In.Customs

Two Thoughts on Thanksgiving: Thought One

2009-11-25T20:13:00.000-08:00

GoEd Africa, '08; Rwanda

the best Thanksgiving I have ever had in my life.
thanks, Lord. thanks for two families.

Little Ones

2009-11-24T23:02:00.000-08:00

taught puppy--so unruly, so ferocious--
to actually sit and fetch the rag today.
still biting people with her sharp, puppy teeth, but

smalls steps,
profound victories.

Introduction to a Crash Course

2009-11-20T22:44:00.000-08:00

Since Dwight's arrival, he's the one who's responsible for imparting-zee-knowledge to the students so my duties have decreased substantially to an advisory kind. But on the side of all of that, I'm working on putting flesh to an idea.
That's my thought umbrella.
When the interns met to brainstorm about alumni engagement, I felt that FH was failing at creating opportunities for alumni to get involved occupationally. Two big concerns at this point in life is "do I want to do that marriage thing?" and/or "what in the world am I going to do for a living and how am I going to do it?" After such a transformative semester, many students would kill for a paying position with them. FH, why aren't you creating jobs for kids who want them?? And then I began thinking about how frustrating it was for me as a recent graduate in international studies (and other graduates of the theoretical disciplines: cultural studies, int'l relations, sociology, Ed, Philosophy, Art) to feel completely underqualified for every job position in my field because all any of us have been ever been taught to do is, well, study.

You want me manage day-to-day accounting, case loads, and liaison between offices while I secure you $$$$$ of funds from outside donors on my lunch??

Er. How about a 8-page paper? Damn. I should have been a nurse.

And that's the chasm: (thanks, Microsoft Paint) Why don't our colleges give us practical skills after four years of selling our souls to loan companies? We can't get the job we want because we don't have the experience and the skills we need be a competitive candidate. Not everyone could get to FH's conferences (too far, too soon, not enough money) so how could GoEd impart its transformation in occupations and equip us to do the development work it needs help doing?! So my idea was to marry the two. What if GoEd offered a "crash" course for J-term or May-Term that is worth college credit and is focused on practical application on what every NGO is looking for in regards to ground-level positions?

Every other non-profit job on the internet is looking for a grant writer. Um, where are you supposed to learn that? What if we taught it? What if we offered something even more? What if colleges made it possible for their students to get certification in Disaster Relief? Organic Community Gardening? Advocacy? Non-Profit Marketing/Communications? What if there was a course in refugee/victim trauma? What if there was a practicum in Social Media? Public Relations? Non-Profit Fundraising? Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL or TESOL)? Half of the practicum applications on the Mekong and Africa Programs were teaching English or advertising positions.

Why not create young adults who know what they're doing when they get there?

GoEd could conscript an outside an expert in these fields to be the director of the course and offer it at its affiliate schools simultaneously. A batch of interns would help launch a three to four week intensive class and be there to assist the professor when it started. At the end of the curriculum, Food for the Hungry could advertise it's openings and opportunities to a population that now had the aptitude to fulfill those responsibilities. It would be a way for returning GoEd alum to feel like FH was interested in their career development and that someone trusted their visionary minds to further the work that's being done for the poor around the world. It'd also be a way for students who had never heard of GoEd or FH, to hear about its opportunities. But above all, everyone involved would now have a practical skill (hopefully) delivered in the transformational way that Food for the Hungry is so good at.

Anyway.
I'm trying to add tissue to the bone. I'd like to see this one walk around.

Weaving Your Own Fabric

2009-11-20T22:18:00.000-08:00

is magic. I can't understand it at all.

Gander: the girls practicing the human loom for their Thai Culture & Arts class.

We Have Only Just Begun

2009-11-20T20:49:00.000-08:00

Our research begins tomorrow, I can't even believe it. Already! The time! Has flown!
After all that work, Dwight has pushed through all the essentials and tomorrow we will throw their interpreters and voice recorders at them to accomplish the capstone of the course: qualitative research.

They'll leave tomorrow at 8am and have 2 and 1/2 hours to research 4 people individually about the their income, their expenses, their relationships within the community, and their dreams for themselves. In sociology we call it a baseline but what we're doing is akin to taking a photograph. We ask about their income to see if children selling flowers is actually a substantial part of what they make. If it is and it's unfair to the children, the Church of Christ of Thailand can possibly consult about the issue. We ask about their relationships because if it turns out that all of their bonds are within the community, it means they are isolating themselves in a way that won't achieve the things they say they want for themselves. We ask about their dreams to see through their eyes, not ours for them, and provide information that could help set them on their way.

This stuff is important because it's actually for somebody. It helps.
It's not like the research paper you do in school where you're nervous because someone's going to grade your being with an ink letter of the alphabet. The presentation to the community is not like a presentation you make in front of a bunch of suburban undergrads who are measuring your abilities against their own. If you do this well, it has an impact on how an organization can make its interaction with a community more meaningful to them. The leaders want to know where they can improve and provide. To present to them is to honor the people you have spent the whole semester learning about.

I've learned so much from Dwight Jackson having taken the class a second time and the ability to problem solve with him behind the scenes. The man spoke my higher educational aspirations into existence, who does that? I spent a whole afternoon researching "Development Anthropology" and it encapsulated everything I've been trying to say for the past two years in a grad school program I've been searching for but never satisfied with. I wasn't even giddy; it was more like, "well, duh, of course this is what you should get your masters in."

I sit in class and I love every minute.

The tragedy is that in some eyes it's just another class, just another A, just another thing to do to get your piece of paper. They come late and skip out quickly and I can't help but feeling a little offended. I want to write: "this is about other people" in red white-board marker because it is about other people, more than foreign romances, and songthaew rides, and clothes. If anything, it's to help them do the things they want to do better. If you want to "help" people, you actually have to learn what questions to ask first and what things to avoid. The class teaches you how to evaluate your progress as an employee, or manager, or innovator. I'd leave it there for days to soak into skin, to make it hit the heart. Maybe this is how some math teachers feel about middle school students who ignore the material and doodle in class. For the rest of their lives, they're going to have the hardest time knowing how much paint to buy, how much change to get/give, and what interest rates are going to wreck their credit forever.

The Quest to Blog and Other Such Happenings

2009-11-16T17:37:00.000-08:00

I have friends in the digital world who have enough guts to participate in NaNoWriMo (national novel writing month) and are plugging out their first drafts of fiction for fun. Donald Miller, however, doesn't think writing is fun at all, but that's okay, he still manages to write books.

They said it feels almost awful in the beginning, like an kissing with dentures, or like your each of your letter keys are gigantic lily pads, or like being a toddler with a mind to drive cars but barred to taking their first steps to the coffee table instead but as they keep going, it becomes easier. Less painful, more exciting. One friend has chapters by now.

pft.
Way to make a person feel lazy.

The least I could do is blog more often.

Blog Already!

2009-11-14T22:17:00.001-08:00

ah'right, I'm working on it; I'm working on it!

All Hands

2009-11-12T12:52:00.000-08:00

Who will help me reap the harvest?

I tried to find my one long sleeve shirt that I had been insane enough to bring to Southeast Asia because those were the instructions. Not what I had in mind when I packed my under-packed suitcase but--everyone, Marting instructed--was to wear one to keep grasses from irritating their skin. I grumbled as I searched because it didn't make any sense to me why anyone would want to start harvesting anything at 8am. By nine o'clock the sun starts cooking the residents of Doi Saket and to be out in the field with long sleeves, long jeans, and rags covering any of your exposed face is masochistic.

((folds arms)) not I said, the duck.

The Lahu students had planted an acre of rice to curb the exorbitant cost of commercial rice and the short, lush green that had greeted us on our Thailand arrival was now heavy and golden. Most of them were only used to mountain rice harvesting but they (said Gloria) were excited to try flat ground harvest; to be just like the Thai. The event went up on the white board, set in appointment stone. Friday. 8:30. Rice Harvesting. Be there. Kenny bubbled the night before and the morning of and I continued grumbling. I grew up in the wrong era for this.

Morning of, hot and invariably bothered, the GoEd crew and Bryce headed out to the fields. I grabbed a rag to follow in tow with the harvest professionals and surveyed the labor I could already tell was harder than any cherry picking I'd done. But I picked up my sickle and grabbed each stalk, trying to cut them with ease of our teachers. The Lahu were incredibly supportive (and fast), smiling at us even though we were slowing them down and showed us how to cut more than one stalk at the same time; how to gently stack them in criss-cross piles that would be easy to pick up. I tried cutting more than one stalk but I kept cutting the closest one too long and the farther ones too short, making an uneven mess of my bunches. To add insult to injury, Marting had to come through behind me and cut all the stray grasses that had gotten away from me. Courtesy gave way eventually, and the Lahu began working around us but we were out there together, all of us from everywhere, which we haven't had the luxury of experiencing since the students returned from practicum. Ryan sat in a field and had Burmese suncream applied to his face and we took epic pictures of him in his grass hat.

Of anybody, Bryce hung in there best-- till the very, very end--, whereas before the field was cleared, I had wandered away to get water and some shade and found the comforts of non-labor too tempting. I kept encouraging myself by thinking of different fruit harvesting scenarios that I'd be awesome at. Apples had no chance against this kind of industriousness, so between the spaces of my mind justifications, I brought water to the field weary. When I returned to my sickle, I saw the GoEd-ers also abandoning their posts and decided the rice had won against the West. Maybe if it had been early morning the scenario would have been different, but I didn't mind too much. We don't always have to win at everything.

The Plague Of Small Things

2009-11-12T10:49:00.000-08:00

It's sick, really.
East Africans wouldn't go near a puppy if you paid them. Most Ugandans are indifferent to domesticated animals but Thais on, the other hand, find creatures you can't resist and try sell them to you. They even go as far to put dresses on baby bunnies. (O_O) Dear...god.

freaking baby bunnies of doom at Loi Kratong:mutt puppies for sale by the Mae Ping River:but we have found a way to resist the temptation. The Lahu have found a suitable adversary for free:She was chasing children at a Lahu-Thai wedding everyone was attending on the compound and she (bit me incessantly with her sharp, puppy teeth and) passed out on my lap for the rest of the ceremony. She has no name because she doesn't belong to us, but it still doesn't keep us from referring to her as "ours".

Taking a Measuring Stick To Spirit

2009-11-11T04:10:00.000-08:00

How do you measure the things I've done? The guest speaker I've arranged has showed up and brought colleagues, the articles I've researched has been individually bound for the students' convenience, and I'm there in class to help refine the snags the students can't foresee for their research. However, I don't have any "Before and After" pictures.

How does something like helping the marginalized be measured? The students haven't built any houses, or any schools, or any medical clinics. We haven't picked up any bibles and thrown their words at people. No souls have run down to the altar, giving up surrendering their everlasting souls, because they don't need saving, they're devout Christians already; Christians trying to be Christians within a Buddhist country, people within a minority body just trying to be treated like everyone else. We could assign issues for the students to break open, but those things take lifetimes. Social change happens in slow time, not microwave speed. And even if the ethnic minorities have opportunities they didn't have before, does that increase the likelihood of well-being in the deep sense? Will citizenship erase the impression of all the clients you've slept with--that smell? Is more cars, bigger houses on bigger land, cuter clothes like the Thai society that is obsessed with status mean goodness? Surely, prosperity has to be more than material possessions.

How do we know that the students are successes? They haven't built the type of community we would have liked them to. Actually most of the time, they spend their time apart, in dyads and units, staging disappearing acts for days at a time, and only saying hello to each other before classes. There are only five of them. And to classes some of them come late and with breakfast while the teacher is speaking and leave the semester early to start their vacations. But in class, they are challenged to think differently about the way things work or learn things for the very first time. But will they set up women care centers when they leave? Probably not, if some egotism of youth doesn't change. Will they draft proposals or conduct research or get a law degree to advocate systems, probably not if they don't continue to push themselves to excellence, if they don't pay attention in class, if they don't dedicate themselves to hard things in a serious way but that's today. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, who knows.

but even if they don't, will the semester they spent here still matter? Is all the sacrifices people have made to get here and be their aids mean anything in the long-run?

It is modernization that has got us thinking like factories. Products! We measure growth by taking a yardstick to something tangible.

but surely there must be more. We, as a country, have the most objects in the world, for some eschelons of society, the most opportunities of all, the most tangible things to count and measure and praise and unfortunately still find ourselves in dire need of shalom.

My time here, instead, will maybe be measured by my ability to have been shalom here to people--which is harder to put a stethoscope to, perhaps, but to be known for that is far too humbling and more than satisfying. (clicks tongue) But even this measure makes me kind of sad. I don't know if I have been able to be that person this time around. There might have been far too much egotism.

Reflection

2009-11-08T05:34:00.001-08:00

When i think back on Cambodia, it reminds me the most of East Africa.

Driving down the road atop a charter bus moving you from Poi Pet [Point A] to Phnom Penh [Point B], my senses pick up almost identical sensations: the same muted muddy blues, greens, and rusted browns dripping down concrete buildings you'd see everywhere outside of Kampala; that same red dust coating the poorly paved highways adjacent to the vast flat flood plain. The same parenting style where guardians go without dressing their babies at all or a few rips in the shirt of a toddler. Street children make their appearance here just like the their other southern neighbor. But instead of huts, there's stilted housing and instead of matooke, there's rice fields, and instead of black skin, there's dark brown skin baked that way by arduous day harvesting labor.

Along the road "People's Party of Cambodia" signs sit attached to an empty building, having a difficult time deciding whether it wants to be proud or ironic.

It's absolutely bizarre how Thailand has managed to be so vastly different from everyone else around here.

if you haven't seen my pictures, they say more words than I can muster right now. We'll go to coffee and talk about the people I met and the places I've seen of the Great Angkor Empire sometime, for sure.

Reunited

2009-10-31T08:16:00.000-07:00

and it feels so good.

For The Win

2009-10-17T17:55:00.000-07:00

Cambodians are pushy.
Or what is more accurate is that everybody else in Southeast Asia is pushier than Thais.
I was wondering why halfway during the day I was exhausted, barely able to keep up with Ryan as he climbed our third temple. I had done more physical exercise than I'd done in a long time; some moss covered temple steps were steeper than others and at some sites there was much more to see but my head buzzed with mental fatigue. My refuel sirens were screaming. I had given my introvert soul to literally calvacades of Cambodian hawkers.

In all of my travels, I don't think have ever met a more persistent people group. I mean it can be rough when tourists meet vendors anywhere in this world but I was unprepared for this kind of attention. Coming out from underneath jungle canopies and dirt paths waiting for you are at least 4 groups of men, women, and children determined to get you to walk away with a guide book, scarf, bracelet, t-shirt, sarong, fiddle, or bottle of water. Never say die was the motivation and if you were lucky you could get away before you were separated from your tuk tuk.

In massive Angkor Archaelogical park there has to be at least 300 independent vendors working for other people.

"Laydee! You want scarf! You buy scarf for your mother!"
"Laydee. Water! You buy WATER! Just one dollar. One dollar."
"No. T-shirt. Madam, you buy. You buy t-shirt from me. From me"
"Lay-dee. You buy for your tree. Your christmas tree. Only 2,000 riel!"
"You come back you buy postcard from ME!
There has also never been a squad appealing so much to the principle of fairness in my life. I made the mistake of buying bamboo bracelets I liked better from a latecoming child and the early boy and his sister floated around my restaurant seat for half-an hour chastising me harshly for my sheer discourtesy. "I asked you first,"the little boy hissed in my ear. Ït not fair. I asked you first. You no buy from meee." Yes, take my heart and serve it to me on a plate. Fork, please. I thought this might be just for the children, but when i kept my promise to a breakfast vendor who found me at daybreak for my business, her brother complimented me profusely later when he overheard me tell another vendor I had a promise to keep. You can't come to Cambodia and not do what you said you're going to. You have got to be fair about this tourist business.

They remember. And they are expressive about it.
I sighed to myself, as a woman pushed the same Angkor guide book on me that had been offered to me for the past four hours. I had been wrangled into three t-shirts, 4 bottles of water, 10 bracelets, 10 postcards, one scarf, and one dress. I didn't want another thing. The children were brutal. Their big eyes and shiny hair, little hands spreading out all of their baskets of jewelry, their words moving too fast for you to interrupt them. They're terribly cute but can be the meanest.
"Sorry doesn't give me anything."
"You can pay! You have credit card!
"You no buy because you hate Cambodians!!
"YOU BUY!!
Anna may or may not have been been called "whore" by a 6-year old.

You had to hand it to the Cambodians. Their agressiveness made sense. There were less tourists to Cambodia these days. If everybody in the group was agressive, you had to be more aggressive to beat the heads of the pack. If you wanted to eat, send your children to school, and pay person you were renting your stall from, you had to go for the gusto. It's like having a bucket of ice water thrown over you in bed when you cross the border into a land where anger, dislike, irritation, amusement, and appreciation is so open on the countenances of people you encounter. Thais would never spend their time trying to pry money from anyone--they're too proud for that--and if they did become upset over something you had done, they'd have negative emotions and lose face. Foreigners just aren't worth that much. We were leaving the second temple and I began to start wincing. God Almighty, they're going to try to sell me water and a magnet again.

The great thing about being here was that in one hour you had more interaction with a group of Khmer than you have had for 2 months with the Thai and they were cunning. They played tick-tak-toe and devised puzzle schemes to secure sales. We, tourists, DID have more money than them, but if I gave 70 people one dollar for all of their wares, I'd have hostel room I couldn't pay for, full of things I couldn't transport, and I wouldn't be able to eat for the rest of the week. If you treated them with respect, they'd forget you were a tourist for a minute and shower you with conversation and laughter. But I'm sure most European backpackers became fed up half-way through and probably yelled at them. Four temples in, I decided I had to do something. How could I keep my money but be an honorable person at the same time? I prayed to Jesus, God, please show me the Third Way. It hit me when a Khmer child rattled off my nation's capital. Most widely used tactic: ask immediately where the tourist is from when they deny you. If it is America, the capital was Washington D.C. and their president is Obama. Now buy from me. But....did they know the capital of Arkansas? Did they even know that midwesty state even existed? If they had, I decided, they deserved my money.

They gave me the opportunity and I tried it. If you can tell me the capital, I will buy whatever you have. A group of girls hmmed and hawwed. They mispronounced it. They asked each other in Khmer. Nothing. No one knew and instead of bothering me for another 20 minutes, they bothered me for another 3. They acknowledged what's fair was fair. I went the rest of the way dangling the bait and they laughed at their cleverness turned back at them. Most thought Montana and Louisiana were countries. Sometimes it worked better than others because many wanted something easier! And telling me countries to guess the capital of wasn't working either (Thanks, Roinilla). They slinked away as I kept walking trying to figure out where in the world Maryland could be.

At the final temple, I walked slowly and heavily with the day pressed on my shoulders. I sat down as I saw another beautiful little girl walk over to me with sarongs and t-shirts draped over her shoulders. She asked if I'd buy, I denied, she asked my country, I told her, she told me the capital and I smiled weakly in lethargy. I laughed, okay. One more time. I have a deal for you. Are you good at capitals? Ï am!"she piped quickly with confidence. "I know!"and I laughed again. They all knew. If you can guess this capital, I will buy something from you. But only if. What's fair is fair." She nodded quickly and waited in excited anticipation. The silence in which she stood was astounding. "What--is the capital of Montana?
"Helena!!!" She burst, jumping up and down.
Holy crap, Are you kidding me!?!? Ryan and I clapped in hysterical disbelief! She knew it! I had done this alll day and she was the only one! I had lost! I informed her she had surely won and we practically skipped to her stall and she glowed in her win. I thought that Montana might have been a lucky guess but she kept going, just as pleased at winning as I was for her, intent to show me she really was good at this. "And the capital of New Mexico is Santa Fe! And the capital of Arkansas is Little Rock! And the capital of Vermont is Montpelier! And the capital of Nevada is Reno....no, no, CARSON CITTTYYYYY!" she crooned through laughter that boisterously sparkeled. It was incredible. This teenager made my heart burst with joy. We talked, we laughed, I purchased. It was great.

At her stall, we found out that she and her (almost identical) sister knew 6 languages at conversational levels. Ryan spent the next 15 minutes talking to them in Spanish. As I sat there waiting for Ryan to finish buying a t-shirt from her sister, I spotted the Capital Genius asking two more westerners to buy her wares.
I called out to them, "Buy from her! She is incredibly bright! She knows that the capital of New Mexico is Santa Fe, and that the capital of Arkansas is Little Rock, and that the capital of Vermont is--

"Montpelier!" the American exclaimed in pleasure. "I know! She told me! That's where I'm from!" and my new friend and I laughed together, the American in the chair, and the Cambodian with silk sarongs hung over both shoulders.

Let Us Do The Going

2009-10-14T01:40:00.001-07:00

:rain:

It didn't even look like it was going to rain.
Look at all that rain; it's coming down. Mmm, I love
that sound. So much water clearing the heat away.

...wait! Oh, crap. MY CLOTHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and that's when you realize there are serious drawbacks to not owning a clothes dryer. In tropical climates, though fabulous, weather is a capricious lover. The fact that your clothes have been hanging on the line not 5 minutes mean nothing to it--at any point in time, your soapy smelling fabric, your stained skirt you couldn't get the curry blot out of, your underwear is toast. kaptuz. a gonner. I need those clothes by morning! I pick my cotton up from the soil. I don't even want to talk about the ants that make clotheslines into a tightrope show.

Thunder threatens again in the distance. I bite my thumb at thee, sir.

I spent an exhausting day in muggy Chiang Mai city trying to get my errands done. I fixed my cell phone (that's right, you heard me :glare:) at AIS, a Thai telecom company, turned in a shirt and dress to be mended at Valentinos: the International Tailor (ooh la la) for $100 baht (about $4.oo which probably could have paid less if I had devoted more time finding a Thai tailor), and went on the hunt for some Doxy tablets for Anna. I met this great woman named Samia, who was running some sort of sketchy healing/dancing retreat and fingered her telephone number wondering when I'd call her now on a phone that finally works. Though hot, I smiled at how composed I was becoming in town. I think I felt the same way over the two-month mark in Uganda. I know where I am going, I know when to cross the street, I know how to bargain at the appropriate time, balancing smile--show teeth but not too much; bowed head to show humility--with a slightly insistent eyebrow. Isn't that price a little high? Thais walk confidently, yet quickly down streets. I match their speed; I have places to go just like everyone else who lives here.

I wake up every morning looking at green cascading mountains looming above rice fields and people cultivating them in pointed hats like you see in pictures and documentaries, but this morning was unmatched. At HQ, I went to close the blinds to block out the morning glare across my webcam and ended up leaving Bryce waiting. What kind of SKY! The mental picture: green rice stalks on the bottom, hazy white fog from right above their tips up to the clouds, the black silhouette of the Buddhist temple on the hill, and a big-round-sun-ball-of magma jutting out of the whiteness just to the right of the black facade. Wonder. I thought the sun could only do that at sunset.

Back in the street, after finding malaria medicine, I unfortunately ended up behind two western men and two very tiny Thai women. The short 20-something guy closest to me, held his hand stiffly on the small of her back, as his host wrapped her arms around herself. Her black, clumpy sweatshirt overpowered her small shoes. His posture seemed to acknowledge this wasn't going as well as he planned either. She looked toward the street and he, ahead. The woman in front engaged with her chum a little bit more. Her tall stilettos made her sway her frayed mini-mini skirt with better utility, despite minor dips into cracked concrete. The men laughed forcefully at a joke. A large, purple bruise showed underneath her cute leather ankle strap.

But with all the preparations and errands done, I hope to have more observations outside of this house because I am getting out of this house. Tomorrow starts our sabbath. THE INTERNS ARE GOING ON VACATION! Here. To here, my dear family and friends:

Angkor Wat, in Cambodia

(photo by javajive)

after months of being strapped to computers and stressing over professors who defy logistics, the interns are going to see the country. An epic sightseeing rove. Anna and I are taking a 13-hour train south to Bangkok, meeting the boys at the train station (they're down there at a Disaster Relief conference right now), then a 2 hour train to the border of Cambodia, a bus from the border to Siem Reap, then we'll spend a few days at Angkor. "They" say you can't see the whole temple in one day. After that, we'll take some kind of 6 hour transpo to Phenom Penh, then back to the border, one ferry, and pop up at the resort the students will be at on one of southern Thailand's beach islands. I eye my extremely tight pocket book and turn my mind to happier things. Like...new languages and other backpackers with "scam me" written all over their fanny packs. :shudders: those things! Two weeks. I'll try to post pictures if we run into internet cafes.

After that our teachers will begin teaching. The students will reel from the amount of reading. I will try to satisfy professor needs and threaten the sky with my fist. While a thin kid from Ohio stands beside me {for a month!!!} trying to figure out what to make of the world.

Opening the first pages

2009-10-12T05:54:00.000-07:00

finally, reading "Reading Lolita in Tehran." In Thailand of all places.
and I remember who gave it to me and how much
I love her that she would send me a book, a yard
of patterned fabric for my birthday, and how I just love her in general. Very much,
that sincere and utterly clinging friend of mine, Michelle.

who looks better in my clothes than i do.
who won't let me clean the dishes because it makes her feel like a bad houseperson.
who constantly wrangles me into getting ice cream even though she knows the "break" is more for her than for me.
who taught me how to be honest.
who taught me how to live from my being.

The author writes lyrically, a 'painterly writer' and michelle lives this way. she lives paint.

I read the book and I want to be in the northwest with her pregnantness, talking about it; and taking in her profound insights that make me feel like mine were wrested from a 5th grader.
Only a miracle could make that happen but while I wait for that, I jot down another addition to all the things I want to do and places I want to see in my life.

Number forty-three: see Tehran.

Poking Around Dok-My

2009-10-10T20:33:00.000-07:00

There's a point to my being here, relegated to this teak round table, poring over anthropology articles and information about the education of stateless people. Jstor can be such a pain. I don't know why they don't hand out access to people who have graduated college--GUYS, really?-- but thanks to the Fishers I can do my work. My eyes are getting kind of blurry and it feels like I've got so much to cover yet.

The students need context for understanding their research community. It's a sticky situation when you add well-meaning westerners into a foreign environment and it still has residues of the stickiness no matter how hard you try, but Dwight's job is to minimize that as much as possible. There's unintended consequences to everything but, if we can, the goal of our class is to pop the floating theories about what it means to "help" people and break the swords of rushing action before anybody gets hurt. Think retroactive effects of the dreaded "Missions Trip". Our belief is that communities can be read like anything else. Our tools are only questions. And the best question is primary:

What would you like to have done to fix your problem?

The Ethnography of Dok-my* CommunityThis is our problem: Dok-My community was recommended to me by the Thailand Church of Christ (CCT) dedicated to helping the Lahu in the area. The Lahu are an expressive, egalitarian hill tribe group in Northern Thailand that have moved down to urbanity to find economic prosperity. An American woman cried at our orientation--The Lahu don't do very well in the city. But what the S&D wanted us to study was the cemetery issue. I know, cemetery? Big whoop, but its actually really interesting: We've got a cultural clash here, folks. The Thai are afraid of spirits and burn their dead. The Lahu Nyi are Christian and bury their dead. The Lahu don't have any rights, so they can't buy land for burial and the Thai discourage and capitalize on such reality by charging exorbitant prices to bury one person. The war of politics and cultural values.

I met with a Lahu Dok-My volunteer geared up about the cemetery business, excited to get our students involved but he ended up saying they didn't have that problem very much anymore. Their biggest problem was that the children are selling flowers out on the road late into the evenings. The volunteer said the sometimes the children weren't allowed to come back home if they hadn't sold all their flowers. And the much harder issue? Dok-My community didn't see that as a problem. He wanted help showing the community that this was one. Not what I had intended. Show a community a problem they don't see as a problem? It feels sticky already.

my descriptive observations:

Location: Twenty minutes southeast of where we all live.
Setting: Rural-feeling community in the middle of an suburban setting. When you step into Dok-My, it even feels different. It feels like you are in a different world.
Demographics

Population: 64+ families,
Ethnicity: 54 Lahu Families, 10 Shan Families
Language: Lahu
Origins: Mae Hong Son District, Tak District, Chiang Rai District, and Chiang Mai District of Northern Thailand.
Av. child per family: 3 children.

Road Infrastructure: Unpaved, pot-holed mud roads.Shelter/Facilities: Temporary, bamboo houses on small stilts. Blue tarps used for excessive rain. Multi-room houses, with one large main room and smaller rooms partitioned off to the side. Attached kitchen, meals cooked over fire (?). Mosquito nets, (big) TVs, dressers, and beds present in some homes. Each family has their own concrete outhouse. Fuel for cooking are sticks and is collected around the community.Utilities: Electricity available in the community and the Thai owner has a water pump for them to use; he charges them 15 baht per_____. The community members pay for both electricity and water along with their property rent. Monthly rent can range from 600 baht to 1800 baht, depending on the size of the family.
Livestock/Agriculture: Visible animals are chickens and only three people have a small partition of land for rice crops because they can afford to rent it from the landowner.
Access to Markets: less than 1 kilometer. Dependent on which resources their looking for.
Transportation: Motorbikes, bicycles, and a few community members own trucks.
Vocation:Most of the community participates in temporary day labor (e.g. construction, flower business, electricians, gardeners in the botanical sense).
Visible Members during the day: mostly women of various ages and small children.
Role of women: Child rearing and participating in temporary labor with their husbands.
Difficulties:

Their roads are very muddy during the rainy season, making it difficult to travel
The water provided isn't very good. The water from the tank can't be consumed; drinking water must be additionally purchased because the tank has no filter and the water that is available to them is rusty and smells badly.
They can't develop their land because they do not own it. They do not own it because they are not legally allowed to.

Treatment by Thais : Most of the cultural conflict arises between teenagers! Sure, some of the adult Thais look down on them, but usually adults are able to communicate well with local leaders. Adults seldom ever have problems with one another. The teenagers from both groups, however, clash.
Flower Business:

The man interviewed said his sells fluctuate but he can usually sell 60-70 flowers/day. He sells flowers with a partner, leaving the house at about 4 or 5 pm and returning at 10pm. If it's a good night, they return early at 9pm. Sometimes he sells peanuts but he can't sell many things. He doesn't know Thai so its difficult to market many products so he sticks to one.

Education: Every child goes to school, except the littlest ones (age 4 and below), to a government-run Thai school one kilometer away. Education is considered important to the parents and that's why they do the best they can to send them there. Some of their children (esp. boys) go to the video game shop instead of school and are, therefore, terrible in their studies.

Most children stop at primary and secondary school level. Only a few pass on to the high school level, and less that 10% go to university.

Expressed Need: They want to have a better village to live in. These Lahu want their own land to live on. The local government burns garbage near their community and there's nothing they can do about the fumes. The Thai lifestyle also differs from theirs greatly because Thais are Buddhist and they are Christian. They want a community that's separated from Buddhist reach.

Can the students show that a road to their dream has education on it? Hopefully Dwight knows how.
________
*name of community has been changed for confidentiality purposes. Dok-My means "flower" in Thai.

"Fail"

2009-10-06T01:39:00.000-07:00

I am awful at blogging.
It's been a fortnight, and I haven't written on here nearly as much as I should.
isn't this supposed to a documentation of my time here,
isn't this supposed to be an exposition of what I think about my experiences,
isn't this supposed to be a place for me to post photos of four-legged creatures I find in situations of adorableness? I can do that now, you know. Thais have pets.

What things are and what they should be are often not the same things. It's my perfectionism that gets in the way, don't you see? If something isn't good or deeply thought out, it is physically impossible for me to put it up for public viewing. Now my profs can know why my papers were often late. Good things take time, people, they take time. I do accept my "FAIL" and am trying to make amends. Look, I won't even reread this blog twice.
First reparation:

(<------) We found these in an abandoned truck when we were trying to find hiking in a local national park. There; feel better? I do.

Yes, the students are gone, but the first noticeable change to life in Northern Thailand is the billowing of thunder clouds that loom on the edges of the valley hills. The wind picks up in the afternoon and those clouds, when they feel like it, drop the most amazing display of water known to internkind. The wind, that moisture, cools down the air like composure and changes the weather from sweaty-back-Tshirt weather to Spring in Chicago. The heat difference between August and September is like none other. Come on in, boys, the water is fine.

I feel like my time is gearing up here even though I have only a month and a half left in the Mekong region. Dwight is on his way, I'm the intern, and everything needs to run like pie when he gets here; chop of the chop!I've been practicing making lists. They look nice. I've done my field visit for the Minority community the students will research for, and from here on out, I've got a quiet room staked out so I can sort through articles about Development in the Mekong and cultural information for the people group the students will be working with. The sad thing about the textbooks is that they cover "Third World" poverty (we don't use that term anymore. It's original purpose as a term meant something great but overtime its simply condescending) and Thailand isn't. It's "Second world" (for lack of a better word! Ahh @_@) and defies every reason for development that's found around the rest of the world. Imperialism created the divisions we know today, and have for much of our history as people, but Thailand was never colonized, imperial-ized, occupied. Never. This sly country wiggled out of just about every attempt of domination the world could throw at it.

It shows on the socio-political level and the one-on-one level. Thailand is the only place I know in the Global South where they are not even the slightest entertained or impressed that you are Western. Thais could care less. They have a beautiful amount of confidence because though they aren't as technologically far along as some Western nations, they have never had any reason to think less of themselves; they know who they are and have done fine enough for themselves. They find their own way and ask for advice only when they want to.
Its difficult to teach a Development Class when the place you live doesn't feel deficient in anyway. Why do it? Because, just like back home in the states, we have this nagging little belief that everyone should have the opportunity to participate in such prosperity, no matter who they are or where they come from. There are people people who don't have access to resources and they can't have access because they're not legally allowed to. Uh-oh. We are students, not politicians.
But that's what this whole thing is about. Allowing the students to ask "should we, could we, would we?" to exclusion and poverty we see. Sometimes the answer is "no" and we're okay with that.
Hopefully there'll be a rough course reader compiled by the end of the week. List it.
On the recreational side of recreation, we go into Chiang Mai town and spend some little monies (this is how we pay for things in Thailand: zee "baht"). 35 baht= $1.00. That's the king. Thais love him very very much.We take bike rides around Doi Saket and watch as much Colbert as physically possible. I watch most times. Our favorite thing in the world is the projector, hands down. Going into Chiang Mai city is a whole day thing, plan for it early, since taking a Songthaew into town can take up to an hour for the twenty minute drive and even more to get out. Thae Pae gate is gearing up for something, I'm not sure, but they've begun to decorate the square. Loi Kratong is coming at the end of the month and to say we're excited is the understatement of the year. Kenny (or "Dad") is obsessed with sustainable farming and wants someone to pee on his newly laid straw (nitrogen enriching! he says); Ryan has been so kind enough to volunteer.
"Ryan, do you have to take a piss?"
"Uh, no. Not right now."
Jordan will do it for the meantime. We have a battle with the skinny, free-range chickens and Kenny's garden. We will beat you scavenging chickens! Members in our little polis receive a new gardening tidbit daily. DID YOU KNOW: that you can put organic kitchen scraps in a lidded bucket, let it ferment for two weeks, put in it in your soil, and in two weeks you'll have fertile soil? Why, it sure beats the other methods of composting. My life is surely better, I don't know about yours.
The Lahu students are away on break and the rice has budded, dotting the vibrancy outside with brown. The land shall see harvest sometime. At the end of next week, the interns might find themselves on the way to Cambodia before we reunite with the students in Southern Thailand. Phenom Penh, the wonder, is a' calling out to us.
Delicious Thai dinner is hanging in the air; and tomorrow, I will conquer development articles.
An ethnoblog of the research community to come...

Until then here's a video that just makes me SO glad.

Davis Fingers, Toes, and Heartbeats

2009-10-02T21:27:00.001-07:00

Today my best friend heard the heartbeat of her child.

it is a very good day world's apart.(photo taken by Cat, the incredible)

Mayday

2009-10-01T09:09:00.000-07:00

My computer is down.
3 hour conversation to Dell, 6 reroutes, one faulty microphone system, 4 frustrated operators, 2 language barriers, one persistent Thai support = new hardrive

New hard drive delivered today special order from Singapore in the hands of the incredibly hospitable Thai technical support.

However, My new hard drive has no software. Mine is back in the US. I can't run my computer without something to run my programs on. I need that software.

1 hour conversation to Dell, 4 reroutes, one perfect Miller headset, one confused Indian woman = 5 delivered software CDs.

Estimated Arrival: next Thursday

I am one terribly tired and stuck intern. I need Word and Internet access to compile a course reader, update Dwight, and keep in touch with our potential guest speakers.
Hopefully it shows up next week, but with Dell, you just never know. I've called them too many times for this situation to be straightforward.

You know technology is taking over your life when you get crackhead jittery at the thought of not having your laptop for 7 days. DELL, why must you torment me?

All Work and No Play Makes Jack a Dull Boy

2009-09-26T01:44:00.000-07:00

Tri-Semester Finals, dun-Dun-DUNh!
12 page reflection paper
30 page group paper
2 presentations of research
1 test.

All of us interns hide behind our computers and try not to look up. It was never this difficult in the Africa Program. The students have been working-working-working and the time has come for the house to breathe sighs of relief and transition for the next part of their journey. These two classes have been academically intensive for masters programs, let alone undergrad, and it's been phenomenal watching these girls pump this academic work out in four weeks (their course reader for Exclu. & Expl.--not including their textbooks for the course--is over 1,500 pages of human rights reports, country profiles, and ethnic research). In the beginning even Julia threw looks of concern...Christa, are you crazy? Four weeks. Do you know there's only FOUR weeks? But they have gone above and beyond. Uganda & Rwanda programs, cower in shame.

This weekend all of the students, two interns, and "mom" stuffed into Ajran Marting's scalding trunk bed and rode 15 minutes away to a tiny retreat so the students could have a peaceful environment to have their finals. The interns are only one half because the other two are out gallivanting around VIETNAM (ahem, google image one of their destinations: Halong Bay) for a few more days and won't be back until Wednesday. I don't want to talk about it.

No, no, I love them dearly; it is my wanderlust jealousy which overcomes me. Contender for the 7th wonder of the natural world? Have you seen those Google images? Just......lemmie get some air.

Day one: 6 hours in class for History, Religion and Society of the Mekong Region.
Day two: 2 and 1/2 hours for Exclusion and Exploitation presentations.

Their command of their topic was excellent. Their setup alone looked like Masters Thesis defence. Minus Kiersten's snarley face in photography below. It was only Christa, Anna, Julia and I in the audience but there was a row of chairs in front of us to be a buffer for potential facial criticisms.
Summary: The partnership of national governments and foreign economic powers creates an environment for exploitation of minority peoples. They looked at a couple of instances of land confiscation and ethnic tourism. They conjectured that perhaps this is a new face of colonialism in Southeast Asia, but not in the traditional sense. Because corrupt governments of Cambodia and Laos take the money, the ideas, and environmentally destructive projects of the World Bank without speculation, without concern for their citizens (especially minority hill tribe people), all of their resources and income pay off Western loans/interests and exploit their people for GDP (trekking companies, dam projects, etc).
This reality doesn't allow development to reach the people who need it. In Cambodia's case, most resources don't reach 90% of the people because that ninety-percent still live in what would be considered "Third World" poverty. Cat's part on ethnic tourism in Thailand and Laos was so fascinating--a good sociological expose, to make even the likes of Amy Brainer proud. I learned so much about Bubble tourism, Ethnic tourism and the social psychological detriments of hosting people who can afford to be in "tropical paradise". She should do her dissertation on tourism in the Mekong region. Invisible Children and Acting on AIDS has opened up many opportunities for the Church to be involved in responsible, transformational activism. What could the global church do to bring awareness of the treatment of Hmong in Laos and the Karren in Burma? Could they? Should they?
Classes over, questions asked, tropical fruit consumed, we did something we haven't been able to all do these four weeks.
Resort guests took pictures of our American shrieking jolliness and I took a picture with one of the resort staff to remember the first black person she'd ever seen. She kept on staring intently and her smile stretching from ear to ear, she pointed me out specifically. Photo. She was so awesome, I didn't mind. The girls have one day of glorious down time and Monday will be on their way to their three-week practicum for the 2nd third of the semester.
Beth: Mekong Minority Foundation, General Internship, Chiang Rai, TH
Bianca: Sustainable Agriculture, Systems Research Intern, Chiang Rai, TH
Cat: Bi-vocational Laotian School, Advertising Intern, Laos
Kiersten & Nikki: Garden of Hope, Street Children Research Interns, Chiang Mai, TH

The boys will be home on Wednesday.
I have a Lahu research community visit on Thursday.
And much of my work lays before me.

The P.S.
Dear Passion fruit,
The thing is, I'm in love you. I should have made it official much sooner, we have history in Uganda, but you are my favorite of the fruit variety. I don't mean to be effusive. I just think you make the best juice ever.

Oh, Yeah

2009-09-24T05:26:00.000-07:00

my egg rolls have tails.

Happy, Happy

2009-09-24T02:12:00.001-07:00

23rd

Anniversaryof Birth, Nikki!

(the 2 pictures directly above taken by Kiersten Shonauer, GoEd student)

The What? The Wat Phra-Thaat

2009-09-20T07:46:00.000-07:00

It might have been the curves, g-forces pulling me backward as the songthaew hoisted us higher up Doi Suthep mountain to see The temple of Northern Temples, that made my stomach tighten and rush like after boys whip you around those spinney-metal-go-rounds-of-doom on old playgrounds. It could have been too much of that coke slushy from 7-11 (stores all over Chiang Mai) or that bag of Lays and two bowls of granola/yogurt I inhaled this morning. Jakob, the young, Israeli government official gabbed in front of me, the jungle outside grew higher as the turns became sharper, Cat's eyes were as big as motion-sickness saucers and the blue sky was upon us. The air was colder and thinner up here above the city. He is taking these curves so fast! my brain muttered in between chiding myself for not expecting a spiraling way. "So, Roe, you will be the next Condi-leeeeza Rice" Jakob laughed and I kept my smiling eyes focused on his chin. DRAMAMINE! Don't throw up and everything will be okay.

Oh, Condi.

Wat Doi Suthep was founded in 1383 when it was mythically demarcated as a holy place--a white elephant trumpeted three times from Sugar Elephant Mountain--and this holy place contains a relic of Buddha (think piece of the Cross, St. Paul's Basilica, Italy) while other holy buildings have accrued over the centuries. Up the steps, the temple courts await visitors from all over the world.

The Songthaew stopped and I wanted to be stopped forever. I needed fresh air, a bed, some water, some crackers, something. Just no more movement. I had to sit on the sidewalk to gather my wits, and Jakob bid us adieu until we returned down together. Bianca bubbled around me and I focused on the ground. "Maybe we should move you out of the meat smells" Cat advised, and we moved slowly up the temple tourist stalls so I could sit down. We urged Bianca to go on ahead of us and we sat at the bottom of the 300 temple steps regaining our sea legs. The entry way to Wat Phrathat Doi Sutep was guarded by two fierce Dragons heads, with 7 dragon-headed tongues coming out of its mouth. Their bodies flanked the length of the staircase, their scaley bodies rolling up both sides. Obscuring the temple was lush jungle forest all around us and the air was much fresher up here than it was down in Chiang Mai Valley. Hmong children, or children dressed in Hmong traditional clothing anyway, stood at the bottom trying their best to look adorable so tourists could take pictures with them and pay them for it.

Getting out of the house was just what we had been needing. The 5 looming papers have been dragging the students merrily down, kicking butt, taking names, all that, and what with all that reading to do, HeadQuarters (Julia and Kenny's place) was becoming a little cramped. Our schedule was hedging us in: Breakfast, Songthaew, Class, Lunch, Songthaew, Class, Songthaew, Homework, Dinner, Homework, Sleep, Breakfast, Songhaew. Repeat or {insert Field Trip here} and just before it became too much, the students would be leaving for practicum throughout the Mekong to begin a different month-long adventure. There was still so much of the city to see. And "they" say no one has ever seen Chiang Mai if they don't ever lay eyes on Wat Prathat Doi Suthep.Entering into the court literally felt like entering into a holy place. It didn't really matter that there were tourists snapping photos everywhere or people buying flower/incense offerings over a counter or shoe piles in the corner. There's just something about the color saffron and the twang of Asian instruments that can make anything reverent. On one side of the courts Hmong girls danced their routine and on their other side children played music for the visitors. Monks came and went, and a little line of people started forming. A road, rather. What's going on, a parade at the temple? Is someone important coming?

The line began to get longer and from a helpful Thai man (who's family was all catholic and, he, the only buddhist) much obliged: the Songkhala was coming! The highest rank you could go as a monk. "It's like the pope" he whispered down to Cat. And the monk came and the women and brightly dressed children threw flower petals at his feet and the Songkhala touched peoples heads as they passed. AHH, TOUCHING HEADS! What are you doing?!?! You do not touch anyone's head in Thailand, and just like foreigners touching in public, I repelled but after think-thinking, maybe from such a high ranking person, it's okay. To touch someone's head is to say you're above them but this man is obviously above a normal Thai. Perhaps it's obvious that just to be touched by someone of such esteem is a blessing.

What's strange for me is that I have no idea what to think about Buddhist temples. I'm not Buddhist and so I don't have any desire to give merit, or offering, or pray but the construction of these places are unparalleled. Of this devotion, I simply can't comprehend.The rest of the day consisted of being caught in a downpour under ancient trees, sitting down for (too coffee-y) iced coffee, and seeing the solid gold Chedi in the inner courts. The rain stopped and the sound of temple bells rung by visitors suffused the air. The Europeans complained. The look out to the city, framed in Bougainvillea I'll have you know, was enough to take your breath away. It was so nice up there and inevitably time to leave it. Cat and I took an engagement photo before we left ("Make Sure To Get The Stairs!"). We left, jumping into another songthaew with our Israeli friend and bunch of German globetrotters and wound our precarious (and motionsick) selves back down Sugar Elephant Mountain. Jakob and a middle-aged German couple chatted excitably with each other all the way down. We waved goodbye to "our" friend ("I will see you in guh-varment! You take Condi-leeez-a Ryyce's place!" shaking my hand firmly) and arrived home in time to eat Chicken Joanna and conquer papers.

"This paper is kicking my a_ _." Cat Mungcal.
They're trying here, people.

later--
I called my mother today. I just needed my mother.
I saw this at Doi Suthep. HI, MOM!

Abby: This is for you

Your Best Bet is to Smile

2009-09-13T08:21:00.000-07:00

*You know you've been in Thailand for a while when you cringe at Westerners in spaghetti strap tops and frown when foreigners physically touch in public. Stop holding hands! Don't they know people can see them?!
*You know you've been in Thailand for a while when food that doesn't burn the edges of your lips seems bland.
*You know you've been in Thailand for a while when you feel a compulsion to keep the bottom of your feet down or away from others when seated.
*You know you've been in Thailand for a while when a baby elephant climbs out of a truck in the same Down-town parking lot you're in and lumbers past your van.
*You know you've been in Thailand for a while when you're 45 minutes late and your impulse is to say Mai pen rai ka and smile and wai it off to make it seem like it's no big deal.
-------
*It's hard to know what it means to Thais who see you or what they're thinking when you buy something or use chopsticks or greet them but you're best bet is to just smile. They are, no matter what's going on inside of them.
*Friday we had a evening field study of Chiang Mai's Red Light Districts.
*Late in the night, we were spontaneously taken to a back-alley Karaoke brothel for field study, were intimidated by some Thai man who wanted to know what the heck 10 farang were doing walking down a back alley (this ain't no stinkin' tourist attraction), and drank sodas with the owner and her girls for an hour while Kenny sang Thai pop songs loudly.
*A Thai man found his way into the our singing cubicle and was jovial but heavily intoxicated. He kept shaking our hands and toasting us. When asked to leave finally by the owner, he was noticeably upset and pointed his finger at the "Karaoke" girls outside (you do NOT point at someone in Thailand. You do it only when you mean to insult).
*In every guide book I've read, the warning is clear: you will regret making a Thai man upset.
*When Cat, Anna, and I didn't want to be in the karaoke anymore, the angry drunk Thai man spotted us walking back and followed us slowly down the back alley.
*By the time we were at the van, we were nearly running; our driver couldn't understand my trickling English trying to form words of alarm: a man. bad intentions. after us. I wanted him so badly to step in between us and cut off the approaching man.
*The door was opened finally, we jumped in, and breathed a sigh of relief as the man stopped where the road ended and then ducked into the nearest karaoke.
*I was terrified out of my mind, angry that the incident wasn't taken seriously, and felt disappointed in our professor for putting us in a situation she hadn't thought through.
*It's more difficult knowing that everyday women of the red light districts don't have vans to envelope them in safety.
*It's more difficult to know that because of their ethnicity many are forced or impelled economically to haunt those back alleys with men who could care less.
*I've begun to deeply understand that many of their nights are far scarier.
*After prayer and a phone call the next day, I felt much more at peace with what had happened.
*I found out in a lecture @ Payap University on "Racism and Xenophobia in Thailand" why Thais are (scouts honor) afraid of Black people:

Thailand is a Theravada Buddhist country, yes, but animism seeps into everything they do and believe.
When humans die, they turn black in the decaying process.
The Thais are incredibly incredibly afraid of spirits and ghosts.
Thais believe that black spirits (Pi-lao) walk around sucking people's blood.
When an African/African-American walks around, it literally seems like a Pi-lao is roaming and the Thai will recoil back in fear until they realize they are in fact human beings and mean no harm.
No one has recoiled from me yet; only wondered in subtle amazement, touched my skin when close to me, and commented on the curly softness of my hair.

Ryan asked me how I felt about that and I told him at first I was really amused. And when I think about it now--I think I feel tense but the same. At this point, it seems ridiculous to be hurt about something like that--can you blame them if their worldview/religion has no place for a dark-skinned person? You take it for what its worth and try to craft words to tell a funny story about it later. In Thailand, it's best not to let anything bother you too much. You should see all of us parade our new bicycles through Doi Saket with playboy bunnies on the baskets and bright red helmets. If that won't lighten your heart, I don't know what will.

So What Do You Do Again?

2009-09-09T03:59:00.000-07:00

Julia's calling me for a meeting, Au Jan Marting is waiting for me at a meeting, and I am rolling the word "meeting" around in my mouth like a fuzzy LEGO piece. I woke up one day and was expected to do adult things.

My inner child is not understanding.
It wagers I will start wanting to have long conversations about the news.

which I do. of course.

But I love what I do, no matter how ambiguous and touch-n-go it is (City: Int'l. Development, Population: every social institution ever) and miraculously things have been falling into place very well. With Au Jan Marting as the man-o-connections, things just go a lot more smoothly than spending all my time trying to make connections myself in Uganda. God, I am awful at networking. I'm serious, I can be charming in conversations but I lack the fairy dust to make business relationships stick past goodbye.

My Position: Teachers Assistant for Social Context of Development
I Answer to: Dr. Dwight Jackson, FH Country Director-Rwanda & Professor. Julia 'Loerep' Miller, Student Life Coordinator and house mom-Mekong

Dwight has never been to Southeast Asia, let alone read much on Southeast Asia, so it's my job to be his mind and feet. I learn about Thai context, geopolitical happenings in this region, and cultural variables that affect development. By context, I mean political/economic/religious/social aspects of Thai life. What does it mean to be Thai? What does it mean to be Thai in Asia? What does it mean to not be Thai? By development, I mean assisting locals or minority groups in anything they'd like done (access to water sanitation/utilities, power to buy land, conflict between minority & majority groups), that sort of thing. Learn about Thailand before I get there and fill me in.

The class teaches the students how to read a community and provide research that NGOs (non-governmental organizations) can use to better serve that community; something to empower the people. My responsibilities are to find that community, learn its story, discover its most pressing issue, figure out how the students can help that situation with descriptive research, and figure out logistics. Where will the students sleep! Who will cook for them? How will transportation work?! How expensive is it?! That sort of thing. Dwight then teaches the hard stuff.

Above these things, I prepare for the class. The textbooks picked are great for Africa but we don't know if they're great for Asia so I read 'em, throw out the weak parts, and create learning aids/recruit speakers to create a better understanding if necessary. I have meetings with Julia to chart my progress, send emails to Dwight and Au Jan Marting acts as my greater boss and my interpreter. Thanks to him, my meeting with the Social & Development unit of the Church of Christ in Thailand was super productive.

Fortunately: I am not evaluated on my use or misuse of commas.
D-Day: November 1st. Jackson steps off the plane for the first time in Asia and will want to be ready to teach this course. (@_@)

The best part of my job: I am learning all the time. And I'm slowly figuring out (by trial. by error) what it means be a critical, compassionate Christian practitioner in world that seems way too harsh most of the time. I simultaneously have a lot of, god-love-you, freedom of movement/schedule. Apart from learning for my own course, I get to attend the field trips and classes with the students. It's really really fun sometimes, like going horseback riding @ the Eubanks' a few days ago (yes.please.), beautiful a lot of times, but GoEd is not supposed to be a vacation, an adventurous story to amaze our audience. Warfare, sexual abuse, and discrimination of tribal people we are regularly faced with chills to the bone. GoEd is to change us.
Classes and my downtime with the everyone are vundaful (we are each others' family for four months) and talking these difficult things out with one another gives me a look into their minds as well as my own. Nouwen says it is impossible to be empathetic for the ones you serve if you have no community to shoulder their burdens too. It is here I've realized all I know how to do is live in community. Thanks College! All 10 of us ride to school together, make jokes together, write our emails together, eat together, learn together, fight ants together and sleep in common bunks, all of this showing us what it means to be human and human beings to others. I'll give up the secret: our blogs are dripping with an agenda to educate. Being informed does things to people. There's nothing like a community coming from different places who are looking in the same direction--care for our earth and a life abundant for the poor and non-poor alike.

Words make my feelings seem sentimental but sentiment doesn't last this long. I think my inner-child is right about death-by-meetings. I'll have to play and be lighthearted and be spontaneous much much more now. Balance, you know.

Ryan is strumming the guitar in the dark, geckos are climbing along the walls, and the Lahu bell will strike tomorrow at 5:30am over the the rice fields. They will sing loudly, making us all curse in our sleep, and I'll have reading to do. The kingdom is near, I do believe.

------------------
The textbooks for my course

(256pgs): Walking with the Poor: Principles and Practices of Transformational Development. I recommend this book to every Christian involved in any social development and social work field. Contrary to the ring of it's title, it is not in any way condescending or naive. It is right on.
(247pgs): Encountering Development: The making and the unmaking of the Third world.
(238pgs): Promises Not Kept: Poverty and the betrayal of Third world development.

The Triangle and the Children From Nowhere

2009-09-06T04:12:00.000-07:00

[Disclaimer: I don't call Burma "Myanmar" because the government in power is illegitimate and doesn't have the authority to rename a country it doesn't officially run, right?]
If you ignored the Japanese man in the neon green hat, circa early 90s (oh man, think White Man Can't Jump w/ Wesley Snipes), and kept your eyes level up from the white stone patio to the sky, there was nothing between you and an 80ft wall of lush jungle but floor-length glass. If you refused to move from the museum seat outside to where the man on the balcony stood (that hat!), you would never know there was a convoy of pimped up tour buses holding children with short attention spans and every hue of tourist khaki; group t-shirts. If you didn't move, if you just sat, it felt like the vegetation was the largest natural art exhibit in the world, the wind made it speak, and you could have peace enough to think about how the history of opium had gotten so out of hand.

But you have to move and down below the patio are those extravagant tour buses with anime characters on the side and silver vans that sound like they're taking off into outerspace when they backup but none of that changes the fact that the Hall of Opium was and is one of the most beautiful museums, I believe, has ever been built. The unbelievable part is something so profound is set literally in the middle of tropical nowhere.

If you look up in your handy guide book you bought on Amazon, the Golden Triangle is advertised like the Wild West of Asia [[bang]] where, after you've witnessed a behind the back drug-deal-trafficking-deal, you can conveniently go on a great tour, buy the t-shirt, which is true in a lot of ways but not with such vibrant advertising ink. The Golden Triangle does mark the opium growing regions of Thailand, Laos, and Burma but you wouldn't catch one of those deals. Driving up to Mae Sai for our field trip, four hours from "home", is like driving up to a palace with no palace at the end, the promenade lined with gilded posts in Thai style, not any place where folks smuggle opiates or people. For that matter, within a 35 mile radius outside of that, are only sleepy, quiet houses at the base of a green mountain. The humid environment becomes your every breath. The only business to see is the beggar Akha child trying to hustle 5 baht from you on the bridge between Thailand and Burma. You were going to use that 20 baht for an ice coffee anyway.

On the Burma side, The Burmese "prime minister" tries hard to look intimidating in a large frame in the creepy immigration office and the Thai/Burman men on the other side really really really want to sell you a carton of cigarettes for $4.00. Everything is meager on this side. Aung San Suu Kyi is in there somewhere.

The muddy river cuts between two shores and if you avoid reading any national news or UN reports or trendy social justice magazines, you would have no indication that Hilltribe girls of Burma are forced to swim over its water in the low season and are trafficked throughout Thailand, Vietnam, and Cambodia by the thousands. They show up in karaoke bars with lots of rouge and flat ironed hair, hand to chest of a French man. The way back is nearly impossible.
Our entry felt like a whirl-wind escapade as all 10 of us were swept up by anticipating tour guides and motorized buggies rushing us to wats! and temples! Akha villages where kids wore blue UNICEF backpacks! and back to Mae Sai gate! with the jerk of their brakes. At the temples we freed birds and I laughed as I bantered with the temple women about my souvenir prices and bought a phenomenal jade bracelet that seems to be permanently attached to my appendage. At the village, we pulled cameras from their holsters, pictures our only proof that we had veni vidi vici-ed, handing out all our snacks to those who weren't hiding one in their hand already. We didn't stop to play or have dinner with their parents. At last, we walk through the Burmese market to be pressed with cigarette cartons (Hell-o! Cigarettes! I sell you 150 baht! Smoking! It is beautiful! I like!).

We were moving, snapping, so fast, how could we feel deeply what was going on in a tumultuous Burma? The next day was the Hall of Opium museum and then a boat ride on the Mekong, murky as the Mi-ss-i-ss-i-pp-i. The bank of orchids and leaves were ravishing and the lunch was arroy mak delicious and the Golden Buddah was gorgeous sitting above the river. Awaiting us on the Laos side were enough souvenirs to amaze the best of our relatives (okay, some not so much) but the hill tribe children still came out from between the stalls, hands open. And as children, I couldn't delude myself to believe it was misfortune or their bad personal choices that put them there. White plates emblazoned THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE and our snapshots (cheeeese!) in the middle waited our purchase on the other Thai bank. We buy some of them because we think they're funny and epic and they are funny and epic.

I want to see these places (tourist) but the companies hoping to profit from my curiosity wreak havoc on our earth of which we are stewards (tourism). And after a great weekend at the Golden Triangle, on the way home, my mind floats back to the boys on the bridge, the 100 ft. no-mans-land that belongs neither to Burma or Thailand or any country. These citizens are Hill Tribe people and therefore have no recognized citizenship. From one perspective they rule themselves but from another they have no protection. The sly boys will continue to run back and forth, the children from nowhere, belonging to no one, demanding drinks that foreigners can't take back through customs; asking for five baht to give to their mothers. Their families will sit on that bridge as long as weather permits, biding their time until either the government or their circumstances claim them first. We take pictures and say we've been there.

Who Loves Thailand, We Love Thailand

2009-08-30T02:01:00.000-07:00

Poi:"Uh, this is...ant's egg....this is...bee's egg..and that's shrimp and that's squid. You can have one of these things in your egg."
R:"....aant's egg??"
P:"yyeah..."
R:"Um. What are you thinking?"
P:"I've never had bee's egg but it's interesting. I'd like to try."
R:"If you try, I'll try."
P:"You take ant, I'll take bee?"
R:"Yeah, that's sound good."
I was really thinking about a squid omelet in its origami banana-leaf boat container because, well, who can turn down calamari and egg for 30 cents but if Poi was going to have some, I was going to have some. It would be fun to tell my mom anyway--she'd freak out. Jordan ate some insect offspring along with with Poi and I. Good man.

It takes people to have shenanigans and a wonderful place to have them in and fortunately my people here are the folks to have them with. I can be free to buzz with anticipation when there's a group that's equally as excited as me to experience Thailand's bustling night culture, to eat things Americans would much rather leave living. Ever since the students have settled in we've been learning about each other (and watching Colbert and laughing at the stupidest tattoos up on the projector) and throwing out ideas about how we will can get the
best out of this experience. Some of us are thinking of things are on the permanent side, but that's just a little obnoxious teaser that deserves later revelation. The interns are dedicated to making it to Angkor Wat in Cambodia before the semester's out. We will see you, temple.
My mother asked me how it was to have one of my best friends, Cat, here with me to share my experience (^up^) and I feel that fantasmic would be the understatement of the century so I'll just go stick with great. It has been a series of unfortunate events and miracles that have placed our feet here together, but a comrade in all this has been invaluable. When I need someone to understand how I'm feeling by a grimace or raise of eyebrow, she's there across the room to receive it, validate it, and throw me the look back: "I have no idea what the hell this lady is talking about either." We see beautiful things every day and it feels really good to know that someone I care about is taking in the same beauty as well. I wouldn't want to consume Thai barbecue (^up^) with anyone else.
The other great parts about being here are (1) taking SongThaews to class and seeing the Thai in various forms of moped awesomeness. Songthaews are trucks with a tall covered cab in the back that carries citizens in and out of Chiang Mai city. Yellow Songthaews come to Doisaket where we are, the Red Songthaews have routes only in the city, and the white, green, and blue songthaews are a mystery to us. Our best story so far is when the epitome of Thai dreamy rode by us fast on a motorcycle, all dressed up in a rust-colored dress, tattoos and taking names. She ties with the woman who transported her furry dog in a Burberry baby-carrier. It seems like we discover an interesting shop or person or restaurant on the way to class each day. The cast of characters in the picture below [from left to right] are Bianca, Beth, and Ryan-the-intern advertising our daily travel. (2) With college students surrounding me and the nature of the classes, I really enjoy thinking about philosophical things with students and watching their thoughts about this new (and hot) context come out into questions about the world around them. What do you do with the presence of women forced by social problems in Burma to work at places that look like Karaoke/Go-Go bars and massage parlors? What do you do with all of the Western men sitting inside them? Or the white men who are led through grocery stores by their "Thai wife"? What can anyone do about faulty labor and migration laws that prop up Thailand's economy but don't extend rights?
Exclusion and Exploitation is taught on Chiang Mai's red light district in the Garden of Hope outreach building and matching our lessons with our observations on Loh Kroi road have been very challenging for us. It's been so good. We have a field trip to Burma and the Golden Triangle on Friday to ask some more hard questions that have no immediate answers. The founder of Free Burma Rangers came to speak with us about what they do, why they do it, and what the Hill tribes of Burma are up against. We left quiet and moved by the way David Eubanks and hundreds of others have chosen to live their lives; the way he looks at the Karen as his own community, come gun or land mine. It is still moving us. It may always. This is Julia! Our house mom, (kenny our house dad is unpictured) and is doing a great job helping an overwhelmed intern, facilitating the students' experiences and managing to do master's social work courses for the U of Minnesota from her laptop at 4am. The Millers have been gallivanting across this planet for a few years now so they're preparing for their move back to the US next summer so both spouses can enroll in grad school and better our world. Our new friends, Poi and Pete, have volunteered to show us around. Poi is 21 years old and majoring in hospitality and Pete is 18 and majoring in music. We love them because Poi laughs with us and makes us feel so comfortable about being different. She won't hesitate to let us know how we're viewed as foreigners and what she thinks about Thailand. She's extremely patient with our infernal questioning and loves to show us new things to eat. Geez, we love eating Thai food. Pete often just stands there smiling and mute but his hair is pretty rockin', which counts.

Anyway, here's some pictures of where we live for you to peruse.We're having a movie night &I really must go. Sorry this is all over the place. Hopefully I'll talk more about the Hill tribes of Burma & Northern Thailand, Thai culture, & my position here.

Give me some time. Lao jer gun ka! (see you later)

In Thai Transitions II

2009-08-23T22:04:00.000-07:00

The thunder cracks in the sky like a charioteer's whip and I am on our little couch struggling to keep my eyes open. Jet lag is trying to be a conqueror. And conquering at really strange times too, like 2pm, 3pm, definitely 4:30pm, making my body tired and my mind wired. For the past three days when I go to bed at 9 or 10 at night, I wake up before the sun. Well, hello three-in-the-a.m. Fancy to see you this early.

But the rain is great (it's hurricane season in Southeast Asia, hang on) and it cools down an otherwise very muggy and hot day. You drive into and out of relaxed Chiang Mai City and everything is draped in GREEN. Where we live is surrounded by rice paddies and the valley is encased by forested hills. You have never seen so many different shades of vibrant in your life.

Our home away from home is a Lahu Christian compound inhabited by the Lahu people, an ethnic minority group in Northern Thailand, situated in Doi Suket. The students take Thai, English, computer and bible classes during the day and worship in the night. And the morning. And the afternoon. You can hear their garage band concert in their sanctuary during all times of the day really. At 5am, they ring the bell. Wake up, eager open minds. It is (obviously) time to greet the day. You too, you American darlings. You hear our bell.
The other day, I took a corner around the staircase and nearly frightened two Lahu girls out of their skin. Sakes alive, jumping 6 inches into the air, shrieking, they rebounded from their fright by wai-ing and practicing their English.
"How are you?"
"I am fine." I smile. "How are you?"
"I am fine."
and they giggled away to tell their friends about the first black person they have ever seen in their lives stalking the stairwell.

Being African-American only becomes noticeable for me when, well, we go out in public. In Carefor (sp?), a French equivalent to Home Depot, I walked into the store and every worker stopped what they were doing. A white person is really no big deal but since African-American's don't tend to ever travel in Asia, blackness can be quite a spectacle. I take note because in Thailand and Asia darkness and skin pigmentation matter. In Mekong Region the darker you are, the worse you may be treated. Darkness is synonymous with ugliness, backwardness, and crime. You can see why I would be concerned about my skin color, the ultimate brown. Walking around in the flower markets with not-so-smiley faces looking my way, I began to internally hesitate. *whimper* Toto....

It wouldn't be such of a problem if I wasn't dependent on social validation (I'm addicted to being liked) but that's what goes along with [1] travel and [2] being Black. It takes an certain amount of grace and a stiff upper lip but what you get in return is often more than worth it. I woke up this morning with a hope of steel. If I smile and treat everyone with honor and respect, I can't possibly be responsible for bad perceptions. I might make a friend.

Markets are really fun in Thailand since they are incredibly packed with aisles of vibrant (indescribable)Thai things. The flowers around the edges of the market smell of a strong fragrant scent worthy of temple offering and the tropical fauna burst. Inside is everything you'd ever want (hot pink lanterns, here. Black gelatin with strange fruit in them, here). Um, Guys, I do think that bucket is moving. There in front of us were eels trying to crawl out for their lives and another basin with imprisoned toads. Ryan and I are hatching a plan to get (SAVE) a toad and turtle for GoEd pets. That's what Julia gets for not letting us have a puppy.

I walked Walking Street by myself while the others got massages and it was packed with distinction. Thais, Farangs (westerners), Chinese, Japanese patronized stalls and I wove through them and looked at all the intricate and interesting knicknacks, clothing, and textiles. Sawat dee Kahhh, sellers called out to entice us with welcome. Blind men, Hill Tribe, and Chinese musicians played in the middle of the moving sea of bodies. All I could see was a red color and all I could hear was the shrill, beautiful twang of traditional Asian instruments, the beats of drums. Street food crackled in the humidity. For the first time since I'd arrived, I felt completely at ease.
The students are in for some great classes:

Exclusion and Exploitation (taught by Harvard Law Professor, Crista Crawford)
Social Context for Development (taught by Dr. Dwight Jackson, Country Director for Rwanda)
Thai Culture and Arts (taught by Dr. Michael Pucci, profound man extraordinaire)
History, Religion, and Society of the Mekong Sub-region (taught by Payap University Faculty)

and Au di Surah will teach the students introductory Thai. Ryan will teach Julia how to buy a fantastic tea kettle on Ebay. Everything will be educational, even Julia's online buying mania. I'll let you know about those as they come along, of course, you can count on me. What's most important, though, is to spend a lot of my time reflecting about the culture, people, and environment here since we are American students in Thailand trying to make this place a little part of our souls; study abroad/internship is a tool to take this within ourselves and see the color of the market when we close our eyes even in old age.

I have gotten ahead of myself. Or have I?
The students are here.

Julia: "So Ryan. About this tea kettle."

In Thai Transition, Part I

2009-08-21T17:46:00.000-07:00

[I blame my middle school education if this had tense problems *grin*]

I looked at the woman's disposable camera photos of her brother's graduation because that's what you do when you travel. When a Vietnamese woman at your flight gate to Taiwan wants to point out every member of her family to you and discuss her black friend's hair (that can refrain from being washed for 2 weeks), you look at them. You talk about your hair too.

She did try to coerce me to say she was fat. I didn't participate.

The silver haired, middle-aged Arab man who sat next to me on the flight was reading a book called Thai for Lovers. Every time I glanced over, he seemed to be coming back to the same few pages. I'm assuming it was the Infidelity section, which contained such useful Thai phrases like "You cheated on me!" and "You think that guy is better than me?!" Mr.--I don't know what you're into.

Why I like traveling is that you have an anecdote for every five minutes, something story-worthy is always happening. It's not that interesting things, quirky things aren't happening to us where we live, where we're settled, they're happening all the time actually--it's that for some reason, the action of intentional displacement (or Voluntary displacement as Nouwen put it once in a different context) moves you out of your normal way of perception, out of your expectations, and forces you to see everything's potential. Things are funnier, more interesting, more noticeable. Things a world away are so different not because they're foreign, I am.
My China Airlines flight to Taiwan was actually very, very good! I overestimated the flight time, figuring it would take me close to 17 hours to cross the Pacific, but the flight was only 12 and to me twelve was far more doable than seventeen so I had a party in my head. I should always do that when I fly. Oh, a flight to Indiana? 7 hours tops. Oh, its only 3, you say? Phew. Well, how nice. I took a pill and knocked out for 5 1/2 hours (god, I hope I wasn't clicking) and watched two great in-flight movies for the rest of the time. The flight attendant in my aisle sort of machine-gun-staccato yelled her requests at me when she passed.

"Drink?!"
"Tea would be great, thanks"
"Tea?! LATER! Drink?!"

I smiled nicely and I just took a water instead. I listened to Cronie and waited to land on the tiny Island in the East China Sea. (My Terp friends! There's going to be a big Deaflympics in Taiwan this year! AMAZING). The Arab man spoke up only when we landed and I found out he lives close to my hometown. He has a daughter in Sacramento but all of this information only decreased his creepiness slightly. You land in Taiwan and it smells like wet earth. Taipei is hills wrapped in gauzy haze and, at 5am, it is 82 degrees outside. I'm so excited to be 3/4 of the way there and I freaking love new airports! As I walk out of the plane, I realized that I'm going to be the only one of black skin for a long time while I gander at all the beautiful advertising and small Asian faces. I couldn't read any of the signs so I wandered and took my time to get to my gate since the airport was deserted and how many times will I come to Taiwan in my life?

I tried to take a toilet picture for my friend Elizabeth but I just couldn't get it right, too much of me or too much of the potty. My 3 1/2 flight to Chiang Mai was torturous, I just wanted to be there already and there's was much more turbulence for the smaller plane. It seemed like 49 of the 50 people on that plane had to go the bathroom. Sadly, a Thai man in front of me (I knew his ethnicity because when he put his hands over his head, he had one set of knuckles tattooed LOVE and the other tattooed THAI) was having a flu problem. When I felt my throat tickling, I thought NO, OH GOD. SICKNESS BEFORE I EVEN GET THERE!!!! but as we got closer and closer to our destination, my throat began to get more irritated. Not sore but like it was.....
..
..
..sw...
...elling?!
We landed in lush-green-rice paddie-Doi Sutep Chiang Mai and instead of being excited out of my mind, I am worried I am loosing my ability to breathe. Hahahaha, My throat is huge inside and GoEd had forgotten to send me the address where I'd be staying and I had to think of something quick to put in that blank on the customs form before they kicked me out of the country. Good Lord. I must have been allergic to something I ate on the second flight but I have no known allergies and I don't know what was in my food. I wonder if I should get an epi-pen. I'm mindful of my breathing, quick-fast-in-a-hurry putting Chiang Mai University, the only Chiang Mai institution I knew of but didn't live at, in the blank, and hoped for the best.

She stamped my passport and handed it back to me. I was triumphant. Chiang Mai is hot hot hot, a heavy humid heat (at 10am) and I go outside with my bags to wait for the Millers. Just a few minutes late there are Julia and Kenny, my long lost GoEd Student Chaperones and I couldn't be more happy to see them. Maybe Julia has an epi-pen.
"How are you?!" they ask
"Great! Maybe a little sick." I squeak.
"What?" they ask.
"Um, my throat is swollen for some reason." I reply.
"Can you breathe?" Julia asks
"Yeah." I wheeze.
"You'll be fine." she says.
"I hope so." I think.

And we ride to a restaurant where the Green Curry Chicken is so good it burns the corners of my mouth. It's going to be this way for the next four months. Coming was such a good idea. Oh well, about the allergy. The hotness of the peppers cleared up my throat after a while. THAI FOOD!! I'll just have to avoid eating a lot of whatever it was.....
Whatever it was in. Cronie, get the bags.

Ready, Set...

2009-08-18T16:17:00.000-07:00

My living room has exploded into neat piles of clothing categories and my suitcase is waiting to digest my rolled fabric. I keep running through the to-pack-list and I keep looking at my explosion of a living room and what the list has produced in real life still doesn't look like enough. That just can't be enough there for four months! I add another casual t-shirt. The ubiquitous "they" say that it's better to have more than less, better to have it and not need it, but traveling this sort of way, it's better to have less in your bags. You have to be able to carry your bags all by yourself. More souvenir space anyway.

Nowadays you can buy just about everything at your destination. The only things most places don't have are things like cheese and stuff, but airport security would bum-rush you before they let you smuggle that in your bags. I list cheese as a craving because it seems like no other continent eats cheese like Europe and the half continent, US, so even if I haven't eaten a cheeseburger in 2 years, they and macaroni//cheese sound super good when I don't see some for so long.

After all this time, and hoping, my miracle has come in the form of every friend, family, and friend of the family in my network. If you haven't received your thank-you card from me yet, it's coming! I'm so slow at writing them out because I want to write what I really feel and show how honored I feel about everything. Forgive me. I received above my impossible goal and am flying out on China Air late tomorrow night/Thursday morning.

I hate flying. Int'l Studies major with aerophobia. Funny. I add my sound-proof headphones.

Preparations for this trip has gone very well. I have just about everything I need. My clothes seem cottony enough and they seem nice enough to fit into the Thai culture of being neat, presentable, and well-put together. The guy at REI immediately asked me if I was heading to Chiang Mai when I mentioned sorry, man I can't buy the membership, I'm traveling to Thailand tomorrow. It makes me laugh because I keep hearing that Chiang Mai is the hot-spot destination for every Development, Missionary, Trail Guide, Hippie Westerner in Asia. I will be so sad if I see Thais in torn American Eagle Jeans. Switchfoot's Best Yet album plays through my laptop speakers. I mouth the lyrics to love is a movement.

My travel nurse says I'm probably going to succumb to a fatal bout of Japanese encephalitis but it doesn't matter because she can't give me the shot anyway (for lack of time) so I should just proceed to fear for my well-being and pray my Hail Marys. My feeling is that if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. I brought Promethrin to coat all of my clothing and 100% deet to repel every spear toting mosquito after that. Take that insects.

But other than that I'm excited because new things are exciting and I'm scared because all new things are slightly terrifying. I'm concerned about my uncle's state of emergency health, about leaving him right now, about how his healing will go after knee & aneurysm surgery but only his body can help him out at this point. My mom is doing the best she can with it all. I'll go see him one more time in ICU before I leave.

tomorrow. So soon. I take out a skirt and two t-shirts. More space.

The P.S.

Oh yeah. Thanks to the overwhelming generosity of Darlana and Tom, I have an i-pod now. I know, LATE, but I don't mind it. I'm currently trying to beat the tech revolution, remember? It's the nano ("a few generations ago"-cat), really shmancy and nice and black and plays videos and movies and things. Its face is clean and glossy; mine is not. I'm pretty much thumbs with it.

I've named it Cronie. That way it'll always know its place.

After Much Needed Sobriety

2009-07-27T22:12:00.001-07:00

and a lot of hard times in Uganda, the lessons I learned last semester in Africa have put me in the crazy place I am now. Today I asked myself for the 40th time, what the CRAP am I doing in two weeks again? Thailand?? Is that right??? How did I GET here? But this afternoon, I was backing up some important college assignments on a G: drive when I came across this little number. I read this and almost laughed and groaned at the same time. Maybe I managed both; a gahf or something.

Ohhhhhhh. So this is why I'm weeks away from a flight I never planned to take in my life:

[Novemberish]

“Don’t convince yourself that the suffering of others reinforces your special moral status.”

I didn’t get it before but I get it now.
I think I finally get it.

Yesterday, at the hostel after debriefing, I was talking with Elizabeth and Hazel about how hard it was going to be to tell people what we’ve been through. We didn’t want to solidify the stereotypes people had in their minds about Africa by reverting to careless descriptions. There are mud huts, goats, bride price, a tiny savannah land, political corruption, tattered clothing and lack of access to a lot of things in Uganda. But none of this is what Uganda is. We didn’t want people to think we were so great for being here. What practicum taught me about development and poverty is: I don’t know anything. Not a single thing about it. I thought I did but I don’t. I thought I was capable but I’m not. I’m not.

I’m not here because I’m this college student with fresh idealism and a will to travel in order to decrease the suffering in the world. That’s what I thought I was here for. But idealism dies quickly when ones motivation is to make a difference and see results. Because sometimes? These things don’t happen the way you want them to. And most times? It’s slow, suicidal monotony. A difference is a lifetime. In those years, people will have long since ceased to praise my efforts. Frustration with the process and bureaucracy of pro-social action will hurl a person to cynicism, depression, or both. Idealism has to be packed away if that’s all I’ve got.

I’m not here because I’m a visionary.
I’m not here because I’m a saint.
Africa, Poverty, Social Change does not matter to me because I’m a bleeding heart.
I’m not a visionary, saint, or bleeding heart.

I’ve realized I’m here because this is only my service and thank you. Poverty matters to me because I want God to show up in impossible places, not because I think I can do the impossible. Poverty is impossible. Poverty matters to me because dignity is something shared with humanity, not because I have something to give to the “less fortunate.” I’d never say that out loud but previously I believed that subconsciously. I want to thank Her for what She’s done and show Him that I trust He will complete what He said he would. I want to thank God for her compassion by asking her to give me some. I don’t think development is truly effective without that. You’ll burn out if a joy from somewhere else is not bestowed upon you. You’ll never see an end in sight and die in futilism. And that’s it.

I cannot alleviate poverty. That’s not my job. I can be of assistance.

Development is not something we put on people; it’s something we participate in.

I didn’t get it before but I get it now.
Due to needed sobriety, I want to go out more than ever. Anywhere.
To say thanks.
------
I signed it "Muyeti" (Lugisu for "the one who helps")
And I still mean every word.

Almost There

2009-07-20T17:22:00.000-07:00

$600.00 of my goal to go!

My friends, family, and friends of my mother! You truly are a God-send.

I am terrible at answering: "So how was_____?"

2009-07-11T21:17:00.000-07:00

"Roe, Don't be sick!"

It's so sad the first day I start this blog is because I have bad conjuctivitis (the bacterial infection of the conjunctiva in your eyes) and am therefore contagious to every living thing I touch except my computer, but there it is, and here is this blog. I am wearing rubber cleaning gloves. It took me a potty-training-time to crop that elephant picture.

Nice things happen when we don't expect them to.

I contracted conjunctivitis because I was crying my eyes out last night and left myself susceptible to an infection, poor dear, and WHAM hit me at 1pm today like a sumo charge. The reason I was crying so much was because God does not kid around when s(he) wants everything you have so s(he) can give you what you need. I was having a hard time giving up things. Unlucky for me, faith is not funny. I couldn't do Thailand on my own strength and that was scary.
But if you're willing to go through a few stress breakdowns because of lack of finances, the humility of being dependent on the Body, the precarious tipping of romantic/ familial relations, and a little big eye infection, things begin to work out alright.

This Thailand journey was supposed to be a journey of two:

Rice and Bro, Thai interns & super couple extraordinaire, but Bryce really needed to be getting into a Doctorate Philosphy program in the States. That takes being present for interviews and school visits and well...money. So :sliiiiiiiiide: out he went and the cheese stood alone.
me.
International flight alone, eeep.

A few more weeks and we'll see if the remainder of the money comes in for the FH program fee but I'm hoping it will. God hasn't let me down quite yet. I'm just so excited to be there with the Millers and the rest of the GoEd chil'ren. Korb koon ka everbody. Really.

I write this blog because I am awful at answering the question, "so how was __________?". I could barely explain it to my parents when I came back from Uganda and Rwanda so I gave up after a while. This blog is my hope. You might not able to imagine the smells and the heat and the hilarity of being a full-time foreigner but I'll try as hard as I can to give you an idea. And really; that's all you ask for, isn't it.

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The Millers: http://www.nomadicmillers.blogspot.com/
The GoEd program: http://www.go-ed.net/