I stood at the train station in Delhi as the moon rose and rocked back and forth on my over burdened heels: everything that I needed in the world, along with some more unnecessary tid-bits, was strapped firmly to my back. On the train that night I didn't turn on my I-pod but strummed the strings of my banjo, making up tunes about nothing and ballads for the men pissing on the train tracks. Here in Sewegram, across the street from the last ashram that Gandhi lived in, my bag still remains only half unpacked as all the unused goods have sifted to the bottom.
Another meaningless anecdote: Janelle and I got out of the taxi in front of our home-stay after a harrowing encounter with a drunk and forward man in the the city. To our surprise, we were confronted with yet another drunk man, eyes glazed and empty, who followed us to the front gate trying to convince us that we owed him money for carrying our baggage. we didn't have any baggage, we insisted, and slammed the gate in his reeking face.
I meant to make an insightful metaphor about baggage (inspired by a margin note in my notebook: "metaphorical baggage blog!") , but you'll have to fill in the rest.
Just get rid of as much as possible. Yes, even the melon ball-er.
Here in Sewegram, where Gandhi spent the last years of his life, many people are currently trying to live life by Gandhian philosophy, which is based around community, self-sufficiency and a slew of other pillars of truth that are currently on America's "endangered characteristics" list. I am sure that many of the 14 followers of this blog have not thought about oppression today (except, I'm guessing, Claire Noone! Ministry of Despair!), especially the oppression of themselves. More and more, day by day, I am become exposed to the bits of myself that have been molded by ideals, rules and laws that are not mine, and that I am increasingly coming to odds with. I know I have said this before, but the capitalist system is broken, dare I say BAD, and is inextricably based on the exploitation of people. Your really just have to think about it, but there is no legitimate way to put "equality" and "capitalism" in the same sentence. Unless your writing a blog, of course.
Don't call me a Commie yet, folks, I haven't gone there either. Rather, I am exploring the no man's land of economic theory, which is to say I don't understand anything. But I am imploring all of you to pay close attention to the way companies and industries create our needs based on fads and "science." The fact that we all have "serious" needs, everyday, that are never really satisfied should be the first blaring signal of opression: we are oppressed by our needs, and by the system that perpetuates those needs. As an American student, it physically pains me and befuddles me to think of a life without work and sacrifice to "make ends meet." It confuses and frightens me to think of not being in college. But these are only a couple of Life-Styles that have been created by other people in another time, and there are ever more to be explored...what if the days of the week were renamed after the colors of the rainbow and love was the national currency? What if a nation was defined by the people in who shared the same watershed rather than the same government? Yes, I know it sounds like I'm about to prance off to the next Phish concert, but I want to pose these ideas as potential reality. If you were born on Green instead of Wednesday you would never think twice. There are some serious possibilities here. Sounds insane? perhaps. but bear with me, you all listen so well...and sanity has proven boring, elitist and just plain crummy.
So here is one more anecdote from my idyllic life in rural India: Today is my free-day, and I woke up at 5:15 this morning and braved the cold to the room where my Anthropolgy/Social Movements teacher was holding his daily yoga class. It was still dark then, but by the end of class the sky was the color of cotton and the sun hung low and red on the horizon. I fetched my bathing pail and filled it with hot water from a barrel that sat sat steaming over a small fire. In the bath room I poured deliciously warm water over my goose-bumped skin and delighted in the scent of my Indian musk soap. As the sun rose higher, I joined my class mates on the patio for tea, and practiced spinning carded cotton into lumpy strands of thread. Later I took lessons in spinning from a man who cooks his daal in a solar oven and grows his food and medicinal herbs in his yard. He gave me a guava as a parting gift.
My soul is singing to the sky.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
A note, on the eve of my departure from Africa (and my entry to India!)
Dear Africa,
Sometimes I am embarrassed to think about you, to think of how little I know you though you tore yourself open to me. Your beauty is grotesque. Looking at you is like peering under the door of some broken down brothel. Was it me who made you this way? Tattered and torn and draped in chains? Or am I merely a witness, a lucky witness, who saw the patches of glory through the holes in your dress and the exquisite dreams in your spilled blood? I feel like I can help you, like I can lift you by the armpits onto my back, like I can cradle you and sing you dark murky lullabies.
But then I recall, dear Africa, that it was you who has been cradling me those nights. I lay awake wondering where I was, but the heat pressed its damp palm on my mouth to stop me from asking. Mosquito nets have become my palaces; water has become my gold. Sometimes you are an empty vessel, Africa, and sometimes I feel as if there isn't any room.
I closed my eyes and felt at home. But you taste so different and your sounds are so bizarre! Still, there is something familiar in your voice, your voice like molasses, like thorns, like waking up in a cold sweat. One morning I woke up and forgot who I was. Your have bewitched me, Africa, you have become everything I thought I knew. It seems as though my memories would gladly give up the ghost for you.
But, sweet old Africa, I am shaking off your silky robes, and like a fickle lover I promise to be back. Little do you know that I am terrified of you. Little do I know that you have stolen my heart.
I wish I could dance for you but my body isn't big enough. I wish I could sing but my voice would blow away. So I'll pin this note to your dusty lapel and hope that someday, when we have forgotten each other, you will find it and call me on home.
Love
(Sincerely?)
(Yours Truly?)
(Always?)
Sadye
Sometimes I am embarrassed to think about you, to think of how little I know you though you tore yourself open to me. Your beauty is grotesque. Looking at you is like peering under the door of some broken down brothel. Was it me who made you this way? Tattered and torn and draped in chains? Or am I merely a witness, a lucky witness, who saw the patches of glory through the holes in your dress and the exquisite dreams in your spilled blood? I feel like I can help you, like I can lift you by the armpits onto my back, like I can cradle you and sing you dark murky lullabies.
But then I recall, dear Africa, that it was you who has been cradling me those nights. I lay awake wondering where I was, but the heat pressed its damp palm on my mouth to stop me from asking. Mosquito nets have become my palaces; water has become my gold. Sometimes you are an empty vessel, Africa, and sometimes I feel as if there isn't any room.
I closed my eyes and felt at home. But you taste so different and your sounds are so bizarre! Still, there is something familiar in your voice, your voice like molasses, like thorns, like waking up in a cold sweat. One morning I woke up and forgot who I was. Your have bewitched me, Africa, you have become everything I thought I knew. It seems as though my memories would gladly give up the ghost for you.
But, sweet old Africa, I am shaking off your silky robes, and like a fickle lover I promise to be back. Little do you know that I am terrified of you. Little do I know that you have stolen my heart.
I wish I could dance for you but my body isn't big enough. I wish I could sing but my voice would blow away. So I'll pin this note to your dusty lapel and hope that someday, when we have forgotten each other, you will find it and call me on home.
Love
(Sincerely?)
(Yours Truly?)
(Always?)
Sadye
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Mama Siyaya's Snuff Box
Mama Siyaya's snuff box wasn't actually a box: it was a dirty plastic bottle that she kept underneath her left breast. She would remove it once an hour, gruffly lifting her dripping bosom and fishing out the bottle, unscrewing the lid and pouring a small brown pile into her palm. She would take a pinch and sniff it quickly into her left nostril, then right, then left again, like clock work or something equally efficient. The whole process took less than 2 minutes, but it stole my attention every time: everytime she lifted her breast, every time she took a pinch. Nothing about her demeanor changed afterwards and she would continue rocking her shoulders and humming a tune, stopping every so often to spit or burp. The last morning I was to be with her in her cow dung hut she asked if I was cicumcised. When I said no, she laughed and laughed.
In public, she kept her snuff hidden somewhere in the folds of her dress. Her left breast was too conspicuous.
In public, she kept her snuff hidden somewhere in the folds of her dress. Her left breast was too conspicuous.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Hope?
For those who are wondering, yes I am learning a lot. Besides becoming extremely adept at one-handed-ass-wiping, I have been exposed to a whole slew of depressing, soul crushing realities. For example, everyone is being exploited. Fun, yes?
On the health form that I filled out for IHP I was asked if I was mentally sound, because this program caused a lot of stress. I merrily checked "yes, of course I am mentally sound!" because I am, for all intents and purposes. What they failed to tell you is that you, the eager student, would be routinely bombarded with hopeless situation after hopeless situation...failed projects, crushed dreams, and disenfranchisment everywhere, in your face, at all times. Everything is hurting someone, somewhere, and even the best intentions are complete shit when looked at with a critical eye. What has happened, dear reader, is that we (the human race) have become inexticably tangled in a broken system that encompasses, dare I say engulfs, everything we know. The most terrifying part is that we have made it all up, like a childhood game gone terribly terribly wrong.
Recall long ago the overbearing friend who would not stop playing the game, even after you stood up and said "i really don't want to play anymore!" They would follow you every where, still in character, until you couldn't even remember what your real friend was like any more. In fact you kind of hated this obnoxious person. They were really not your friend anymore, because friends just don't do that. You wished that you could univite them from your birthday party but you can't because every body else still likes them. Thats capitalism. And its hurting a lot of feelings.
I make jokes about it because the reality is simply too severe and damaging. This system is Fucked Up. I have been trying to think of a life for myself that does not entail buying into the system, but that life has a niche all its own. We are surrounded. The only thing to do is create a whole new world...and it is going to be really hard. Luckily, I think I we can do it. Somewhere beyond all the dead ends there is a glimmer of light, and I can still see it. Im letting y'all know because when I get back, I expect a revolution from all of you. Yes, that means you.
Hop to it.
On the health form that I filled out for IHP I was asked if I was mentally sound, because this program caused a lot of stress. I merrily checked "yes, of course I am mentally sound!" because I am, for all intents and purposes. What they failed to tell you is that you, the eager student, would be routinely bombarded with hopeless situation after hopeless situation...failed projects, crushed dreams, and disenfranchisment everywhere, in your face, at all times. Everything is hurting someone, somewhere, and even the best intentions are complete shit when looked at with a critical eye. What has happened, dear reader, is that we (the human race) have become inexticably tangled in a broken system that encompasses, dare I say engulfs, everything we know. The most terrifying part is that we have made it all up, like a childhood game gone terribly terribly wrong.
Recall long ago the overbearing friend who would not stop playing the game, even after you stood up and said "i really don't want to play anymore!" They would follow you every where, still in character, until you couldn't even remember what your real friend was like any more. In fact you kind of hated this obnoxious person. They were really not your friend anymore, because friends just don't do that. You wished that you could univite them from your birthday party but you can't because every body else still likes them. Thats capitalism. And its hurting a lot of feelings.
I make jokes about it because the reality is simply too severe and damaging. This system is Fucked Up. I have been trying to think of a life for myself that does not entail buying into the system, but that life has a niche all its own. We are surrounded. The only thing to do is create a whole new world...and it is going to be really hard. Luckily, I think I we can do it. Somewhere beyond all the dead ends there is a glimmer of light, and I can still see it. Im letting y'all know because when I get back, I expect a revolution from all of you. Yes, that means you.
Hop to it.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Mosquito Net Dreams
White sand beaches...tuquoise waters...sultry sunsets that turn the narrow white washed walls of Stone Town pink and blue. Zanzibar.
Ok enough of that crap. Yes Zanzibar is pretty, but poke your head outside of the lacy hotel curtains for one second, or peek out from behind your martini, and you will see Sadye, sweaty and crouching over a wet toilet in a concrete room splashing water onto her bum in an effort to clean it.
Lefties don't fare so well here.
What is about tourist resorts? Why can the select few come here and take all the fresh water for a pool they don't even use? My homestay family seems to be pretty well to do, cosidering they have a car, a TV, a 19 year old maid and 4 children...yet they still don't have access to clean water? And I am not even going to tackle the issue of a flush toilet. Oh ye with flush toilets. They are both a luxury and a curse, for they keep you connected via your feces to the beaurocratic system that wants to hold you down!!! Unite! Ideals! Save the peguins!
To be serious, I feel a little cut off from the world out there. To those who feel bad that I have not called or written to you personally, I am sorry. I really try, but it just isn't easy. When you pick up the phone, think of me, wandering the streets in my khanga wondering if I will ever speak to my mother again!? I am being dramatic, but it is frustrating. This is what we take for granted, this is what it is like in Zanzibar, the far away place of dreams and spices. I cannot even imagine what it will be like in India.
But of course, life is what you make it: when I am given a concrete bathroom and a mosquito net, I turn myself into a princess, gracfully pouring water over my glistening skin, singing along to a finch that has alighted upon my finger. Then, under the Zanzibari sky I lay out beneath my netted canopy and sigh...to those I love so far away: mapenzi.
Ok enough of that crap. Yes Zanzibar is pretty, but poke your head outside of the lacy hotel curtains for one second, or peek out from behind your martini, and you will see Sadye, sweaty and crouching over a wet toilet in a concrete room splashing water onto her bum in an effort to clean it.
Lefties don't fare so well here.
What is about tourist resorts? Why can the select few come here and take all the fresh water for a pool they don't even use? My homestay family seems to be pretty well to do, cosidering they have a car, a TV, a 19 year old maid and 4 children...yet they still don't have access to clean water? And I am not even going to tackle the issue of a flush toilet. Oh ye with flush toilets. They are both a luxury and a curse, for they keep you connected via your feces to the beaurocratic system that wants to hold you down!!! Unite! Ideals! Save the peguins!
To be serious, I feel a little cut off from the world out there. To those who feel bad that I have not called or written to you personally, I am sorry. I really try, but it just isn't easy. When you pick up the phone, think of me, wandering the streets in my khanga wondering if I will ever speak to my mother again!? I am being dramatic, but it is frustrating. This is what we take for granted, this is what it is like in Zanzibar, the far away place of dreams and spices. I cannot even imagine what it will be like in India.
But of course, life is what you make it: when I am given a concrete bathroom and a mosquito net, I turn myself into a princess, gracfully pouring water over my glistening skin, singing along to a finch that has alighted upon my finger. Then, under the Zanzibari sky I lay out beneath my netted canopy and sigh...to those I love so far away: mapenzi.
Friday, October 9, 2009
JAMBO!
Tanzania, here we are...!
Its hot here. Big news? Well, no I guess not.
I am still trying to figure out this whole Blog thing...Do I use it as a public diary, or do I draft each entry to have some inherent message and moral? At this point, I have 10 minutes left on my computer so here it goes. You can make your own morals out of this one...good luck!!!
We are leaving Dar es Salaam tomorrw for Zanzibar: the land of beaches, tourist hotels and (apparently) a whole host of virile young "studs" who will try to bed us. And not just the ladies, oh ye worried mothers out there. I am terribly excited because we will be living in muslim homestays for two weeks. We get to experience first hand the true power dynamics of such a secretive and oppressive society. I have a feeling it wont be quite like what we see on CNN. A beautiful woman named Selma came to speak to us today body politics in such a culture, and I am under the impression that these cloaked and beveiled women have more power and mystique than we know. I cannot wait to live with them.
Well, 5 minutes left. My life is run by the ticker on my computer screen...hows that for oppressive. I realize my blog posts have been lacking, but its hard! really! Ill try to step it up a notch, as I have been drafting a real kicker of a blog. just you wait!
Love each other! Love yourselves!
Its hot here. Big news? Well, no I guess not.
I am still trying to figure out this whole Blog thing...Do I use it as a public diary, or do I draft each entry to have some inherent message and moral? At this point, I have 10 minutes left on my computer so here it goes. You can make your own morals out of this one...good luck!!!
We are leaving Dar es Salaam tomorrw for Zanzibar: the land of beaches, tourist hotels and (apparently) a whole host of virile young "studs" who will try to bed us. And not just the ladies, oh ye worried mothers out there. I am terribly excited because we will be living in muslim homestays for two weeks. We get to experience first hand the true power dynamics of such a secretive and oppressive society. I have a feeling it wont be quite like what we see on CNN. A beautiful woman named Selma came to speak to us today body politics in such a culture, and I am under the impression that these cloaked and beveiled women have more power and mystique than we know. I cannot wait to live with them.
Well, 5 minutes left. My life is run by the ticker on my computer screen...hows that for oppressive. I realize my blog posts have been lacking, but its hard! really! Ill try to step it up a notch, as I have been drafting a real kicker of a blog. just you wait!
Love each other! Love yourselves!
Friday, October 2, 2009
All 26 of us have officially been kicked out of our bedrooms in the William Penn house in D.C., and have been moved downstairs to a meeting room where we are unpacking and repacking our bags, trying to understand how we can go 8 months with only 1 (or 2? or 3?) pairs of pants. And should I send home my tennis shoes? and do I really need that toothbrush? well, no none of us have gone so far as to ditch the toothbrush...yet.
Its a bizarre feeling to hold all of your necessary belongs on your back. Though I sent home an entire bag of things that I did not really need, including my cell phone, I still have managed to keep a few superfluous goodies. I have an extra book of poetry, and a robe that I will probably never wear. I have a bikini that is entirely inappropriate for the majority of our trip. I have 14 pairs of underwear.
We are all anxious to leave, and anxious to get where we are going. But thankfully, we are all anxious together. Its all I can do to keep from chewing my nails off, and I don't want to stay here but I couldn't possibly leave. I feel like we will be uprooted repeatedly, until we forget what roots ever felt like in the first place. every week a new place, and one Alum estimated that he slept in over 70 beds during the year. It makes you appreciate your own skin.
I hope that everyone that I love will take a second to love their skin, the only true home we have. And the people you surround yourself with everyday can become your family. All 25 of these students has a special place in my heart, and I fall in love with each of them a little more everyday. we are each others family. And you can make a family everywhere you go, as long as you fill your heart with love, and fill your mind with curiosity.
I love you all
Its a bizarre feeling to hold all of your necessary belongs on your back. Though I sent home an entire bag of things that I did not really need, including my cell phone, I still have managed to keep a few superfluous goodies. I have an extra book of poetry, and a robe that I will probably never wear. I have a bikini that is entirely inappropriate for the majority of our trip. I have 14 pairs of underwear.
We are all anxious to leave, and anxious to get where we are going. But thankfully, we are all anxious together. Its all I can do to keep from chewing my nails off, and I don't want to stay here but I couldn't possibly leave. I feel like we will be uprooted repeatedly, until we forget what roots ever felt like in the first place. every week a new place, and one Alum estimated that he slept in over 70 beds during the year. It makes you appreciate your own skin.
I hope that everyone that I love will take a second to love their skin, the only true home we have. And the people you surround yourself with everyday can become your family. All 25 of these students has a special place in my heart, and I fall in love with each of them a little more everyday. we are each others family. And you can make a family everywhere you go, as long as you fill your heart with love, and fill your mind with curiosity.
I love you all
Sunday, September 6, 2009
The week before...
Well, I haven't left yet, but I am packing my mental belongings and saying my "see you then's." This is going to be a 237 day trip to five countries, including the U.S. We start in D.C., then hit Tanzania, India, New Zealand and finish in Mexico. 26 students and a host of teachers, country coordinators and enthusiasts...exploring the world and the people in it. I hope this blog becomes a little window into this trip, into my thoughts, experiences and reactions. Please stay tuned and turned on. It's going to be a wild ride.
I love you all.
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