Friday, September 17, 2010

Confessions, Confessions

Confessions from an ELF in Brazzaville
(an e-mail sent to my RELO on September 16, 2010)

Here is a confession from an ELF in Brazzaville regarding testing.


I had prepared a two-page questionnaire in advance to give to the journalists, and it was ready, but I had about 1 hour to find and/or make up a test. I was under the impression we would use a test that is already in place for the Saturday English program, but the ministry gave us less than one day's notice about the testing time and place. I arrived at the embassy at 9 a.m. the morning of the test, which was scheduled for 11 a.m., and had nothing prepared.


My co-worker couldn't find the Saturday English program test, and I was testing over 100 people, so I didn't want to break the budget on photocopying. I call the test I threw together- my less than one hour to prepare test- how reliable can it be? We arrived at the test site 45 minutes late. Such is life. I wish I would have had time to create or find a better test.


I feel relieved after my confession. Thanks for listening.


My RELO's Response


Hahaha. You are on the front lines of English teaching in Africa. It doesn't get any better than this.


Note on Professionalism: I did use various informal assessments in addition to the- how reliable can it be- test to assess the students' levels of English.



Wednesday, September 15, 2010

What's New?

Brand Spanking New

Crossing and contemplating cultural boundaries and wandering though parallel realities is always a walk on the wild side, opening possibilities in my brain that were invisible only seconds before the encounter.

Qu'est-ce qui est nouveau?

a confident man with 4 or 5 dozen eggs in cardboard cartons balanced on his head who is walking down the hill;

working until 3 p.m. without lunch;

carefully crafting every phrase in French only to make errors despite all my hard work;

speaking and listening to a colonizing European language in a Central African nation with an anything-but European worldview;

watching Congolese music videos filmed in Brazza with amazing hip and shoulder action;

listening to the French news headlines on Congolese television;

a colonizing mother country that isn't the United States;

few Americans;

exhaustion;

and much, much more...





Monday, September 13, 2010

Brazza Days



Things have been a whirlwind of out of the ordinary activity for me the past two days.

On Sunday, I met and drank champagne with President Denis S. Nguesso's brother and received a gift of golden shoes. More about this later.

On Monday I appeared on Congolese television with Congo's Minister of Communication and the American Embassy's Public Affairs Officer. We were sitting in three chairs arranged in a neat line on what looked like a tennis court carpeted with shockingly green artificial turf for the broadcast. The minister gave a quick speech about the importance of the English Language Fellow Program to his country, and then we moved to cocktail hour where we toasted to the success of the program with orange Fanta poured from old-fashioned glass bottles into champagne flukes. My co-worker at the embassy said he saw me live on television.

I realize how important this program is to the journalists and to the ministry. I want this 10 months to be a success, while at the same time mentally processing unexpected novelties of each day, which often arrive in my ear whispering in too rapid French.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

My Digs in Brazza

Welcome to my first home movie produced in Brazza, which is a very- stress very- unprofessionally filmed tour of my room at the Lyon Hotel.


Keen Kicking Butt Shoes Tribute

Keen on my Keens

I love these shoes (see large tribute photo). I could wear them for the remainder of my time on this planet and be happy. Who needs pinchy-toed girlie shoes when I can have my faithful Keen sandals? I poo-poo the cultural construct that dictates women's dress shoes be uncomfortable, high-heeled, flimsy, unstable, and pink. Bury me in my Keen sandals.

Note: Those are my actual feet breathing free and easy in my new green Keens.


Friday, September 10, 2010

Hillary and Barack




In the Information Resource Center at the United States Embassy in Brazzaville, there are 3 cardboard cutouts: one of President Barack Obama, a second of Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, and a third of Vice President Joe Biden. Barack and Hillary accompanied us on our journey to the French Cultural Center today where they smiled nonstop while greeting young Congolese men and women who came to our booth to learn more about studying at American universities. When the day was done, we folded up Hillary and Barack and put them in the backseat of my co-worker's car. They will be back in the resource center on Monday.




Image Source: Giftapolis


Are you married?

Here is an e-mail message that I received from one of my students this evening written entirely in bold.

Friday 9/10/2010

EVERYDAYSLIFE

Dear Lori;
how is the life?
I'm very glad to meet you, you know,I think together we can.
Please,I'd like to ask you three questions:
1. Are you still here for how many time?
2. Are you married?
3. How many children have you?
As I had talked to you,by chance doesn't exist;God's known one day Lori and Joseph will meet and maybe something should be happen;I like you so much;my willing is God been with you;he shows you the right way to follow for the best future.
Thank you and see you saturdays morning.
Yours Joseph

My thoughts after reading his e-mail:

1 How much time did it take Joseph to write this note in English?

2. I wish I could honestly tell him that I am happily married. Should I lie and tell him I am happily married with four kids?

3. Help!

4. I don't believe in God.

Thursday, September 09, 2010

Suckling from the Malnourished in Brazza

A Bony Trio

I saw my first street cat today, and I'm now fairly certain why there are so few street animals living in the capital. The cat I saw was depressingly female with two horrendously dirty mouths suckling on her emaciated teats. I was surprised her dwarfed body had maintained the strength to endure a pregnancy and the live birth of two kittens. The trio was weaving through diners' legs at a small snack shop while I was dodging trash scattered along a major highway. I was on my way to shop at the Total Market- a street market overflowing with toxic black exhaust fumes; photocopy shops; wobbly stacks of not-so-orange oranges; and painfully poor people discussing the day's gossip when I realized that nearly everything in this city appears to my eyes as unfinished, broken, half-dead, never enough and lacking. As much as I try to put a positive spin on the place, and I do consider myself an optimist, it's ugly to my eyes. In addition, I am slightly terrified of how the city will transform into a giant muddy sponge during the rainy season when the temperatures and humidity numbers spike to even more sweat-soaked levels.

Cocktail Hour in Brazza!

I attended an educational fair at the French Cultural Center this afternoon and was surprised at the tightly packed bodies pressing against each other forcing everyone closer to the two counters where liquor and food were being served during cocktail hour. Students are commonly lacking funds and often hungry, but a group of students waiting for lunchtime finger food and wine filled the overheated room in the cultural center with the never enough hum of deprivation echoing through life in sub-Saharan Africa. When I looked down at my feet, I saw empty Coke cans and soiled napkins littering the floor.

I know that all emotions pass, and that tomorrow I will hit the restart button. It's okay to have a blue day as life moves forward.



Wednesday, September 08, 2010

Crunch

I was thinking about Corn Flakes this week, but tonight for dinner I'm enjoying cookies and milk: Amulya orange flavored cream biscuits, which are a product of India, and Président lait entier (whole milk) imported from Casablanca, Morocco. Tomorrow, I'm hosting the thought of hanging out at Hassan Burger, a Lebanese restaurant near my hotel.



Cultural Shuffle

Distel, my embassy lifeline here in the Congo, and I left our meeting with the Minister of Communication today and descended in an elevator where we commented simultaneously on the cultural aspects of elevator etiquette. In the United States, everyone on an elevator instinctually faces the door and stares stoically at a fixed point directly in front of him or her. In the Congo, people stand on the left and right sides of the elevator and face each other making eye contact and interacting socially. When I rode an elevator for the first time in Brazzaville, my American technique didn’t work, so I did the cultural shuffle inside this small box until I adapted appropriately.

When I am tired, my French becomes fragmented, stutters, waffles and trips. My listening skills in particular are affected.

While I was helping Joseph Ngawla with his CV today, I asked him why he only worked for one year at a bake shop in Kinshasa. He said that when the war started in the DRC, the bakery closed its doors in 2001. Joseph is a refugee in Brazzaville who worked for Joseph Kabila's political campaign. He's been unemployed for four years.

I thought about Corn Flakes and Pizza Hut this week. I haven't seen any American restaurants here and Corn Flakes would cost a small fortune.

Tuesday, September 07, 2010

Talking To Myself in Congo

The cutest thing I heard today was a 22 year-old Congolese student who is studying biology at the only university in the country commenting on how he learns English.

Me: How did you learn English Steve?

You can call me Steve: There is no one to talk English to here, so I talk to myself. I say this in English for example: "This is a cup. I will drink from the cup" to myself.

Today I discovered that the embassy in coordination with the Congolese Ministry of Communication (that’s right, there is only one –s) plans to have some sort of official celebration during the first week of my class. The U.S. Ambassador is scheduled to speak at the grand soiree and several ministers plan to be there too. What shoes am I going to wear? It’s wonderful that the Ministry of Communication (one –s) is proud to have me in the country, but I don’t need a formal event to mark the commencement of educational development for 100 journalists and their teacher. What can I do? Accept the situation gracefully and wear my most formal shoes. But ouch, those shoes pinch my feet.

Since I don't have a kitchen in my hotel room, I now consider myself an opportunistic eater. I take leftovers home and overload my system with calories when the opportunity presents itself.

I navigate through piles of sand, protruding metal wires, uneven pavement, and unexpected black holes in the sidewalks on poorly lit streets at night.

Many of my meetings are cancelled or postponed, but not by me.



Sunday, September 05, 2010

Editorial from Congo's Youth

La Semaine Africaine, Vendredi 3 Septembre 2010
J.p.s.d.c (Jeunesse du parti social démocrate congolais)

Le Congo est malade au plan politique et va très mal au plan économique

Le 12 août 2010, la communauté internationale a célébré la Journée internationale de la jeunesse. A cette occasion, la J.p.s.d.c (Jeunesse du parti social démocrate congolais) a publié une déclaration signée par son secrétaire général, Alain Missié. Dans cette déclaration, la J.p.s.d.c affirme: «Le Congo est malade, au plan politique, et va très mal au plan économique». En voici l’intégralité.

Déclaration de la jeunesse du P.s.d.c à l’occasion de la célébration de la journée internationale de la jeunesse

La communauté internationale célèbre, ce jour 12 août 2010, la Journée internationale de la jeunesse; cette jeunesse qui, à travers le monde, représente l’avenir de l’ensemble de nos pays. En ce qui concerne le Congo, cette célébration revêt un cachet particulier. En effet, celle-ci coïncide avec la célébration, le 15 août, du jubilé relatif à l’anniversaire de l’indépendance de notre pays et du cinquantenaire de la dite indépendance. C’est une occasion appropriée, pour la jeunesse, de jeter un regard sur notre passé, de s’arrêter sur notre présent et de projeter notre avenir. Il est important, à ce sujet, que nous sachions d’où nous venons, ce que nous sommes, aujourd’hui, et où nous allons, C’est, certainement, le moment indiqué de souligner avec force qu’en cette année 2010, le constat que nous faisons est que le Congo va très mal.

Il va très mal, parce que le Congo vient, encore, une fois de plus, de manquer un important rendez-vous, rendez-vous qui devait permettre aux Congolais, après les évènements et les drames douloureux qu’ils ont connus, de dialoguer, de se réconcilier avec eux-mêmes, de vivre dans la paix, dans l’unité et dans la concorde nationale.

Le Congo est malade, au plan politique, parce que, de l’avis de tout le monde, la démocratie est en panne, les lois et règlements de notre pays sont violés par les gouvernants, les médias d’Etat sont confisqués, la mal-gouvernance s’y est installée... On y organise des mascarades électorales. Le refus d’un dialogue politique franc et sincère est total. Il y aurait des projets de révision de la constitution dans le simple dessein de s’accrocher et de demeurer, indéfiniment, au pouvoir.

Le Congo va très mal, parce qu’au plan économique, de pays à revenu intermédiaire qu’il est en fait, le Congo est classé, aujourd’hui, parmi les pays pauvres très endettés, avec 70% de la population qui vit en dessous du seuil de pauvreté, avec moins d’un dollar par jour. Pauvre, le Congo ne l’est pas, mais il est, plutôt, riche et très endetté. Comment peut-on expliquer cela dans un pays disposant d’énormes potentialités et ayant un P.i.b (Produit intérieur brut) par habitant, en 2009, selon les statistiques de la banque centrale, de près de 2.300 dollars américains. Ce qui illustre, clairement, qu’il y a un problème de répartition de la richesse nationale et une forte concentration des richesses entre les mains d’une petite minorité, alors que la grande majorité croupit dans une misère indescriptible.

Il sied de souligner, au plan économique, la persistance et l’aggravation, depuis les années d’indépendance, des antiva-leurs tels que l’impunité, le laxisme, les vols, les détournements, la corruption et autres. Antivaleurs qui placent notre pays sur la voie, non du développement, mais de l’auto-destruction.

Au plan socioculturel; tant à l’éducation, à la santé, à la culture, aux sports qu’aux problèmes du chômage et de l’emploi des jeunes, la situation demeure des plus préoccupantes, au moment où le budget du Congo a atteint des niveaux jamais égalés dans notre histoire, comme celui de 2010, qui s’élève à 2.814 milliards de francs Cfa.

Par ailleurs, la jeunesse du P.s.d.c saisit cette opportunité pour rendre un vibrant hommage au président Barack Obama, président des Etats-Unis, pour son message et ses sages conseils aux jeunes leaders africains. Celui-ci leur a, tout simplement, demandé, pour l’avenir de l’Afrique, de ne pas refaire, dans leurs pays, ce que leurs aînés ont fait. Pour la jeunesse du P.s.d.c, cela voudrait dire que la jeunesse africaine, en général et congolaise, en particulier, doit agir, pour:

- l’amour du pays;

- la lutte contre les antivaleurs;

- la renonciation de la recherche du pouvoir par les armes;

- le respect des lois et règlements de leur pays;

- le respect de la forme républicaine de l’Etat;

- le respect des engagements internationaux tels que les textes de la Cour pénal internationale, la charte africaine de la démocratie, des élections et de la gouvernance, la déclaration de Bamako et autres;

- l’arrêt des mascarades électorales et pour l’organisation d’élections libres, démocratiques et transparentes par une commission dont l’indépendance est reconnue par tous les acteurs politiques;

- la tolérance et l’acceptation du droit à la différence;

- l’instauration du dialogue comme mode de règlement des problèmes dans la gestion de la cité;

- l’instauration d’un véritable Etat de droit;

- l’accès de tous aux médias d’Etat;

- bannir le tribalisme, le favoritisme, la gestion clanique et autres;

- renoncer aux assassinats politiques;

- rejeter la médiocrité et revaloriser l’excellence.

Consciente et convaincue de ce que l’avenir appartient à la jeunesse, la Jeunesse du P.s.d.c lance un appel à tous les jeunes de notre pays, au-delà de leurs choix politiques, pour qu’ils se mobilisent, afin qu’il y ait un sursaut national qui garantira, non pas le bonheur des seuls gouvernants, non pas seulement celui de la jeunesse, mais celui du peuple congolais tout entier. Elle lance, également, un appel pressant à la communauté internationale, pour qu’elle la soutienne dans ce combat certes plein d’écueils, mais noble et exaltant. C’est à ce prix que nous apporterons notre contribution, pour faire de ce pays, qui est très riche, une terre où il fait bon vivre.

Happy To Wait

Among The Privileged


I was looking for my pen when I was at the embassy clubhouse, Villa Washington, until it fell from between the sofa cushions when I leaned forward to reach for a book on the table. After an hour of searching, all I had to do was lean slowly forward. There it was at my feet. Voila le stylo!

I had some difficulty passing through security today at Villa Washington, and I thought of Pema Chödrön’s words when I was frustrated because my embassy badge didn’t do the magic trick I had come to expect. Nobody- and I mean nobody- was there. The courtyard, exercise room, kitchen, and television room were all dead silent while the two security guards suspiciously eyed me and my two plastic sacks of dirty laundry wondering if I was capable of masterminding evil deeds of sabotage and destruction.

“I am exhausted after lugging my laundry and backpack up this hill in the rain. Why won’t they let me into the clubhouse?” were two questions screaming madly inside my head.

Instead of openly expressing my frustration at this curious but unyielding greeting, I opened my umbrella and stepped away from the situation, breathing deeply with my back to the guards. In my retreat of self-awareness, I acknowledged that I am accustomed to a life of privilege. To be denied access to a facility that I was certain I was entitled to enjoy caused emotions to bubble to the surface. When I recalled the long line of Congolese students, each one waiting patiently to individually pass through the guard house and relinquish his or her personal possessions in order to attend English club, I checked my thoughts and told the guard I understood the policies he must follow.

I was happy to wait.

End Note: Once inside, I re-hydrated myself from the embassy-approved filtered water source in the clubhouse kitchen. I must have used the bathroom 5 to 8 times in one afternoon. And, I filled up my three one-liter plastic water bottles for liquid refreshment while in my room. If you haven’t guessed, the tap water in Brazza is not potable.

Wine anyone?

Thought For The Day

Why is there a huge selection of wine- with most of the wine growing regions of France represented- located on the Casino Supermarket shelves in downtown Brazzaville when an average worker who digs a trench in concrete with only a pickax and his own hands earns $3 to $5 each day?

Who can afford to buy these bottles of wine?

The gap between rich and poor is so extreme here I don't know how it continues to exist decade after decade.

Saturday, September 04, 2010

Walking Tour of Brazza


Photo: Memorial for Pierre Savorgnan de Brazza

There are few Americans here. It’s a fact.

Supposedly, there are about 237 of us in Brazzaville, but I haven’t met any outside of the embassy. I did bump into my neighbor in room 109, Directeur Gérant Jean Albert Placide Kaya, who works with environmental issues for Eco Durable and who also knows about my state: Iowa. That was exciting. Monsieur Kaya gave me a ride to the ATM machine at the Crédit du Congo this afternoon in his SUV. Ex-pats who work for NGOs or embassies usually have their own large, safe vehicles with seatbelts or use a car and driver if they are leaving the workplace for a meeting during working hours. I use taxis, and the taxi drivers sometimes try to overcharge me, but my friends at the hotel protect and bargain for me, haggling for a fair price so I won’t be overcharged.

I have made friends with some of the men who work in the hotel because there aren't many women in the public and work spaces where I have been. At the hotel, there is Carlos in the restaurant where I eat my breakfast. He is 25 years old and from Cameroon. He speaks English to me, and I speak French to him, and he has a lovely smile. We watched Eminem rap videos this morning because I was the only guest in the restaurant and Carlos swayed to my table with the beat of orange juice and coffee on a tray. I forgot how many crumbs pan au chocolat can produce like a buttery rain on the table. Then there is Jacques, who is 47 years old and works at the gate as a guard. While he is working Jacques reads books, and I noticed that one of his books was The Origin of Genesis. We talked a briefly about religion, and he wants to learn about Buddhism. Now I am helping him practice English, although he is very shy and we use French most of the time. Brice works at the desk and saved me from a mean taxi man, so I shared chocolate cookies with him when I returned from my adventure in the city today. I feel that I have protectors here at the hotel, and I am sure that I will miss these big brothers dearly when I depart.

There is still no word on my house yet. I thought I might see my new maison on Friday, but perhaps another day.

I spent this morning working on my syllabus and identifying objectives for my class, and in the afternoon I went for a walking tour of the city. I must admit, I did not know who Pierre Savorgnan de Brazza was until I bumped into his beautifully designed memorial and lushly landscaped city park where I hungrily downed two local yogurts for lunch- one coconut and the other mixed fruit. Pierre was the man who arrived in Central Africa and helped pave the way for colonization. That’s why I didn’t understand why his body had been repatriated to Brazzaville from Algeria in October 2006 in a triumphant and ceremonious return. When compared to the Belgians’ rule in the Congo, Pierre was a more humane, just, kind, and moderate governor-general of the French Congo. That's something to be said for this man in a time of colonial exploitation and cruelty.

End Note: I feel as if the Republic of Congo is the forgotten country. Most Americans are only aware of the DRC and Kinshasa and don't know Brazzaville is on the map. In addition, there aren't many tourists here, and for the average Congolese men and women I am meeting, I am the first American they have encountered. All these things make me want to work all the more to do what I can to help the people of this country!!!!!I

I have so much more to learn about this country, so I hope you look forward to future adventures and discoveries with an American chica in Brazzaville.

Friday, September 03, 2010

Top 5 Friday Plus Two

Things That Made Me Happy Today

1. The first two lines of Charlie et la Chocolaterie:

Bonjour à tous ! Voici l’histoire d’une aventure délicieuse dans un pays merveilleux.

Translation: Hello to all! Here is a story of a delicious adventure in a marvelous country. (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)

2. Now that I have stopped taking the drug Malarone to prevent malaria, I don’t feel like vomiting at every meal. It is one of the dry seasons now in Brazza, so I will re-evaluate my decision when the rains come, but as for now, as James Brown likes to sing: I feel good- na, na, na, na, na, na, na.

3. Finding an adapter this afternoon gave me a HUGE sense of accomplishment. Thank you Burotop Boutique.

4. Spending Friday evening with a French speaker (no English) and enjoying myself.

5. Deciding not to judge people (both men and women) who spit openly on the sidewalks left me feeling like a better person. Judge not, that ye be not judged.

End Note: Wearing my brown RX Crocs on the rugged streets of the city kept me in fine shape today. I can't forget gratitude for my Crocs. Would that be number 6? A hot shower at bedtime is lucky number 7.

Beijia Sunflower Magic in the Bathroom

Thursday, September 02, 2010

Arrival

I can’t believe I have been in the country for 4 days, and it is now Thursday, September 2. Where did August go?

When my plane landed at Maya-Maya Airport, it was early evening around 17:45. The sun was retiring into a sky smudged grey and smoky as if a volcano had erupted spitefully raining ash on Brazzaville only days before. The smoke, caused by burning piles of garbage around the city, stung my eyes on the drive to the Hotel Lyon.

When I entered my hotel bathroom on Monday night to take a shower, the giant sunflower showerhead and six mini sunny heads waiting to spa-spray my entire body intimidated this jet lagged American. I imagined turning on the hot water only to be pinned against the opposite wall from the force of a ballistic spray of heat. Beijia was the brand name of my shower, and I had this feeling it had been produced somewhere in Asia. I Googled the name, and soft, tinkling music poured fourth from the website where I discovered that:

“The company [Beijia] is situated in the world famous ceramic capital--- Nanzhuang, Foshan city. It mainly productes sanitary ware, jacuzzi, SPA, processing of many years of experience, leading to series of consummate management system.”

According to the company website, “The self-clean function which we invent perfects peoples's living.”

I appear to be enjoying a product from the Shower Room Series, which I admit is improving my living.

BEIJIA

End Note: Perhaps I could work as a web editor for the company because I think Beijia may need one.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Cast of Characters: heroes, rogues and supporting roles

Source: United State Department of State Telephone Directory

http://www.state.gov/documents/organization/111812.pdf


REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO, BRAZZAVILLE

Boulevard Maya Maya, Brazzaville

Phone: +242-06612-2000

Workweek: M-Thurs - 7:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m./Fridays 7:30 a.m. - 12:30 p.m.

Website: http://brazzaville.usembassy.gov/


Officer Name

AMB OMS and EEO Pamela Roxanne Aulton

MGT Rodney D. Cunningham / Formerly Lynn the Rogue

POL/ECON Jason Conroy

AMB Christopher W. Murray

CON Chris Mchone

PAO Shayna Cram

RSO Daley O'Neil

CLO Breton Boudreaux

FMO Robert Warner

IMO Joshua Kim


Fast Forward to January 2011

Enticingly Incorrigible: Dedicated to the Jamaican Gypsy in Brazzaville 2010


When Americans reside abroad- living their daily lives unrestrained by the confines of red, white, and blue social conventions governing stateside sexual conduct- odd and unpredictable activities in the human relationship department occur. I have observed antics of men and women turned loose in Brazzaville for the past five months, including myself, and shaped our performance into poetic form.

Behold a day in the life of Central Africa’s ex-patriot erotic playground.

I dedicate this poem to a man who asked me to be his dirty private secret in the bedroom while his true love, languishing on a distant continent, pined publicly for his return.

An internal struggle ensued after I heard his overture to my senses because emotions emanating from warm bodies are never as unambiguous as intellects would like. Could I exchange my sense of self-worth and my expectation to be acknowledged publicly by his friends for a shimmering fleshy promise of stimulation I was certain he could deliver to me time and time again? Although the clandestine perversion of hiding passion from the world’s gaze intrigued me at first bite- its addictive musk still floats in clouds through the air- my heart dissuaded me from accepting his gag order and cloak of invisibility. I knew his demands would eventually destroy me. Common sense told me that a relationship between a man and woman poisoned by deception, lies, and secrecy from its inception was trouble.

The explanation I present to the reader is quite cut and dried, but reality in Central Africa is neither simple nor painless. I was anything but unaffected by the intimacy we shared, which was both profound and putrid, as exposed bits and pieces of our lives blended and bled. He’s closed the door to communication with me now. No compassionate words and positive closure for us, so I am rearranging memories into a comfortable configuration all on my own.

...from a bruised place in my soul, sample a taste of something uncooked and raw.


Uncooked and Raw


Vulnerability is a sensitive issue.
Slight pressure transforms beige normalcy.
Thin-skinned and bruised sexuality-
black and blue for the world to see.
Pulsating with a sluggish rhythm.

Unleashing privileged information with abandon.
Giving clues to inner workings and
exposing more than just a favorite color: purple.

Panting in the humidity of rainy season.
Eating leftovers of another woman’s man.

Knowing he sleeps in the nude.
Asks you bluntly to air your dirty sexual laundry
for his physical gratification.
Fantasizes about the verb list
nudging, prodding, probing and finally poking

you.

He knows
your mouth wants to open for him
at crotch level,
unzipping his fly with gentle teeth tugs.
Reaching in orally for the prize.

Remember to

Forget

when he recalls a Significant Other
from his time in Algiers, so certain of his sexual fidelity-
she waits chastely for his return
unaware he’s in the midst of a midlife crisis
busy text messaging girly friends
soft porn images on their cell phones
of hot bath dances.

Bruised inside and out
by vulnerability’s disfigurement
sleepless and wide eyed
between stained sheets in Brazzaville.



Unknown To Me

IRS Aziz Benbrahim (Resident In Paris)

CDC Dr. Gianluca Flamigni (Resident In Kinshasa, DRC)

HRO Theresa Everett (Resident In Kinshasa)

ICASS Chair Debra Townes

MLO/ODC COL Thomas A. Crowder

DAO LTC Charles O. Collins


Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Battered and Fried



If Iowa were a main dish instead of a state, it would be battered, fried and served with Ranch dressing. Going out to dinner tonight left my clothes smelling like fried chicken and rancid vegetable oil.

Playing with my new camera outside of the restaurant resulted in this image of a rusting truck. Oh Iowa!

Monday, August 23, 2010

I Have No Secrets

Boys will be boys... and girls?

Excerpts from Hilary Thayer Hamann's novel Anthropology of an American Girl

Boys will be boys, that's what people say. No one ever mentions how girls have to be something other than themselves altogether. We are expected to stifle the same feelings that boys are encouraged to express. We are to use gossip as a means of policing ourselves. This way those who do succumb to the lure of sex but are not damaged by it are damaged instead by peer malice. We are to remain united in cruelty, ignorance, and aversion. We are to starve our flesh from our bones, penalizing the body for its nature, castigating ourselves for advances from men that we are powerless to prevent. We are to make false promises, then resist the attentions solicited. Basically we are to become expert liars.

Teary-Eyed Evolution: Crying Serves A Purpose

I began reading Hilary Thayer Hamann's novel Anthropology of an American Girl, and the main character's observations about life shook me into remembering how junior high and high school kids often stare unblinking, slicing through adult bullshit with their pupils, to uncover the naked decaying core at the center of many of life's situations.

Evie, a senior high school girl in the novel, described grief like this:

My eyes opened wide, admitting light from my mother's desk lamp. If you don't want to cry, you can stop yourself by looking into the light. It's better to keep grief inside. Grief inside works like bees or ants, building curious and perfect structures, complicating you. Grief outside means you want something from someone, and chances are good you won't get it (Hamann, p. 39).

As I was stirring to wakefulness this morning, I was dreaming of grief and loss [someone I trusted had stolen my favorite camera] and heard an NPR story about the evolution of human tears. Why do we cry? According to the story "Teary-Eyed Evolution: Crying Serves A Purpose," crying does serve a selfish human purpose.

From the story:

One theory is that crying may have evolved as a kind of signal — a signal that was valuable because it could only be picked up by those closest to us who could actually see our tears. Tears let our intimates in — people within a couple of feet of us, who would be more likely to help.

"Crying seems to elicit compassion and guilt, and that itself may be an evolved mechanism to save relationships in distress," said Jesse Bering, who directs the Institute of Cognition and Culture at Belfast University.

Tears can play an important role in communication, and the extraordinary thing is that tears don't just telegraph our state of mind to others — they can also evoke strong emotions in the people who witness them.

This illustrates another aspect of crying — whether it's intentional or unintentional, crying is a powerful way to get what you need or want.

Teary-Eyed Evolution: NPR

Friday, August 20, 2010

Inspiration Before Breakfast

[Thanks to my friend Yorlene for pointing me in the direction of this poem!]

The Invitation

Oriah Mountain - Dreamer, Canadian Teacher, and Author




It doesn't interest me what you do for a living

I want to know what you ache for

and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.



It doesn't interest me how old you are

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool

for love

for your dreams

for the adventure of being alive.



It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow

if you have been opened by life's betrayals

or have become shrivelled and closed

from fear of further pain.



I want to know if you can sit with pain

mine or your own

without moving to hide it

or fade it

or fix it.



I want to know if you can be with joy

mine or your own

if you can dance with wildness

and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes

without cautioning us to

be careful

be realistic

to remember the limitations of being human.



It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me

is true.

I want to know if you can

disappoint another

to be true to yourself.



If you can bear the accusation of betrayal

and not betray your own soul.

If you can be faithless

and therefore trustworthy.



I want to know if you can see Beauty

even when it is not pretty

every day.

And if you can source your own life

from its presence.



I want to know if you can live with failure

yours and mine

and still stand on the edge of the lake

and shout to the silver of the full moon,

"Yes."



It doesn't interest me

to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up

after a night of grief and despair

weary and bruised to the bone

and do what needs to be done

to feed the children.



It doesn't interest me who you know

or how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand

in the center of the fire

with me

and not shrink back.



It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom

you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you

from the inside

when all else falls away.



I want to know if you can be alone

with yourself

and if you truly like the company you keep

in the empty moments.



© 1995 by Oriah House, From "Dreams Of Desire" Published by Mountain Dreaming, 300 Coxwell Avenue, Box 22546, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4L 2A0

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Dreams To Remember: Reflux BEGONE


Dance On


Things that trigger acid reflux = taxes; taking my cat to the vet; a romantic relationship or contemplating one; too much orange or tomato juice; people I don't like; obsessive thoughts (which I am in training to slash and smite with my mental sword); assorted emotions and additional items not specified here.

Latch on to the positive and eliminate the negative. Simple and effective- yes, yes, yes, yes, yes...

Listening to Angelique Kidjo singing I've Got Dreams to Remember makes life beautiful.

Reminder: Lesson in Detachment

Reminder: Lesson in Detachment

I enjoy that place of clarity and deep, regular breathing renewing my body and spirit and allowing me to face the world with a balanced and grounded energy and outlook. Lessons in detachment are always valuable reminders to help me achieve this state of being.

… the key to reunification is learning to detach ourselves from the drama and outcome, and understand that polarization [or allowing emotion to control our minds] is a lesson in humility and total consciousness. Detachment means rising above the status quo [or current situation that causes shallow breathing and rising blood pressure], without passing judgment, and watching the drama unfold without becoming physically or emotionally involved.

That's peace!

From: Learning the Art of Detachment, 2002, Dawn Abel

Maya Mystery School

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Vajra Yogini




Seeing a lovely yogini peacefully meditating with patience and steadfastness moving through her posture at the Sackler Gallery in Washington, D.C. last week reminded me how important visual representations of female spirituality, wisdom, leadership, and power are for me.

The venerable Vajrayogini is the female Buddha of wisdom and great bliss.


Saturday, August 07, 2010

on the water


Sailing Paradise

I note my desire to sail the world for at least 7 years for my next life, but I can take steps to realize the dream in this life. How else could I experience UNESCO's World Heritage site in Hawaii?


Friday, August 06, 2010

Oh Elvis



Woke up this morning in search of the news and found Elvis instead!

Wednesday, August 04, 2010

The Butterfly Effect


THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

It's curious how

a phone ringing-

answered

as if on cue


or a phone call

replaced instead

by a nap,

a movie,

or some other

diversionary song and dance


can re-route

the direction

of an eager heart.


How many

promising propositions

failed to fornicate

because the wings of

a forgotten promise

closed the possibility?

Too Many Sighs


Le premier soupir de l’amour
Est le dernier de la sagesse.


- Antoine Bret—Ecole amoureuse. Sc. 7 - un écrivain et auteur dramatique français


When love’s well-timed ’tis not a fault to love;
The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise,
Sink in the soft captivity together.

- Addison—Cato. Act III. Sc. 1 (speak to me of poorly-timed love)


The Masculine Dance


[The power and sway of men's hips as they dance is entrancing to the eye and highly sexual. More American men should consider dancing seriously to flaunt their virtues to the female of the species. Note: Saint Vitus is the patron saint of dancers.]

"My Soul is in My Pants" [by David McNamara]

My Soul Is in My Pants

Call me Rocco, the little brother of Saint Vitus.
I've got waxy eyelashes, a flexible pelvis

And can sort through the card catalog

Of all your mystical categories

With the power of my tango.

Are you surprised by my Latin thrusts?

Didn't you know you'd set off

These seismic rumbas

With your cocktail shaker

And mocha eyes?

Didn't you know you'd lose your balance,

You'd lose your breath

When my sacrum popped in want of you?

Doesn't it bore into your database

Like the worm wriggling at the bottom of a tequila bottle?

You looked and I danced.

You asked and I said yes.

That's not my phone. That's not my wallet.

That's my soul.

My soul is in my pants.

-- David McNamara

Source: The Best American Poetry

Tuesday, August 03, 2010

I Thought These Items Were Funny!


14 FAM EXHIBIT 723.2

ITEMS PROHIBITED FOR POUCH DISPATCH
This email is UNCLASSIFIED

Known items prohibited for dispatch by diplomatic pouch include, but are not limited to:

Human remains (e.g., cremains, organs);

Radioactive substances;

Weapons (e.g., knives, kitchen knives, swords, arrows);

Incendiary materials such as road flares, cigarette lighters, self starting charcoal, etc.; and

Any device that cannot be completely disabled from emitting any noise, signal, or vibration while in transit. Batteries must be removed or item must be completely unwound and locked in this position (such as clocks, watches, timers, alarms, radios, etc.).

[My father was cremated and his ashes are happily living with my sister, and I don't own any radioactive substances.]

Sunday, August 01, 2010

August 1, 2010: Iowa


Time Released

August garden smells the
perishable odor of winter
drooping daisies and downing hollyhocks.
Halitosis of the season.
Browned blossoms leave me
with a time released feeling.


[August 1 marks the end of true summer in Iowa, and I begin to mourn. Family business spins invisible threads of possession around my heart, but soon it will be time to go.]




Low Anthem: If you haven't heard them, LISTEN!


I would love to be attending the Newport Folk Festival 2010, but since I am in Iowa, NPR is treating me to the sounds. What would I do without public radio? Suffer!


Low Anthem is my band of the year!

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

A Winged Mystery


As the wax was drying on my car waiting for a buff, and Willy Nelson was singing "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" in the garage, I said hello to a large flying insect that has habitually shared my outdoor space this summer. I had been watching its large sausage-shaped winged body, perhaps the body of a cicada, burrow its way into the ground for several days. I first noticed this guy because he (for the sake of pronoun ease) was disturbing the soil on the lawn. When I bent down to investigate what I thought was an up and coming ant colony, I discovered a mysterious mini tunnel.


Throughout the afternoon, I watched my winged neighbor come and go and wondered what was happening deep underground. Feeling a bit protective of his life and work, I arranged the soil carefully around the outside of the sanctuary so that other humans wouldn't be alerted to his presence. If it is a cicada, I thanked him for spending time with me because I have only ever crunched their abandoned exoskeletons underfoot or noticed their eerie armor clinging to trees.


I do my infinitesimal part in suburbia to protect the daily comings and goings of my winged mystery because suburban peer pressure being what it is- no dandelions, moles, wasps, mice, possums, or thistles allowed- leaves no room for showing compassion toward other living creatures and plants.


When will we learn that the birds and the bees- and the flowers and the trees- are not our enemies?

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Petals of Plastic


Twitter This
July 22, 2010

FlowerHorizon
Although artificial flowers have so many advantages, we should consider that they are static in our decoration.

Ljtheraingirl No fragrance or charm, lack flexibility to sway in the breeze.

Message to FlowerHorizon from Ljtheraingirl:
Artificial flowers are dead hearts. Bees refuse to visit walls to intimacy and colors nature won't recognize.

Would you buy them for a lover?

Remind me again why they exist?

Monday, July 19, 2010

Struggling To Be Certain


I have been exploring the various ways intimacy has been defined in my day to day life. One expression of the concept happened in the year 2000 when I was working as an ESL teacher at a community college in Iowa. Supporting a debutante poet as she translated her words from Japanese to English brought us together in a delicate intellectual conference. As an assistant to the linguistic transformation, the poet trusted me with her filtered impressions of life as a Japanese exchange student in small town Iowa: kanji; katakana; hiragana; and the Latin alphabet (rōmaji).

I Am Standing in a Foreign Land
Author: Madoka Tazuke

I was here but,
there was no sound.
There was only darkness.
The air was very heavy
like something pulling on my heart.
I listen to the sound of nothingness.

The air envelops me
in its quiet, heavy embrace.

I am struggling to be certain
of my existence.

I saw her and the feeling of anxiety
came over me.
I was uneasy because of the sudden confusion of
my identity.

The eyes were like a powerful wave
washing over me and carrying me to sea.
At that time, I thought
What is this wave?

Am I true?
Or, is she true?
Did I see her?
Or, did she see me?

And, I am standing in a foreign land.
Like she is standing there.


Hills Review: A Journal of Poetry, Spring 2000

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Dragging My Toes


One reason I diddle and slowly cavort through my possessions under the disguise of cleaning house is because I am disturbing an unreliable dust- a dust which coats my recollections of the past. What I think I remember occurring shape shifts through the passage of time: truth? I am easily diverted by old class notes, letters, personal journals, and poems. Tonight, for example, I found an artist's proof of a poem I wrote in 2000 when my father was dying. I always liked this particular poem, and when I was reunited with the words after a separation of 10 years, the emotions swirling around my father's illness were all too real.

Emerging

My poetry emerges
with coaxing.
Loose fingers elicit
flaky apple pie cinnamon
and heavy cream
sticking to slurpy tongues
teasing each syllable
with fat and saliva.
Each word an electric impulse
a twitch
that strains my body
during hours of foreplay
back and forth on the page.
Rearranging the parts.
Reconstructing the sensations.
Lulled by the release.

[Words and the rearranging of words into some sort of order were a comfort to me at this time. After my father died, I asked for his guidance as my muse.]

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The Tension of Home


Mark Delap discusses the tensions that even the shortest trip from home can cause in the traveler in his Magma article, and the tension arises in me as I prepare for my next 10 months of life on another continent. I apologize to everyone for the use of various font types in the previous post on Elizabeth Bishop's poem. I was having trouble formatting the text and finally gave up on perfection.

I am fermenting as I combine the ingredients of a traveller who is on her way to a new continent in the capped bottle of my body and mind: May the lid not blow off.

Wish me luck fellow travelers.