tap drivers over the head when they commit an infraction. Just a little tap.
UPDATE: The very same day I wrote this post, I ended up driving past the robot. Turns out it's not very near the airport just out by the palace du peuple. It wasn't impressive or imposing. In fact, if I hadn't written this, I might not have even noticed it. I wasn't driving so that makes a bit of a difference, but it blended in with all the other metal of the traffic. It wasn't very tall and didn't stand out at all. We were half way past it before I even realized it. In the end, I can see it would never be the threatening figure that would be able to get down and give wayward drivers a wallop.
16.10.13
Time well spent
I signed up to be the faculty adviser to the elementary student council this year thinking I could steer us away from bake sales and food drives. While I hadn't a strong clear idea about what a student council actually does (all my experience hearing about if from the middle and high school speeches refer to "blow-outs," "shut-ins," and other party slang that basically throws up images of all those 80's Tom-Cruise-in-high-school flicks.)
I did have some ideas however and a little research confirmed that most student councils are busy with three main agendas: 1. Creating spirit (that's where the parties and movie nights come in) 2. Raising awareness about issues that are important to them or that are "current events" 3. Community service and/or involvement- creating a bridge between the student body and the community. Of course, it's this last one that drew me in.
Mostly, my idea was (and still is) to try and lead the students through the process of making decisions and working as a group. The rest is up to them. We are responsible for running the elementary school store which was recently created and that comes with another whole set of ideas, complications and possibilities.
But first, the spirit. They wanted to organize a movie night which actually turned out quite great. They were able to work through a process of voting and reducing their choices until we had a winner- the delightful Hotel Transylvania. It worked out perfectly as a pre-Halloween movie and the kids dressed up as ghouls and goblins to make the evening more fun for the movie goers.
The kids worked hard to make and stuff 95 bags of popcorn and mix up enough "Energade" drink for all. There were moments of small chaos, perhaps not everyone received their choice of popcorn (or arrived late and didn't get any at all) but in general it was a successful night of fun and festivities.
So I was kind of excited about our next meeting. We were going to plan out a few more activities, begin our discussion of the community service projects and maybe even paint the lizard mascot on our school store door. Ha! Elementary stuco shutdown.
Rather we ended up spending the hour talking and making very few decisions. One well- intentioned member kept shooting every idea down with "Well, some people might not like....." I had to finally tell her yes, some people might not like it or might not be able to participate or just plain might not.....but our job was to provide opportunity for the masses.....not try to cater to each individual desire.
Other ideas seemed boring to me or unclear (though, I did try to ask those uncovering kinds of questions that would enlighten things- and not make judgments about what 10 year-olds think is a fun idea. I really do want it be their show.) The problem was, they couldn't decide. They wanted to talk about Valentine's Day or the end of the year, but no one wanted to talk about next month. They wanted Christmas Parties and Gift Giving (how could you organize gift giving for 120 students?! I tried to steer them towards "end of the year" rather than "Christmas" and secret pal notes, appreciations and drawings rather than buying gifts.....they didn't seem too interested.)
We went around and around with no final thoughts (we did manage to schedule in a "Dress as your favorite character" D.E.A.R day.) It was excruciating. We moved on to talking about community service. Bake Sales, Food Drives, Clothing Gives. I knew this was coming but the previous 45 minutes had depleted all of my energy. I tried to explain the idea of searching for something more than bringing in their old, cast-off items to give to people they barely knew. I tried to explain the idea of sharing an experience, of creating a relationship...of doing more than just handing over unused items.
It was a challenging sell. In the end, someone did suggest visiting another school, along with a few other ideas I have completely forgotten now in trying to put the pain and frustration of that meeting behind me. A lot of their ideas involved other teachers (for which I had to explain again and again that it is completely voluntary and I can't make the other teachers participate in anything, or give up their evenings to join us or give up their class time to our half-formed ideas- or even worse, give up their class time to then plan some completely new lesson that would fit nicely into our ideas....whew!)
Afterward, I really needed a moment of self-reflection. Or a whole day. Luckily we had Eid off and so I had exactly that- a whole day of reflection. I tried to imagine what kind of community service project would be "good enough" and would make me feel that it is authentic and genuine and not condescending. I remembered my time at Stand Proud just going to make art with the kids (and forcing my own boys to come because I thought it was a good experience for them.) I thought of the orphanages and day centers I'd gone to filled with kids who just want someone to pay attention to them, read a book, play a game. Isn't that enough? It is something completely accessible to the students and completely age appropriate. Spend some time with another child. Doing child things.
I realized I have a bit of inner work to do in order to get over my complications with giving. Kinshasa does funny things to a person's sense of charity. Life has been fraught with traumatic events this month, both my own and in lives of dear friends. It's made sleep nearly impossible to come by leaving me short on patience and understanding. But this Eid I think I have made something of a small breakthrough. Gathering food and old shoes and clothes may be something the kids are familiar with, something they know about, but giving time is equally valuable. Maybe I can help them take the second step in giving- learning that it is not always about the material things. And then, when an occasion comes for the gifting, we'll have real reason and real relationships to support it.
Eid Mubarak.
I did have some ideas however and a little research confirmed that most student councils are busy with three main agendas: 1. Creating spirit (that's where the parties and movie nights come in) 2. Raising awareness about issues that are important to them or that are "current events" 3. Community service and/or involvement- creating a bridge between the student body and the community. Of course, it's this last one that drew me in.
Mostly, my idea was (and still is) to try and lead the students through the process of making decisions and working as a group. The rest is up to them. We are responsible for running the elementary school store which was recently created and that comes with another whole set of ideas, complications and possibilities.
But first, the spirit. They wanted to organize a movie night which actually turned out quite great. They were able to work through a process of voting and reducing their choices until we had a winner- the delightful Hotel Transylvania. It worked out perfectly as a pre-Halloween movie and the kids dressed up as ghouls and goblins to make the evening more fun for the movie goers.
 |
| Making 3 kinds of popcorn- cheese, chocolate & butter 'n salt |
 |
| Nabih - Vampire Master |
 |
| Spreading his "wings" |
The kids worked hard to make and stuff 95 bags of popcorn and mix up enough "Energade" drink for all. There were moments of small chaos, perhaps not everyone received their choice of popcorn (or arrived late and didn't get any at all) but in general it was a successful night of fun and festivities.
So I was kind of excited about our next meeting. We were going to plan out a few more activities, begin our discussion of the community service projects and maybe even paint the lizard mascot on our school store door. Ha! Elementary stuco shutdown.
Rather we ended up spending the hour talking and making very few decisions. One well- intentioned member kept shooting every idea down with "Well, some people might not like....." I had to finally tell her yes, some people might not like it or might not be able to participate or just plain might not.....but our job was to provide opportunity for the masses.....not try to cater to each individual desire.
Other ideas seemed boring to me or unclear (though, I did try to ask those uncovering kinds of questions that would enlighten things- and not make judgments about what 10 year-olds think is a fun idea. I really do want it be their show.) The problem was, they couldn't decide. They wanted to talk about Valentine's Day or the end of the year, but no one wanted to talk about next month. They wanted Christmas Parties and Gift Giving (how could you organize gift giving for 120 students?! I tried to steer them towards "end of the year" rather than "Christmas" and secret pal notes, appreciations and drawings rather than buying gifts.....they didn't seem too interested.)
We went around and around with no final thoughts (we did manage to schedule in a "Dress as your favorite character" D.E.A.R day.) It was excruciating. We moved on to talking about community service. Bake Sales, Food Drives, Clothing Gives. I knew this was coming but the previous 45 minutes had depleted all of my energy. I tried to explain the idea of searching for something more than bringing in their old, cast-off items to give to people they barely knew. I tried to explain the idea of sharing an experience, of creating a relationship...of doing more than just handing over unused items.
It was a challenging sell. In the end, someone did suggest visiting another school, along with a few other ideas I have completely forgotten now in trying to put the pain and frustration of that meeting behind me. A lot of their ideas involved other teachers (for which I had to explain again and again that it is completely voluntary and I can't make the other teachers participate in anything, or give up their evenings to join us or give up their class time to our half-formed ideas- or even worse, give up their class time to then plan some completely new lesson that would fit nicely into our ideas....whew!)
Afterward, I really needed a moment of self-reflection. Or a whole day. Luckily we had Eid off and so I had exactly that- a whole day of reflection. I tried to imagine what kind of community service project would be "good enough" and would make me feel that it is authentic and genuine and not condescending. I remembered my time at Stand Proud just going to make art with the kids (and forcing my own boys to come because I thought it was a good experience for them.) I thought of the orphanages and day centers I'd gone to filled with kids who just want someone to pay attention to them, read a book, play a game. Isn't that enough? It is something completely accessible to the students and completely age appropriate. Spend some time with another child. Doing child things.
I realized I have a bit of inner work to do in order to get over my complications with giving. Kinshasa does funny things to a person's sense of charity. Life has been fraught with traumatic events this month, both my own and in lives of dear friends. It's made sleep nearly impossible to come by leaving me short on patience and understanding. But this Eid I think I have made something of a small breakthrough. Gathering food and old shoes and clothes may be something the kids are familiar with, something they know about, but giving time is equally valuable. Maybe I can help them take the second step in giving- learning that it is not always about the material things. And then, when an occasion comes for the gifting, we'll have real reason and real relationships to support it.
Eid Mubarak.
15.10.13
How buildings go down...
This disturbing article appeared in my FB feed this morning. Construction is prevalent all over Kinshasa and meant to be a sign of the up-and-coming economy and development.
The problem of course lies within the means of achieving this prosperous goal. The article suggests that faulty materials used in the building may be the cause of the collapse. I am left to wonder who exactly, if anyone, knew about the inferior metal.
Was it the owner of the building, hoping to cut a few corners and save some cash? Was it the construction company themselves, hoping to shave dollars off the cost and pocket the difference? Was it the vendor of the iron bars- knowing the material was not suitable for such construction but selling it anyway?
Other questions abound as well- often I have wondered about the half-built buildings and the people that inhabit them, whether new owners of apartments or squatters who've found a temporary place to stay. It's not a sight I am accustomed to seeing in the US- half- formed buildings already open for business. I'm pretty sure there is some kind of inspection process required at several stages of construction and again upon completion.
The rescue team surely had it's work cut out. It was dismaying to read that perhaps witnesses heard the cries of children (or the cries of anyone) that were unable to be found. Watching the building go down, it appeared there was time to get out, though it is not clear if those inside were as aware of the imminent danger as the witnesses outside. (Of course, the video takes place only over 1 minute and with my slow connection, there are several pauses creating distortion in the actual time lapse. Upon reflection, one minute doesn't seem long enough to comprehend the situation and make a decision- or to run down three flights of stairs.)
As I drive through the streets of Kin, I often imagine taking a series of photos of the many buildings in their various stages of completion. The architecture is something to marvel at, with its many styles and inspirations- the one common thread being a flourish of grandeur. Round, arched windows, spiraling staircases, balconies and overhangs, massive guardian gates that reflect the intricate patterns of metalwork. Like the proverbial book however, architecture cannot be judged by it's cover. It requires discipline, adherence to law and the integrity to follow safety rules despite any consequence to higher costs. All of these challenging qualities to come by in Kin.
The problem of course lies within the means of achieving this prosperous goal. The article suggests that faulty materials used in the building may be the cause of the collapse. I am left to wonder who exactly, if anyone, knew about the inferior metal.
Was it the owner of the building, hoping to cut a few corners and save some cash? Was it the construction company themselves, hoping to shave dollars off the cost and pocket the difference? Was it the vendor of the iron bars- knowing the material was not suitable for such construction but selling it anyway?
Other questions abound as well- often I have wondered about the half-built buildings and the people that inhabit them, whether new owners of apartments or squatters who've found a temporary place to stay. It's not a sight I am accustomed to seeing in the US- half- formed buildings already open for business. I'm pretty sure there is some kind of inspection process required at several stages of construction and again upon completion.
The rescue team surely had it's work cut out. It was dismaying to read that perhaps witnesses heard the cries of children (or the cries of anyone) that were unable to be found. Watching the building go down, it appeared there was time to get out, though it is not clear if those inside were as aware of the imminent danger as the witnesses outside. (Of course, the video takes place only over 1 minute and with my slow connection, there are several pauses creating distortion in the actual time lapse. Upon reflection, one minute doesn't seem long enough to comprehend the situation and make a decision- or to run down three flights of stairs.)
As I drive through the streets of Kin, I often imagine taking a series of photos of the many buildings in their various stages of completion. The architecture is something to marvel at, with its many styles and inspirations- the one common thread being a flourish of grandeur. Round, arched windows, spiraling staircases, balconies and overhangs, massive guardian gates that reflect the intricate patterns of metalwork. Like the proverbial book however, architecture cannot be judged by it's cover. It requires discipline, adherence to law and the integrity to follow safety rules despite any consequence to higher costs. All of these challenging qualities to come by in Kin.
24.9.13
Strawberry Season
It's contract season in the world of international schools. This is a time when directors and superintendents start trying to guess who will leave and who will stay. They begin the dance of wooing wanted teachers to stay and dropping subtle hints about the adventures awaiting those they wish would move on. Retaining teachers can be a source of pride for a school in an industry where travel and new experiences are one of the main motivating factors that draw people to this specific field- international education. In some cases, the wooing can be fierce enough to put a peacocks feather strutting dance of allure to shame.
But school leaders are not the only ones racing to find their ground. It is the season when teachers begin to reflect on their personal happiness. They review their job satisfaction, their personal life satisfaction and the goals they've set for each. I find the entire process a bit odd and liberating at the same time. Reflection is good. Taking time to remind yourself of your professional and personal goals is invaluable for achieving success and overall happiness.
What strikes me as strange- or overly privileged- is trying to identify if I am "happy" and then possibly uprooting my entire family to go off in search of it. Happy seems to be an ever changing emotion, one that describes a moment or an event, but not necessarily life. Well, perhaps life in the sense of an overall feeling of happiness or general state of well-being. But that seems to be something one carries with them, not something you're likely to find in the next country adventure.
Of course, environment does play a huge role in our ability to feel free, less stressed and more leisurely. Some locations just don't lend themselves to relaxing. Or require an entirely different kind (and fairly imaginative sort) of entertainment.
The danger in this season lies in beginning to see the grass as greener. I don't really know if I am happy, surely I could be happier? Then again, I'm not necessarily unhappy and things can surely get worse. I've long been cursed and blessed with being able to see two sides to every story. It lends for challenging decision making at best. Contract season always leaves me feeling a bit uneasy.
I end up remembering an email from a friend in Ethiopia who was describing fresh strawberries and organic greens available at the local market. It would be nice to eat strawberries, I think. Do I want to live somewhere where people can eat fresh strawberries? I am tempted.
Is this really how life decisions are made? Bad days come along every so often, no matter what your location. On those kinds of days, heading off in search of fresh berries seems like a perfectly reasonable idea- and satisfying. Because after all, what is life about but enjoying time with the ones you love? Think of all the strawberry oriented things you could do as a family- strawberry picking, Friday night strawberry cheesecake, Saturday bbq's and strawberry shortcake, Sunday morning strawberry pancakes, cool smoothie strawberry drinks and light-hearted conversations every afternoon- the possibilities seem endless. Whether the list has 14, 12 or 9 ideas attached, one thing people seem to agree upon is that strawberries=fun.
Added to the entire difficult decision making process is the fact that we're not actually discussing this year. It's contract season now but the contracts we are discussing are for next year, meaning you have to actually project your professional/personal level of satisfaction over the next 8 months and then hope that same trajectory continues into the following ten months. The timing makes it nearly impossible for me to have coherent thoughts. Try to figure out now where I want to be at this same time next year?
Most people don't have this yearly cycle of reflection, decision-making and temptation. If they aren't happy in their daily lives, they make slow changes to adjust accordingly. If they do decide to make a change, chances are it affects just one area of their life- the job, the neighborhood, the family dynamics.
In contract season, you're looking at the whole shebang- pick the entire family up, move off into a brand new country (new neighborhood, new house, possibly even new language,) start a new school and a new job. Every single aspect of your life gets an overhaul. Which could be an entirely positive thing. You could be looking forward to strawberries for dessert..........
But school leaders are not the only ones racing to find their ground. It is the season when teachers begin to reflect on their personal happiness. They review their job satisfaction, their personal life satisfaction and the goals they've set for each. I find the entire process a bit odd and liberating at the same time. Reflection is good. Taking time to remind yourself of your professional and personal goals is invaluable for achieving success and overall happiness.
What strikes me as strange- or overly privileged- is trying to identify if I am "happy" and then possibly uprooting my entire family to go off in search of it. Happy seems to be an ever changing emotion, one that describes a moment or an event, but not necessarily life. Well, perhaps life in the sense of an overall feeling of happiness or general state of well-being. But that seems to be something one carries with them, not something you're likely to find in the next country adventure.
Of course, environment does play a huge role in our ability to feel free, less stressed and more leisurely. Some locations just don't lend themselves to relaxing. Or require an entirely different kind (and fairly imaginative sort) of entertainment.
The danger in this season lies in beginning to see the grass as greener. I don't really know if I am happy, surely I could be happier? Then again, I'm not necessarily unhappy and things can surely get worse. I've long been cursed and blessed with being able to see two sides to every story. It lends for challenging decision making at best. Contract season always leaves me feeling a bit uneasy.
I end up remembering an email from a friend in Ethiopia who was describing fresh strawberries and organic greens available at the local market. It would be nice to eat strawberries, I think. Do I want to live somewhere where people can eat fresh strawberries? I am tempted.
Is this really how life decisions are made? Bad days come along every so often, no matter what your location. On those kinds of days, heading off in search of fresh berries seems like a perfectly reasonable idea- and satisfying. Because after all, what is life about but enjoying time with the ones you love? Think of all the strawberry oriented things you could do as a family- strawberry picking, Friday night strawberry cheesecake, Saturday bbq's and strawberry shortcake, Sunday morning strawberry pancakes, cool smoothie strawberry drinks and light-hearted conversations every afternoon- the possibilities seem endless. Whether the list has 14, 12 or 9 ideas attached, one thing people seem to agree upon is that strawberries=fun.
Added to the entire difficult decision making process is the fact that we're not actually discussing this year. It's contract season now but the contracts we are discussing are for next year, meaning you have to actually project your professional/personal level of satisfaction over the next 8 months and then hope that same trajectory continues into the following ten months. The timing makes it nearly impossible for me to have coherent thoughts. Try to figure out now where I want to be at this same time next year?
Most people don't have this yearly cycle of reflection, decision-making and temptation. If they aren't happy in their daily lives, they make slow changes to adjust accordingly. If they do decide to make a change, chances are it affects just one area of their life- the job, the neighborhood, the family dynamics.
In contract season, you're looking at the whole shebang- pick the entire family up, move off into a brand new country (new neighborhood, new house, possibly even new language,) start a new school and a new job. Every single aspect of your life gets an overhaul. Which could be an entirely positive thing. You could be looking forward to strawberries for dessert..........
22.9.13
A random collection of facts
I've been trying hard to break out of my doctor and traffic jam rut. It's been difficult. You might think I spend all my time driving to clinics, when, in fact, I am a fairly healthy person who spends a lot of time at home. Hence the reason why I have been finding it hard to come across topics for my failing blog. Among other reasons, change is hard and words have been scarce lately.
But I do have a random collection of thoughts that might make for light reading. I'll merge the doctor/traffic stories with a few others for variety.
I spend a lot of time pondering where to go next in life. Working at an international school sort of compels you to be constantly considering where to move on to. Not many people are in it for life- well, not settling down in one country anyway, and certainly not in Congo. I think a lot about the pros and cons of living here. Things we miss most are just walking around and having somewhere to go. Life in a city kind of rules out nature hikes- life in Kinshasa kind of rules out public parks- but other cities often have museums, cultural centers, cinemas or other pastimes to keep the family engaged. Dining out seems to be the major venue of entertainment here.
What stands out is the lack of tourism. There aren't beaches, art festivals (ok, there is a jazz festival every June, and the newly launched Toseka comedy festival) or other attractions to pull people here. The lack of tourism has a definite effect on the psyche of the people. Foreigners are seen as cash cows, overflowing piggy banks ready to vomit US dollars to anyone who asks. African countries with a healthy tourist trade get the idea that their culture is valued, interesting and can serve as a point of engagement with the visiting foreigner. They are willing to exchange a service for a fee. Congo doesn't rank on this list of 25 least visited countries in the world, but it does make the top 10 of Africa's least visited countries.
Customer service is a huge obstacle to making Kinshasa a tourist destination. While I have noticed occasional improvements, the rule of thumb still seems to be the customer will get served when and if the service provider is ready (and finished talking with her cousin, mother, boyfriend and inspecting her fingernails or checking her phone messages, updating FB status, etc.) I had the opportunity to check out the new Canadian clinic in town (not sure what the Canadian part refers to- where the materials came from- Quebec- or perhaps where the owner is from? Kin does have a large population of Indian/Canadians.)
As a new patient, I was checked in by filling out my information on some kind of touchscreen tablet. The Congolese receptionist was gushingly nice and even stopped her conversation with a technician to assist me. I waited a mere 10 or 15 minutes to see the doctor, who seemed equally attentive. He did ask me to be patient for just one minute (I noticed he answered an email) and his phone only rang 3 or 4 times, but he did keep the conversations short. The next day I received my own email with lab results and a prescription attached. Of course, campus connection prevented me from opening my gmail and had me running around the house and even into the backyard trying to find a hotspot. All in all, the operation was impressive and congenial.
Kinshasa has low tech conveniences as well- one of which is the fact that you don't always have to buy the whole thing. Meaning there are a variety of goods that are available for purchase in smaller quantities, quantities to fit a tight budget. Probably most of Africa is like this but I find comfort in knowing I can get a little bag of milk powder if I am running short just as my pockets are empty. I remember counting change in the US for gas or a gallon of milk. While there are no coins in Kin, a bundle of 100 or 200 franc serves the same purpose. You can buy flour, rice, sugar, peanuts and peanut butter all in quantities to suit. It seems pretty much anything that comes in a container can be opened and portioned out. Paint thinner, red oil for cooking, gasoline for the car, phone units. I even remember the pharmacy downtown with a pill hawker out front. No need to buy the whole bottle, just one or two ibuprofen for the moment. Of course, once opened.....buy at your own risk.
Traffic poses its own set of risks and I would not be surprised if car accidents ranked among the number 1 cause of death. This website suggests Congo ranks 7th for highest traffic related deaths (not sure how access and availability of medical care is calculated into that ranking.) While you can't always put much stock in the ranking systems of the media, observations certainly count for something. My first grade art class began the year discussing different types of lines. I was surprised when one of the boys began to explain how double, single and dashed lines were used in the road. They really knew a lot about lines but this small bit of knowledge doubly amazed me since there are no lines on the roads in Kinshasa. It has occurred to me (my driving thoughts include brainstorming ways to fix Kinshasa road rage, impatience and 'me first' attitudes) that painting a line on the road might be one small step. I also propose raising the curb to about a foot or so (or maybe installing the fire and ice barbed wire or broken glass spikes that are so popular on property wall tops directly onto the curb to prevent cars from driving onto the sidewalks. Beautiful commentary about those very walls and glass shards here.) People say when Kabila the father was president the infamous third lane would never have happened. They don't usually elaborate much on his methods for maintaining roadway control but hints usually suggest something severely effective and severely severe.
But I do have a random collection of thoughts that might make for light reading. I'll merge the doctor/traffic stories with a few others for variety.
I spend a lot of time pondering where to go next in life. Working at an international school sort of compels you to be constantly considering where to move on to. Not many people are in it for life- well, not settling down in one country anyway, and certainly not in Congo. I think a lot about the pros and cons of living here. Things we miss most are just walking around and having somewhere to go. Life in a city kind of rules out nature hikes- life in Kinshasa kind of rules out public parks- but other cities often have museums, cultural centers, cinemas or other pastimes to keep the family engaged. Dining out seems to be the major venue of entertainment here.
What stands out is the lack of tourism. There aren't beaches, art festivals (ok, there is a jazz festival every June, and the newly launched Toseka comedy festival) or other attractions to pull people here. The lack of tourism has a definite effect on the psyche of the people. Foreigners are seen as cash cows, overflowing piggy banks ready to vomit US dollars to anyone who asks. African countries with a healthy tourist trade get the idea that their culture is valued, interesting and can serve as a point of engagement with the visiting foreigner. They are willing to exchange a service for a fee. Congo doesn't rank on this list of 25 least visited countries in the world, but it does make the top 10 of Africa's least visited countries.
Customer service is a huge obstacle to making Kinshasa a tourist destination. While I have noticed occasional improvements, the rule of thumb still seems to be the customer will get served when and if the service provider is ready (and finished talking with her cousin, mother, boyfriend and inspecting her fingernails or checking her phone messages, updating FB status, etc.) I had the opportunity to check out the new Canadian clinic in town (not sure what the Canadian part refers to- where the materials came from- Quebec- or perhaps where the owner is from? Kin does have a large population of Indian/Canadians.)
As a new patient, I was checked in by filling out my information on some kind of touchscreen tablet. The Congolese receptionist was gushingly nice and even stopped her conversation with a technician to assist me. I waited a mere 10 or 15 minutes to see the doctor, who seemed equally attentive. He did ask me to be patient for just one minute (I noticed he answered an email) and his phone only rang 3 or 4 times, but he did keep the conversations short. The next day I received my own email with lab results and a prescription attached. Of course, campus connection prevented me from opening my gmail and had me running around the house and even into the backyard trying to find a hotspot. All in all, the operation was impressive and congenial.
Kinshasa has low tech conveniences as well- one of which is the fact that you don't always have to buy the whole thing. Meaning there are a variety of goods that are available for purchase in smaller quantities, quantities to fit a tight budget. Probably most of Africa is like this but I find comfort in knowing I can get a little bag of milk powder if I am running short just as my pockets are empty. I remember counting change in the US for gas or a gallon of milk. While there are no coins in Kin, a bundle of 100 or 200 franc serves the same purpose. You can buy flour, rice, sugar, peanuts and peanut butter all in quantities to suit. It seems pretty much anything that comes in a container can be opened and portioned out. Paint thinner, red oil for cooking, gasoline for the car, phone units. I even remember the pharmacy downtown with a pill hawker out front. No need to buy the whole bottle, just one or two ibuprofen for the moment. Of course, once opened.....buy at your own risk.
Traffic poses its own set of risks and I would not be surprised if car accidents ranked among the number 1 cause of death. This website suggests Congo ranks 7th for highest traffic related deaths (not sure how access and availability of medical care is calculated into that ranking.) While you can't always put much stock in the ranking systems of the media, observations certainly count for something. My first grade art class began the year discussing different types of lines. I was surprised when one of the boys began to explain how double, single and dashed lines were used in the road. They really knew a lot about lines but this small bit of knowledge doubly amazed me since there are no lines on the roads in Kinshasa. It has occurred to me (my driving thoughts include brainstorming ways to fix Kinshasa road rage, impatience and 'me first' attitudes) that painting a line on the road might be one small step. I also propose raising the curb to about a foot or so (or maybe installing the fire and ice barbed wire or broken glass spikes that are so popular on property wall tops directly onto the curb to prevent cars from driving onto the sidewalks. Beautiful commentary about those very walls and glass shards here.) People say when Kabila the father was president the infamous third lane would never have happened. They don't usually elaborate much on his methods for maintaining roadway control but hints usually suggest something severely effective and severely severe.
8.9.13
The Last Story
Stories get harder and harder to recognize within the daily humdrum of life. Sometimes they happen by and I miss them, all the while pondering what to write about. Like the time just a few weeks ago when I was with a colleague in the Kinshasa botanical gardens. We'd gone there to discuss a book we'd both read and also because we'd both never actually gone walking around the gardens. I'd wanted to check out a mural I had seen a glimpse of on-line- scoping out a potential art field trip for the students- and she on a recommendation from a fellow teacher.
We'd been walking down the paths along the wall when we found ourselves looking up at a bridge adjoining the main market downtown. It's a bit deceiving in the gardens as you can't really tell that the hectic, crowded marketplace borders the walls of the downtown oasis. There was a gang of street kids perched atop the bridge and we hesitated before continuing. It was like, in that moment, we were both envisioning them swooping down from the bridge to land in front of us Batman style and pilfer whatever paltry cash we might have had lining our pockets.
"Is it some kind of service road?" my colleague asked as images of the Bronx zoo filled my mind. However, this small path seemed lacking service littered as it was with plastic water bottles and other debris. There was a young boy who appeared to be washing his clothes at the end of the lane. I made the decision to continue walking on (not sure how I got to be the one to make the decision, but it seems I sometimes get the credit for knowing more about Kinshasa than I actually do, being less of a stranger than I actually am) so we continued. Show no fear is what I figured. And while they continued to call out "Madame" no one actually swooped down or landed in front of us. It was a moment when a story could have happened. And it was a day that brings to mind all sorts of contemplations, from the degrees of being a stranger to the complexities of "double pricing"- one price for Congolese and one price for 'etrangers' to the police behavior when we parked the car- but it was a story that escaped me, common place as it's all become. Navigating the many levels of Kinshasa, determining which street kids are possibly on my side, which can recognize me as someone who really sees them and which are just plain hungry, how to talk to police and defuse the anger and righteousness hot sun and white skin seem to bring out- all just daily excursions through the social rankings of Kinshasa.
But what I have noticed is how it has affected the other stories. The ones I read. In my 4th grade literacy class, we just experienced a lesson on schema (by Debbie Miller to give credit) that I really loved. I wrote down one side of a paper "Zongo Falls," a local attraction most kids have been too. They were overflowing with ideas about what it's like to go there. Sensory images filled the page. Camping, bugs, forests, rainbows, waterfalls, flowers. At the top of the other column, I wrote Kalamazoo. Predictably, the class went pretty silent. They started asking questions and wondering if there were cages and animals there. At the end of the exercise, I wrote SCHEMA down the side of the paper with all their observations about Zongo. "These are the ideas we bring to reading, based on our experiences and knowledge of the world," I told them. Many authors recognize the reader brings as much to the novel as the author tries to put out. Our personal experiences and images formed by those experiences shape the way we read a novel. It had been the exact discussion my colleague and I had been having about the book we'd read, The Bone People. Interestingly enough, she'd had the experience of reading it some 15 years earlier and could compare her reactions. I was intrigued by how they differed.
Just as I have been intrigued, reading two other novels, The Dark Road and Behind the Beautiful Forevers, at how my schema has changed. Both of these books relate tales of people living unimaginable horrors and dealing with them in the best way they know how. All the while reading them, I simultaneously wonder if the people don't recognize the poisons they are surrounding themselves with and understand their inability to do anything to avoid it. But worst of all, my schema has grown to imagine real people that I see everyday living in these similar conditions. It's not necessarily the brilliancy of the author that makes these books so real to me as the conditions here in Kinshasa that I can see are nearly equal to the tragedies lived out by the characters in the books- real life characters. My schema has expanded and my ideas of the world now include people who wait for the next rain storm to erode the small hilltop on which their house resides, or the mothers and children and young men who fill water bottles at a burst pipe overflowing from cracks in the city street or, even worse, puddles that have become small lakes on dirt paved side roads.
Abdul, the garbage scavenger in Behind the Beautiful Forevers becomes akin to the kids you see walking among the rubble picking through waste and the homeless guy who wears black duct tape and ports a bag overflowing with bottles around the city streets. Abdul is the woman who sleeps on the little cement overhang just next to the UN building with her bags and bags of garbage keeping her warm. His little friend Sunil is that young kid downtown by Michaels store that I passed sleeping on the sidewalk, worn down by hunger and fatigue. He is all those gangs of street kids with fire in their eyes and empty bellies who smoke cigarettes outside the grocery stores and the night clubs, hoping for a little bit of nothing to fall their way.
When I finish reading these books, I can't even retreat to my suburban abode and pretend like it doesn't exist because they are all there on the outskirts, every time I go out my door. The Beautiful Dark Bone People trying to find their way down the Forever Road, a little bit at a time. Scavenging, brutalizing, hurling threats, guarding little moments of happiness, scraping with their neighbors, laughing in the sunlight, drinking rat poison and making the best of very little prospects. One day at a time, one moment upon one moment until the last story is told.
We'd been walking down the paths along the wall when we found ourselves looking up at a bridge adjoining the main market downtown. It's a bit deceiving in the gardens as you can't really tell that the hectic, crowded marketplace borders the walls of the downtown oasis. There was a gang of street kids perched atop the bridge and we hesitated before continuing. It was like, in that moment, we were both envisioning them swooping down from the bridge to land in front of us Batman style and pilfer whatever paltry cash we might have had lining our pockets.
"Is it some kind of service road?" my colleague asked as images of the Bronx zoo filled my mind. However, this small path seemed lacking service littered as it was with plastic water bottles and other debris. There was a young boy who appeared to be washing his clothes at the end of the lane. I made the decision to continue walking on (not sure how I got to be the one to make the decision, but it seems I sometimes get the credit for knowing more about Kinshasa than I actually do, being less of a stranger than I actually am) so we continued. Show no fear is what I figured. And while they continued to call out "Madame" no one actually swooped down or landed in front of us. It was a moment when a story could have happened. And it was a day that brings to mind all sorts of contemplations, from the degrees of being a stranger to the complexities of "double pricing"- one price for Congolese and one price for 'etrangers' to the police behavior when we parked the car- but it was a story that escaped me, common place as it's all become. Navigating the many levels of Kinshasa, determining which street kids are possibly on my side, which can recognize me as someone who really sees them and which are just plain hungry, how to talk to police and defuse the anger and righteousness hot sun and white skin seem to bring out- all just daily excursions through the social rankings of Kinshasa.
But what I have noticed is how it has affected the other stories. The ones I read. In my 4th grade literacy class, we just experienced a lesson on schema (by Debbie Miller to give credit) that I really loved. I wrote down one side of a paper "Zongo Falls," a local attraction most kids have been too. They were overflowing with ideas about what it's like to go there. Sensory images filled the page. Camping, bugs, forests, rainbows, waterfalls, flowers. At the top of the other column, I wrote Kalamazoo. Predictably, the class went pretty silent. They started asking questions and wondering if there were cages and animals there. At the end of the exercise, I wrote SCHEMA down the side of the paper with all their observations about Zongo. "These are the ideas we bring to reading, based on our experiences and knowledge of the world," I told them. Many authors recognize the reader brings as much to the novel as the author tries to put out. Our personal experiences and images formed by those experiences shape the way we read a novel. It had been the exact discussion my colleague and I had been having about the book we'd read, The Bone People. Interestingly enough, she'd had the experience of reading it some 15 years earlier and could compare her reactions. I was intrigued by how they differed.
Just as I have been intrigued, reading two other novels, The Dark Road and Behind the Beautiful Forevers, at how my schema has changed. Both of these books relate tales of people living unimaginable horrors and dealing with them in the best way they know how. All the while reading them, I simultaneously wonder if the people don't recognize the poisons they are surrounding themselves with and understand their inability to do anything to avoid it. But worst of all, my schema has grown to imagine real people that I see everyday living in these similar conditions. It's not necessarily the brilliancy of the author that makes these books so real to me as the conditions here in Kinshasa that I can see are nearly equal to the tragedies lived out by the characters in the books- real life characters. My schema has expanded and my ideas of the world now include people who wait for the next rain storm to erode the small hilltop on which their house resides, or the mothers and children and young men who fill water bottles at a burst pipe overflowing from cracks in the city street or, even worse, puddles that have become small lakes on dirt paved side roads.
Abdul, the garbage scavenger in Behind the Beautiful Forevers becomes akin to the kids you see walking among the rubble picking through waste and the homeless guy who wears black duct tape and ports a bag overflowing with bottles around the city streets. Abdul is the woman who sleeps on the little cement overhang just next to the UN building with her bags and bags of garbage keeping her warm. His little friend Sunil is that young kid downtown by Michaels store that I passed sleeping on the sidewalk, worn down by hunger and fatigue. He is all those gangs of street kids with fire in their eyes and empty bellies who smoke cigarettes outside the grocery stores and the night clubs, hoping for a little bit of nothing to fall their way.
When I finish reading these books, I can't even retreat to my suburban abode and pretend like it doesn't exist because they are all there on the outskirts, every time I go out my door. The Beautiful Dark Bone People trying to find their way down the Forever Road, a little bit at a time. Scavenging, brutalizing, hurling threats, guarding little moments of happiness, scraping with their neighbors, laughing in the sunlight, drinking rat poison and making the best of very little prospects. One day at a time, one moment upon one moment until the last story is told.
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