Well, I did it. I woke up, made breakfast, cleaned a little bit, then started to walk around. Within minutes, I ran into Justin, Kingston's brother. Kingston is a geography teacher at my school, from Zimbabwe.
We started talking and walking, and ended up at Kingston's place where I met his wife and 18-month old kid, Neil. Kingston's wife prepared a breakfast of potatoes in some sort of light meat sauce and bread and butter, with tea. The three of us (including Justin) sat and talked politics and culture for about 2 1/2 hours. It was great. I had nowhere to be, nothing to do other than just discuss Liberia and Sao Tome. We talked about teaching and the differences between education here and in our native countries. I learned "thank you" in Shona (which I quickly forgot), one of the big Zimbabwean dialects, made a promise to see the Great Zimbabwe and Victoria Falls once my service is over, and left wanting to take Neil back with me!
I also did a little housework with Jorgito, making the place more secure.
I think, little by little, I'm losing the bad American habits of rushing and stressing out. I think the key to it is to convince myself that I'm accomplishing something by managing to accomplish nothing. Which satisfies that desire to always be doing, doing, doing. And in reality, it's not nothing. By strengthening my relationships with the community, I'm making my two years here that much more important for the community.
It was a small step today, one that I need to repeat more often, but it felt great. And I'm having a harder time trying to imagine what life in the States was like.
Peace
John
Sunday, August 17, 2003
07/19/2003
I'm lying. It's actually the 20th, but only a few minutes in.
The day started with a meeting of all the teachers at my school, discussing the trimester. At one point, I was called on to justify my "approval" of my students. Last semester, I passed 20% of the students. 50% is average. They were rightfully concerned. When I stood up and announced that my approval is now 70%, they gave me a round of applause. I'm still not quite sure why!
I had lunch with Nimi at a local restaurant. There were a bunch of Portuguese over there, trying out a little Changana with the waitress. It was funny. Nimi and I talked about jobs when we get back - that will be strange, indeed.
And tonight I ate a second dinner and hung out with Charles and Annie for a while. We talked about philosophy, intelligence and religion. It was great to have a discussion like that, but at the same time, I feel guilty. Why am I not doing this with Mozambicans?
I know it's a comfort thing, but if I really want to understand the culture, I need to let go of being in familiar situations. I need to learn how to "take around" here and just walk, expecting nothing to come of it other than to see people. This is probably one skill that nobody can teach you, you just have to do.
I suppose I had the same problem in college, to a point. I'd always come and visit with some purpose - my main challenge is to overcome my need to be always doing something and realize that walking around IS doing something.
I should start tomorrow morning. Wake up, make breakfast, do a little cleaning, then just go. I can't let myself come up with anything to do. I just have to go.
And then, hopefully, I'll start seeing more opportunities to really be a part of the culture and not just BE here. I came to help, but I'm not any different than a stack of money if all I do is my job.
Peace
John
The day started with a meeting of all the teachers at my school, discussing the trimester. At one point, I was called on to justify my "approval" of my students. Last semester, I passed 20% of the students. 50% is average. They were rightfully concerned. When I stood up and announced that my approval is now 70%, they gave me a round of applause. I'm still not quite sure why!
I had lunch with Nimi at a local restaurant. There were a bunch of Portuguese over there, trying out a little Changana with the waitress. It was funny. Nimi and I talked about jobs when we get back - that will be strange, indeed.
And tonight I ate a second dinner and hung out with Charles and Annie for a while. We talked about philosophy, intelligence and religion. It was great to have a discussion like that, but at the same time, I feel guilty. Why am I not doing this with Mozambicans?
I know it's a comfort thing, but if I really want to understand the culture, I need to let go of being in familiar situations. I need to learn how to "take around" here and just walk, expecting nothing to come of it other than to see people. This is probably one skill that nobody can teach you, you just have to do.
I suppose I had the same problem in college, to a point. I'd always come and visit with some purpose - my main challenge is to overcome my need to be always doing something and realize that walking around IS doing something.
I should start tomorrow morning. Wake up, make breakfast, do a little cleaning, then just go. I can't let myself come up with anything to do. I just have to go.
And then, hopefully, I'll start seeing more opportunities to really be a part of the culture and not just BE here. I came to help, but I'm not any different than a stack of money if all I do is my job.
Peace
John
05/21/2003
I went to the Primary School today to talk with the people there about our recently cancelled English classes. The director basically brushed us off. Whatever's going on, Blake and my directors don't know anything about it. All we can do is start looking for a new place to give lessons.
Since I was out that way anyway, I watched a class of Diamantino's. He's teached phys ed and doing some HIV/AIDS activist workshops as well. He was in a nearly empty classroom with about 30 kids packed against the back wall, making for a shit rehearsal area. I was given the only chair in the room, as is custom.
He started off very optimistic, posing a question about the use of condoms and how people feel about it. The students were all talking amongst themselves, completely disrespectfully. Diamentino asked the same question about 6 times, and finally got a very snippy and defensive response. He was visibly hurt.
And I knew exactly why. I get it all the time, this feeling of intense apathy because death and suffering is all around, though not as visible as it could be. So why try to change things?
Why should a student be committed to changing things if they're not going to see 40, need to help provide for their family and just want to enjoy life when they can? This is a question that runs to the very core of my job as well. Why are these kids in school?
Some of them are bored, and have a little money to spare. Some want to get a higher-paying job with the certificate they'll receive. Some come because their parents want them outside the house. Some come for the social atmosphere. These students are not just my enemies. They are the enemies of education. And it's a universal problem and so the question is not how to rid the school of these students, but how to motivate them to be in the room as active participants.
The other students, who really want to UNDERSTAND, will be your ally no matter what. Whether or not they're good at it, it doesn't matter. But they are so few, that they are often poisoned by the unmotivated masses.
And so here I was in the HIV/AIDS activist session with a very involved, caring leader that was turning into a nightmare. Nobody was getting anything out of it. And why? Was it really this question of motivation?
Perhaps it's the human condition. Kids are naturally egotistical until they really face mortality and see family as a way out. So what matters to a young human is "What will make ME feel good?" And to an older person who has een the light of living on in the lives of others is incredibly frustrated by this blindness and doesn't know what to do about it. Once you realize how good giving feels, you forget that you once did not know.
But it seems more hopeless than this. All the statistics say that the 10-14 year olds are the age group that we need to worry about. There are almost no 10-14 year olds with HIV, and the biggest group is 15-24. Prevention lies with them. But what is it that makes the 15-24 year olds so vulnerable in the first place? Is it this same invincibility that is perceived until it is too late, manifested in unprotected sex?
The first programs targeted at this behavior used scare tactics and a general morbid feeling. MAKE the youth feel mortality that isn't close to them, but close enough so that they can draw conclusions.
But it didn't work. Was it because fear just romanticizes rebellion that it backfired, or was it because the message was negative? It seems to be a little of both.
I think the right answer lies in internalizing mortality. Not making students afraid, but allowing them to feel a wider spectrum of emotions than the sadness of a funeral and the happiness of hearing the white guy say something...anything, apparently.
So maybe the solution lies in changing the approach of education away from facts and back to culture. This culture talks, and feels through communication. What if students could share their stories about relatives they lost due to HIV/AIDS? Augmented with facts and answers to questions, maybe it could actually put a human - an African - face on prevention.
The challenge to this end is where it will always be - execution and destigmatization. How do you find these students who are willing to say that a sister or brother died of AIDS? The stigma is so powerful here, you only hear secondhand that someone died from HIV/AIDS. Never from the family. It's considered to be too shameful.
So maybe I should start with anonymous stories, submitted voluntarily and then shared so that the writer can not be identified. And the kids eat up brochures, so maybe draw up some pamphlet which contains all the stories so that other students can get a feel for what others are going through, on their own terms and own time.
---
I'm going to visit the bakery tonight. For real.
THE BAKERY
I walked in, glasses fogged, to see John Juan counting bread. 50 pieces in every crate. Behind him, large mixers were going full steam, flanked by 50 lb sacks of flour, a bag of salt (that I later found out to be packed with "vitamins" as well) and packets of yeast.
About 20 workers were mixing, cutting, arranging, folding or baking the bread in an automatic manner, using their bare hands. Some wearing aprons made from rice sacks, most with hats of one sort, and a few with shoes.
After the large mixing bowls, the dough goes to the cutting machine that slices it into baseball-sized pieces. Then, almost haphazardly, the pieces are separated and formed into more rounded shapes and tossed to the next station. At this station, there are two loaders who place the balls on large wooden racks, about 2' wide and 10' long. These racks are stacked to wait for the folders. There are two sets of folders: the initial fold group, and the arranging group. The initial fold group makes an indentation in the middle of the bread to wrap it around their hand, tosses it to the second group, and the second group places the folded bread on baking racks. These baking racks then go to the oven crew. The oven has 16 slots - 4 rows of 4 slots that are about 2' wide by 1' high. One rack of bread is loaded into each slot and the wooden rack is removed immediately. Once all 16 slots are filled, the oven operator turns it up full blast, taking a step back (and forcing me to do likewise) from the intense heat. And what's powering this monstrous oven that provides bread for over 150,000 people? Wood. After being baked for a few minutes (it doesn't take too long), the bread gets unloaded into huge rolling bins to be counted into crates, by John Juan.
The smell was so magnificent I had to eat a piece of bread when I got home. I promised the guys there I'd try and find a good place to teach them English - it could be the beginning of a fun relationship!
Peace
John
Since I was out that way anyway, I watched a class of Diamantino's. He's teached phys ed and doing some HIV/AIDS activist workshops as well. He was in a nearly empty classroom with about 30 kids packed against the back wall, making for a shit rehearsal area. I was given the only chair in the room, as is custom.
He started off very optimistic, posing a question about the use of condoms and how people feel about it. The students were all talking amongst themselves, completely disrespectfully. Diamentino asked the same question about 6 times, and finally got a very snippy and defensive response. He was visibly hurt.
And I knew exactly why. I get it all the time, this feeling of intense apathy because death and suffering is all around, though not as visible as it could be. So why try to change things?
Why should a student be committed to changing things if they're not going to see 40, need to help provide for their family and just want to enjoy life when they can? This is a question that runs to the very core of my job as well. Why are these kids in school?
Some of them are bored, and have a little money to spare. Some want to get a higher-paying job with the certificate they'll receive. Some come because their parents want them outside the house. Some come for the social atmosphere. These students are not just my enemies. They are the enemies of education. And it's a universal problem and so the question is not how to rid the school of these students, but how to motivate them to be in the room as active participants.
The other students, who really want to UNDERSTAND, will be your ally no matter what. Whether or not they're good at it, it doesn't matter. But they are so few, that they are often poisoned by the unmotivated masses.
And so here I was in the HIV/AIDS activist session with a very involved, caring leader that was turning into a nightmare. Nobody was getting anything out of it. And why? Was it really this question of motivation?
Perhaps it's the human condition. Kids are naturally egotistical until they really face mortality and see family as a way out. So what matters to a young human is "What will make ME feel good?" And to an older person who has een the light of living on in the lives of others is incredibly frustrated by this blindness and doesn't know what to do about it. Once you realize how good giving feels, you forget that you once did not know.
But it seems more hopeless than this. All the statistics say that the 10-14 year olds are the age group that we need to worry about. There are almost no 10-14 year olds with HIV, and the biggest group is 15-24. Prevention lies with them. But what is it that makes the 15-24 year olds so vulnerable in the first place? Is it this same invincibility that is perceived until it is too late, manifested in unprotected sex?
The first programs targeted at this behavior used scare tactics and a general morbid feeling. MAKE the youth feel mortality that isn't close to them, but close enough so that they can draw conclusions.
But it didn't work. Was it because fear just romanticizes rebellion that it backfired, or was it because the message was negative? It seems to be a little of both.
I think the right answer lies in internalizing mortality. Not making students afraid, but allowing them to feel a wider spectrum of emotions than the sadness of a funeral and the happiness of hearing the white guy say something...anything, apparently.
So maybe the solution lies in changing the approach of education away from facts and back to culture. This culture talks, and feels through communication. What if students could share their stories about relatives they lost due to HIV/AIDS? Augmented with facts and answers to questions, maybe it could actually put a human - an African - face on prevention.
The challenge to this end is where it will always be - execution and destigmatization. How do you find these students who are willing to say that a sister or brother died of AIDS? The stigma is so powerful here, you only hear secondhand that someone died from HIV/AIDS. Never from the family. It's considered to be too shameful.
So maybe I should start with anonymous stories, submitted voluntarily and then shared so that the writer can not be identified. And the kids eat up brochures, so maybe draw up some pamphlet which contains all the stories so that other students can get a feel for what others are going through, on their own terms and own time.
---
I'm going to visit the bakery tonight. For real.
THE BAKERY
I walked in, glasses fogged, to see John Juan counting bread. 50 pieces in every crate. Behind him, large mixers were going full steam, flanked by 50 lb sacks of flour, a bag of salt (that I later found out to be packed with "vitamins" as well) and packets of yeast.
About 20 workers were mixing, cutting, arranging, folding or baking the bread in an automatic manner, using their bare hands. Some wearing aprons made from rice sacks, most with hats of one sort, and a few with shoes.
After the large mixing bowls, the dough goes to the cutting machine that slices it into baseball-sized pieces. Then, almost haphazardly, the pieces are separated and formed into more rounded shapes and tossed to the next station. At this station, there are two loaders who place the balls on large wooden racks, about 2' wide and 10' long. These racks are stacked to wait for the folders. There are two sets of folders: the initial fold group, and the arranging group. The initial fold group makes an indentation in the middle of the bread to wrap it around their hand, tosses it to the second group, and the second group places the folded bread on baking racks. These baking racks then go to the oven crew. The oven has 16 slots - 4 rows of 4 slots that are about 2' wide by 1' high. One rack of bread is loaded into each slot and the wooden rack is removed immediately. Once all 16 slots are filled, the oven operator turns it up full blast, taking a step back (and forcing me to do likewise) from the intense heat. And what's powering this monstrous oven that provides bread for over 150,000 people? Wood. After being baked for a few minutes (it doesn't take too long), the bread gets unloaded into huge rolling bins to be counted into crates, by John Juan.
The smell was so magnificent I had to eat a piece of bread when I got home. I promised the guys there I'd try and find a good place to teach them English - it could be the beginning of a fun relationship!
Peace
John
05/20/2003
"Boa tarde senhor professor".
(Good afternoon, teacher.)
I tell the students they can sit down, which they do while mocking my manner of telling them to sit down. Happens every time.
I give a quiz. One of the last questions has to do with "consistencia" of a root. They laugh every time I say this word. I didn't understand why until today. I say "cong-zish-tens-ee-uh", but it should be "cong-sish-tens-ee-uh". The former is a very vulgar word in Changana and the latter is a property of roots.
I look at the date I'm writing on the board. Didn't May just begin?
A student stands up against the din of a noisy class.
"Hit her", he says.
"Never", I reply.
We have a lengthy public argument over the value in hitting as a form of discipline. I say it creates more problems than it solves. The student says the same thing about my policy. Many students agree. They're used to it as discipline. They listen to violence. But it just breeds hate.
The English classes got cancelled by some higher-up. We're not quite sure yet, but this could be messy.
All in all, not an abnormal day.
Peace
John
(Good afternoon, teacher.)
I tell the students they can sit down, which they do while mocking my manner of telling them to sit down. Happens every time.
I give a quiz. One of the last questions has to do with "consistencia" of a root. They laugh every time I say this word. I didn't understand why until today. I say "cong-zish-tens-ee-uh", but it should be "cong-sish-tens-ee-uh". The former is a very vulgar word in Changana and the latter is a property of roots.
I look at the date I'm writing on the board. Didn't May just begin?
A student stands up against the din of a noisy class.
"Hit her", he says.
"Never", I reply.
We have a lengthy public argument over the value in hitting as a form of discipline. I say it creates more problems than it solves. The student says the same thing about my policy. Many students agree. They're used to it as discipline. They listen to violence. But it just breeds hate.
The English classes got cancelled by some higher-up. We're not quite sure yet, but this could be messy.
All in all, not an abnormal day.
Peace
John
05/19/2003
(THIS IS MOM - WE'RE GOING TO TAKE A STEP BACK IN TIME NOW. I JUST RECEIVED THIS ENTRY FROM MAY!)
The road keeps heading off to the right. I'm all alone in the car, whirring along at a decent pace. Apparently, I won't have to worry about parking meters when I get there. I don't know where this thought came from, but I remember she said it now. I continue around the turn, wondering if there could be a better way to wear my hat.
A beeping in the car.
BEEP - BEEP - BEEP
My alarm. I turn it off and three seconds later I'm back into reality.
"It's 4 AM", I think to myself. I sit there for a second. It would be so easy just to go right back to sleep. But John Juan would be disappointed. And this is real.
My body feels less tired than it ought to be and I move around in my surprisingly chilly room with the ease of a full night's sleep.
I put on a couple layers of clothing - it's winter after all - and head out into the night. It never occurred to me that I would be very ALONE at 4 AM on the streets. All of a sudden, I feel scared and insecure, like a slowly moving glow-in-the-dark target. But the calm of the night and of my confidence in this town reassures me. It's different here.
I take the well-lit path nonetheless. When I hit the main road, I see people trying to sleep in doorways and entrances to shops. Aside from the signs in Portuguese, there's nothing visually to clue me in that I'm not in Cleveland any more. The familiarity is eerie.
I hit the road, taking a brisk left and as I see the sign for the padaria (bread shop), I realize that I'm actually doing this - I'm going to see the inside of the bread shop!
I met John Juan on the chapa to the other major city around here. He bought me a beer. I saw him back in town later in the week, at the bread store, and asked when I could get the grand tour. He wanted to practice his English, so he'd switch from Portuguese at every opportunity, demonstrating at least a 10th grade education.
He said 3 o'clock is when he checks in for his shift. To make sure he'd be around, I decided 4 was safer. I was fairly certain that 3 meant 3 AM because the 24-hour clock is used here. And he knew AM/PM, so he would clarify if necessary.
I arrived at the door, opened to a hallway, through which I could see and smell everything. My glasses fogged up, as expected. Several stacks of crates, full of bread, blocked my view of what was going on inside. I could see a few men walking around, directing this machine to press, another to grind. The smell was overwhelming.
I waited for someone to notice me, which wouldn't take long. Soon enough, an older man who didn't seem to belong, started speaking clearly, but in a rambling way about cigarettes, and displayed a used phone card. I asked about John Juan and he said that he had been called. The man gave me the used phone card, calling it some sort of promise for 2 cigarettes, and wandered off into the night.
I found someone official who told me John Juan doesn't arrive until 15 hours (3PM). Not wholly unexpected. I thanked him and walked back home.
I'm quite tired of thinking. I've been very sentimental tonight, remembering the coziest places I've been and how close all the people I cared about were to me. It's the closeness, physical proximity that ends up determining emotional closeness, that I miss so badly.
And so "mandzuko i sihu" (tomorrow is a day).
Peace
John
The road keeps heading off to the right. I'm all alone in the car, whirring along at a decent pace. Apparently, I won't have to worry about parking meters when I get there. I don't know where this thought came from, but I remember she said it now. I continue around the turn, wondering if there could be a better way to wear my hat.
A beeping in the car.
BEEP - BEEP - BEEP
My alarm. I turn it off and three seconds later I'm back into reality.
"It's 4 AM", I think to myself. I sit there for a second. It would be so easy just to go right back to sleep. But John Juan would be disappointed. And this is real.
My body feels less tired than it ought to be and I move around in my surprisingly chilly room with the ease of a full night's sleep.
I put on a couple layers of clothing - it's winter after all - and head out into the night. It never occurred to me that I would be very ALONE at 4 AM on the streets. All of a sudden, I feel scared and insecure, like a slowly moving glow-in-the-dark target. But the calm of the night and of my confidence in this town reassures me. It's different here.
I take the well-lit path nonetheless. When I hit the main road, I see people trying to sleep in doorways and entrances to shops. Aside from the signs in Portuguese, there's nothing visually to clue me in that I'm not in Cleveland any more. The familiarity is eerie.
I hit the road, taking a brisk left and as I see the sign for the padaria (bread shop), I realize that I'm actually doing this - I'm going to see the inside of the bread shop!
I met John Juan on the chapa to the other major city around here. He bought me a beer. I saw him back in town later in the week, at the bread store, and asked when I could get the grand tour. He wanted to practice his English, so he'd switch from Portuguese at every opportunity, demonstrating at least a 10th grade education.
He said 3 o'clock is when he checks in for his shift. To make sure he'd be around, I decided 4 was safer. I was fairly certain that 3 meant 3 AM because the 24-hour clock is used here. And he knew AM/PM, so he would clarify if necessary.
I arrived at the door, opened to a hallway, through which I could see and smell everything. My glasses fogged up, as expected. Several stacks of crates, full of bread, blocked my view of what was going on inside. I could see a few men walking around, directing this machine to press, another to grind. The smell was overwhelming.
I waited for someone to notice me, which wouldn't take long. Soon enough, an older man who didn't seem to belong, started speaking clearly, but in a rambling way about cigarettes, and displayed a used phone card. I asked about John Juan and he said that he had been called. The man gave me the used phone card, calling it some sort of promise for 2 cigarettes, and wandered off into the night.
I found someone official who told me John Juan doesn't arrive until 15 hours (3PM). Not wholly unexpected. I thanked him and walked back home.
I'm quite tired of thinking. I've been very sentimental tonight, remembering the coziest places I've been and how close all the people I cared about were to me. It's the closeness, physical proximity that ends up determining emotional closeness, that I miss so badly.
And so "mandzuko i sihu" (tomorrow is a day).
Peace
John
Saturday, August 16, 2003
07/18/2003
I ended up teaching a two-hour computer class at Charles' workplace today. All it required from me was some patience and being able to juggle two computers at once. It was fun, but I'm glad I'm not doing it for two years. I've had my fill of tutoring on computers, and doing it in Africa in Portuguese isn't really that much of a novelty to keep me going.
The three women I tutored today, thought, probably didn't know what hit them. All of a sudden some strange white secondary school teacher is taking over their lesson, usually taught by a Mozambican. And then I threw some Changana in, in the middle somewhere. They liked that.
Handball is tough - the "coach" (they call "coach" "mistah" here) likes for me to play...a lot. Most of the students will have a good 10, 15 minute rest, but I get at most 5 minutes. Maybe he feels like he's being disrespectful by not letting me play, but it's hard to explain that I learn just as much by watching the game (which is still a bit strange to me) and following individuals intently.
Nonetheless, it's a lot of fun and I hope I can stick with it.
A circuit breaker BROKE today. Broke. From overuse. Jorgito's uncle replaced it for me. So, I'm learning how to ask for help when I need it - in this case, rather than sending a few amps of poorly conditioned electricity across my body.
Peace
John
The three women I tutored today, thought, probably didn't know what hit them. All of a sudden some strange white secondary school teacher is taking over their lesson, usually taught by a Mozambican. And then I threw some Changana in, in the middle somewhere. They liked that.
Handball is tough - the "coach" (they call "coach" "mistah" here) likes for me to play...a lot. Most of the students will have a good 10, 15 minute rest, but I get at most 5 minutes. Maybe he feels like he's being disrespectful by not letting me play, but it's hard to explain that I learn just as much by watching the game (which is still a bit strange to me) and following individuals intently.
Nonetheless, it's a lot of fun and I hope I can stick with it.
A circuit breaker BROKE today. Broke. From overuse. Jorgito's uncle replaced it for me. So, I'm learning how to ask for help when I need it - in this case, rather than sending a few amps of poorly conditioned electricity across my body.
Peace
John
07/17/2003
I'm noticing that I write the date with month second, the day first. All of my "sevens" have crosses in the middle. All of my conversations begin with "Good afternoon. How are you? I am fine." I'm not surprised when I see my students carrying children...their children. It's no big deal to walk very slowly with someone just to have time to talk with them. Silence is becoming less awkward. I don't mind being called "white" in dialect. I don't have any reservation about calling them "black" in return, in dialect. I've learned to laugh at even the most grave things, like the death of a close loved one. Which means I've learned different laughs for different situations. I've learned how to say no, six, seven, twenty times to the same request. I've learned that the noise of children playing is often quite annoying, but at the same time beautiful. I've learned how to change my mind. I'm quite comfortable with not giving a lesson when there are no students around to give a lesson to. I'm comfortable explaining a complicated biological process with a water bottle, volunteer and a light bulb. I feel lucky to have the light bulb. I am starting to enjoy waiting. I like the smell of sun-dried clothing, not that I have a choice. I've found out more of what is basically human in under 10 months than I did in 24 years. Beyond language, I've learned few skills that I can put down on paper, but a host of skills that have already made me a better person. I look forward to returning home to the US because of people, but I dread going back to a place where I can't help out just by stepping outside my front door.
I was thinking about being cautious today. Not actually BEING cautious, but about what not taking risks really entails. Many people play it safe because they are afraid of reduced quality of life or even dying. Which is perfectly valid, of course. It's a natural animal instinct to want to stay healthy and alive. Moreover, we want to experience those things that can only come with time - births, graduations, weddings, etc. So there is always an urge to preserve your own life in order to experience these things.
But at what cost? At what point do you say that the experiences you're missing are not worth missing and start taking more risks? At what point do you realize that one year of playing it safe will give you one more year on earth, just to play it safe and save up for another year? How about one month? One day? What if you asked yourself if, in this very minutes, you wanted to put your health and well-being on the line in order to potentially enrich another life, and in turn your own, at the risk of an extra minute of well-being...or day...or month...or even year. "Is it better to live a slave or to die a free man?" We often live as slaves to our own mortality, which robs us of the very thing we call "living".
When taken as a whole, this question is grand. "Have I lived a full life?" When taken in the moment, it is on the surface unimportant. "Will I regret this?" But they are, in fact, the same question for me. When you face risks, face to face, you realize how every little moment is all there is. Even the big things are bunches of little things.
I'm living in a country that is dying. The average lifespan is below 40, approximately half that of an average American. AIDS, malaria, contaminated water and other natural calamities take the lives of thousands every day. I see yards with dozens of kids, but rarely dozens of adults. To not have a family, a large one, by my age is strange. So do people mope around, waiting for death? No. I was visited by an old blind man today, accompanied by a grandson. He asked me for "qualquer coisa", "anything". In the past, I've given him bread, but I hate handouts (in the end, how does it help? He'll only learn to beg more, and I KNOW he's got a family to take care of him...I'm here to help, not to distribute), but this time, I replied, "I don't have anything. I have things, but I don't have anything. What thing do you want?" We all laughed and he continued on his way.
People enjoy every moment here. And I don't hesitate to say that they live much more fully than do Americans caught up in what's going to hurt and what will help. Granted, there's a balance, but we worry too much.
Peace
John
I was thinking about being cautious today. Not actually BEING cautious, but about what not taking risks really entails. Many people play it safe because they are afraid of reduced quality of life or even dying. Which is perfectly valid, of course. It's a natural animal instinct to want to stay healthy and alive. Moreover, we want to experience those things that can only come with time - births, graduations, weddings, etc. So there is always an urge to preserve your own life in order to experience these things.
But at what cost? At what point do you say that the experiences you're missing are not worth missing and start taking more risks? At what point do you realize that one year of playing it safe will give you one more year on earth, just to play it safe and save up for another year? How about one month? One day? What if you asked yourself if, in this very minutes, you wanted to put your health and well-being on the line in order to potentially enrich another life, and in turn your own, at the risk of an extra minute of well-being...or day...or month...or even year. "Is it better to live a slave or to die a free man?" We often live as slaves to our own mortality, which robs us of the very thing we call "living".
When taken as a whole, this question is grand. "Have I lived a full life?" When taken in the moment, it is on the surface unimportant. "Will I regret this?" But they are, in fact, the same question for me. When you face risks, face to face, you realize how every little moment is all there is. Even the big things are bunches of little things.
I'm living in a country that is dying. The average lifespan is below 40, approximately half that of an average American. AIDS, malaria, contaminated water and other natural calamities take the lives of thousands every day. I see yards with dozens of kids, but rarely dozens of adults. To not have a family, a large one, by my age is strange. So do people mope around, waiting for death? No. I was visited by an old blind man today, accompanied by a grandson. He asked me for "qualquer coisa", "anything". In the past, I've given him bread, but I hate handouts (in the end, how does it help? He'll only learn to beg more, and I KNOW he's got a family to take care of him...I'm here to help, not to distribute), but this time, I replied, "I don't have anything. I have things, but I don't have anything. What thing do you want?" We all laughed and he continued on his way.
People enjoy every moment here. And I don't hesitate to say that they live much more fully than do Americans caught up in what's going to hurt and what will help. Granted, there's a balance, but we worry too much.
Peace
John
07/15/2003
I didn't get very much done today, but I suppose I needed that.
I've been thinking about how artificial logic is and how relevant it really is to apply it to everyday matters. I suppose what I mean to say is that science is merely a refined set of observations rather than the basis for nature to act. We suppose that we can figure out how nature acts, but that assumes that there are laws inherent in every particle of the universe, which is a crippling and arrogant assumption. Who's to say that what we observe does not reflect only our means of observation? I think this is the basis of quantum theory, that the system is changed merely by observing it, and you can not observe it without changing it.
Getting back to logic...we use logic as a rhetorical trick and as a basis for making sense of our immediate surroundings. But as soon as we use logic, which is an artificial representation of the world (like doing physics without accounting for friction), to explain the very things that produced the logic, we run into invisible problems. For example, if I say that there must be 120 chemical elements because of the laws derived from atomic physics, this can be misleading because I'm using the very laws I derived from a system to explain the system outside of what is known. But we accept this logical conclusion because it keeps the knowledge simple and accessible. However, the logic derived is necessarily only a subset of the total logic possible.
So what's to stop me from saying that a fortune-teller down the street says there must be only 115 chemical elements, and that this is the truth because, despite all of her vague predictions, her science is just as accurate and her logic is just as strong. Her domain of knowledge isn't the same, but doesn't that just mean that science is misleading, educated guessing? If the Farmers' Almanac can predict weather on a par with a meteorologist, who's to say which is more logical, or scientific?
I think we overestimate our knowledge of the world, and more, we overestimate how much our mentors should state as fact. As a teacher now, I find it almost shameful when I don't know a simple fact, but the truth is that my students should be learning how to find the truth themselves.
The quiz I've been giving has been trying to specifically pull that part out of them and use it. I separate the class into 10 groups, giving each group 4 different questions, different from every other group. I let them use their notebooks, books if they have them, other groups, students, teachers, etc., except that they can't ask me anything. Even if it's something as simple as "I can't read this word", they have to ask someone else to help them and trust that the "truth" someone else sees is the same "truth" that I envisioned. And the way I wrote the questions allows for various answers, depending on how the question is taken. My refusal to frame their responses, by remaining silent, allows for this logical ambiguity to come to the foreground and maybe, possibly, show them that science isn't all yes vs no. And it's in this in-between ground where they are not only forced to, but made less afraid to, think.
I just wish it were possible to do more of these exercises.
Today, I miss long, purposeful train rides, playing baseball, summer (it's pretty cold here right now), just blending in, miles of quiet forest, my bike, a good selection of beer, tofu, snow (I know, how can I miss summer at the same time?), space heaters (yes, that's how), access to information and loved ones.
Returning, still about 17 months away, seems fantasy-like.
Peace
John
I've been thinking about how artificial logic is and how relevant it really is to apply it to everyday matters. I suppose what I mean to say is that science is merely a refined set of observations rather than the basis for nature to act. We suppose that we can figure out how nature acts, but that assumes that there are laws inherent in every particle of the universe, which is a crippling and arrogant assumption. Who's to say that what we observe does not reflect only our means of observation? I think this is the basis of quantum theory, that the system is changed merely by observing it, and you can not observe it without changing it.
Getting back to logic...we use logic as a rhetorical trick and as a basis for making sense of our immediate surroundings. But as soon as we use logic, which is an artificial representation of the world (like doing physics without accounting for friction), to explain the very things that produced the logic, we run into invisible problems. For example, if I say that there must be 120 chemical elements because of the laws derived from atomic physics, this can be misleading because I'm using the very laws I derived from a system to explain the system outside of what is known. But we accept this logical conclusion because it keeps the knowledge simple and accessible. However, the logic derived is necessarily only a subset of the total logic possible.
So what's to stop me from saying that a fortune-teller down the street says there must be only 115 chemical elements, and that this is the truth because, despite all of her vague predictions, her science is just as accurate and her logic is just as strong. Her domain of knowledge isn't the same, but doesn't that just mean that science is misleading, educated guessing? If the Farmers' Almanac can predict weather on a par with a meteorologist, who's to say which is more logical, or scientific?
I think we overestimate our knowledge of the world, and more, we overestimate how much our mentors should state as fact. As a teacher now, I find it almost shameful when I don't know a simple fact, but the truth is that my students should be learning how to find the truth themselves.
The quiz I've been giving has been trying to specifically pull that part out of them and use it. I separate the class into 10 groups, giving each group 4 different questions, different from every other group. I let them use their notebooks, books if they have them, other groups, students, teachers, etc., except that they can't ask me anything. Even if it's something as simple as "I can't read this word", they have to ask someone else to help them and trust that the "truth" someone else sees is the same "truth" that I envisioned. And the way I wrote the questions allows for various answers, depending on how the question is taken. My refusal to frame their responses, by remaining silent, allows for this logical ambiguity to come to the foreground and maybe, possibly, show them that science isn't all yes vs no. And it's in this in-between ground where they are not only forced to, but made less afraid to, think.
I just wish it were possible to do more of these exercises.
Today, I miss long, purposeful train rides, playing baseball, summer (it's pretty cold here right now), just blending in, miles of quiet forest, my bike, a good selection of beer, tofu, snow (I know, how can I miss summer at the same time?), space heaters (yes, that's how), access to information and loved ones.
Returning, still about 17 months away, seems fantasy-like.
Peace
John
07/14/2003
More handball today. I'm getting to be pretty good, leaning on baseball, Ultimate and basketball skills. It's fun, but I want to try actually playing a game, versus training to play a game.
I'm going to end up teaching English where I was singing - they love me there to begin with, so I should have nothing but a good time. That, and it's close to home.
All of my projects are full speed ahead, which is quite exciting. I'm wondering how much I'll get done before the year is out.
Peace
John
I'm going to end up teaching English where I was singing - they love me there to begin with, so I should have nothing but a good time. That, and it's close to home.
All of my projects are full speed ahead, which is quite exciting. I'm wondering how much I'll get done before the year is out.
Peace
John
07/13/2003
Diamentino was a pest today. He stopped by in the morning and just sort of leeched for most of the day. I like his company, but it was obvious he was bored and knows I've got entertainment. I'm just glad I don't have a TV. For many reasons. Our neighbors do, but they don't treat it like a member of the family. It's just there, and is A form of entertainment, but not the salve that it is in the States. It could be because the programming is weak and there's very little of it which is locally produced, but I think the culture is so social that it doesn't make much sense to watch TV alone...if that gives any clue as to where this is coming from.
It's a big deal that I'm staying in the house alone, not because of safety, but the fact that it's just not done that way here. I think Diamentino stayed here as long as he did simply because of that. Jorgito even came by an hour after he left, and we ate the cheese-less Eggplant Parmesan I made. It was delicious, and I made enough for two more meals.
I talked with Jorgito about getting drunk last night. He said he didn't really like it, but was glad he did it. He stayed up late, sobering up with his uncle and drinking plenty of water. It's really quite incredible how responsible he is. And though you might question a 17 year old's responsibility getting drunk essentially on his own, in the context of how alcohol is often abused here and taking the time to learn how to use it, he is in fact quite responsible.
He realizes that it is a social drug to be treated with care. I think alcohol, just like all mildly addictive drugs, is not inherently evil, but when someone uses it to try and make up for a lack of happiness, success or acceptance, then it very readily absorbs and then reflects the qualities it was taken to reverse in the first place. And, of course, when the focus of the event IS the drug, and not socializing or just having a good time, that's when problems start. My most uncomfortable nights have been a result of this goal-oriented drinking.
And so maybe he didn't have a good time because he was so focused on getting this thing out of the way. Maybe he needs to learn how to drink as a parallel social behavior, too...but I think he can wait for a while for that lesson.
I'm excited about playing handball tomorrow. I think I'm making good progress in breaking down the teacher/student barrier without having sex with the students or hitting them. Sounds facetious, but....well, I best keep it there.
And it looks like the English classes will start again soon, our of a school. I'm not going to disclose the location until I'm absolutely sure, but this could be fun.
Peace
John
It's a big deal that I'm staying in the house alone, not because of safety, but the fact that it's just not done that way here. I think Diamentino stayed here as long as he did simply because of that. Jorgito even came by an hour after he left, and we ate the cheese-less Eggplant Parmesan I made. It was delicious, and I made enough for two more meals.
I talked with Jorgito about getting drunk last night. He said he didn't really like it, but was glad he did it. He stayed up late, sobering up with his uncle and drinking plenty of water. It's really quite incredible how responsible he is. And though you might question a 17 year old's responsibility getting drunk essentially on his own, in the context of how alcohol is often abused here and taking the time to learn how to use it, he is in fact quite responsible.
He realizes that it is a social drug to be treated with care. I think alcohol, just like all mildly addictive drugs, is not inherently evil, but when someone uses it to try and make up for a lack of happiness, success or acceptance, then it very readily absorbs and then reflects the qualities it was taken to reverse in the first place. And, of course, when the focus of the event IS the drug, and not socializing or just having a good time, that's when problems start. My most uncomfortable nights have been a result of this goal-oriented drinking.
And so maybe he didn't have a good time because he was so focused on getting this thing out of the way. Maybe he needs to learn how to drink as a parallel social behavior, too...but I think he can wait for a while for that lesson.
I'm excited about playing handball tomorrow. I think I'm making good progress in breaking down the teacher/student barrier without having sex with the students or hitting them. Sounds facetious, but....well, I best keep it there.
And it looks like the English classes will start again soon, our of a school. I'm not going to disclose the location until I'm absolutely sure, but this could be fun.
Peace
John
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