Residence ID is in hand, but I found out I could get a mobile phone number without it. No worries. New dilemma is getting a work permit. This is NOT a work visa (which I have in my passport already); this is NOT a residence permit (see part I). This is something else that no one can really explain to me other than, “you need it.” So here are the steps:
• Have Dad mail original diplomas (notarized copies from the states that you brought with are not good enough).
• Take diplomas to an office to be translated from English to Turkish, even though no one in the office seems to speak English. Cost is $10 each, but if you want a receipt, it‘s $14 each.
• Have translated diplomas notarized for $40 each.
• Have passport (an internationally recognized government document) translated to Turkish for $14
• Have Turkish residence permit (government issued document) notarized for $23
• Have passport/translation notarized for $25
• Ask Embassy to write and sign a letter confirming I have a job that pays
• Hand everything in to a guy named Ali and hope it’s taken care of
I am convinced the job of notary is the most lucrative job in this country. Sure, they can use a rubber stamp faster than most, but really, these guys make a FORTUNE!!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Sunday, October 04, 2009
The Gender Issue
A woman traveling or living alone in a foreign country always has to take caution. Petty theft is attracted to weak targets and unfortunately she, as a lone female, is seen to be among the weakest. Theft or physical harm is not usually the primary concerns for her, though. It can even be said that, in Muslim areas specifically, harassment is much more "passive." It can come to her in the form of marriage proposals from shop owners while she walks through the crowded market in the afternoon. It can also come to from a stranger in a car following her as she walks home alone at night, or the guy that touches her knee and says something she can't understand while he looks her straight in the eye even after she clearly says, “FUCK OFF.” It’s likely that none of these men want to hurt her physically or steal her purse, but they probably wouldn't interact with most women this way, just women like her - foreign and alone.
It can happen with people she knows too - neighbors or colleagues and that's when it can be really difficult for her. She wants to have good working relationships with the new people in her life. In her mind, that might include walking around town with a male colleague and even going for lunch with absolutely NO intentions beyond food. When she, as single woman leaves work with a male colleague, married or single, she might take some things for granted. Chances are, this lunch is only lunch. Chances are other colleagues; students or whomever will not see her with him and assume the wedding will be next weekend. If he's married, she will not be seen as an adulteress. And he will not figure lunch will lead to an invite to her place later. Or at least that would be the case back home. It all can change in a foreign country. In many places, she can't take those things for granted. In many countries, when she - the foreign woman - accepts an offer for lunch or tea from a local man, she is saying "YES" to whatever might be on his mind which could likely just be food . . . or sex . . . or a life-long commitment.
If she tried to understand this by asking a local man or woman acquaintance, she might say, "Would he treat a local woman that way?" The answer would probably be "No, of course not . . . “ So what is she left to think? Is she a victim of discrimination . . . sexism. . . .men here don’t know how to respect women? Does it mean that those she is surrounded by are at fault . . . that they have a problem and must change?
The reality is that the foreign woman is treated differently in many countries. She is more objectified. She is a curiosity and often a sexual one. It could even be said that she is to blame for not wearing enough clothing or setting good enough boundaries. In a country where local women cover their heads for reasons ranging from, “Because my husband wants me to,” to “It is personally liberating to NOT be judged by what I wear or how I look” a concrete answer to any sort of gender issue is hard to find.
As a foreigner, as a guest, she can’t set the rules. She can’t always control if, when or even how men interact with her. She can control how she interacts with them, though. Really, it wouldn’t be much different back home either. If she thinks about it, she can remember working for that guy in a school back in New York. He was the quintessential sexist pig, calling her “babe” saying he’ll be nice to her if she’s nice to him, offering to buy her a drink after work. It wasn’t easy to have a good working relationship with this guy but she had to because he was the boss. The best she could do was set her boundaries, pick her battles and continue to do the work she was there to do, thanks to or in spite of the man with no respect.
Back to the foreign country . . . she still feels pretty uncomfortable. Men look at her differently, they often approach her differently. Come on . . . there has to be a balance she can establish somehow. A balance where she can have coffee with male colleagues and still maintain a respectable professional relationship. She’ll figure it out, find the right people with whom to surround herself. In the mean time, maybe if she just wears long sleeves and walks around with her iPod, the cat calls won’t bother her so much and setting her own boundaries will be easier. Once that happens, she can truly enjoy the experience of living in a pretty incredible foreign country.
It can happen with people she knows too - neighbors or colleagues and that's when it can be really difficult for her. She wants to have good working relationships with the new people in her life. In her mind, that might include walking around town with a male colleague and even going for lunch with absolutely NO intentions beyond food. When she, as single woman leaves work with a male colleague, married or single, she might take some things for granted. Chances are, this lunch is only lunch. Chances are other colleagues; students or whomever will not see her with him and assume the wedding will be next weekend. If he's married, she will not be seen as an adulteress. And he will not figure lunch will lead to an invite to her place later. Or at least that would be the case back home. It all can change in a foreign country. In many places, she can't take those things for granted. In many countries, when she - the foreign woman - accepts an offer for lunch or tea from a local man, she is saying "YES" to whatever might be on his mind which could likely just be food . . . or sex . . . or a life-long commitment.
If she tried to understand this by asking a local man or woman acquaintance, she might say, "Would he treat a local woman that way?" The answer would probably be "No, of course not . . . “ So what is she left to think? Is she a victim of discrimination . . . sexism. . . .men here don’t know how to respect women? Does it mean that those she is surrounded by are at fault . . . that they have a problem and must change?
The reality is that the foreign woman is treated differently in many countries. She is more objectified. She is a curiosity and often a sexual one. It could even be said that she is to blame for not wearing enough clothing or setting good enough boundaries. In a country where local women cover their heads for reasons ranging from, “Because my husband wants me to,” to “It is personally liberating to NOT be judged by what I wear or how I look” a concrete answer to any sort of gender issue is hard to find.
As a foreigner, as a guest, she can’t set the rules. She can’t always control if, when or even how men interact with her. She can control how she interacts with them, though. Really, it wouldn’t be much different back home either. If she thinks about it, she can remember working for that guy in a school back in New York. He was the quintessential sexist pig, calling her “babe” saying he’ll be nice to her if she’s nice to him, offering to buy her a drink after work. It wasn’t easy to have a good working relationship with this guy but she had to because he was the boss. The best she could do was set her boundaries, pick her battles and continue to do the work she was there to do, thanks to or in spite of the man with no respect.
Back to the foreign country . . . she still feels pretty uncomfortable. Men look at her differently, they often approach her differently. Come on . . . there has to be a balance she can establish somehow. A balance where she can have coffee with male colleagues and still maintain a respectable professional relationship. She’ll figure it out, find the right people with whom to surround herself. In the mean time, maybe if she just wears long sleeves and walks around with her iPod, the cat calls won’t bother her so much and setting her own boundaries will be easier. Once that happens, she can truly enjoy the experience of living in a pretty incredible foreign country.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Becomıng a resident in Turkey - PART I
Before you can get a phone or have Internet hooked up in Turkey, you must have a Turkish residence ID. In order obtain this ID, you must have a very nice Turkish friend help you to do the following:
• Have 4 passport photos
• Make photocopies of your passport
• Have proof of employment (contract)
• After the 5 day holiday, get a ride to the police station
• Find block D after you pass through security
• Wait in line to complete an application for a residence ID
• Write a statement in Turkish of why you want a residence permit (Only one reason for the Turkish friend and, no, “to get internet and a phone number” are not good enough reasons)
• Find the notary and have the statement notarized
• Find block E and stand in line to pay the equivalent of about $150
• Find the cash machine to withdraw $150
• Return to the counter at block E and give the guy $150
• Go to the cafeteria to buy a pink folder for $0.60
• Return to the counter at block D and wait in line to pay $85
• Be thankful you already had that money
• Put everything in the pink folder and submit
• Wait one week . . .
• Have 4 passport photos
• Make photocopies of your passport
• Have proof of employment (contract)
• After the 5 day holiday, get a ride to the police station
• Find block D after you pass through security
• Wait in line to complete an application for a residence ID
• Write a statement in Turkish of why you want a residence permit (Only one reason for the Turkish friend and, no, “to get internet and a phone number” are not good enough reasons)
• Find the notary and have the statement notarized
• Find block E and stand in line to pay the equivalent of about $150
• Find the cash machine to withdraw $150
• Return to the counter at block E and give the guy $150
• Go to the cafeteria to buy a pink folder for $0.60
• Return to the counter at block D and wait in line to pay $85
• Be thankful you already had that money
• Put everything in the pink folder and submit
• Wait one week . . .
Monday, September 21, 2009
First Days
It's like Wall Street on a Sunday morning. A schoolyard in July. The mall once Labor Day sales are over. The Bayram holiday in the Muslim world marks the end of Ramazan, the month where people fast from sunrise to sunset and practice deeds of general good. Bayram then becomes the Grand Finale where people visit friends and family, kids get sweets, gifts are given to the poor. It also seems to be the time when everyone in Ankara goes somewhere else. There have got to be towns in Turkey that are bulging at the seams with the influx of holiday visitors from Ankara because this place is pretty much empty.
So what is a stranger to the city to do without a car, telephone or Internet connection or a door of a friend on which she can knock? In the past couple of days I have found new ways to walk to familiar places, roamed the aisles of every supermarket within a 2km radius of my flat taking opportunities to practice my lame Turkish whenever I can. I've cooked a few meals in my “new” kitchen, read, watched a bit of BBC news and then I bought a phone card so I can phone the one person I know in Ankara.
Crisp, cool, partly cloudy fall weather has replaced the scorching heat of just over a year ago when I was in Turkey surrounding the days of Bayram. The south coast was a picture of Mediterranean blue waters inviting me for a refreshing swim. This year, in this city, a few coffee shops are open in the trendy parts of town with just a fraction of their normal young crowds. In my residential neighborhood the only places open are the flower shops, chocolate shops and bakeries so guests can arrive to family celebrations bearing holiday gifts.
As I sit on my second floor balcony, I am very aware of the view that is NOT the panorama I had at my fifth floor flat in Prishtina. I might not be enjoying sunrises and scenery so much here, but I am seeing something else that I will be enjoying. I look down and realize that I have a birds-eye view of people in Ankara. This weekend there is barely a flicker of light in the flats around me, but every few minutes an elderly woman gets dropped off by a taxi in front of the home of some family carrying a bouquet and box of treats or young couples walk hand in hand on their way to a holiday party. Once the sun has set, kids and their parents are heading back to their homes after a party whose celebratory mood still shows on the child. Makes me think of myself on Christmas Eve leaving Grandma and Grandpa's place excited for the arrival of St. Nick.
Ankara is big and modern and could be a capital city anywhere, really. The upside of living and working in a place like this is that it lessens culture shock a bit. I mean, I can find soymilk in any number of super markets and can pretty much blend myself into the people here. It makes the move a bit easier, but it can also take away from the experience of really living in a foreign country. I hope that when I begin to travel around Turkey for work, I will be offered opportunities to partake in traditional celebrations and rituals. Maybe be invited into a Turkish home and meet the family, be put in unfamiliar surroundings and situations. Then, once I've experience the unfamiliar and even uncomfortable, I will come back to my flat in Ankara, break open a carton of soymilk and watch BBC.
So what is a stranger to the city to do without a car, telephone or Internet connection or a door of a friend on which she can knock? In the past couple of days I have found new ways to walk to familiar places, roamed the aisles of every supermarket within a 2km radius of my flat taking opportunities to practice my lame Turkish whenever I can. I've cooked a few meals in my “new” kitchen, read, watched a bit of BBC news and then I bought a phone card so I can phone the one person I know in Ankara.
Crisp, cool, partly cloudy fall weather has replaced the scorching heat of just over a year ago when I was in Turkey surrounding the days of Bayram. The south coast was a picture of Mediterranean blue waters inviting me for a refreshing swim. This year, in this city, a few coffee shops are open in the trendy parts of town with just a fraction of their normal young crowds. In my residential neighborhood the only places open are the flower shops, chocolate shops and bakeries so guests can arrive to family celebrations bearing holiday gifts.
As I sit on my second floor balcony, I am very aware of the view that is NOT the panorama I had at my fifth floor flat in Prishtina. I might not be enjoying sunrises and scenery so much here, but I am seeing something else that I will be enjoying. I look down and realize that I have a birds-eye view of people in Ankara. This weekend there is barely a flicker of light in the flats around me, but every few minutes an elderly woman gets dropped off by a taxi in front of the home of some family carrying a bouquet and box of treats or young couples walk hand in hand on their way to a holiday party. Once the sun has set, kids and their parents are heading back to their homes after a party whose celebratory mood still shows on the child. Makes me think of myself on Christmas Eve leaving Grandma and Grandpa's place excited for the arrival of St. Nick.
Ankara is big and modern and could be a capital city anywhere, really. The upside of living and working in a place like this is that it lessens culture shock a bit. I mean, I can find soymilk in any number of super markets and can pretty much blend myself into the people here. It makes the move a bit easier, but it can also take away from the experience of really living in a foreign country. I hope that when I begin to travel around Turkey for work, I will be offered opportunities to partake in traditional celebrations and rituals. Maybe be invited into a Turkish home and meet the family, be put in unfamiliar surroundings and situations. Then, once I've experience the unfamiliar and even uncomfortable, I will come back to my flat in Ankara, break open a carton of soymilk and watch BBC.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Building Trust
90F in the shade, seven sleeping in a room, sharing one bathroom, camp food, two hours of English classes and little to no time to use the Internet, mobile phones or iPods. Not quite a desirable advert for summer camp, I must admit. When kids leave their families for the first time in their lives to travel to a foreign country for two weeks of "English camp" with a bunch of strangers, scary is an understatement. They are put in a room with four or five strange tweens who speak a different language and they have no chance whatsoever of changing that room no matter how much they cry and . . . wait . . . this is for TWO WEEKS?! Their reactions range from, "okay, that's why I'm here . . . let's speak ENGLISH!" to, "This is stupid. I don't have to do this. Who here speaks MY language?" to eyes welled up with tears saying, "I want to go home!!!"
Presented this way, none of it sounds fun at all. It's a wonder any of them stick around beyond the first night. It's a fine line to walk. OF COURSE I want the kids to come to camp and have fun. They're kids . . . it's camp . . . but the objectives of this camp go much much deeper than simply fun. My team's mission is to provide enough opportunities for these kids to interact, cooperate, learn and have fun together in ways that require them to communicate . . . not to speak English, necessarily, but to communicate, and hopefully by the end of the two weeks, the majority of them will be in the, "Let's speak ENGLISH" category. And even beyond speaking English, my goal is for them to trust each other, which given the history of conflict that exists between these kids, is more than almost anyone could ask. Bumps in the road come in the form of big 13 year-olds that pick on small 12 year-olds, national pride, crushes and broken hearts, too much rain, too much heat, illness, hospital trips and plain ol' teenage angst.
But thanks to a pretty amazing team, most of those bumps got ironed out. I am going to quote one of my camp counselors, Ildi, who was at camp for the first time this year:
"Everyone was a little cell with their own worlds. - Interesting, unknown worlds, with their own history, habits, culture...- And these little worlds could find a path formed by the energy that love can give us to get in contact and start sharing feelings, trusting in each other, being a strong community, a family - 'cause I felt the intimacy, which a family could have, in our camp community -and i think the kids felt the same and it could give them life-long experiences."
I can't help but wonder to what extent these two weeks will prove to have given the students "life-long" lessons. They go home and miss camp terribly for a few days . . . until school starts and they see their usual friends who know nothing about this camp experience and the camp experience sort of melts away.
Unfortunately, what happens after camp, I have no control over. I do believe, however, that a large part of what happens at camp I do have control over. I have control over the atmosphere, making students feel safe and comfortable and enabling them to trust me and everything that happens at camp. Trust, it's the key link, I think. They trust almost no one when they arrive and without trust all that exists are walls. My job is to give them reasons to trust enough to step out from behind their walls. I guess if something can last, it would be the experience of learning how to trust and believing in that.
The picture was sent to me by the same camp counselor, Ildi. It makes me think of freedom, a journey and taking chances. It reminds me of trusting your own instincts. It reminds me of the kids. Without trusting themselves first, they can't really trust each other. They came a long way in two weeks and I trust that they will carry it on.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
To My Camp Counselor Team
It started at the EMbassy
Barak was there too
Two weeks ago, four of you never knew
Exactly what it was you'd gotten into.
Two others were waiting
As for the third, "He'll arrive when he can."
And that is when it all began.
Making beds, teaching rules, learning names, playing games
Putting together our teams and
Building a community under the moonbeams
Staying up late, poker games, ping pong in the shade
Casino, disco, masquerade,
Making friends across cultures was our dream
It might not work to some it did seem
Beach time, campfire, games in the dark
Community service and water park
The puzzle wasn't easy, but you put it together
To make our camp family better and better
Energy, compassion, nursemaid and police
Listening ear, caring friend, sharing treats
What you came here to do I hope you now see
Loving one another makes us all free.
Cheers in the day more cheers at night
We share laughter through tears as we circle up for one more good-night
Feeling good that we've done a lot of things right
I thank you all for a job well done!
Barak was there too
Two weeks ago, four of you never knew
Exactly what it was you'd gotten into.
Two others were waiting
As for the third, "He'll arrive when he can."
And that is when it all began.
Making beds, teaching rules, learning names, playing games
Putting together our teams and
Building a community under the moonbeams
Staying up late, poker games, ping pong in the shade
Casino, disco, masquerade,
Making friends across cultures was our dream
It might not work to some it did seem
Beach time, campfire, games in the dark
Community service and water park
The puzzle wasn't easy, but you put it together
To make our camp family better and better
Energy, compassion, nursemaid and police
Listening ear, caring friend, sharing treats
What you came here to do I hope you now see
Loving one another makes us all free.
Cheers in the day more cheers at night
We share laughter through tears as we circle up for one more good-night
Feeling good that we've done a lot of things right
I thank you all for a job well done!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Teaching in a New Place
Pilzn. No, it's not missing a vowel. Czech language doesn't use vowels too much. Transform the name of this town to its English version and you get Pilsen. Morph the word even further and you get Pilsner. Yes, I am living in the home of Pilsner beer. Took a tour of the brewery on day two and have been drinking it ever since. Not a bad way to spend a day . . . teaching for three hours, hanging out on a university campus, exploring a new city and stopping for beers along the way.
The International Summer Language School held at the University of West Bohemia is a twenty year old program that offers courses in English, Spanish, French, German, Russian, Italian, Czech and some others, I believe. Students come mostly from the Czech Republic, but there are several countries represented. There is also a large group of student from the University of Memphis here to earn a certificate in Teaching English as a Second Language. When I arrived there were even a few of them that I had met before working on projects in Kosovo. Needless to say, I have quite a few cool people to hang out with here. We all have accommodations in dormitories that haven't been remodeled since Czech and Slovakia were bound together. We shower in our sinks and sleep on mattresses with broken strings. The diet consists of potatoes, cheese, bread and pork and I feel lucky to be able to get a tomato and cucumber salad. These become all the more reason to get out and find what else exists out there.
Like Kosovo, it seems to take a while to get beyond aspects of the countries that have not seemed to change in decades. But the longer you stay, the more new gems you are able to find and maybe even get used to the older characteristics.
Next weekend will be a couple of days in Prague that will have me escaping from the tour bus and exploring a European city I have heard so many wonderful things about.
The International Summer Language School held at the University of West Bohemia is a twenty year old program that offers courses in English, Spanish, French, German, Russian, Italian, Czech and some others, I believe. Students come mostly from the Czech Republic, but there are several countries represented. There is also a large group of student from the University of Memphis here to earn a certificate in Teaching English as a Second Language. When I arrived there were even a few of them that I had met before working on projects in Kosovo. Needless to say, I have quite a few cool people to hang out with here. We all have accommodations in dormitories that haven't been remodeled since Czech and Slovakia were bound together. We shower in our sinks and sleep on mattresses with broken strings. The diet consists of potatoes, cheese, bread and pork and I feel lucky to be able to get a tomato and cucumber salad. These become all the more reason to get out and find what else exists out there.
Like Kosovo, it seems to take a while to get beyond aspects of the countries that have not seemed to change in decades. But the longer you stay, the more new gems you are able to find and maybe even get used to the older characteristics.
Next weekend will be a couple of days in Prague that will have me escaping from the tour bus and exploring a European city I have heard so many wonderful things about.
Monday, July 06, 2009
"Anywhere You Go"
Lyrics by Shane
5 years old
When you get yourself to go
When you like the colds of night
And do you know you have one way but not a single way
Did you know I have a way not for you but only for me
Where you go I don't know why
But I'll find the way for you
Did you know . . .
My nephews, like to come up with lyrics to songs. I wrote down the words to this one as Shane rallied them off to me in his best rock ballad-inspired voice. Seeing as he mostly knows me in a state of going somewhere, this one touched me a bit more closely somehow . . . movement without clear direction . . . there seems to be a right way, but various options on how to get there . . . and he puts himself in a position of helping figure it out.
Life interpreted through the eyes of a 5 year-old.
5 years old
When you get yourself to go
When you like the colds of night
And do you know you have one way but not a single way
Did you know I have a way not for you but only for me
Where you go I don't know why
But I'll find the way for you
Did you know . . .
My nephews, like to come up with lyrics to songs. I wrote down the words to this one as Shane rallied them off to me in his best rock ballad-inspired voice. Seeing as he mostly knows me in a state of going somewhere, this one touched me a bit more closely somehow . . . movement without clear direction . . . there seems to be a right way, but various options on how to get there . . . and he puts himself in a position of helping figure it out.
Life interpreted through the eyes of a 5 year-old.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Teenagers in a foreign country
Two got in trouble for having a little teenage adventure. One got in trouble for standing at the bus stop. The kids at the international school in downtown St. Paul are just like any other teenagers going to high school. They like nothing more than to be around friends and have a good time. They have the added luxury of doing it in a foreign country surrounded by new things to see, places to explore and experiences to have. A large chunk of what they knew of the US before coming they gleaned from Hollywood interpretations. College is all about frat parties with binge-drinking and sex-crazed coeds while African Americans are all dangerous gang-bangers. A hope is that their experience going to school in the US will dissolve these generalizations and negative stereotypes and expose them to a perspective that is positive.
Andrea, Zana, Fer and Pam have all been going to school in St. Paul for at least a year. They are 17 and 18 years old and see their high school career in the US coming to an end soon. When they got an invite to a party on a St. Paul college campus, how could they say no? Sure, they've had fun the past year, but this would be a totally different experience that they may not otherwise have a chance at. They could take the bus to the party, have a good time and take the bus back home in time for cerfue at their host parents' place. No problem . . . ?
Host parents are pretty keen people. They have an extra eye open. When Zana was missing from class for the week and sitting by the office all day every day, it was clear something wasn't right. "I'm in trouble, miss, and I'm going to have to go home to the Ukraine." In another class, Fer had to give up on hiding the tears and let the waterworks flow. "Honey, go to the bathroom if you need to." Between student rumors and the input from other teachers in the know, it became clear that the girls carried out their little college party adventure and were busted for it. Having broken the law and drunk alcohol as minors, their natural parents were called immediately and arrangements were made to send them home.
Lin, on the other hand, is a boy you couldn't bribe to break a rule. He's on time, has his homework done and puts in that extra effort with just about everything he does. When he didn't show up for the usual Friday quiz, it raised questions in class. "Where is Lin, today? I can't believe he's not here." "He got beat up. A black man beat him up." When that whole story came out, it turned out that Lin and his friend were simply waiting for their bus after school. They were surrounded by a group that was saying racial slurs to them, and Lin was punched in the face several times. They were saved by the arrival of their bus and the police were called by Lin's host family once he made it home. And yes, it was black people that did it to him.
So there you go, the chance of stereotypes being broken is gone, kids got sent home and hurt physically thanks stereotypes living up to their potential. DAMNIT!
Andrea, Zana, Fer and Pam have all been going to school in St. Paul for at least a year. They are 17 and 18 years old and see their high school career in the US coming to an end soon. When they got an invite to a party on a St. Paul college campus, how could they say no? Sure, they've had fun the past year, but this would be a totally different experience that they may not otherwise have a chance at. They could take the bus to the party, have a good time and take the bus back home in time for cerfue at their host parents' place. No problem . . . ?
Host parents are pretty keen people. They have an extra eye open. When Zana was missing from class for the week and sitting by the office all day every day, it was clear something wasn't right. "I'm in trouble, miss, and I'm going to have to go home to the Ukraine." In another class, Fer had to give up on hiding the tears and let the waterworks flow. "Honey, go to the bathroom if you need to." Between student rumors and the input from other teachers in the know, it became clear that the girls carried out their little college party adventure and were busted for it. Having broken the law and drunk alcohol as minors, their natural parents were called immediately and arrangements were made to send them home.
Lin, on the other hand, is a boy you couldn't bribe to break a rule. He's on time, has his homework done and puts in that extra effort with just about everything he does. When he didn't show up for the usual Friday quiz, it raised questions in class. "Where is Lin, today? I can't believe he's not here." "He got beat up. A black man beat him up." When that whole story came out, it turned out that Lin and his friend were simply waiting for their bus after school. They were surrounded by a group that was saying racial slurs to them, and Lin was punched in the face several times. They were saved by the arrival of their bus and the police were called by Lin's host family once he made it home. And yes, it was black people that did it to him.
So there you go, the chance of stereotypes being broken is gone, kids got sent home and hurt physically thanks stereotypes living up to their potential. DAMNIT!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
"Detoxing" from the latest fix
Still addicted. It's the basis and the theme of a lot of what she writes. This horribly wonderful thing that she is not sure she will ever be able to live without. Her biggest challenge will be to figure out how to fit it in. She moved back to to her home town to settle down a bit. Get a job, buy a house, be around family and eventually start her own. It became obvious after ten years and four moves that it wasn't going to happen if she continued moving around at the pace she was going. And besides, saying good-bye, the inevitable leaving that happens in an expat's life and entering "detox" was just getting to be too much.
However, last week she got on an airplane once again. Headed to the Dominican Republic to celebrate the wedding of a couple of wonderful people and great friends in the city of Cabarete, just outside of Puerto Plata. The beach resort and 85 degree weather were pretty amazing. it wasn't an adventurous trip by any means. Nothing like her last trip, other than Christina was again with her. She got her "hit" instead with the people she was surrounded by that week. On the last day, after spending days on end dancing, drinking daquaries, walking he beach, talking about travel, culture, experiences, sex and all aspects of life, she sat by the pool with one last Presedente beer and sat witness to it once again. Call it astrology where libras and aquarians are matched, call it chemistry where people are inexplicably attracted to each other, call it human nature or free will where people consciously decide who they spend their time with, but she was somehow surrounded once again by the people she needed in her life. By no means were they the people she knew the best at the party. She found those she had partied with during her New York days to be on the opposite end of the pool every day, and rarely if ever did they even enter her mind. The people she was attracted to, the people she wanted to spend her time with were people she had never met before, yet people she felt like she met years ago. They were single, they were married, they had kids, they had traveled, they lived in New York and Texas and on the west coast and in Mexico City. They were 5 years-old, they were 25 and they were 35 and all week she was perfectly "high" because of them. She soaked it in on that last day because she knew she was heading into cold-turkey.
It was just a week away, but in that week she was wrapped all up in the power of travel again. After 5 months of meeting very few people in the home town, it took a foreign country for her to find the people she needs. That's what it's always taken, that or a major metropolitan area. Somehow the home town doesn't provide her with that. She has never been successful in finding what she needs in the place she grew up. Does the "drug" create a false sense of reality? A lot of her family tries to convince her of that. That reality is a job you probably don't want, but have because you need it. That reality is friends that all have their own things to do and you're lucky if you see them a couple times a year. But she wants to believe that she can have it all. The family, the house, the job and the friends that give her a steady dose of adventure, exploration, discovery of something new and companionship that offers new perspective to all of it.
Is life with the "fix" always going to be temporary and fleeting? Something that she is inevitably going to have to say good-bye to, leaving her with a high from which is going to have to crash?
This is when she laughs at herself for being such a romantic who believes and fears that it has to be one or the other. If it's not perfect it's going to suck. Of course a week on a beach with constant reason to party with cool people is not sustainable reality. It's not the place that makes the moments perfect, though. "Turns out not where but who you're with that really matters." She holds onto the hope that the life she seeks can exist in a realistic setting. She just needs to find where they drug dealers are in that damn town.
However, last week she got on an airplane once again. Headed to the Dominican Republic to celebrate the wedding of a couple of wonderful people and great friends in the city of Cabarete, just outside of Puerto Plata. The beach resort and 85 degree weather were pretty amazing. it wasn't an adventurous trip by any means. Nothing like her last trip, other than Christina was again with her. She got her "hit" instead with the people she was surrounded by that week. On the last day, after spending days on end dancing, drinking daquaries, walking he beach, talking about travel, culture, experiences, sex and all aspects of life, she sat by the pool with one last Presedente beer and sat witness to it once again. Call it astrology where libras and aquarians are matched, call it chemistry where people are inexplicably attracted to each other, call it human nature or free will where people consciously decide who they spend their time with, but she was somehow surrounded once again by the people she needed in her life. By no means were they the people she knew the best at the party. She found those she had partied with during her New York days to be on the opposite end of the pool every day, and rarely if ever did they even enter her mind. The people she was attracted to, the people she wanted to spend her time with were people she had never met before, yet people she felt like she met years ago. They were single, they were married, they had kids, they had traveled, they lived in New York and Texas and on the west coast and in Mexico City. They were 5 years-old, they were 25 and they were 35 and all week she was perfectly "high" because of them. She soaked it in on that last day because she knew she was heading into cold-turkey.
It was just a week away, but in that week she was wrapped all up in the power of travel again. After 5 months of meeting very few people in the home town, it took a foreign country for her to find the people she needs. That's what it's always taken, that or a major metropolitan area. Somehow the home town doesn't provide her with that. She has never been successful in finding what she needs in the place she grew up. Does the "drug" create a false sense of reality? A lot of her family tries to convince her of that. That reality is a job you probably don't want, but have because you need it. That reality is friends that all have their own things to do and you're lucky if you see them a couple times a year. But she wants to believe that she can have it all. The family, the house, the job and the friends that give her a steady dose of adventure, exploration, discovery of something new and companionship that offers new perspective to all of it.
Is life with the "fix" always going to be temporary and fleeting? Something that she is inevitably going to have to say good-bye to, leaving her with a high from which is going to have to crash?
This is when she laughs at herself for being such a romantic who believes and fears that it has to be one or the other. If it's not perfect it's going to suck. Of course a week on a beach with constant reason to party with cool people is not sustainable reality. It's not the place that makes the moments perfect, though. "Turns out not where but who you're with that really matters." She holds onto the hope that the life she seeks can exist in a realistic setting. She just needs to find where they drug dealers are in that damn town.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Back at it
I am a teacher again. Started last week at St. Paul Preparatory School in down town St. Paul working on orientation and team-building activities with the 50+ new students who just arrived to the tundra from all over the world. They are 14-18 years old and come to this international high school primarily to improve their English and to prepare themselves for college in the US. They stay with host families all over the cities and take public transportation to school every day, sometimes commuting over an hour, maneuvering bus transfers and city skyways.
I love working downtown. It’s just St. Paul, but it is a city . . . and the skyway system is the most amazing thing ever! Walking 4 blocks to get a coffee without stepping foot outside! Walkers are everywhere whether it's on the coffee mission or the fat-burning mission. It's people and energy and I love it! I take public transportation to school too. Park the car about a mile from dad's and hop on a bus for a 15-minute ride into town. Brilliant!
I teach a high intermediate level of reading and an advanced English composition course. Once again, in a different city with diverse-background teenagers, my never-ending observations come to the same conclusion . . . teenagers all over the world are the same. The new ones in the school are scared and shy, afraid they won't fit in and fearful of failure. The ones that have been around for a while - or just six months - think they rule the roost, having earned their position high on the school's totem pole. They of course have had their speed bumps and growing pains, but they survived and spread the wings they believe they've earned. That's what's visible. What isn't visible is that they all are vulnerable. No matter the veneer, they are often a pile of scared goo underneath. Success to me happens when I can get them to reveal some of the goo. Encourage them to own it and see that they will be successful and loved despite or even because of it.
Being it’s my first semester and I am only a part-time teacher, I am the lowest on the staff totem pole. It’s always a good place to start, though. Easy to stay below the radar and get my feet wet while figuring things out. The Assistant Principal is really good at trusting her teachers to do their job and not be controlling at all. It allows me to do what I know how to do. The resources aren’t abundant. I move around from room to room, hanging my coat in the conference room. But that just means that it’s easy to hide if I want to. However, my colleagues are extremely nice and willing to answer any question that I have and that is always good. They are young and seem like they could be good fun too. Look forward to the opportunities to get to know them better. So here I am, beginning my teaching career in Minnesota!
I love working downtown. It’s just St. Paul, but it is a city . . . and the skyway system is the most amazing thing ever! Walking 4 blocks to get a coffee without stepping foot outside! Walkers are everywhere whether it's on the coffee mission or the fat-burning mission. It's people and energy and I love it! I take public transportation to school too. Park the car about a mile from dad's and hop on a bus for a 15-minute ride into town. Brilliant!
I teach a high intermediate level of reading and an advanced English composition course. Once again, in a different city with diverse-background teenagers, my never-ending observations come to the same conclusion . . . teenagers all over the world are the same. The new ones in the school are scared and shy, afraid they won't fit in and fearful of failure. The ones that have been around for a while - or just six months - think they rule the roost, having earned their position high on the school's totem pole. They of course have had their speed bumps and growing pains, but they survived and spread the wings they believe they've earned. That's what's visible. What isn't visible is that they all are vulnerable. No matter the veneer, they are often a pile of scared goo underneath. Success to me happens when I can get them to reveal some of the goo. Encourage them to own it and see that they will be successful and loved despite or even because of it.
Being it’s my first semester and I am only a part-time teacher, I am the lowest on the staff totem pole. It’s always a good place to start, though. Easy to stay below the radar and get my feet wet while figuring things out. The Assistant Principal is really good at trusting her teachers to do their job and not be controlling at all. It allows me to do what I know how to do. The resources aren’t abundant. I move around from room to room, hanging my coat in the conference room. But that just means that it’s easy to hide if I want to. However, my colleagues are extremely nice and willing to answer any question that I have and that is always good. They are young and seem like they could be good fun too. Look forward to the opportunities to get to know them better. So here I am, beginning my teaching career in Minnesota!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I was handed some flowers
2009 is only a couple of weeks old and I feel like a year's worth of stuff has happened. It began on the 2nd while I was on my way home from the gym. No new year's resolution involved. As a matter of fact, I hadn't even gone into the gym because of the fleet of cars parked outside while the weight loss resolvers were sweating away inside. Figured I'd return after prime-time. The day was sunny and had been warmer than the week before. Roads were wet, but didn't seem to be slick . . . but that was my opinion. About 200 feet from my driveway, there was a car approaching me from the opposite direction and it was swerving all over the road. I thought it was someone playing around and would stop once he realized other cars were on the road. that is precisely when the car crossed the center line and torpedoed me up into a snow bank and into someone's yard. To say I was furious is devaluing the purity of my emotion of the moment. The 16 year-old driver of the other car that was bawling as I threw every curse word at him that came to mind might describe my reaction differently. The cops came, the medic trucks came and finally the tow truck came and hauled HS away from me forever. That's where the anger and the tears were coming from mostly. Yea, the reality of the inconvenience of shopping and buying a car as reliable as HS was a factor as well, but what really got me was that, the thing that had kept Grandma Helen with me since she passed away, her 1995 Ford Taurus, I killed . . . or a 16 year-old kid talking to his brother on his cell phone and "sliding on the ice," killed.
In the next couple of weeks some flowers were sent my way in the form of positive job interviews. The first one reconnected me with some old friends and introduced me to some potential professional contacts. It also was a bit of confidence boosting after being basically unemployed with no leads for that past 5 months. To talk about my professional-self and successes to respected educators reassured me that I was worthy of employment. A week later was a second interview and I really believed that one of them would hire me. The Monday after the Friday of the second interview, I got the phone call with a job offer. The irony is that it was the same morning that I found out Wendy had passed away. A smack in the face delivered with a bunch of flowers. Did you plan that, Wendy?
That exact weekend before Wendy smacked me and handed me the boquet, I bought the car that would replace HS. I like it and do feel that it's her bunch of daisies to give to me and that HS is still hanging around making sure I stay safe with her. And it's only January 21st!
In the next couple of weeks some flowers were sent my way in the form of positive job interviews. The first one reconnected me with some old friends and introduced me to some potential professional contacts. It also was a bit of confidence boosting after being basically unemployed with no leads for that past 5 months. To talk about my professional-self and successes to respected educators reassured me that I was worthy of employment. A week later was a second interview and I really believed that one of them would hire me. The Monday after the Friday of the second interview, I got the phone call with a job offer. The irony is that it was the same morning that I found out Wendy had passed away. A smack in the face delivered with a bunch of flowers. Did you plan that, Wendy?
That exact weekend before Wendy smacked me and handed me the boquet, I bought the car that would replace HS. I like it and do feel that it's her bunch of daisies to give to me and that HS is still hanging around making sure I stay safe with her. And it's only January 21st!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A Comedic Tragedy
Never would I mean to suggest that the death of a good friend could be comical. Losing an amazing 35 year-old friend, instructor, mother, daughter, grand-daughter, sister, aunt and wife can't be anything but tragic. Wendy was struck down when there was still so much life for her to live. The magnetic field that followed her around drew people toward her. It held family, friends and students close to her. It also drew in strangers that, when introduced to her, wanted to be amongst Wendy's first-tier circle. Wendy, you spread life and confidence to everyone you touched with your beautiful smile, caring embrace, endless energy and love of a good laugh. You found good in everyone you met and were sure to tell them about it. You were to me the friend that gave it to me straight. Whether it was an outfit, a job or a boyfriend, you laid it out and made your opinion clear . . . and most of the time you were right, whether I listened to you or not.
I lived thirty-five years of life without having to deal with death. Now, in the past thirteen months I have said good-bye to four dear loved ones. One was my 93 year-old grandmother who was ready to go after raising and loving a huge family of kids, grandkids and great-grandkids. Her life was lived to the fullest. The other three were all taken way too early . . . taken in the middle of what were their greatest moments of life. This is where the "comedy" comes in. Comedy in its absurdity. Comic because, how in any real world could these lives be taken like that? It has to be a joke . . . right?!
People will often say that the bad things happen in 3's, or that it's just a string of bad luck . . . the good stuff is around the corner. I'm not so sure of the amount of truth to all that. Things like this are said in order to hold onto hope of life getting better, but they seem to suggest that all the bad will suddenly stop. What I'm finally learning after 36 years is that, yes, you must always hang on to the hope, but don't be surprised when life throws those unexpected blows, whether in 3's or multiples of 3. They can happen when things are good and they can happen when you think things couldn't get worse. That's life - cliché or not. And just as life throws its blows, it also sends flowers. It can all be spread out or it can all happen at the same time. It's the good, the bad and the time in-between and it let's us know that we are still here!
I take from these things the tragic yet comical lesson . . . . I am still here! I've lost Julie, Thor, Grandma Helen and Wendy who were all inspirations in my life. But, I AM STILL HERE!! And the greatest thing is that they were all with me in my first 35 years of life. I had them, learned from them, laughed with them, followed them, cried with them, hated them and loved them and THANK GOD for all of it! And now, I see that, because I am still here, it is up to me to make sure I continue with my life, all of the good things they did in their lives.
Maybe the comedy is the absurd. Maybe the comedy is the irony of such tragedy having to happen in order for us to see life's beauty. Maybe everything I just wrote is the comedy because it sounds completely rediculous. Whatever, I'm here and I must thank everyone in my life, currently breathing or not, for being a part of it now and forever!
I lived thirty-five years of life without having to deal with death. Now, in the past thirteen months I have said good-bye to four dear loved ones. One was my 93 year-old grandmother who was ready to go after raising and loving a huge family of kids, grandkids and great-grandkids. Her life was lived to the fullest. The other three were all taken way too early . . . taken in the middle of what were their greatest moments of life. This is where the "comedy" comes in. Comedy in its absurdity. Comic because, how in any real world could these lives be taken like that? It has to be a joke . . . right?!
People will often say that the bad things happen in 3's, or that it's just a string of bad luck . . . the good stuff is around the corner. I'm not so sure of the amount of truth to all that. Things like this are said in order to hold onto hope of life getting better, but they seem to suggest that all the bad will suddenly stop. What I'm finally learning after 36 years is that, yes, you must always hang on to the hope, but don't be surprised when life throws those unexpected blows, whether in 3's or multiples of 3. They can happen when things are good and they can happen when you think things couldn't get worse. That's life - cliché or not. And just as life throws its blows, it also sends flowers. It can all be spread out or it can all happen at the same time. It's the good, the bad and the time in-between and it let's us know that we are still here!
I take from these things the tragic yet comical lesson . . . . I am still here! I've lost Julie, Thor, Grandma Helen and Wendy who were all inspirations in my life. But, I AM STILL HERE!! And the greatest thing is that they were all with me in my first 35 years of life. I had them, learned from them, laughed with them, followed them, cried with them, hated them and loved them and THANK GOD for all of it! And now, I see that, because I am still here, it is up to me to make sure I continue with my life, all of the good things they did in their lives.
Maybe the comedy is the absurd. Maybe the comedy is the irony of such tragedy having to happen in order for us to see life's beauty. Maybe everything I just wrote is the comedy because it sounds completely rediculous. Whatever, I'm here and I must thank everyone in my life, currently breathing or not, for being a part of it now and forever!
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Building Castles in Apple Valley
Man, I've taken one long break from doing this. I think the knee injury, sudden move from Kosovo, surgery, the loss of Grandma Helen, return to Kosovo, directing three weeks of camp and coming back to Minnesota for real . . . for good has all been a bit more than I could keep up with. No excuse I know. And now that I am marginally employed and staying in the extra beds of family and friends, well, the exact opposite seems to be the case and there is next to nothing to write about. But that doesn't mean that things aren't on my mind and there aren't good stories to tell.
Since I've been back in 'Sota, my time has been spent with family!! From being the live-in nanny for my nephews, Shane and Will - 5 and 3 respectively - to time with my sister-cousins Tess and Polly, cooking dinners with Dad and seeing movies with Mom, I have had things to fill my days. Being able to spend a few days with them all and say good-bye while knowing that I would likely see them next week has been a significant and welcome change for me. I have strong family bonds and the value of them has not dwindled with distance.
I have also tried to be "professional" with applying and receiving my Minnesota State teaching certification. Once that happened, I became eligible for real teaching jobs here. Too bad there aren't any openings in October. To fill my time and my bank account, I have taken on the not-so-coveted job of substitute teaching. Every day it's finding a new school, meeting new "colleagues," learning 30 new names and earning the respect of eight-year-olds . . . or eighteen year-olds who never saw you before and will likely never see you again. Challenging and draining, yea, but definitely full of some chuckle-worthy stories.
While teaching a third-grade math lesson on great-than/less-than, I had a bit of a mind melt and forgot that zero times anything equals zero. Now, instead of calling me out in front of the entire class, little Tiera igot up out of her chair and walked up to me. My first response was to insist she sit back down. However, in the most tactful way possible, she walked up to me and whispered in my ear the root of my error. "Miss S. the answer is < because zero times anything equals zero." What else could I do but admit fault, and have the students come up one-by-one and correct my mistakes on the board.
In another third-grade class the following week, the teacher has me read a book during math that was all about 1,000,000 and contemplating how much that really was. When I asked the students what they would buy if they had a $1,000,000 (so wish I had my Bare Naked Ladies music with me) they had the predictable answers of iPods, Wii's, cars and houses. One girl said that she would buy a castle. "Where would your castle be," I asked. It took her about a second-and-a-half to come out and say with confidence, "Apple Valley!" Now, nothing against this southern Twin Cities suburb, but if they are building castles in Apple Valley these days . . . well, although they might not quite fit in with the typical neighborhood style, I guess they might be affordable with current real estate prices.
So here I am, making my transition back into the twin Cities after nearly ten years of being away. It will fall into place eventually. i'll get myself my own classroom to return to every day, and I just might be building the first castle of Apple Valley!
Since I've been back in 'Sota, my time has been spent with family!! From being the live-in nanny for my nephews, Shane and Will - 5 and 3 respectively - to time with my sister-cousins Tess and Polly, cooking dinners with Dad and seeing movies with Mom, I have had things to fill my days. Being able to spend a few days with them all and say good-bye while knowing that I would likely see them next week has been a significant and welcome change for me. I have strong family bonds and the value of them has not dwindled with distance.
I have also tried to be "professional" with applying and receiving my Minnesota State teaching certification. Once that happened, I became eligible for real teaching jobs here. Too bad there aren't any openings in October. To fill my time and my bank account, I have taken on the not-so-coveted job of substitute teaching. Every day it's finding a new school, meeting new "colleagues," learning 30 new names and earning the respect of eight-year-olds . . . or eighteen year-olds who never saw you before and will likely never see you again. Challenging and draining, yea, but definitely full of some chuckle-worthy stories.
While teaching a third-grade math lesson on great-than/less-than, I had a bit of a mind melt and forgot that zero times anything equals zero. Now, instead of calling me out in front of the entire class, little Tiera igot up out of her chair and walked up to me. My first response was to insist she sit back down. However, in the most tactful way possible, she walked up to me and whispered in my ear the root of my error. "Miss S. the answer is < because zero times anything equals zero." What else could I do but admit fault, and have the students come up one-by-one and correct my mistakes on the board.
In another third-grade class the following week, the teacher has me read a book during math that was all about 1,000,000 and contemplating how much that really was. When I asked the students what they would buy if they had a $1,000,000 (so wish I had my Bare Naked Ladies music with me) they had the predictable answers of iPods, Wii's, cars and houses. One girl said that she would buy a castle. "Where would your castle be," I asked. It took her about a second-and-a-half to come out and say with confidence, "Apple Valley!" Now, nothing against this southern Twin Cities suburb, but if they are building castles in Apple Valley these days . . . well, although they might not quite fit in with the typical neighborhood style, I guess they might be affordable with current real estate prices.
So here I am, making my transition back into the twin Cities after nearly ten years of being away. It will fall into place eventually. i'll get myself my own classroom to return to every day, and I just might be building the first castle of Apple Valley!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
The ACL Injury
This article i quite timely and strange to read. I mean, it's my story, sort of. When I first read the headline and the first couple of pages, I was a bit upset at the idea that women need to be taken care of more than men because of the injuries they suffer while playing sports. I mean, come on, the bench of the men's team has the same injuries, right? Well, as you read on the statistics show up saying that a larger percentage of the girls' bench suffers the knee injuries as the boys bench. Only the boys football team has similar percentages rates of knee injuries.
I think just about every team I played on from high school on has someone on the team that had the surgery. At St. Olaf we called one girl "blue-knees" because she wore the braces on both legs! I have been able to make it through 35 years without the injury. It was the injury I always feared most. The popping noise, the knee going out of whack, the surgery. In the back of my mind, though, I knew it was just a matter of time. And here it was in Kosovo with a Frisbee. The same jump I've made thousands of times and it just took one to make it happen. Nothing different than the previous thousands, as the article states. Just one.
So I've taken the business class flight back to The States in order to get it all taken care of. Although I had to leave Kosovo way too abruptly, I'm glad I'm here to deal with it all. I'll be recovered and back in action in no time!!
I think just about every team I played on from high school on has someone on the team that had the surgery. At St. Olaf we called one girl "blue-knees" because she wore the braces on both legs! I have been able to make it through 35 years without the injury. It was the injury I always feared most. The popping noise, the knee going out of whack, the surgery. In the back of my mind, though, I knew it was just a matter of time. And here it was in Kosovo with a Frisbee. The same jump I've made thousands of times and it just took one to make it happen. Nothing different than the previous thousands, as the article states. Just one.
So I've taken the business class flight back to The States in order to get it all taken care of. Although I had to leave Kosovo way too abruptly, I'm glad I'm here to deal with it all. I'll be recovered and back in action in no time!!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Is it getting any better?
One minute it seems as though the dust is settling and hands are reaching out. The next minute it appears as though those hands are holding rocks, grenades and Molotov cocktails. March 17th was the 4 year anniversary of riots carried out by Albanians on Serbian communities where 19 people died. It was also the 1 month anniversary of Kosovo's independence. There was bound to be some sort of excitement on that particular Monday. People were expecting something, anyway.
The prior Friday, a group of Serbian protesters entered a courthouse in North Mitrovica to symbolically take over the institution from the EU. The following the UN police and KFOR troops organized a operation to reclaim this courthouse. In the process of this at least one was killed and over a hundred sent to the hospital wounded. The link above is a good international news perspective. Mitrovica, the "flashpoint" for the majority of the newsworthy conflict due to its proximity to Serbia itself, is at least 50 miles away from Prishtina. As I may have mentioned in previous posts, the Serbs near hear, the Serbs that participate in my class, are geographically quite far from the country they claim as their own. they are in an isolated pocket surrounded by the majority Albanian population without a river and a bridge separating them. This could either make them easier targets to crazy Albanians around them, which many of them fear they are. For nearly four weeks, I prepared for my entire class to be there. The Albanian kids showed up, we waited, and decided to wait until next time. Maybe they'd come then. For nearly four weeks, I talked to the Serbian students who told me, "tomorrow, we'll be there." The Albanian kids, showed up . . . and we waited. It was discouraging for me and for the Albanian kids, who felt they had been given up on. As frustrated as I became every day, I saw hope in the fact that Serbian students were even entertaining the idea of coming. Even though they usually didn't show, they said that they would, which meant that they wanted to. So, eventually, maybe they would.
Well, the effect geography and isolation seems to be one of the many of the Serbs near Prishtina realizing that they have to face reality. They do and always will say that, "Kosovo is Serbia." However, in many cases, I think some are realizing that no matter how much they say it, it doesn't make their daily lives any easier. And so believe some of my Serbian students . . . maybe I should say a FEW of my Serbian students. Most of them have not returned, and I don't expect them to ever come back. There are quite a few reasons for it. Some may say fear of those crazy Albanians in Prishtina, but most of them would say that wasn't a major issue. For most of them I think it's pressure. Government, parents, teachers and friends, although probably not threatening them if they do come, are telling them that coming to Prishtina to be in a class with an American teacher and a bunch of Albanian teenagers is wrong and is contradictory to the Serbian cause they are fighting for. That could be a whole lot of pressure on a sixteen-year-old.
The beauty is that, despite any pressure, there are about seven of these kids that don't care. Seven of these kids still want to see their Albanian classmates, still want to come to the American Corner of the National Library, still want to see their American teacher and still want to work together and have a good time. And for about three classes we have done just that, almost like nothing had ever happened . . . almost. There is still some whispering, some looking over shoulders, small sighs of distrust. But that is all easily forgotten when they are facing each other with the task of telling each other what their "highs" and "lows" of the day were. We've all got them and very few of us don't want to talk about them, and to share them with each other once again puts everyone on the same level, on the same page, facing very similar daily ups and downs.
The prior Friday, a group of Serbian protesters entered a courthouse in North Mitrovica to symbolically take over the institution from the EU. The following the UN police and KFOR troops organized a operation to reclaim this courthouse. In the process of this at least one was killed and over a hundred sent to the hospital wounded. The link above is a good international news perspective. Mitrovica, the "flashpoint" for the majority of the newsworthy conflict due to its proximity to Serbia itself, is at least 50 miles away from Prishtina. As I may have mentioned in previous posts, the Serbs near hear, the Serbs that participate in my class, are geographically quite far from the country they claim as their own. they are in an isolated pocket surrounded by the majority Albanian population without a river and a bridge separating them. This could either make them easier targets to crazy Albanians around them, which many of them fear they are. For nearly four weeks, I prepared for my entire class to be there. The Albanian kids showed up, we waited, and decided to wait until next time. Maybe they'd come then. For nearly four weeks, I talked to the Serbian students who told me, "tomorrow, we'll be there." The Albanian kids, showed up . . . and we waited. It was discouraging for me and for the Albanian kids, who felt they had been given up on. As frustrated as I became every day, I saw hope in the fact that Serbian students were even entertaining the idea of coming. Even though they usually didn't show, they said that they would, which meant that they wanted to. So, eventually, maybe they would.
Well, the effect geography and isolation seems to be one of the many of the Serbs near Prishtina realizing that they have to face reality. They do and always will say that, "Kosovo is Serbia." However, in many cases, I think some are realizing that no matter how much they say it, it doesn't make their daily lives any easier. And so believe some of my Serbian students . . . maybe I should say a FEW of my Serbian students. Most of them have not returned, and I don't expect them to ever come back. There are quite a few reasons for it. Some may say fear of those crazy Albanians in Prishtina, but most of them would say that wasn't a major issue. For most of them I think it's pressure. Government, parents, teachers and friends, although probably not threatening them if they do come, are telling them that coming to Prishtina to be in a class with an American teacher and a bunch of Albanian teenagers is wrong and is contradictory to the Serbian cause they are fighting for. That could be a whole lot of pressure on a sixteen-year-old.
The beauty is that, despite any pressure, there are about seven of these kids that don't care. Seven of these kids still want to see their Albanian classmates, still want to come to the American Corner of the National Library, still want to see their American teacher and still want to work together and have a good time. And for about three classes we have done just that, almost like nothing had ever happened . . . almost. There is still some whispering, some looking over shoulders, small sighs of distrust. But that is all easily forgotten when they are facing each other with the task of telling each other what their "highs" and "lows" of the day were. We've all got them and very few of us don't want to talk about them, and to share them with each other once again puts everyone on the same level, on the same page, facing very similar daily ups and downs.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
The Other Side
If February 17, 2008 was the best day in the lives of Kosovar Albanians, it was the worst day in the lives of Kosovar Serbs. The exact same flags that were waved in Prishtina with pride and gratitude were burnt in Belgrade in hatred and spite. Although Serbs are the minority here, they say it is their cultural and historical cradle. The battle of 1398 where the Serbs and other Balkan nationalities fought and lost to the Ottoman Empire is what they keep referring to. The beautiful Serbian Orthodox churches with deep cultural meaning here are also something they are holding on to. Right now, the biggest thing they are holding onto is their pride.
On February 21, the Thursday after the declaration of independence, there was a massive protest in Belgrade. The Serbian government declared all public transportation to Belgrade on that day to be free of charge in order to encourage people from all over the country to come and show how important it was for them to hold onto Kosovo. Official totals range from 200,000 to over 500,000 people that gathered. The government insisted the protests be peaceful and without violence, but they obviously insisted that it be loud as well. However, apparently the government didn't insist that the embassies of independence supporting countries be protected by police. A crowd of about 1,000 people broke away from the larger group and headed straight for the US Embassy and others. They were able to break in, ransack it and start it on fire because there was no one to stop them. It took police 45 minutes to arrive and do something to stop the mob.
On the same day I had every intention to go to see my Serbian students in Gracanica. They have not been coming to Prishtina and probably won't be coming soon. In order to connect with them, to show them that I want to know how they are doing, I worked out with the US Office here to get a ride there in order to spend some time with them. At 10.00 that morning it was all set. At 12.00 I got a phone all from my contact there who said that, for reasons she couldn't explain, US Office security was saying that I could not go. She said she tried to fight for me, but security section would not allow it. I asked my UN friends to see what their security was saying about Gracanica that day, and they got nothing. I have no idea what happened that made the US office decide this, but I had to call the students there and tell them the change in plans.
I called Milica and told her that for reasons I didn't understand, I couldn't go to see them. She didn't understand. "Did someone tell you it wasn't safe? No one knows you're coming. It's quiet and safe for you here." I had nothing to give her other than, "I'll try again next week." When we said good-bye she said, "Will I ever see you again?" All I could say was YES and hang up. That 's when I broke down. This girl is barely 10 miles away from me and there is a real chance that I will never see her again. Maybe her family will move to Belgrade. If they don't, there is a good chance that none of the students will ever come to class again. As I write this, it sounds to me to be a bit extreme. If I get a chance to go and talk with them, I know I can get them to come back to class. I know that I can convince them that, among us, nothing has changed from one week ago.
In my mind, if there is to be any chance for these people to ever live together, it will be in these kids. I have been telling them that from the beginning. I want to keep telling them that. But I don't know. Maybe their hate and fear is too deep. Maybe it's over.
On February 21, the Thursday after the declaration of independence, there was a massive protest in Belgrade. The Serbian government declared all public transportation to Belgrade on that day to be free of charge in order to encourage people from all over the country to come and show how important it was for them to hold onto Kosovo. Official totals range from 200,000 to over 500,000 people that gathered. The government insisted the protests be peaceful and without violence, but they obviously insisted that it be loud as well. However, apparently the government didn't insist that the embassies of independence supporting countries be protected by police. A crowd of about 1,000 people broke away from the larger group and headed straight for the US Embassy and others. They were able to break in, ransack it and start it on fire because there was no one to stop them. It took police 45 minutes to arrive and do something to stop the mob.
On the same day I had every intention to go to see my Serbian students in Gracanica. They have not been coming to Prishtina and probably won't be coming soon. In order to connect with them, to show them that I want to know how they are doing, I worked out with the US Office here to get a ride there in order to spend some time with them. At 10.00 that morning it was all set. At 12.00 I got a phone all from my contact there who said that, for reasons she couldn't explain, US Office security was saying that I could not go. She said she tried to fight for me, but security section would not allow it. I asked my UN friends to see what their security was saying about Gracanica that day, and they got nothing. I have no idea what happened that made the US office decide this, but I had to call the students there and tell them the change in plans.
I called Milica and told her that for reasons I didn't understand, I couldn't go to see them. She didn't understand. "Did someone tell you it wasn't safe? No one knows you're coming. It's quiet and safe for you here." I had nothing to give her other than, "I'll try again next week." When we said good-bye she said, "Will I ever see you again?" All I could say was YES and hang up. That 's when I broke down. This girl is barely 10 miles away from me and there is a real chance that I will never see her again. Maybe her family will move to Belgrade. If they don't, there is a good chance that none of the students will ever come to class again. As I write this, it sounds to me to be a bit extreme. If I get a chance to go and talk with them, I know I can get them to come back to class. I know that I can convince them that, among us, nothing has changed from one week ago.
In my mind, if there is to be any chance for these people to ever live together, it will be in these kids. I have been telling them that from the beginning. I want to keep telling them that. But I don't know. Maybe their hate and fear is too deep. Maybe it's over.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
A New Country is Born
For the past few weeks everyone was talking about it, but no one knew for sure when the dates would be. They had narrowed it down to a Sunday. That way, those opposing Kosovo's independence in the UN Security Council couldn't call an emergency meeting on the international day off. Then, on around the 8th of February, people were quite seriously talking about it being the following weekend. By Valentine's Day the talk was that it would be that Sunday and the schedule of Independence Day celebration events for Sunday the 17th was unofficially set.
The tapestry of national flags was apparent everywhere from Friday on. The red and black Albanian flag was the background and the flags of any country that showed support for Kosovo were scattered throughout. No doubt the red white and blue US and British flags were the most abundant. Kosovar Albanians are fully aware that none of this would have happened if it hadn't been for the support they have received from their allies. I can't begin to count the number of times that I have been thanked for supporting Kosovo and its independence. "We would be dead if it wasn't for the USA. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for the USA." At one point during the celebrations I felt like I was witnessing the 1980 US Hockey Team win the gold medal. Chants of, "USA USA USA USA," were echoing louder than the traditional Albanian music at moments.
One corner of town was dedicated to the idea of Kosovo being reborn. A giant structure spelling out NEWBORN in yellow letters standing about 8 feet tall was unveiled on Sunday night. I watched from above as the crowds surrounded a big blue blanket. The event was choreographed perfectly with a motorcade of police, diplomatic and government cars driving down the hill with their blue lights flashing. They stopped in front of the blue blanket and the crowds split like they were making room for Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie to come out of their limo onto the red carpet. Just as the crowd split, the blanket was removed releasing hundreds of yellow and blue balloons and the sunshine yellow letters. The president and prime minister were lead by their posse through the crowd up to the structure, and with black sharpie in hand, they signed the giant B. Just as quickly as they arrived, they were swept away and the crowds were released with their own black sharpies to make their mark on their new status.
Thousands of people from all over the Balkan region showed up for the party in Prishtina and in major cities around the world. As we watched the declaration live here, we also saw online that in Skopje, Tiranna, Stockholm, Vienna and New York City all had thousands of people gathering to recognize and celebrate the historic event. Although there were some signs of showing spite towards Serbia that included words starting with F and Y, there were no obvious incidents of hate or revenge. Not a flag was burned and not a person was nor has yet been intentionally hurt. The feeling is pure joy and hope.
Seeing my students on the Tuesday after was pretty cool. They walked in the room with the biggest smiles on their faces, of course thanking me and my country for our help. It was of course obvious that our Serbian classmates weren't there, and they wanted to know why. I told them that I couldn't speak for their classmates, but I told them that the feelings of their friends was most likely the exact opposite of what they were feeling. Emotions like fear, anger and humiliation were very likely to be in the minds of the Serbian kids. Form the point of view of the Albanians, this independence is their reward for living through hell. Living through Serbian attacks, living through ethnic cleansing and horrific crimes that were committed by Serbs. For most of them, it's a relief to have come out on top. What they would like is for the Serbs that live 10 miles away to feel welcome in this new country of theirs. They want it to be a place where they can all live together. They don't understand the fear and don't know why things have to be different this week from what they were last week. I'm not sure I can answer that either.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Excellent weekend!!!
I don't have pictures and I don't have a link, but I do have the memories of one of the best weekends in Kosovo that I've had in a long while!!! Started with a Friday night dinner with my favorite ladies here at one of our favorite restaurants, which is nothing new. But it nice to be able to have that group of great women to spend a Friday night with. That night, Gail had the inspiration to try the local ski resort, Brezovica, out on Saturday morning. After a couple of bottles of wine and a long week, we were all less than ambitious about the venture and went home giving Gail unenthusiastic maybes.
At 7.30 the next morning I had just woken up and Gail called looking out the window at a blue sky and doing what she could to convince me. Sofia had said no and I was the last chance at a ski partner for her. My bed, book and a cup of coffee were just too attractive of an option at the time. We hung up and I went to my reading only to get bored after about 20 minutes. I went to my closet to pull my skiing gear out and the thought of hitting the slopes for the first time this year became much more appealing. I called Gail back and we were on our way in 30 minutes.
Brez is a socially owned Serbian run ski resort that hasn't been updated since Tito, I'm sure. Gail and I arrived by 11.00 to a small amount of eager skiers waiting for a chair lift to start running. We went to a cozy little restaurant, had a coffee and some eggs and asked when the lift would get going. We were assured that it would be running by noon and sure enough, we were heading up the mountain by 12.30. When the lines at Brez are long, they are deadly. Proper queing techniques do NOT exist here. Instead the often get into line, take their skis off and PUSH their way to the front. But not on Saturday. There was no need because there was no waiting. Just a massive white mountain with almost a food of fresh powder to ski on. Skiing can bore me after a while, but this was like learning all over again. I felt like an absolute clutz, but I was skiing like I had never skied before. AMAZING!!!
Saturday night brought another great dinner to celebrate a friend's 30th birthday. A day of fresh air, tiring skiing and a few drinks had me sleeping like a baby. Sunday morning I was invited by a Swedish friend to the Swedish KFOR camp where they serve waffles on Sunday afternoons. He got me in and when we walked in, the MESS was packed with soldiers eating their waffles, drinking fresh brewed coffee and listening to an incredible live military band singing U2 and Van Morrison classics. Young blonde, buff military men were every where so my senses will delighted by music, men and waffles! Then it was off to the Sunday ultimate game and a dinner out after with the team. The power was out when I got home, but who can complain about a candle lit shower?
I complain a lot about this place. More often than not I feel like there is something seriously missing and blame it on the Kosovo and the people here. After the past couple of months I have felt like it's even gotten worse with being sick and dealing with the deaths of people I love. But the months of blah that I've recently seem to have forced me to really recognize the positive things that I have. This weekend wasn't really unusual or special. These are all things that I have had here for the past year and-a-half. The difference is that I'm realizing that, despite power cuts and bad drivers, there is very little to really complain about here and truthfully quite a lot to be grateful for. I don't write like this in the blog too often, but I want to remember this weekend and felt it was worth sharing it as well.
At 7.30 the next morning I had just woken up and Gail called looking out the window at a blue sky and doing what she could to convince me. Sofia had said no and I was the last chance at a ski partner for her. My bed, book and a cup of coffee were just too attractive of an option at the time. We hung up and I went to my reading only to get bored after about 20 minutes. I went to my closet to pull my skiing gear out and the thought of hitting the slopes for the first time this year became much more appealing. I called Gail back and we were on our way in 30 minutes.
Brez is a socially owned Serbian run ski resort that hasn't been updated since Tito, I'm sure. Gail and I arrived by 11.00 to a small amount of eager skiers waiting for a chair lift to start running. We went to a cozy little restaurant, had a coffee and some eggs and asked when the lift would get going. We were assured that it would be running by noon and sure enough, we were heading up the mountain by 12.30. When the lines at Brez are long, they are deadly. Proper queing techniques do NOT exist here. Instead the often get into line, take their skis off and PUSH their way to the front. But not on Saturday. There was no need because there was no waiting. Just a massive white mountain with almost a food of fresh powder to ski on. Skiing can bore me after a while, but this was like learning all over again. I felt like an absolute clutz, but I was skiing like I had never skied before. AMAZING!!!
Saturday night brought another great dinner to celebrate a friend's 30th birthday. A day of fresh air, tiring skiing and a few drinks had me sleeping like a baby. Sunday morning I was invited by a Swedish friend to the Swedish KFOR camp where they serve waffles on Sunday afternoons. He got me in and when we walked in, the MESS was packed with soldiers eating their waffles, drinking fresh brewed coffee and listening to an incredible live military band singing U2 and Van Morrison classics. Young blonde, buff military men were every where so my senses will delighted by music, men and waffles! Then it was off to the Sunday ultimate game and a dinner out after with the team. The power was out when I got home, but who can complain about a candle lit shower?
I complain a lot about this place. More often than not I feel like there is something seriously missing and blame it on the Kosovo and the people here. After the past couple of months I have felt like it's even gotten worse with being sick and dealing with the deaths of people I love. But the months of blah that I've recently seem to have forced me to really recognize the positive things that I have. This weekend wasn't really unusual or special. These are all things that I have had here for the past year and-a-half. The difference is that I'm realizing that, despite power cuts and bad drivers, there is very little to really complain about here and truthfully quite a lot to be grateful for. I don't write like this in the blog too often, but I want to remember this weekend and felt it was worth sharing it as well.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
THOR!!!
A small world brought these two Oles together in a place far far away from The Hill. Their St. Olaf ties made the only three months of them being in Kosovo together seem like a lifetime of friendship. Just over a year after their first meeting, it was a big ugly world that ended the life of Thor Hesla.
I've talked to most of you about this big Scandinavian man I met when I got here. I wish I had done more than just talk about him though. I'm sorry most of you will never know who Thor was. Those of us that did know him are better people because of it, honestly. We play Ultimate Frisbee because of him. We go eat forbidden pork because of him. We are surrounded by more and better people because of him. We love American politics because of him. We spent 5 days standing in pee mud listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and The Who because of him. But Taliban terrorists in Kabul, Afghanistan won't allow any of you to meet him.
I promise you, though, I'll tell you all about him!
I love you Thor!
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