What's New?

In a recent phone conversation with my good friend, Jenny, as we commiserated over our boring lives, she mentioned a concept that really struck me - neophilia. Neophilia - A tendency to like anything new; love of novelty. Yeah, that sounds about right. I took a personality test and surprise! Here are my results:

You may be a neophiliac. You’re a risk-taker who could live too fast and die too young, but you also explore, experiment, and otherwise push the envelope for the rest of us, often in productive ways. You’re adventurous and extravagant, but also apt to be impulsive and overindulgent regarding food, alcohol, drugs, and other temptations.

That doesn't sound like a very desirable personality trait. It's true that it has its negatives, but it also has made me fearless in the face of change and pushed me to always look forward. Like they say, recognizing a problem is the first step, but maybe this isn't a problem. Maybe I should accept my neophilia and embrace it. After all, without it I never would have lived in 5 different countries and traveled to dozens more. Most importantly, I never would have met some of my best friends, who also happen to share my affinity for  exploring the world and pigging out while we do it.
Jenny and I taught together in Costa Rica and have done quite a bit of traveling together. Since our friendship began, we often discuss the curse of having what we call "it." That constant urge to explore, discover, and search for something new. It has brought both of us all over the world but we are never satisfied. We fear being tied down to any one place or job, or even one person. We have anxiety over all the places that we've never been to but still want to go. We are overwhelmed by choice because we've seen what's out there and we know that it's exciting and scary and amazing. We are always chasing that feeling of arriving in a new place and having all of our senses be attacked simultaneously. We love the thrill and the challenge of figuring it all out and the sense of accomplishment when we are able to create a new life for ourselves in a foreign land. That is when we feel most alive.
So in what can only be described as a masochistic effort to make my life more interesting, I have applied to be a substitute teacher in the Providence public school system. I've heard the schools are pretty tough, but I'm up for the challenge. At the very least, it will make for good blog material so stay tuned for tales of my escapades in subbing. It may not be my dream job in an exotic land, but it's something new.

Flip It and Reverse It

Reverse Culture Shock (a.k.a. "Re-entry Shock", or "own culture shock" may take place — returning to one's home culture after growing accustomed to a new one can produce the same effects as adjusting to a new culture. This results from the psychosomatic and psychological consequences of the readjustment process to the primary culture.The affected person often finds this more surprising and difficult to deal with than the original culture shock. This phenomenon, the reactions that members of the re-entered culture exhibit toward the re-entrant, and the inevitability of the two are encapsulated in the saying "you can't go home again." (Wikipedia)

After coming and going so frequently, you would think that I wouldn't experience this shock anymore, but I do. Every time it's a little different, depending on which country I went to and what happened while I was gone, both here and there. After such a trying year, you would think that returning to the US would immediately result in a constant state of pure joy. I imagined myself walking around in a carefree bubble - skipping down the city streets with a purse full of valuables without even a slight fear that I would be stabbed. What a country! Obviously, that is not the way this works. Of course there is the immediate euphoria surrounding reunions with friends and family, and that was heightened this time since I returned the day before Christmas Eve. There were so many festivities that I didn't even have time to process being home again.
I also imagined that I would be gorging myself nonstop on the delicious foods that I missed while I was away. Angola is not exactly a culinary destination, so eating was one of the activities I looked forward to most, but of course that didn't go as planned either. It seems that I brought a little piece of Angola with me back to the States in the form of a parasite called giardia. It's very common in developing countries and is easily treated with antibiotics, but one of the symptoms is decreased appetite and nausea. It also involves some more disgusting effects, but I will spare you the details. So the bad news is, for the first 3 weeks that I was home, I barely ate anything, but the good news is I lost a ton of weight, so score 1 for parasites! To be honest, I was a little hesitant to kill it. I mean I can handle a little vomiting now and again if it means I look this good. One of the side effects of the antibiotic I took was anorexia. Should I be concerned here?
While I did some job searching in the last few months that I was away, I wasn't too concerned with not having anything lined up upon my return. My sister offered to let me stay with here and I had saved some money. I also felt like I had deserved some down time, but doing nothing always seems like a nicer idea than actually doing nothing. I encourage anyone who has a full-time job and is constantly wishing for more free time to write down all the things you would do if you had the time to do them. When faced with full days and night of no obligation, it becomes very easy to literally do nothing and not use the time productively. I spent a solid week (okay, 2) on the couch watching Parenthood (and crying). Man, that show really gets me. For me, when I have nothing to do, it's hard for me to do anything. Then I start feeling bad about myself, which makes me want to sit on the couch even more. Do you see the downward spiral developing here?
Finally, an opportunity came my way. One of my brother's clients needed someone to help organize his books and CD's so he suggested that I do it. I jumped at the chance because I love organizing and my laziness had far surpassed pathetic. As we speak, I am importing CD's onto iTunes. I wouldn't exactly say that this job requires a Master's degree, but at least I have somewhere to go every day. I don't feel like I am saving the world but it's about as low stress a task as it gets, so maybe that's just what I need right now. I'm in a period of transition. Hopefully, I won't be alphabetizing books for the rest of my life, but it works for now. Something else will come along. It always does. 

Can I go home again? Sure, but I'm not the same and neither is home. On second thought, home doesn't change all that much. Okay, so some babies were born while I was away and some people got engaged. Whatever. What changes is the way I perceive home and the people in it. I have a different perspective that no one here understands and that's fine. I'm the outsider here just as I was in Angola because staying in one place and "nesting" and doing all the things that normal people do scare me. I wish I could be more like them, but I'm not. It's only a matter of time before I become restless again and seek out a new adventure. By now, everyone at home has come to expect that, so it won't be a shock.

Feliz Natal

One of the last projects I worked on before departing Luanda was organizing the Toys for Tots gift donation to the children at Lar Kuzola. I collaborated with the Marines and my colleagues at the embassy to organize a big event that the American community could participate in. Unfortunately, I left before the scheduled date but through the beauty of Facebook I was able to see the photos from that special day. It was a wonderful reminder of what Christmas is really all about - spreading a little joy to children who so desperately need and deserve it.

                      

Speaking of gifts, I received a couple unique additions to my wardrobe before I left. I'm waiting for the prefect occasion to debut them.

 

Despedida

Good-byes are a fixture in the life of a nomad, such as myself. This good-bye is different. It is final. I can say with almost certainty that I will never come back to Angola. There are many people here who were important to me that I will never see again. There is much about this place that I won’t miss, but people do not fall into that category. My students, colleagues, and friends have made it all worthwhile. On Sunday, my friend Julie and I had a “despedida” or going away party on my roof. We shared a meal, drinks, and laughter with our friends and colleagues for the last time and marveled at how sad we were about leaving. There were countless times when I said to myself, “I have to get the hell out of here!” but when it finally came, I was not quite as ecstatic as I imagined I would be. It’s the end of a chapter that will forever live on in my memory as a defining period in my life.

I leave with a sense of pride and accomplishment for the work that I have done and the hope that the progress I have made will continue long after I’m gone. Angola will always hold a place in my heart and mind for the experiences I've had and the things I've learned, not only about my profession, but about myself. I found love here, and lost a student. I was challenged in ways that I never thought possible and struggled with the balance of my own expectations and reality. It is my wish that this past year has made me a more compassionate and patient person as well as a more perceptive and understanding educator.

The other night, in the car on the way home from dinner, my friend asked me, “Are you hopeful about Angola?” I didn't know what to say. That’s a difficult question. My innate optimism wanted to say yes, but my experience here wanted to say no. Of course I want things to get better. I want my students to live in a place where hard work is recognized and rewarded. I want them to believe that anything is possible, and that they have the power to build a better life for themselves and their families. That place doesn't exist for them now, but I hope and pray with all my heart that someday soon it will.

For now, I will leave you with some parting words from my favorite fellow traveler:

"Travel isn't always pretty. It isn't always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart, but that's okay. The journey changes you. It should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind." - Anthony Bourdain

This and That

·         Last week, one of the professors in the English Department, who I have had maybe two conversations with the whole year, came up to me and said, “I heard you were leaving.”

“Yes. I am,” I replied, expecting him to wish me a good trip or tell me it was a pleasure working with me.

“I have this dress that I want you to send to a woman in New York. I’ll bring it to your office with the address.”

I lacked the reaction time to respond appropriately to such a ridiculous request and just uttered, “Ummm OK, I guess.” Sure enough, the next day there was a plastic bag sitting on my chair when I arrived at my desk. I’m sure it never occurred to him that I may have better things to do when I get home than go to the post office to send a dress to the lady friend of an Angola man I barely know. It’s always a risk telling people that you are traveling outside of the country, and especially to the US. You will be immediately bombarded with a list of absurd demands from iPhones and laptops to sneakers and books. When my driver found out that I was going home in October, he asked me no less than 12 times if I would bring him back a shirt – nothing in particular – just a shirt from America.  

·         People really like certificates here. I have been organizing workshops for teachers every other week at the Embassy, and if a participant attends 3 out of 5 in a series then he or she receives a certificate. I dread certificate day. There are always at least 2 people who become furious with me and insist that there must be some kind of mistake. They watch in disdain as their fellow teachers pose for a photo op with their fancy certificates. I try to be as understanding as possible and explain that if their attendance is better next time then they too can be part of the photo. What I really want to say is, “Grow up. This piece of paper means absolutely nothing.”

Knowing that this is a big deal, I made certificates for the students who have been volunteering at the orphanage. I even got the Ambassador to sign them. They were ecstatic. One student came to my office the next day and gave me a 5-minute diatribe about how he didn’t deserve the certificate but he will keep on working on hard so that he does. It was really very sweet. I ran into another student a couple days later and he proudly took the certificate out of his bag to show me that he had it laminated.  

·        One of my housemates left flowers outside of my bedroom door. This was not a bunch of flowers with a note attached or a bouquet in a vase. There were 12 little yellow flowers all lined up in a perfect row on the floor. There’s just something that that just screams psychopath.

·         Student essays in which they had to describe someone important to them: 

“My girlfriend lived in a house full of kids like a nursery. That was amazing like Michael Jackson Neverland.”

“My father is strong, quiet, polite, humble, decisive, and kind, but he likes to have many women…I am also polygamous.”

·        One morning, I was about to make coffee and the driver walked in the kitchen so I offered him some. He said yes so I made two cups of coffee and went back upstairs to finish getting ready for work. When I came back down, he and the guard were chatting and each sipping from a mug. I looked over at the coffee pot and it was empty. Thanks, guys.

·         I have an old Nokia cell phone with a huge crack in the screen that someone gave to me from the lost and found at the embassy. It’s one of those pre-paid phones that don’t require a plan, just the purchase of minutes every few days (bought on the street of course). Those of you familiar with “The Wire” know it as a “burner.” Apparently drug dealers use them once and then throw them out their car windows to avoid police detection. I am tempted to do that all the time to feel cool. You know what’s not cool? Running out of minutes. I have had to ask complete strangers on several occasions if I could use their phones because I am a deadbeat with no credit. No one wants to be that guy. Since text messages are far cheaper than calling, people will often send me a blank text, which means that I am supposed to call them because they don’t want to use their credit. Hey, I don’t want to use mine either, buddy! This creates somewhat of a power struggle over who should call whom. I do the same thing to my Embassy friends, since they are apparently too good for burners and use real phones.  

·         Word on the street is that absolutely nothing gets done here in December and that traffic gets even worse than usual. People have offered several explanations for this, but the general consensus is that most of it has to do with Christmas shopping. Most Angolans living in Luanda buy everything from street vendors rather than stores so perhaps people are playing hooky and driving around all day looking for the perfect gift. You can buy virtually everything on the street – carpets, toilet seats, luggage, and air mattresses. I saw a guy the other day walking around with rubber duckies hanging from both arms. I was a bit surprised since I consider those somewhat of a luxury item.

A few weeks ago I needed to buy new headphones for my iPod so I asked the driver if he could stop if we see anyone. He quickly rolled down the window and yelled out to one of the guys on the street who immediately ran over. He was selling flip flops and underwear, but of course he knew someone who had what we were looking for. He scurried over to get his friend, who had wires dangling from every limb and orifice. I handed my money to the driver who completed the transaction. Mind you, this is all being done while still in moving traffic and the vendor is lightly jogging beside the car. This may be the only benefit of the snail-like traffic patterns in Luanda. The driver hands me the headphones, which I swiftly plugged into my iPod to make sure they worked. They did. Easy enough. Almost immediately after the wire man walked away, I adjusted the headphones ever so slightly and the plastic covering completely slid way revealing the blue and red wires inside. How could this Chinese, cheaply-made product that I just bought on a street in Luanda be defective? Unacceptable! I showed the damaged goods to the driver, who was outraged. He pulled the car over, grabbed the headphones, jumped out of the car, and ran down the street in search of the offending seller. He returned 5 minutes later with a brand new set of headphones and his pride restored. I was relieved that my $10 had not gone to waste and that I would be able to entertain myself for the rest of the ride home. Of course only the right earpiece works.

This is a test

Instead of giving my classes a final written exam, I assigned a project in which they had to create a news story about an issue facing Angolan society. They were told to form groups of 3 or 4 and were required to conduct at least 3 interviews in English in order to gather information for the report. I designed the project in such a way that it was virtually impossible for them to copy and paste from a Wikipedia page. More for my own sanity than anything else. I really didn't think I could physically survive reading another 100 copyrighted papers.
Each group had to submit a short paper and give a 5 minute presentation about their topic. I assigned the project 3 weeks before exams started, which I should mention is a 6-week spectacle. There are 2 weeks of exams, which the professors take their sweet time correcting. This is then followed by not 1 but 2 "retakes." I haevn't seen it with my own eyes, but have been told that this system is rife with corruption, ie students paying professors in order to receive higher grades. When I received my final exam schedule, I immediately noticed that the Department Head had scheduled 2 exams on November 5th - an Angolan holiday, and not just any holiday. It's Angolan Idependence Day. So it would pretty much be like the administration of an American university accidentally scheduling exams on the 4th of July. I called the Department Head, who had not noticed the mistake until I brought it to his attention.
"Oh, I guess we didn't realize that. Well, it's no problem. You can just schedule your exams whenever you want, " was his solution.
Ummm so now I am responsible for getting in touch with all the students and figuring out another time to take the exam? Last time I checked, that is your job buddy, not mine. I called the class delegates, who were not at all phased by the mishap, since they are very accustomed to such dysfunction, and they assured me that they would let everyone know of the change. Not off to the best start.
I wish I could say that the student presentation blew me away and I finally felt like I had reached these students. Sorry, folks, but there are no happy endings here. Not only were the presentations remarkably underwhelming, but I had major discinplinary issues to deal with throughout the exam period. Students coming in late, talking during presentations, groups of people coming and going, etc. I was forced to lecture each class repeatedly about respecting one another by listenting and paying attention. Definitely not things that should need to be explained at the college level. They also insisted on asking me questions while their classmates were presenting. "Professor, there are 6 people in our group. It's OK?" Nope. The most infuriating part about the whole experience was that most people were talking because they were preparing their presentations. Seriously?! You had 3 weeks to do this! And this is your final exam! Get it together, guys.

The silver lining in all of this is that the papers include some real gems. Here are some of my favorites:

"Many have no hygiene with their own body and when they enter the bus a salad of Russian unpleasant smells."

Taken from a report on transportation problems in Luanda, the content of which focused entirely on the poor hygiene of bus passengers. 

An excerpt from: Declining of Moral Values in Terms of Dressing Among Ladies in Luanda

"A university student said that he loves to see girls wearing “tchuna baby” (very short dress) he can date one but he would never marry her because she is a girl who belongs to everyone and his future wife must preserve her reputation. He also adds that nowadays things are easy because he remembered that when he was a little boy it was really difficult to see a girl’s underwear, but now it is too easy, even if you don’t want to see you will." 

"When you dress like a prostitute, you will be addressed as one."

I feel like my mother gave me this exact same warning right around the time I started experimenting with make-up and low-cut shirts, except she used the term “floozy” instead of prostitute. 

"The clients in the town city of Luanda are from all ages, and they are not permitted to take long in the act, the maximum time for a F*** is less than 5 minutes. If they take long they double the price or they tell them to leave."

The students wrote the F word numerous times though the paper in bold, capital letters, and underlined. They wrote the actual word, but since this blog is PG, I did some censoring.

This list was included in a report on traditional weddings. Should ring a bell with regular readers. 

Things requested for bride price:

500 USD or 400 USD

2 bottles of whiskey (Johnnie Walker)

Cloth type wax Nederland’s 

12 boxes of soft drink

12 boxes of beer

1 flagon of wine

1 flagon of maruvu (traditional drink)

Cola (a bitter product which is used when maravu is being drinking)

1 suit and 1 pair shoes for the father of the woman

1 suit and 1 pair of shoes for the uncle of the woman (brother of the mother)

1 cock and 1 chicken

1 kid

Blankets for grandparents of woman

Cigarettes

Somewhere along the line, these students were told that they had to include a dedication every time they handed in an assignment to a teacher. Here are some of my favorites:

I wish to sincerely register my appreciation to my family and friends, sweetheart and all people who like me.

Firstly we thank God for all the things that did for us and we want thanks our Dear and Loved Teacher Brigid Nee.
I prefer to be addressed Honorable and Beloved Leader, but this will do

First we would like to thank the almighty God, the one who gave us strength and will to seek knowledge. Our beloved teachers for keeping us though since the beginning and gave us a piece of idea for the enrichment of this assignment. Mother, friends, and all those who influenced direct or indirectly, from Chinese man that printed our paper, to our classmates who found mistakes in the writing stuff so that we promptly corrected it and could go back to the Chinese man to print again. Thank you! 

The Rollercoaster

You have good days and bad days, people always say. Well here, it’s more like good hours and bad hours. There are hardly any days that are completely good, but on the other hand there aren’t too many days that are all bad. One of the highlights of my experience here has been working with the scholarship students at the high school in Cazenga. Friday was my last day with them so we had a little party and watched a movie. About halfway through the movie, the sky turned an ominous dark gray. Minutes later, it started to downpour. Immediately, I thought to myself, “oh shit.” The roads in Cazenga are all dirt, and even though it is only a few miles from the Embassy, it takes about 45 minutes to get out of there, and that’s on a good day. Even a light rain transforms the streets into a muddy nightmare. My boss texted me with: You better get out of there now! We had to cut our party short, but not before the students presented me with a beautiful gift and a heartfelt letter. As the student read it aloud, I could feel the emotions coming to the surface. I started to think that maybe I had made some small difference here and I for that I am proud. Maybe these kids will work just a little harder or have some hope in the future because I took an interest in them. I want them to know that I hope with all my heart that someday their lives won’t be quite so hard. 

As I left the school and made a run for the car in the pouring rain, for the first time, I felt sad about leaving Angola. That feeling didn't last very long, however. Bumper to bumper traffic has a way of replacing the warm and fuzzies with anxiety and nausea. It took about an hour and a half to get to my office, which wasn't too bad considering the roads looked like this:

I arrived at my deserted office. I assumed that no one would come to work due to the weather, but I went anyway since I was supposed to submit my final grades to the department. I had also scheduled several appointments with students who had missed their exams for one reason or another. They also didn't show up. Again, not shocking. When I finally admitted to myself that there was no possibility of accomplishing my goals for the day, I called the driver and asked him to pick me up at the university. I told him to come to the back entrance since the parking lot looked like this: 

He said that he would be there in "10 minutes," which in Angolan terms could mean anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour. Sure enough, about 40 minutes later he calls me and says he's outside. I gather my things and head downstairs, but I don't see him at the back, so I go around to the parking lot, but he is not there either. I call him and ask where he is. "I'm here. At the Embassy." I almost lost it. At this point, the entire city is one big traffic jam so I know it will take another hour for him to come pick me up and then God only knows how long it will take to get home. The fact that it is so incredibly difficult to expect a person to show up at a specific time and place never ceases to amaze me. For the second time that day, I felt the warm sensation of tears, but this time it was due to anger and frustration, rather than joy and nostalgia. This can't be  healthy. I have to get out of here. After hanging up the phone, I went back upstairs to my office, ripped open my bag, and took out the letter. I took a few deep breaths, sat down, and just waited. At least now, when I am having a bad moment, I have this: