In a conversation with a family member this week, I was asked, "Are people talking a lot about Ebola over there? We sure are!" I am sorry that the threat of the virus is now a reality in the States, and I have been keeping up on the news to track its spread. On the television at night, I see plenty of images of doctors and scientists, dressed from head to toe in those special neon Ebola-suits. And on one channel catering to Chad, I'm accustomed to sitting through a long PSA about how to protect yourself against the virus. People know it is out there, but I don't get the sense that there is all that much to talk about right now. Here, where the disease has not penetrated our border, we have other, more immediate issues that require our attention. At the top of the list right now, far overshadowing the others, is the matter of gas.
I became aware of a problem one month ago in N'Djamena, when a usually dependable taxi guy charged us three times the acceptable taxi fare. When we assured him that MCC would not be calling on him again, he stood his ground. Gas prices were up. It was when I returned to Moundou that I noticed everyone was talking about gas. Suddenly it was twice the price.
The first explanation I heard was that the facilities were being cleaned, so production had halted. The next day when I repeated this to someone, they said that was a weak excuse. I've since come to understand he following story. (I asked our MCC Service-Worker, Gene to explain it to me as if I was 12.) Basically, Chad has one refinery, which is Chinese-operated. The Chadian government checked up on them and said, "You are doing a poor job with this facility, polluting the environment, so you need to clean up your act, pay us a fine, and remediate the damage." The refinery guys, who have always had terrible environmental records and never have to do anything about it, replied, "No way. You know this is the way we operate and you've never done anything about it before. Now you just want to get money from us but we the ones with the power here. Your country will fall apart without us, so you let us know when you're going to let this drop, and in the meantime we are just going to go ahead and stop making gas for you."
So here we find ourselves, waiting for someone to cry "Uncle."
A few weeks ago, after my return from N'Djamena, my eyes widened at the sight of the local gas station. Usually it is either empty, or containing one car. From what I've noticed, people don't use the gas station all that much for their motorcycles. Instead, merchants all around town fill up beer bottles with fuel and sell them at stands along the road. My first day here I must have assumed that these merchants were preying on people who couldn't refuse a quick sip of something strong, but fortunately I asked and had this point clarified. So, considering that the vast majority of vehicles in our city are motos, and motorcyclists like to simply purchase a bottle of fuel, there usually aren't many people electing to visit the local gas station.
So anyway, my first big shock came when my taximoto man and I turned the corner and I saw about 50 moto guys, many of whom wore their yellow vests, crammed around the couple of pumps waiting for a bit of gas. The crowd seemed to be stopping traffic because there was a line of unmoving cars in the street, but I learned later that day that those cars were also waiting in line.
From there things got worse. Each day, I've been eager and almost nervous to pass the gas station and see just how many people can fit inside the space, and how many people have left their cars parked, and often empty, in the road to wait. The very next day the number had jumped to well over 100 people, and shortly thereafter I would guess that we were talking about more than 200 men and their motorcycles loitering the the sweltering heat, for what must verge on the whole work day, to get a liter of gas. There are not currently any merchants selling fuel out of little beer bottles. Due to the increased demand, I hear that many of these people had been buying fuel at maybe 1000 CFA per liter (about 2 dollars) and selling it for twice times that much. To correct this problem, people have been prohibited from selling above a price, which makes such a venture far from lucrative, if not illegal.
It is eerie to see dozens of vehicles abandoned on the road, though their owners are surely just yards away with the rest of their neighbors rather than spending their hours in hot, unmoving cars. Nonetheless, the image is too reminiscent of scenes I've become familiar with from post-apocalyptic movies- skeletons of cars lined up along the streets, abandoned by people who tried in vain to escape the tumult ensuing around them... later to be pillaged by cannibals, or zombies, or maybe the few remaining good guys searching for a new beginning.
Ok, I definitely digress. But the other thing that gives me the creeps slightly is the utter lack of people on the road as the days stretch on. This is not what you would consider a big, booming city where traffic jams are the norm. However, it is definitely noticeable when half of the drivers stop driving. I feel more and more part of an elite just by virtue of being seated on a running vehicle, while other people must either be staying home or resorting to walking. I wonder to myself how much longer this can go on.
Now, the gas station that I pass every day is empty again. No one is waiting in line because there is no gas to be found there. That well has run dry, so to speak. My parents were driving around for over 2 hours yesterday looking for fuel, and they came back tired and disappointed. I can't picture people of their standing waiting around all day in a packed crowd under the glaring sun, so it's possible they have been trying to use some connections to acquire fuel elsewhere, but nevertheless they were unsuccessful. From others willing to put more time into the search for gas, I've heard of people waiting from 8:00 am to 9:00 at night. There goes a day's work.
I wonder what the men who usually work as moto drivers are doing these days, besides standing in ridiculously disorganized masses around a gas pump. My moto driver, who mysteriously still has gas, has almost doubled his price this month, but even so I actually feel guilty for using his services because I realize he has not increased his prices in proportion to the amount he is now paying. I think how insecure it must be to make your living with a commodity that may be unavailable tomorrow. And as I ride freely through the recently cleared-out streets, I worry about how people are getting to their jobs... children are getting to school (many schools have begun canceling classes)... how people are coping when confronted with emergencies.
In French, the word for gas is "essence." Indeed, without gas, our community is missing an essential part of life. Of course, that isn't to say that there are not other pieces of culture here that are as important and life giving, and to say otherwise feels awfully materialistic, but I never realized how important this commodity is until it's been torn away. I hear the word come up in almost every conversation, and I am probably only catching a fraction of the significance. From what I hear, we just have to hold out a little while longer. The plan is to have the factories up and running like new by the middle of November, but nonetheless the whole thing makes me realize to what extent we are at the mercy of things and people we can't control. The elements. Gas companies. Politicians. They all help dictate to some extent what our lives look like and what the people here are able to accomplish. It's sobering, and though this may be hackneyed, it makes me grateful to live in a place where I can take for granted such essentials as gas, water, and food that magically comes to the grocery store regardless of the season. We rely on so much, and yet I don't think we know it.
Friday, October 31, 2014
Friday, October 24, 2014
Things I Did Today That I Most Likely Wouldn't Have Done If I Was At Home In Pennsylvania (all in the name of living and learning)
* Rose at 5:30 to wash my clothes by hand (Not that this has been a regular occurrence for me. In fact, I hate to admit that this was the first time I've offered to do my own laundry. Apparently Mama Kiri was only willing to accept my offer if I agreed to begin at 6:00 am.)
*Ate an entire baguette with margerine for breakfast- Now, this has definitely become routine. It's hard to imagine beginning my days here any other way.
* Made myself a warm shower by mixing cold water from a bucket with boiled water from a thermos
* Worked my way through a French-language Manga depiction of the Gospels following the death and resurrection of Jesus
* Rode on the back of a motorcycle to and from work
* Thought to myself how uncharacteristically cold it was, even though it's late October and was probably over 80 degrees at the time
* Pretended to take a group of 40 middle schoolers on a plane trip to New York
* Spent an hour having coffee in the office of an accountant, who's name I still haven't been able to catch, because we happened to cross paths on campus and what possible reason could there be to NOT take a little bit of time away from work to say hello?
* Looked up how to say "alcoholic" in an attempt to explain to this accountant the status of my relationship with coffee (Note: the words are the same in French and English)
* Passed a gas station filled with well over 50 motorcyclists all waiting to buy fuel, due to some shady nation-wide fuel shortage that has resulted in prices at least doubling for the duration of this month
* Consumed food that is slimy on purpose (that is to say both that it was intentionally slimy, and I also ate it willingly)
* Hand-wrote multiple copies of song lyrics because I haven't yet figured out where I might be able to find and use a printer
* Played the ukulele while singing French and English worship songs with a small group of young adults under the setting sun
* Took a long walk home from worship group due to the aforementioned fuel shortage, which left my friend and usual transportation-guy moto-less for the day
* Wore a skirt with the face of the First Lady printed all over it. In the States, this would be considered tacky, but here it is not uncommon to see beautiful women wearing beautiful dresses printed from head to toe with pictures of someone's face, with phone company logos, or perhaps with the word "Hello" in multiple languages.
* Ate a salad with my hands, or as Mama Kiri and I call them, "the forks of God."
* Lay in a darkened living room for hours, alternately singing with the females of my home, drinking in the silence, and playing with my favorite month-old puppy, Patrick.
* Reflected on my lovely day in the safety of what I like to consider my fort: a bed enclosed by a sturdy, four-walled mosquito net that keeps out everything bad, except when I occasionally trap bad things inside with me
*Ate an entire baguette with margerine for breakfast- Now, this has definitely become routine. It's hard to imagine beginning my days here any other way.
* Made myself a warm shower by mixing cold water from a bucket with boiled water from a thermos
* Worked my way through a French-language Manga depiction of the Gospels following the death and resurrection of Jesus
* Rode on the back of a motorcycle to and from work
* Thought to myself how uncharacteristically cold it was, even though it's late October and was probably over 80 degrees at the time
* Pretended to take a group of 40 middle schoolers on a plane trip to New York
* Spent an hour having coffee in the office of an accountant, who's name I still haven't been able to catch, because we happened to cross paths on campus and what possible reason could there be to NOT take a little bit of time away from work to say hello?
* Looked up how to say "alcoholic" in an attempt to explain to this accountant the status of my relationship with coffee (Note: the words are the same in French and English)
* Passed a gas station filled with well over 50 motorcyclists all waiting to buy fuel, due to some shady nation-wide fuel shortage that has resulted in prices at least doubling for the duration of this month
* Consumed food that is slimy on purpose (that is to say both that it was intentionally slimy, and I also ate it willingly)
* Hand-wrote multiple copies of song lyrics because I haven't yet figured out where I might be able to find and use a printer
* Played the ukulele while singing French and English worship songs with a small group of young adults under the setting sun
* Took a long walk home from worship group due to the aforementioned fuel shortage, which left my friend and usual transportation-guy moto-less for the day
* Wore a skirt with the face of the First Lady printed all over it. In the States, this would be considered tacky, but here it is not uncommon to see beautiful women wearing beautiful dresses printed from head to toe with pictures of someone's face, with phone company logos, or perhaps with the word "Hello" in multiple languages.
* Ate a salad with my hands, or as Mama Kiri and I call them, "the forks of God."
* Lay in a darkened living room for hours, alternately singing with the females of my home, drinking in the silence, and playing with my favorite month-old puppy, Patrick.
* Reflected on my lovely day in the safety of what I like to consider my fort: a bed enclosed by a sturdy, four-walled mosquito net that keeps out everything bad, except when I occasionally trap bad things inside with me
Friday, October 17, 2014
Donkeys and High-Fives
I suppose that since I've been teaching here in a Moundou for over a month, and since it's my whole reason for being invited here, some of you might appreciate hearing a word or two about it. I shall oblige.
I teach two groups: second- and third-level English. They are the equivalent of 8th and 9th grades. At Altonodji, each level has one classroom reserved, so teachers come and go while the students stay put. When I enter my classrooms, between 35 and 50 students stand up and wait for me to greet them with a big ol' "Good morning, class," to which they respond with a jumbled chorus of "Good morning, Miss" and, "Good morning, teacher." Then we get to it!
The students have notebooks but no textbooks, so much attention is focused on the blackboard. I develop my lessons from a combination of 2 lesson books, a list of national standards for their respective levels, and my own ingenuity/opinions on what they should learn. In case you are not aware, I have no formal pedagogical training beyond a Piano Pedagogy course and a semester being the only non-Education major in Educational Psychology. However, I'll admit that I arrogantly believed I could have all the students wrapped around my finger in no time. Besides just being an undeniably charismatic and charming person, I had felt well equipped with a no-nonsense glare, a slow, confident teacher's stride for circling the class, and a policy of subtracting 2 points from naughty students' grades... However, I've had to learn quickly that there is a lot more to managing a class. It is especially difficult to do so in a new language. When the patient raising of hands seems to be an unheard-of concept, and half the class is calling out questions or making commentary at any given time, it takes me significantly longer to determine to whom I need to respond to and whom I need to either ignore or reprimand.
I have had several classes that felt like majority damage-control and minimal teaching. After one particularly challenging lesson in the first week, I gave myself an introspective check-up and concluded that I was far from tearful about the whole thing, but that it was the kind of class that might have already cracked some other teachers. Therefore, I took my lack of panic as a small success. I considered where to go from here. Some acquaintances encouraged me to find a ruler (and pronto) to demonstrate to the students that I'm not messing around. Apparently I don't have to hit anybody, but I definitely need to threaten to. Unfortunately MCC isn't the biggest proponent of corporal punishment so I've had to resist the urge to follow this piece of advice :)
So what have I done instead? Well, true to my nature I've gone with being funny. (And I feel compelled to add here that I'm not promoting myself as a brilliant comedian or anything, but I'm just recognizing that when confronted with almost any situation in the world, my natural inclination is to make a joke or do something disarmingly weird.) When half the class is trying to do anything but engage with what I'm teaching, I don't think that being cutesie and self-deprecating is necessarily the way to gain their respect, but nonetheless I do think it gains their attention much of the time.
For example, the other week I had written a short text on the board, and after going over it, I asked for a volunteer to read a sentence aloud for pronunciation. After the first volunteer had read (very well, I might add), I enthusiastically gave him a high-five, much to the class' amusement. The high-five had not been meant to be funny. It was totally natural. However, when the next student read the second sentence, I knew I had everyone's attention, so I gave that person a high-five as well. Suddenly students were climbing all over each other to volunteer to read, and I had to scramble around the class doling out high-fives which were reciprocated with varying degrees of force. I couldn't quite tell if the students just loved high-fives (in which case, if I reflect on my Ed. Psych course, I'm probably creating praise-junkies who rely on external motivation) or if they thought it was funny and idiotic that I was running around getting so excited about a couple of English sentences, but either way I didn't feel like I was fighting anyone to participate.
Another example. Have you ever noticed that if you say donkey ten times fast, it sounds like you're making the "hee-haw" sound? I was doing a lesson on animals last week and this occurred to me as I was slowly articulating the syllables in DON-KEY. I thought this would be a helpful way to remember the word, so I started making donkey sounds. This led to me making animal sounds for every one of the animals, including pigs, goats, dogs, and... well, I blanked when I got to camels. But anyway, I definitely saw a number of bleary, half-closed eyes snap wide open when I began doing so, so I stuck to it. Later, after a week-long hiatus from teaching, we began reviewing the animals. I wrote all of the English names and we spent a good ten minutes pointing to each animal and making animal sounds together as a class. Some of the students can make some incredibly convincing bird calls and sheep bleats, let me tell you. Once again, it wasn't my most dignified moment, and maybe students were looking at each other behind my back saying, "isn't she wacky?!" but that's a price I am more than willing to pay for a class that is excited about engaging with the blackboard. (Side note: Since I first wrote this a week ago, I have had MANY out-of-classroom moments with students that have involved them brightly hee-hawing "DonKEY," which means it's working.) Moral of the story: I'm no miracle worker so far but this assignment has truly been an excellent one for me. Besides enjoying connecting/laughing with young people, I am someone who has loved school for as long as she can remember, and who spent much of her childhood playing "school" with elaborate print-outs and lesson plans. (Shout-out to the Skuzins!) I remember the thrill of learning even the most basic vocabulary when I was in 8th grade studying Spanish. When in doubt, I close my eyes and put myself back in that classroom. How did I enjoy learning? I am charmed by the students who race each other across the campus each morning to greet me and carry my bags into the classroom. I am grateful to the class chief, Alfred, who has come up to me various times after class with a list of students who were giving me trouble. I'm touched by students who stay after class to request that I translate the English text on their backpack (ex. Lonely Heart), or to ask me to sing a song in English. I know that for many of my students, English is more than a required subject. For many people, young and old who I have met, learning English is something they feel will take them places. I feel passionate about being charged with the responsibility of conveying what knowledge I can in whatever ways I can while I am here.
I teach two groups: second- and third-level English. They are the equivalent of 8th and 9th grades. At Altonodji, each level has one classroom reserved, so teachers come and go while the students stay put. When I enter my classrooms, between 35 and 50 students stand up and wait for me to greet them with a big ol' "Good morning, class," to which they respond with a jumbled chorus of "Good morning, Miss" and, "Good morning, teacher." Then we get to it!
The students have notebooks but no textbooks, so much attention is focused on the blackboard. I develop my lessons from a combination of 2 lesson books, a list of national standards for their respective levels, and my own ingenuity/opinions on what they should learn. In case you are not aware, I have no formal pedagogical training beyond a Piano Pedagogy course and a semester being the only non-Education major in Educational Psychology. However, I'll admit that I arrogantly believed I could have all the students wrapped around my finger in no time. Besides just being an undeniably charismatic and charming person, I had felt well equipped with a no-nonsense glare, a slow, confident teacher's stride for circling the class, and a policy of subtracting 2 points from naughty students' grades... However, I've had to learn quickly that there is a lot more to managing a class. It is especially difficult to do so in a new language. When the patient raising of hands seems to be an unheard-of concept, and half the class is calling out questions or making commentary at any given time, it takes me significantly longer to determine to whom I need to respond to and whom I need to either ignore or reprimand.
I have had several classes that felt like majority damage-control and minimal teaching. After one particularly challenging lesson in the first week, I gave myself an introspective check-up and concluded that I was far from tearful about the whole thing, but that it was the kind of class that might have already cracked some other teachers. Therefore, I took my lack of panic as a small success. I considered where to go from here. Some acquaintances encouraged me to find a ruler (and pronto) to demonstrate to the students that I'm not messing around. Apparently I don't have to hit anybody, but I definitely need to threaten to. Unfortunately MCC isn't the biggest proponent of corporal punishment so I've had to resist the urge to follow this piece of advice :)
So what have I done instead? Well, true to my nature I've gone with being funny. (And I feel compelled to add here that I'm not promoting myself as a brilliant comedian or anything, but I'm just recognizing that when confronted with almost any situation in the world, my natural inclination is to make a joke or do something disarmingly weird.) When half the class is trying to do anything but engage with what I'm teaching, I don't think that being cutesie and self-deprecating is necessarily the way to gain their respect, but nonetheless I do think it gains their attention much of the time.
For example, the other week I had written a short text on the board, and after going over it, I asked for a volunteer to read a sentence aloud for pronunciation. After the first volunteer had read (very well, I might add), I enthusiastically gave him a high-five, much to the class' amusement. The high-five had not been meant to be funny. It was totally natural. However, when the next student read the second sentence, I knew I had everyone's attention, so I gave that person a high-five as well. Suddenly students were climbing all over each other to volunteer to read, and I had to scramble around the class doling out high-fives which were reciprocated with varying degrees of force. I couldn't quite tell if the students just loved high-fives (in which case, if I reflect on my Ed. Psych course, I'm probably creating praise-junkies who rely on external motivation) or if they thought it was funny and idiotic that I was running around getting so excited about a couple of English sentences, but either way I didn't feel like I was fighting anyone to participate.
Another example. Have you ever noticed that if you say donkey ten times fast, it sounds like you're making the "hee-haw" sound? I was doing a lesson on animals last week and this occurred to me as I was slowly articulating the syllables in DON-KEY. I thought this would be a helpful way to remember the word, so I started making donkey sounds. This led to me making animal sounds for every one of the animals, including pigs, goats, dogs, and... well, I blanked when I got to camels. But anyway, I definitely saw a number of bleary, half-closed eyes snap wide open when I began doing so, so I stuck to it. Later, after a week-long hiatus from teaching, we began reviewing the animals. I wrote all of the English names and we spent a good ten minutes pointing to each animal and making animal sounds together as a class. Some of the students can make some incredibly convincing bird calls and sheep bleats, let me tell you. Once again, it wasn't my most dignified moment, and maybe students were looking at each other behind my back saying, "isn't she wacky?!" but that's a price I am more than willing to pay for a class that is excited about engaging with the blackboard. (Side note: Since I first wrote this a week ago, I have had MANY out-of-classroom moments with students that have involved them brightly hee-hawing "DonKEY," which means it's working.) Moral of the story: I'm no miracle worker so far but this assignment has truly been an excellent one for me. Besides enjoying connecting/laughing with young people, I am someone who has loved school for as long as she can remember, and who spent much of her childhood playing "school" with elaborate print-outs and lesson plans. (Shout-out to the Skuzins!) I remember the thrill of learning even the most basic vocabulary when I was in 8th grade studying Spanish. When in doubt, I close my eyes and put myself back in that classroom. How did I enjoy learning? I am charmed by the students who race each other across the campus each morning to greet me and carry my bags into the classroom. I am grateful to the class chief, Alfred, who has come up to me various times after class with a list of students who were giving me trouble. I'm touched by students who stay after class to request that I translate the English text on their backpack (ex. Lonely Heart), or to ask me to sing a song in English. I know that for many of my students, English is more than a required subject. For many people, young and old who I have met, learning English is something they feel will take them places. I feel passionate about being charged with the responsibility of conveying what knowledge I can in whatever ways I can while I am here.
Un Bon Repos
Composed October 8th:
Many of you probably saw more of me than usual last week. At least virtually. Indeed, I had a wonderful time uploading pictures and videos, replying to emails, and seeing some of your highly pixelated faces on my iPad screen via Skype. If I was not able to connect with you, I invite you to check out my flickr.com album of photos from my first month here in Tchad. (I don't know the link but my name is MaddieAndChad). The reason I was able to do all this, and more, is because I was staying at the MCC representatives' house in N'Djamena during a three-day workshop between MCC and its partner organizations here in Tchad.
Besides sitting on the couch glued to my iPad, I had a number of valuable experiences during my weeklong sojourn from Moundou. The training itself was informative and challenging. In attendance were the four of us SALTers, Jon and Angela Austin, and two employees from each of the seven partners we have in the country. My host father and the accountant from Village Altonodji were the representatives from my program.
While the sessions were conducted in French, I was very pleased with how much I could understand, which I attribute primarily to the fact that it was a crash course in Research Methods which I studied last year. We also discussed the importance of result-oriented planning, which is to say, having in mind a long-term result that you can break down into smaller goals, for which you can then obtain necessary resources and plan activities. While much if this was old hat to me, I learned that this method of planning and evaluation is rather cutting-edge here in Tchad. For many of the participants, esteemed directors and personnel, it seemed like it might have been the first time they were asked to operationalize an ambitious goal like: making parents understand the importance of their children's education.
I also enjoyed sessions on reporting, finances, and communication with MCC. I learned more about how MCC works and how hey decide where to put their money. I loved hearing "relief sale" described to the audience, and felt exhilarated even from my seated position the room to realize that the apple strudel and ice cream that I scarfed down last fall at the Goshen MCC Relief Sale might have created funds for some of these very partners that I'm now getting to know on this side of the globe. We discussed how Tchad is competing with countries all around the world for funding that comes almost entirely from generous people who give to MCC. Every time the director of my school, or perhaps the director of ENVODEV, an eco-charcoal enterprise in my town, puts in a request for funds from MCC, their success in obtaining those funds relies on people like you and me who have the means to donate. I think that being on this side of things will forever change how I feel about giving to MCC in the future. I used to vaguely imagine that funds equated a new goat for a family in need somewhere, but now I'm realizing just how many humanitarian, educational, environmental, agricultural, etc. organizations MCC has teamed up with to bring positive lasting change around the world! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On Saturday we had plans to stick around the city to see the sights. However, we had not anticipated that Saturday was Tabaski, a religious holiday that commemorates God's faithfulness to Abraham when, instead of making Abraham sacrifice his son Isaac, he gave Abraham a lamb in his place. From what I understand, it is a joyous day of gathering and feasting with friends, and about as horrific for lambs as American Thanksgiving is for turkeys. One memorable image was that of two lambs positively sprinting down a crowded city street while a young man chased after them with a stick. Another sight that I apparently just missed was a man sitting on a pile of sheep that he had stuffed into his trunk, attempting to squash them down so that he could latch it shut, as if they were clothes he was trying to fit into a suitcase.
For the most part, the city had the appearance of a ghost town. We drove passed the closed gates of the artisanal village (where we had hoped to spend our morning) and parked right in the middle of the grand market in an empty lot that is usually packed tightly with vendors, goods, and customers. Instead of being bummed about this turn of events, I was happy that it meant more time to get to see and explore my fellow SALTer's homes.
Mark's house is incredible, with a spiral staircase leading up to the second floor, of which he has been given a large living room for his personal use with a huge flat screen tv and a lovely dining space.
Laura has just about the sweetest family I've ever met, and they reminded me a lot of my beloved Senegalese host family two years ago. There were people of all ages cooking, lounging, and enjoying each other's company in the compound. I was especially pleased to meet Laura's host brother who recently returned from ten years in Senegal. He helped me remember and practice some of my few Wolof phrases and gave me a bunch of music by my favorite Senegalese artists. Meanwhile, another host brother tenderly held and played with his baby niece, frequently brushing the side of her face in a way that you might wipe dust off of a prized trophy. While Laura prepared a dish of fried okra, a few host siblings and cousins gathered to swap simple songs in French, English, and Ngumbai. By the end, we could each sing "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" in a new language. After we all gathered inside to partake in the feast laid out before us, her host parents arrived and sat down with us as well. I had been looking forward to meeting them because Laura's host parents are cousins to mine. In fact, Laura told me that it is a running joke with her family that she needs to learn to eat more like me because apparently when her host siblings were down to visit Moundou, my host mother never stopped raving about how well I eat. For the week or two leading up to my return to N'Djamena, she told me over and over again how excited she was for all of the MCC personnel to see how much weight I've gained. This is the nature of being a visitor in a Tchadien home. It is no secret that I make people very happy when I eat and very unhappy when I skimp, so I have taken to grinning, patting my stomach, and puffing out my cheeks when I receive such a compliment.
Spending the afternoon at Laura's, observing her happy family, looking through family photo albums, and listening to American pop music on the television while munching on newly discovered snacks and chatting with my North American friends was one of the most comfortable and happy experiences I've had the pleasure of enjoying this month. Now that I am back in Moundou, possibly until after Christmas, I am thankful for the repose and I'm feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the months ahead. Expect many more posts coming your way and don't forget me in the long while it takes before I can upload pictures again!
Many of you probably saw more of me than usual last week. At least virtually. Indeed, I had a wonderful time uploading pictures and videos, replying to emails, and seeing some of your highly pixelated faces on my iPad screen via Skype. If I was not able to connect with you, I invite you to check out my flickr.com album of photos from my first month here in Tchad. (I don't know the link but my name is MaddieAndChad). The reason I was able to do all this, and more, is because I was staying at the MCC representatives' house in N'Djamena during a three-day workshop between MCC and its partner organizations here in Tchad.
Besides sitting on the couch glued to my iPad, I had a number of valuable experiences during my weeklong sojourn from Moundou. The training itself was informative and challenging. In attendance were the four of us SALTers, Jon and Angela Austin, and two employees from each of the seven partners we have in the country. My host father and the accountant from Village Altonodji were the representatives from my program.
While the sessions were conducted in French, I was very pleased with how much I could understand, which I attribute primarily to the fact that it was a crash course in Research Methods which I studied last year. We also discussed the importance of result-oriented planning, which is to say, having in mind a long-term result that you can break down into smaller goals, for which you can then obtain necessary resources and plan activities. While much if this was old hat to me, I learned that this method of planning and evaluation is rather cutting-edge here in Tchad. For many of the participants, esteemed directors and personnel, it seemed like it might have been the first time they were asked to operationalize an ambitious goal like: making parents understand the importance of their children's education.
I also enjoyed sessions on reporting, finances, and communication with MCC. I learned more about how MCC works and how hey decide where to put their money. I loved hearing "relief sale" described to the audience, and felt exhilarated even from my seated position the room to realize that the apple strudel and ice cream that I scarfed down last fall at the Goshen MCC Relief Sale might have created funds for some of these very partners that I'm now getting to know on this side of the globe. We discussed how Tchad is competing with countries all around the world for funding that comes almost entirely from generous people who give to MCC. Every time the director of my school, or perhaps the director of ENVODEV, an eco-charcoal enterprise in my town, puts in a request for funds from MCC, their success in obtaining those funds relies on people like you and me who have the means to donate. I think that being on this side of things will forever change how I feel about giving to MCC in the future. I used to vaguely imagine that funds equated a new goat for a family in need somewhere, but now I'm realizing just how many humanitarian, educational, environmental, agricultural, etc. organizations MCC has teamed up with to bring positive lasting change around the world! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On Saturday we had plans to stick around the city to see the sights. However, we had not anticipated that Saturday was Tabaski, a religious holiday that commemorates God's faithfulness to Abraham when, instead of making Abraham sacrifice his son Isaac, he gave Abraham a lamb in his place. From what I understand, it is a joyous day of gathering and feasting with friends, and about as horrific for lambs as American Thanksgiving is for turkeys. One memorable image was that of two lambs positively sprinting down a crowded city street while a young man chased after them with a stick. Another sight that I apparently just missed was a man sitting on a pile of sheep that he had stuffed into his trunk, attempting to squash them down so that he could latch it shut, as if they were clothes he was trying to fit into a suitcase.
For the most part, the city had the appearance of a ghost town. We drove passed the closed gates of the artisanal village (where we had hoped to spend our morning) and parked right in the middle of the grand market in an empty lot that is usually packed tightly with vendors, goods, and customers. Instead of being bummed about this turn of events, I was happy that it meant more time to get to see and explore my fellow SALTer's homes.
Mark's house is incredible, with a spiral staircase leading up to the second floor, of which he has been given a large living room for his personal use with a huge flat screen tv and a lovely dining space.
Laura has just about the sweetest family I've ever met, and they reminded me a lot of my beloved Senegalese host family two years ago. There were people of all ages cooking, lounging, and enjoying each other's company in the compound. I was especially pleased to meet Laura's host brother who recently returned from ten years in Senegal. He helped me remember and practice some of my few Wolof phrases and gave me a bunch of music by my favorite Senegalese artists. Meanwhile, another host brother tenderly held and played with his baby niece, frequently brushing the side of her face in a way that you might wipe dust off of a prized trophy. While Laura prepared a dish of fried okra, a few host siblings and cousins gathered to swap simple songs in French, English, and Ngumbai. By the end, we could each sing "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" in a new language. After we all gathered inside to partake in the feast laid out before us, her host parents arrived and sat down with us as well. I had been looking forward to meeting them because Laura's host parents are cousins to mine. In fact, Laura told me that it is a running joke with her family that she needs to learn to eat more like me because apparently when her host siblings were down to visit Moundou, my host mother never stopped raving about how well I eat. For the week or two leading up to my return to N'Djamena, she told me over and over again how excited she was for all of the MCC personnel to see how much weight I've gained. This is the nature of being a visitor in a Tchadien home. It is no secret that I make people very happy when I eat and very unhappy when I skimp, so I have taken to grinning, patting my stomach, and puffing out my cheeks when I receive such a compliment.
Spending the afternoon at Laura's, observing her happy family, looking through family photo albums, and listening to American pop music on the television while munching on newly discovered snacks and chatting with my North American friends was one of the most comfortable and happy experiences I've had the pleasure of enjoying this month. Now that I am back in Moundou, possibly until after Christmas, I am thankful for the repose and I'm feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the months ahead. Expect many more posts coming your way and don't forget me in the long while it takes before I can upload pictures again!
Thursday, October 2, 2014
PIC NIC
On Saturday evening I had the honor of being a guest speaker at a special gathering held at CENTRAM, an English language school for students of all ages in Moundou. MCC has partnered with CENTRAM since 2008 and is currently providing them with an English teacher who is my friend Ruth. I visited with Ruth the other week just to see the facilities and meet the faculty. It is a small school with about 4 teachers who offer classes in the afternoon, and I enjoyed meeting people who enjoy speaking English with American guests. During the visit, Ruth showed me a notice about their upcoming "pic nic" to celebrate the conclusion of summer classes, and I was promptly invited to come and speak.
I had been greatly looking forward to this event in the preceding days. Ruth gave me the tentative schedule. We would have the first half of the program at the school. Then we would all walk to a restaurant for some reason. Then, we would all go "to the middle of the road" and I would present my speech on How to Master English. Ruth assured me that she had asked several people in both French and English for clarification about this particular part, but that was all she could gather. She also said that, while this was called a "pic nic," she wasn't certain that the word actually carried with it the promise of food, so I shouldn't expect it. Also, the radio might be there. I was excited to see how this would play out!
The afternoon of the picnic, I arrived at the school to find a few people milling around outside while others set up in one of the classrooms. While I had been trying not to bring any assumptions with me, it occurred to me that I had wrongly assumed this picnic would be outside. After about an hour standing around being generally in the way of people's preparations, I was invited with the other staff and invited guests into a classroom for a delicious meal of chicken, veggies, and couscous. A line of four students served us generous portions, of which I ate everything, don't worry!!! This meal was not inclusive of the students, which made me conclude that it was a pretty disappointing picnic for most of those involved, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself!
Once we actually made it into the classroom where the event would take place, I took my seat at a table that was labeled "ADMINISTRATIVE STAFF" in between Ruth and Pastor Sem, the director of the school. The program was delightful! There was a brief welcome, a small group led by Ruth that sang classics such as "This is the Day" and "This Train is Bound for Glory." Students presented original poems and skits about a number of topics including about 5 short speeches on AIDS, which received supportive hoots and hollers. One boy's speech, in which he spoke from the perspective of HIV/AIDS and described his transmission, concluded with the words, "Incurable, Incurable, Incurable!" About here in the program, assistants came around with subs for all of the students, at which point I realizes this was not such a disappointing picnic after all! Ruth gave a speech about the differences between American and British English.
Somewhere in this time, the weather outside grew increasingly dark and ominous. The wind slammed the windows open and shut until they had been properly latched, and the business of people running around shutting windows while the winds blew noisily into the room had made it increasingly difficult to focus or hear the speakers. It was at the height of the action that it was announced that we would be making our way, the 70 of us, across the street to a restaurant, and then I would give my speech. However, as we exited the building, it looked like we would soon be facing a hurricane, so that plan was dropped. I would never know what road I was going to be standing in the middle of, which is maybe my biggest regret to date in Chad to date.
Instead we went right back inside and I gave my speech on How to Master English. I'm pretty sure I was one of the least qualified people in the room to give this particular advice, considering that I have not yet become proficient in a second language, whereas I'd guess that most all of my audience are at least bilingual, but I kept in mind that many of the students are only beginning to learn English, so this speech was primarily a chance to listen to a native a English speaker and get motivated that way. I tried to use a lot of hand gestures and use my best motivational speaker voice until I decided I'd bored them enough and I took my seat.
After I sat down, the chairperson asked the two other MCC guests if they had anything to add. They good-naturedly pitched in some advice and took their seats. Then he began urging others to ask us questions, and just like that we became an expert panel! I realized that with the cancelation of our prior plans, those in charge were taking advantage of the resources at hand to come up with a replacement activity, of which I was happy to oblige to the best of my abilities.
There were not an overwhelming number of questions, and a few were posed at individuals. A young man asked Ruth. "How can I learn to talk as fast as you?" I was asked, "What should we do to be able to go to the United States?" Isn't that the million dollar question? Once again, as a born citizen of the U.S. I felt abysmally equipped to answer such a question, and reminded myself again that I was not here to work any magic, but rather to be a resource for speaking and hearing English.
After the panel, there were words of closing and we were dismissed. A number of students came up to get their pictures with us, and then I was taken whisked off by my moto driver through the dark streets to home. It was only 6:00, but the sun sets early here, at least at this time of year. Light droplets of rain tickled my head and shoulders as we zoomed, and I breathed in the rushing air that felt almost chilly against my damp skin. It occurred to me that in the month I've been here, this was the first time I had been outside to walls of my home at night! I was relieved to have avoided a downpour, which thankfully held off until I was safely deposited into the living room of my Chadian home.
I had been greatly looking forward to this event in the preceding days. Ruth gave me the tentative schedule. We would have the first half of the program at the school. Then we would all walk to a restaurant for some reason. Then, we would all go "to the middle of the road" and I would present my speech on How to Master English. Ruth assured me that she had asked several people in both French and English for clarification about this particular part, but that was all she could gather. She also said that, while this was called a "pic nic," she wasn't certain that the word actually carried with it the promise of food, so I shouldn't expect it. Also, the radio might be there. I was excited to see how this would play out!
The afternoon of the picnic, I arrived at the school to find a few people milling around outside while others set up in one of the classrooms. While I had been trying not to bring any assumptions with me, it occurred to me that I had wrongly assumed this picnic would be outside. After about an hour standing around being generally in the way of people's preparations, I was invited with the other staff and invited guests into a classroom for a delicious meal of chicken, veggies, and couscous. A line of four students served us generous portions, of which I ate everything, don't worry!!! This meal was not inclusive of the students, which made me conclude that it was a pretty disappointing picnic for most of those involved, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself!
Once we actually made it into the classroom where the event would take place, I took my seat at a table that was labeled "ADMINISTRATIVE STAFF" in between Ruth and Pastor Sem, the director of the school. The program was delightful! There was a brief welcome, a small group led by Ruth that sang classics such as "This is the Day" and "This Train is Bound for Glory." Students presented original poems and skits about a number of topics including about 5 short speeches on AIDS, which received supportive hoots and hollers. One boy's speech, in which he spoke from the perspective of HIV/AIDS and described his transmission, concluded with the words, "Incurable, Incurable, Incurable!" About here in the program, assistants came around with subs for all of the students, at which point I realizes this was not such a disappointing picnic after all! Ruth gave a speech about the differences between American and British English.
Somewhere in this time, the weather outside grew increasingly dark and ominous. The wind slammed the windows open and shut until they had been properly latched, and the business of people running around shutting windows while the winds blew noisily into the room had made it increasingly difficult to focus or hear the speakers. It was at the height of the action that it was announced that we would be making our way, the 70 of us, across the street to a restaurant, and then I would give my speech. However, as we exited the building, it looked like we would soon be facing a hurricane, so that plan was dropped. I would never know what road I was going to be standing in the middle of, which is maybe my biggest regret to date in Chad to date.
Instead we went right back inside and I gave my speech on How to Master English. I'm pretty sure I was one of the least qualified people in the room to give this particular advice, considering that I have not yet become proficient in a second language, whereas I'd guess that most all of my audience are at least bilingual, but I kept in mind that many of the students are only beginning to learn English, so this speech was primarily a chance to listen to a native a English speaker and get motivated that way. I tried to use a lot of hand gestures and use my best motivational speaker voice until I decided I'd bored them enough and I took my seat.
After I sat down, the chairperson asked the two other MCC guests if they had anything to add. They good-naturedly pitched in some advice and took their seats. Then he began urging others to ask us questions, and just like that we became an expert panel! I realized that with the cancelation of our prior plans, those in charge were taking advantage of the resources at hand to come up with a replacement activity, of which I was happy to oblige to the best of my abilities.
There were not an overwhelming number of questions, and a few were posed at individuals. A young man asked Ruth. "How can I learn to talk as fast as you?" I was asked, "What should we do to be able to go to the United States?" Isn't that the million dollar question? Once again, as a born citizen of the U.S. I felt abysmally equipped to answer such a question, and reminded myself again that I was not here to work any magic, but rather to be a resource for speaking and hearing English.
After the panel, there were words of closing and we were dismissed. A number of students came up to get their pictures with us, and then I was taken whisked off by my moto driver through the dark streets to home. It was only 6:00, but the sun sets early here, at least at this time of year. Light droplets of rain tickled my head and shoulders as we zoomed, and I breathed in the rushing air that felt almost chilly against my damp skin. It occurred to me that in the month I've been here, this was the first time I had been outside to walls of my home at night! I was relieved to have avoided a downpour, which thankfully held off until I was safely deposited into the living room of my Chadian home.
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