So one of those snippy things Minnesotans do when you have been too rude to thank someone is to say “your welcome”. This in turn demands a response to the effect of
“why I am just like a chicken with my head cut off, too busy to thank all you people for the hard work, please excuse me. Thank you so much, really thank you.”
“no thank you necessary, please just go ahead.”
“no I really mean it thanks, I really like what you have done and this makes my life just so much better, I have just been so distracted lately. Who am I of all people to not thank, I am such a fool.”
So why am I detailing this truly Minnesotan dialogue while I am suppose to be telling stories of Uganda? Because, “your welcome” means something completely different, yet is much truer to the words themselves. People here often say “your welcome”, meaning I welcome you here. I find that I have to control my internal response in my head, which sounds much like Garrison Keillor, have I not properly thanked this. Then I remind myself that I am in Uganda and different codes exist. It is funny to find two comments which are exactly the same, but mean quite different things. Although, much of Minnesotan is spoken with a hidden meaning.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
In Uganda: Opening my eyes.
When I arrived, I strove to make my senses super aware to take in as much as possible. The smells in the airport were unique, a combination of different industrial cleaning materials and incense smoking out of a store. On the midnight drive back to the hotel, I heard the insects chirping in a unique way. It sounded like a long buzzer going off,almost like a computer sound. I visually overwhelmed. Despite coming and going through the door several times, I just noticed the side door to my host family this morning. What else am I not seeing due to the overwhelming stimuli. Can I force myself to keep my mind awake to take it all in?
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Please share with me
I don't intend for this blog to be a one way force feed of information. I hope it will be a forum for exchanging ideas, challenging some of my perspectives, and taking the blog on tangents. Do do this, my team mate set out a 4 step way to comment on this blog without creating an account.
To Comment...
1. Type in your comment
2. Select the Name/URL button below
3. enter your name
4. Select publish your comment
It is one in the morning and my flight leaves in 16 hours. The house is now quiet and I have packed my bag.
To Comment...
1. Type in your comment
2. Select the Name/URL button below
3. enter your name
4. Select publish your comment
It is one in the morning and my flight leaves in 16 hours. The house is now quiet and I have packed my bag.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Upside down paradigm
Lets turn the common view of westerners going to Africa on its head shall we? Imagine if instead of bringing aid to Africa, I returned from Africa bearing aid for my village in America. What would that look like? Perhaps I bring back a useful way to repair things to make them last longer. I know the re-cycle shop here in uptown might use a useful fix up for old bikes.
Perhaps I can bring aid to America's transactional relationships that occur in retail commercial areas. The retail proletariat that works in uptown would benefit from having customers treat them like human beings with thoughts and ideas, not just functional beings that bag groceries and make sandwiches.
Perhaps I can bring aid to solve the jobless recovery. What would I have to see in my travels to solve that crisis?
Western media is filled with images of what Africa needs to get better. I wonder if Africans were the hegemonic power in the world, what ails in America would they seek to remedy?
I will bring Aid from Africa to help my village. With me luck.
Perhaps I can bring aid to America's transactional relationships that occur in retail commercial areas. The retail proletariat that works in uptown would benefit from having customers treat them like human beings with thoughts and ideas, not just functional beings that bag groceries and make sandwiches.
Perhaps I can bring aid to solve the jobless recovery. What would I have to see in my travels to solve that crisis?
Western media is filled with images of what Africa needs to get better. I wonder if Africans were the hegemonic power in the world, what ails in America would they seek to remedy?
I will bring Aid from Africa to help my village. With me luck.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Shaved head, nakedness and trust building
My friend Laker is from Uganda. He and I have had various conversations about hair and their intercultural perceptions. Laker grew out his hair to about 6 inches, which is apparently a big deal in Uganda. If you have hair like that apparently you would be considered a long haired hippie. I remember people in Ghana and Togo keeping their hair pretty short too. The only people I saw with long hair were Rastafarian and homeless people.
These hair conversations combine with my memories of hair in Ghana and today I woke up with an intention to cut most of my hair off. I called my Laker quickly just to make sure.
"Laker, so from what I understand short hair is considered professional"
"Yes, very professional"
"Even on a westerner, it would be considered sharp"
"Yes"
"I was thinking of shaving my head today""Don't shave it all off, people will think you are trying to harness the sun for stored energy"
"Thanks Laker, I will leave 5mm on"
So that is the story. I shaved my head for Africa. I figure people would be just fine if I had longer hair, but it is always nice to have that little edge. Upon further reflection, I often like changing aspects of myself to pay respect to a place or culture I am visiting. I wouldn't change something that is important to me, but I don't identify much with hair, or garb for that matter. In fact, this reminds me of a story.
It was 2004 and I was doing a Tsunami relief work in Moratuwa, Sri Lanka. The day I arrived in the village, I wore a sarong (it is like a kilt or skirt). I figured this would symbolize my intention to work with the local culture. It turned out to do more than that. About five minutes into the village, I notice a little snickering. I figure they are having a bit of fun at my fashion expense, but perhaps showing a little vulnerability would build trust later. A lady with big glasses explains to me through an interpreter that I am wearing my sarong like a Tamil (the ethnic minority of Sri Lanka). The Tamil (like Tamil tigers) people are not very popular in the region I was serving in. She had ushered me into her little dwelling and stripped me of my sarong. It was not 10 minutes and I was already standing in my underwear in a villager's house. She put my sarong on a sewing machine and sewed it so it fit like a proper Sinhalese (the ethnic majority of Sri Lanka) sarong.
I hurried out of the dwelling to find my group who were almost complete with the village tour standing beneath a fruit tree. In my eagerness to make up time bonding with the villagers. I picked up a kid to help him pick fruit off the tree. My newly fitted sarong promptly fell down and again the villagers began to laugh. Under normal conditions I would wake up from the embarrassing dream, however these were not normal conditions and I could not pick up my sarong until the child let go of a particularly stubborn piece of fruit. Eventually I was able to pick up my sarong.
Perhaps in situations where you are entering a new culture and there is a perception where you have more power or influence (like in relief work), it is best to show a bit of vulnerability right away so people don't feel like the power distance is too great. However, standing before the village in only my shirt and boxers is perhaps a bit much. Later that trip, I decided it was better to grow a mustache.
These hair conversations combine with my memories of hair in Ghana and today I woke up with an intention to cut most of my hair off. I called my Laker quickly just to make sure.
"Laker, so from what I understand short hair is considered professional"
"Yes, very professional"
"Even on a westerner, it would be considered sharp"
"Yes"
"I was thinking of shaving my head today""Don't shave it all off, people will think you are trying to harness the sun for stored energy"
"Thanks Laker, I will leave 5mm on"
So that is the story. I shaved my head for Africa. I figure people would be just fine if I had longer hair, but it is always nice to have that little edge. Upon further reflection, I often like changing aspects of myself to pay respect to a place or culture I am visiting. I wouldn't change something that is important to me, but I don't identify much with hair, or garb for that matter. In fact, this reminds me of a story.
It was 2004 and I was doing a Tsunami relief work in Moratuwa, Sri Lanka. The day I arrived in the village, I wore a sarong (it is like a kilt or skirt). I figured this would symbolize my intention to work with the local culture. It turned out to do more than that. About five minutes into the village, I notice a little snickering. I figure they are having a bit of fun at my fashion expense, but perhaps showing a little vulnerability would build trust later. A lady with big glasses explains to me through an interpreter that I am wearing my sarong like a Tamil (the ethnic minority of Sri Lanka). The Tamil (like Tamil tigers) people are not very popular in the region I was serving in. She had ushered me into her little dwelling and stripped me of my sarong. It was not 10 minutes and I was already standing in my underwear in a villager's house. She put my sarong on a sewing machine and sewed it so it fit like a proper Sinhalese (the ethnic majority of Sri Lanka) sarong.
I hurried out of the dwelling to find my group who were almost complete with the village tour standing beneath a fruit tree. In my eagerness to make up time bonding with the villagers. I picked up a kid to help him pick fruit off the tree. My newly fitted sarong promptly fell down and again the villagers began to laugh. Under normal conditions I would wake up from the embarrassing dream, however these were not normal conditions and I could not pick up my sarong until the child let go of a particularly stubborn piece of fruit. Eventually I was able to pick up my sarong.
Perhaps in situations where you are entering a new culture and there is a perception where you have more power or influence (like in relief work), it is best to show a bit of vulnerability right away so people don't feel like the power distance is too great. However, standing before the village in only my shirt and boxers is perhaps a bit much. Later that trip, I decided it was better to grow a mustache.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Shots, Drugs and Pocket Hole
Went to the travel doctor today with Jessi. This is the first time in my adult life I have been in the privacy of a doctors office with another person. I was able to show my brave face as I was getting stuck with a bunch of needles. I presented my yellow fever card which has now become the sole record of my immunization history. The last record was a fax of a copy. How can something so important be left on such a flimsy piece of paper. There must be an app for that.
I chose malarone as my malaria drug of choice. It will cost about 500 dollars for the whole trip, however I will not have the hair trigger inexplicable anger I experienced last time in Africa.
I remember one time Jessi and I were in central Togo. We had taken a taxi far north from the capital city to spend time with a group of people called the Tamberma or Ditamari. I was sleeping in the hot central hut of the mud fortress and woke up. I remember seeing Jessi and my mind was thinking threat or no threat. It was like I was seeing her with new animal eyes, that categorized things only in terms of threats.
I will be glad to be taking anti malarials with less side effects.
I chose malarone as my malaria drug of choice. It will cost about 500 dollars for the whole trip, however I will not have the hair trigger inexplicable anger I experienced last time in Africa.
I remember one time Jessi and I were in central Togo. We had taken a taxi far north from the capital city to spend time with a group of people called the Tamberma or Ditamari. I was sleeping in the hot central hut of the mud fortress and woke up. I remember seeing Jessi and my mind was thinking threat or no threat. It was like I was seeing her with new animal eyes, that categorized things only in terms of threats.
I will be glad to be taking anti malarials with less side effects.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Informant, Chocolate, Cheap, Biir
A special date had been arranged today by my friend Gunther. He had me meet with a friend of his, Kristin, who had just returned from Ethiopia. I learned that I should bring some inflatable balls as children love to play football. I am sure I will be able to impress them with my skills of falling over and injuring myself while attempting sports. Also, I am told that people appreciate gifts of chocolate.
Ahh, Chocolate as gifts this reminds me of a time about 9 years ago.
In my preparation for Japan, I had taken a large box of Hersey's Chocolate bars. Of course the American supersized box did not fit in my Japanese visitmarketeveryday sized refrigerator. In my haste to make myself at home in my Japanese environment, I packed away the bars in my closet. This story has been told a million times and I suspect you know where it is going. The long and sort of it, is that to this day, every time I smell melted chocolate, I think of my tiny 5 mat sized room in Japan.
Never being one to waste food, I took the slightly melted bars to Cambodia. I figured that while the my Japanese students who appreciate beautiful food form as much as taste, did not appriciate my disfigured, yet perfectly tasty bars, Cambodians may have a different appreciation.
While I stayed in a hostel in Phenom Penn, paying only 1 dollar a day on the lake, someone did take an interest in my chocolate bars. Someone who was able to chew a hole through my backpack, plastic bag and through the wrapper of my precious if slightly disfigured Hersey's bars. That someone was a mouse. The whole incident made me disgusted with myself. I felt like George Costanza, (from Seinfeld) in my cheapness.
My super ego chided me.."Common Alex, you try to bring bars as gift and they melt due to your neglect. Just throw them away and start over. Here you are in Cambodia trying to give away melted disfigured (yet perfectly healthy and delicious) Hersey's Chocolate bars that you intended to give as gifts to you students thousands of miles away, several months away. Now you have a expensive travel pack that has its integrity compromised by the only being that is willing to eat your stupid bars"
Listening to my inner George Costanza instead of my superego, I went to the fr
ont desk of my hostel. There I tried to bargain my room down reasoning that I am sharing it with a mouse and I should at least be splitting the fare.
Maybe I will bring a different candy to Ethiopia. Maybe certs.
Oh yea Kristen also gave me 3 Biir which is the currency of Ethiopia. I am excited to see what I can buy!!!
Ahh, Chocolate as gifts this reminds me of a time about 9 years ago.
In my preparation for Japan, I had taken a large box of Hersey's Chocolate bars. Of course the American supersized box did not fit in my Japanese visitmarketeveryday sized refrigerator. In my haste to make myself at home in my Japanese environment, I packed away the bars in my closet. This story has been told a million times and I suspect you know where it is going. The long and sort of it, is that to this day, every time I smell melted chocolate, I think of my tiny 5 mat sized room in Japan.
Never being one to waste food, I took the slightly melted bars to Cambodia. I figured that while the my Japanese students who appreciate beautiful food form as much as taste, did not appriciate my disfigured, yet perfectly tasty bars, Cambodians may have a different appreciation.
While I stayed in a hostel in Phenom Penn, paying only 1 dollar a day on the lake, someone did take an interest in my chocolate bars. Someone who was able to chew a hole through my backpack, plastic bag and through the wrapper of my precious if slightly disfigured Hersey's bars. That someone was a mouse. The whole incident made me disgusted with myself. I felt like George Costanza, (from Seinfeld) in my cheapness.
My super ego chided me.."Common Alex, you try to bring bars as gift and they melt due to your neglect. Just throw them away and start over. Here you are in Cambodia trying to give away melted disfigured (yet perfectly healthy and delicious) Hersey's Chocolate bars that you intended to give as gifts to you students thousands of miles away, several months away. Now you have a expensive travel pack that has its integrity compromised by the only being that is willing to eat your stupid bars"
Listening to my inner George Costanza instead of my superego, I went to the fr
ont desk of my hostel. There I tried to bargain my room down reasoning that I am sharing it with a mouse and I should at least be splitting the fare.Maybe I will bring a different candy to Ethiopia. Maybe certs.
Oh yea Kristen also gave me 3 Biir which is the currency of Ethiopia. I am excited to see what I can buy!!!
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