Got up late. Sore, with a side of foreboding. Yesterday was hard. I don’t think we realized that we’d have to deal with a second culture shock. This stuff is gonna be hard to get used to.
Out the door around 6:05 got to the finca at around 6:30. It was threatening to rain.
The first order of business was to make the “green tea” which is really just green leaves (lettuce, papaya leaves and two other types of leaves) liquidated and then to drink it. While we were collecting the leaves, the nausea started to set in for the both of us. The green tea helped me a bit, but poor MK was having a hard time of it. I guess we looked so pathetic that we got an easy day. We sat around sorting through beans. Like dried beans for cooking. We separated the good ones from the bad one. For a good three hours. Then Don Julio made us this tea called “Big Man” which is supposed to cure any stomach malady. More like kill it. He kept telling us that it was bitter but, boy!, we had no idea. Grossest stuff. And it stayed in your mouth for the next 20 minutes too, even though we took a spoonful of honey afterwards. (P.S. Mary Poppins lied. A spoonful of sugar does NOT make the medicine go down. It just helps a little.)
So it was a simple morning. Which was good. It’s been quite a transition.
Lunch, nap. Around 1 Don Julio shows up and we go for a bike ride to play billiards? But unfortunately the bar was closed. So we headed back to town and he chatted all the while about how now we’re going to find the head of the Community Development and talk about our afternoon projects and then play volleyball with the kids. Some of us were still tired and sore and gently suggested that a few of us may not make it if we try to cram all that in. So it might be better if we got to rest.
So MK and I sat and talked for the next two and a half hours or so and it was good. Much needed. Not like we hadn’t talked for three hours that morning, but we’re still sorting through this new culture shock, so it was good.
Then we played with the kids. It was really fun, actually, and we found some energy hidden somewhere. I suck at volleyball. I mean really. It’s more a game of “keep away from my face” and I laughed practically the entire time. MKs pretty good. Then more kids showed up and it turned into a giant soccer game. We inched out to the edge of the room and spent the rest of the game watching and getting a feel for the community of kids. It was fun to watch.
It’s closing in on 8:30 now and my eyelids are drooping. I’ve gotta get to sleep if I’m gonna get up tomorrow…
Ugh. Daytime is so much easier than night time. Daytime is when I take a liking to the community and reflect on how living with my new host mom is like living with someone’s grandmother and to marvel at how I’m learning to survive the heat…
Nighttime is when I pray that the mosquito net works and start considering heading back to San Jose for the weekend.
I mean I only have five weekends here… After this one, there’ll only be four. I want to take one of those to go visit Ems in Malpaís (I just love that place) and one to go to Bocas del Toro. That leaves two after this weekend is over. MK goes back every weekend and made a very convincing argument today… I am really going to miss San Jose and if I can spend more time there, that’d be nice… plus I’d get to an internet… I guess we’ll see…
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Day 3: (Tuesday 14)
Will put UP the mosquito net tonight instead of wrapping myself in it. Enough is enough.
Up at 5:15. Finca at 6. 6 AM. 6.
We spent the day giving the pineapple patch a bikini wax. With machetes. Which is to say, I got attacked by a herd of pineapples. No seriously. Even though I had a machete to protect me, you should see my arms, they’re all sliced up.
But let me tell you, that stuff is HARD. Spending 4 hours hunched over, swinging a machete and trying not to hit yourself? And then to move to the baby rice plants and try desperately not to chop them up or step on them with your giant rubber boots? (Though, I have to say, I feel super savage with those boots. They go half way up my calf and I like to tuck my jeans into them so that they balloon out a bit, like a paratrooper or a member of the rebel army. Plus I wear a bandana which always makes it cooler.
As if that weren’t enough, we then milled sugar cane with this double-sided roller thing that took two to work. We squeezed out six or seven sugar canes. Delicious.
I’m not quite sure how we made it back on those rickety bikes. I mean it’s been a while since I’ve hurt that bad. More lunch, ate even less. The “meat” leaves quite a bit to be desired and honestly? I’m finally tired of rice and beans.
And hour and 20 minutes, lunch and a shower later, we met with Don Julio at the bus stop to go to Guapiles to hit the internet café. Bus costs roughly a dollar and takes about 30 minutes. Add an overwhelming heat and two girls who are sore, emotionally as well as physically, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for disaster. Well, not disaster I guess. It’s just not the recipe for a fun outing.
Plus I had a splitting headache, so I don’t remember much. I do remember that I got to the internet café and realized I’d forgotten the memory stick with the Finca Log on it. Dumbass.
But I got to chat with momala, (glad to know the fam is home safe) and answer a few (though not all) long overdue emails.
Afterwards we got ice cream, I remembered to buy a fan and we headed home.
Where I set myself up with this little fan attached to the edge of the bed, and the mosquito net all up. I feel like a 9 year old princess in her fort. It’s awesome.
Fingers crossed it’ll be a better sleep tonight.
Up at 5:15. Finca at 6. 6 AM. 6.
We spent the day giving the pineapple patch a bikini wax. With machetes. Which is to say, I got attacked by a herd of pineapples. No seriously. Even though I had a machete to protect me, you should see my arms, they’re all sliced up.
But let me tell you, that stuff is HARD. Spending 4 hours hunched over, swinging a machete and trying not to hit yourself? And then to move to the baby rice plants and try desperately not to chop them up or step on them with your giant rubber boots? (Though, I have to say, I feel super savage with those boots. They go half way up my calf and I like to tuck my jeans into them so that they balloon out a bit, like a paratrooper or a member of the rebel army. Plus I wear a bandana which always makes it cooler.
As if that weren’t enough, we then milled sugar cane with this double-sided roller thing that took two to work. We squeezed out six or seven sugar canes. Delicious.
I’m not quite sure how we made it back on those rickety bikes. I mean it’s been a while since I’ve hurt that bad. More lunch, ate even less. The “meat” leaves quite a bit to be desired and honestly? I’m finally tired of rice and beans.
And hour and 20 minutes, lunch and a shower later, we met with Don Julio at the bus stop to go to Guapiles to hit the internet café. Bus costs roughly a dollar and takes about 30 minutes. Add an overwhelming heat and two girls who are sore, emotionally as well as physically, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for disaster. Well, not disaster I guess. It’s just not the recipe for a fun outing.
Plus I had a splitting headache, so I don’t remember much. I do remember that I got to the internet café and realized I’d forgotten the memory stick with the Finca Log on it. Dumbass.
But I got to chat with momala, (glad to know the fam is home safe) and answer a few (though not all) long overdue emails.
Afterwards we got ice cream, I remembered to buy a fan and we headed home.
Where I set myself up with this little fan attached to the edge of the bed, and the mosquito net all up. I feel like a 9 year old princess in her fort. It’s awesome.
Fingers crossed it’ll be a better sleep tonight.
Day 2: (Monday 13)
Didn’t sleep last night. Since when is it allowed to be this HOT and HUMID? MK has a fan. I do not. Hmmm.
MK arrived at around 8am. We rode bikes to the farm and received our boots. Toured the finca, sampling the organic goods at the same time. Quite an operation. Everything from rice plants to papaya trees, yucca trees (the yucca are the roots), hearts or palm, aloe verde, lettuce, tomatoes, bananas, butterflies, basil, oregano, and a whole mess of other things. My favorites are the pineapple plants. They’re ground plants that look like giant spider plants or something with a pineapple sticking up jauntily out of the center. There’s a swamp in the back and a room in which to dry plants out for medicinal value. There is also a giant blue bucket that is upended for an ant house? They are the biggest ants I’d ever seen. They should not be housed, they should be squished. I hate ants. Man, I can’t even remember it all…
Returned for lunch, exhausted. Am slowly finding that it wasn’t so much Costa Rican cuisine that I love, as much as it is the cooking of my host mom in San Jose. Which is to say not so much the food I’m getting here. So I guess I don’t feel bad when I can only eat about 1/4th of the thing. It’s so hot here. I can’t imagine anyone eating.
Fell asleep after lunch. Lovely nap.
Returned to the finca at 4 without MK (who was still sleeping when I got to her house) to chat with Don Julio. Boy is that man ever passionate about organic agriculture. And can he ever TALK! That is to say, he never seems to shut up. After a good hour and a half of nodding, I headed home, stopping at MKs to chat for a few hours. She’s got some fancy anti-mosquito stuff. Pills, this thing that plugs into the wall. All I have is two bottles of carcinogenic liquid. I suppose it’s six to one, half dozen the other.
Found a cockroach in the room and had to have my host mom help me remove it. She went for it with her bare hands, grabbed it and tossed it out the back door. Apparently, they don’t live in the house, because there’s no where to hide, but they do sometimes fly in. (Wait, what? Coming soon, The Fuckers Fly? Part of the Costa Rican Cockroach saga) Will probably wrap myself up in the mosquito net tonight.
MK arrived at around 8am. We rode bikes to the farm and received our boots. Toured the finca, sampling the organic goods at the same time. Quite an operation. Everything from rice plants to papaya trees, yucca trees (the yucca are the roots), hearts or palm, aloe verde, lettuce, tomatoes, bananas, butterflies, basil, oregano, and a whole mess of other things. My favorites are the pineapple plants. They’re ground plants that look like giant spider plants or something with a pineapple sticking up jauntily out of the center. There’s a swamp in the back and a room in which to dry plants out for medicinal value. There is also a giant blue bucket that is upended for an ant house? They are the biggest ants I’d ever seen. They should not be housed, they should be squished. I hate ants. Man, I can’t even remember it all…
Returned for lunch, exhausted. Am slowly finding that it wasn’t so much Costa Rican cuisine that I love, as much as it is the cooking of my host mom in San Jose. Which is to say not so much the food I’m getting here. So I guess I don’t feel bad when I can only eat about 1/4th of the thing. It’s so hot here. I can’t imagine anyone eating.
Fell asleep after lunch. Lovely nap.
Returned to the finca at 4 without MK (who was still sleeping when I got to her house) to chat with Don Julio. Boy is that man ever passionate about organic agriculture. And can he ever TALK! That is to say, he never seems to shut up. After a good hour and a half of nodding, I headed home, stopping at MKs to chat for a few hours. She’s got some fancy anti-mosquito stuff. Pills, this thing that plugs into the wall. All I have is two bottles of carcinogenic liquid. I suppose it’s six to one, half dozen the other.
Found a cockroach in the room and had to have my host mom help me remove it. She went for it with her bare hands, grabbed it and tossed it out the back door. Apparently, they don’t live in the house, because there’s no where to hide, but they do sometimes fly in. (Wait, what? Coming soon, The Fuckers Fly? Part of the Costa Rican Cockroach saga) Will probably wrap myself up in the mosquito net tonight.
I don´t wanna work on Maggie's Farm no more
My parents came to visit Costa Rica almost two weeks ago. A year and a half ago when I came back from two weeks building houses in Honduras, I’d have been willing to bet that my parents would never see Central America. Those would have been great odds. The odds for South America wouldn’t have been so good, but I swear, I’da never thought they’d make it to Central America.
And we had a great time. I finally got to Malpaís which was amazing. All artsy and yoga-y and surf-y with a huge population of Israeli ex-pats. It was a place I just felt like sitting in the sand and drawing designs and arrows and reading talented authors. We probably could have stayed there the whole week, but we moved on. We hit up Monteverde which is kind of an “of course.” Met the host family which was filled with lost-in-translation laughter. Tortuguero and saw tortugas (that is to say, we saw sea turtles giving birth. Which was, well… technically awesome and fascinating, but there’s just something about watching something give birth that always makes me feel like I’m invading privacy). Finally they dropped me off at the next six weeks.
It’s funny watching a woman who has been my friend and cheerleader though all the crazy stuff that I’ve done in the past couple years get a sneak preview instead of the post-game. My mother never gets to see what I do before I do it, she always finds out afterwards. So the mothering kicked in while we bounced around through this one horse town. I sure didn’t help out with my constant brushing off of all her concerns and questions. In traveling I like to take things as they are pitched at me… better chance of hitting one out of the park. But I can understand wanting to know all the basics beforehand.
I mean besides a farm that looks, at least from the entrance, rather ramshackle, and a house that is, how shall I put it, “homey and open,” the town has:
1 soccer field
1 schoolhouse
1 church
1 corner store which is rather not on a corner
1 police house
1 cemetery
1 big community building which is more of a cement floor with a roof.
2 tons of ants
0 pharmacies
0 clinics/hospitals
0 internet cafes
So I’ve started a log. A day-by-day which will be updated roughly weekly when I can find my way to an internet.
Your Sister Wears Botas: One girl’s story of farm life (Part of the “Your Mother Wears Army Boots
Day 1: (Sunday 12)
Family left. Toured village with two 14-year old girls for guides. Tour took, mmm, 15 minutes at most. Not quite what I expected after driving through hours of banana plantations… Not sure why. Dinner was a ridiculous amount of food. Started reading Catcher in the Rye. Cold shower. No surprise there. Careful what you wish for?
And we had a great time. I finally got to Malpaís which was amazing. All artsy and yoga-y and surf-y with a huge population of Israeli ex-pats. It was a place I just felt like sitting in the sand and drawing designs and arrows and reading talented authors. We probably could have stayed there the whole week, but we moved on. We hit up Monteverde which is kind of an “of course.” Met the host family which was filled with lost-in-translation laughter. Tortuguero and saw tortugas (that is to say, we saw sea turtles giving birth. Which was, well… technically awesome and fascinating, but there’s just something about watching something give birth that always makes me feel like I’m invading privacy). Finally they dropped me off at the next six weeks.
It’s funny watching a woman who has been my friend and cheerleader though all the crazy stuff that I’ve done in the past couple years get a sneak preview instead of the post-game. My mother never gets to see what I do before I do it, she always finds out afterwards. So the mothering kicked in while we bounced around through this one horse town. I sure didn’t help out with my constant brushing off of all her concerns and questions. In traveling I like to take things as they are pitched at me… better chance of hitting one out of the park. But I can understand wanting to know all the basics beforehand.
I mean besides a farm that looks, at least from the entrance, rather ramshackle, and a house that is, how shall I put it, “homey and open,” the town has:
1 soccer field
1 schoolhouse
1 church
1 corner store which is rather not on a corner
1 police house
1 cemetery
1 big community building which is more of a cement floor with a roof.
2 tons of ants
0 pharmacies
0 clinics/hospitals
0 internet cafes
So I’ve started a log. A day-by-day which will be updated roughly weekly when I can find my way to an internet.
Your Sister Wears Botas: One girl’s story of farm life (Part of the “Your Mother Wears Army Boots
Day 1: (Sunday 12)
Family left. Toured village with two 14-year old girls for guides. Tour took, mmm, 15 minutes at most. Not quite what I expected after driving through hours of banana plantations… Not sure why. Dinner was a ridiculous amount of food. Started reading Catcher in the Rye. Cold shower. No surprise there. Careful what you wish for?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Non- Sequitur
So I'm taking a half an hour out of my never-ending schedule of studying (and by "never-ending" I mean "ends on Thursday, but I probably won't make it...") to share some thoughts and impart some wisdom.
As the semester drags to a close, we're in the process of goodbyes. I'm no good at goodbyes, I always just assume there will be a next time in order to avoid saying goodbye.
But it's weird for me because I'm saying goodbye to my friends, my new family and this city that I've come to love, but I'm not actually going anywhere. Not in the way I'm used to. Things for me are bookended by plane flights. An opportunity for which I'm overwhelmingly grateful.
But I realized today that I've never gone this long without being in an airport. Funny how times change, isn't it? I think a big part of my frequent flights has to do with close family on the other side of the United States. But I seriously haven't gone five months, much less seven months without some quality airport time. And I miss it. I love airports.
When I was flying back from Tennessee a year ago, after the Bonnaroo music festival, I remember walking through the terminals that were just littered with festival-goers. I dropped my duffel and myself outside of a sports bar in which a woman who didn't know who Bob Dylan was sang Knocking on Heaven's Door and the golf tournament played on the small tv and the sun flowed in through the skylights and windows like liquid gold.
When I went to Prague we could only arrive at the airport the night before for a 6am flight. We moved from the gumby chairs of the McDonalds to the floor of the Starbucks before we finally found a place to curl up under coats and hats in the freezing cold Dublin airport where every once in a while a policeman in shiny boots would wake you up to check your passport.
Man, I can't even remember the first time I flew alone...
But I miss airports. I'm probably one of the only people on the planet who loves airports, but I do and I can't wait to be back in one. It's so thrilling.
On a completely unrelated note, I have been having the most disjointed, random memory flashbacks ever. I have no idea where they are coming from. Perhaps it is the weird weather (gorgeous and sunny in the morning, gray and rainy afternoons that are still hot) or maybe it's that I'm almost done with the semester but it's not like the end of any semester I've experienced.
Whatever it is, it's messing with my head, and at a time when I need that particular part of my body the most, it's just not fair.
My host sister cooked apple pie the other day. (They saved me some filling. It was delicious.) The next day I was sitting in the living room eating dinner and watching tv when someone heated up a piece. Suddenly I was at the Dickens Fair with it's eerie orange light and particular smell (a mix of roasting chestnuts, cinnamon and bangers and mash. Mmm.)
I'll be sitting in my room studying when suddenly I'm 9 years old, it's Christmas time and I'm at Fresh Choice with my mom. I remember this day distinctly. We saw someone I knew at Fresh Choice and everyone was dressed up. I also remember the pudding bar.
Or walking to school through the park and suddenly I'm answering a question (or slacking off... either one...) in Physics class, senior year of highschool. It's a gorgeous blue day and I can see trees through the white blinds that are failing to obscure the window.
Or I'll be walking home and feel a light sprinkle of the threatening rain and its Halloween. I can't quite remember which Halloween, but I was definitely young.
Or studying for my exam, and I'm transported to the Bridge School Benefit two years ago.
So weird.
As the semester drags to a close, we're in the process of goodbyes. I'm no good at goodbyes, I always just assume there will be a next time in order to avoid saying goodbye.
But it's weird for me because I'm saying goodbye to my friends, my new family and this city that I've come to love, but I'm not actually going anywhere. Not in the way I'm used to. Things for me are bookended by plane flights. An opportunity for which I'm overwhelmingly grateful.
But I realized today that I've never gone this long without being in an airport. Funny how times change, isn't it? I think a big part of my frequent flights has to do with close family on the other side of the United States. But I seriously haven't gone five months, much less seven months without some quality airport time. And I miss it. I love airports.
When I was flying back from Tennessee a year ago, after the Bonnaroo music festival, I remember walking through the terminals that were just littered with festival-goers. I dropped my duffel and myself outside of a sports bar in which a woman who didn't know who Bob Dylan was sang Knocking on Heaven's Door and the golf tournament played on the small tv and the sun flowed in through the skylights and windows like liquid gold.
When I went to Prague we could only arrive at the airport the night before for a 6am flight. We moved from the gumby chairs of the McDonalds to the floor of the Starbucks before we finally found a place to curl up under coats and hats in the freezing cold Dublin airport where every once in a while a policeman in shiny boots would wake you up to check your passport.
Man, I can't even remember the first time I flew alone...
But I miss airports. I'm probably one of the only people on the planet who loves airports, but I do and I can't wait to be back in one. It's so thrilling.
On a completely unrelated note, I have been having the most disjointed, random memory flashbacks ever. I have no idea where they are coming from. Perhaps it is the weird weather (gorgeous and sunny in the morning, gray and rainy afternoons that are still hot) or maybe it's that I'm almost done with the semester but it's not like the end of any semester I've experienced.
Whatever it is, it's messing with my head, and at a time when I need that particular part of my body the most, it's just not fair.
My host sister cooked apple pie the other day. (They saved me some filling. It was delicious.) The next day I was sitting in the living room eating dinner and watching tv when someone heated up a piece. Suddenly I was at the Dickens Fair with it's eerie orange light and particular smell (a mix of roasting chestnuts, cinnamon and bangers and mash. Mmm.)
I'll be sitting in my room studying when suddenly I'm 9 years old, it's Christmas time and I'm at Fresh Choice with my mom. I remember this day distinctly. We saw someone I knew at Fresh Choice and everyone was dressed up. I also remember the pudding bar.
Or walking to school through the park and suddenly I'm answering a question (or slacking off... either one...) in Physics class, senior year of highschool. It's a gorgeous blue day and I can see trees through the white blinds that are failing to obscure the window.
Or I'll be walking home and feel a light sprinkle of the threatening rain and its Halloween. I can't quite remember which Halloween, but I was definitely young.
Or studying for my exam, and I'm transported to the Bridge School Benefit two years ago.
So weird.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Two more weeks
It was just one of those days.
I hadn't wanted to admit it this morning, fought through my annoyance at being up early, inability to feel at peace with my clothing, and chronic tardiness (though ironically, our group meeting had been pushed back, so I was actually a half an hour early). I even hit a bright patch in the middle of the day when the sun was out and I got an hour off of class because of some department assessment that, as a foreign exchange student, I did not have to partake in. I strolled around, was thwarted at one ATM but found another, wandered through the "Micro-finance Refugee craft fair," hoping, though failing, to find presents for some friends.
And as the ominous dark clouds rolled in, I headed back into class, only to be reminded of the all-encompassing frustration that comes from not being able to communicate, from having my identity as an intelligent, eloquent person be absolutely stripped away.
It's been raining for the past couple of hours now. Not pouring, not drizzling, just lightly raining. It's the kind of day I became accustomed to in Ireland. A dark day, in which every hour feels like nightfall with a constant, seemingly inconspicuous rain that, even after it stops, still drips and tinks and plops no matter how far inside you may be. The kind of noise that is inconsequential when you are busy and productive but nothing less than a dull roar when you have nothing else to do but stare outside. It was the kind of day without an appetite, the idea of hunger is completely foreign, but once you start eating, you can't seem to want to stop.
The Hours was playing in the dark living room when I came home. I watched it while I ate my lunch, which was appropriately unappetizing. The pork chop was mostly fat, which sat in a rejected pile on the edge of my plate, and the mashed potatoes had lumped and congealed sullenly.
It was a day for funerals. It was a day for cradling your head in your arms and staring at nothing for far too long.
I hadn't wanted to admit it this morning, fought through my annoyance at being up early, inability to feel at peace with my clothing, and chronic tardiness (though ironically, our group meeting had been pushed back, so I was actually a half an hour early). I even hit a bright patch in the middle of the day when the sun was out and I got an hour off of class because of some department assessment that, as a foreign exchange student, I did not have to partake in. I strolled around, was thwarted at one ATM but found another, wandered through the "Micro-finance Refugee craft fair," hoping, though failing, to find presents for some friends.
And as the ominous dark clouds rolled in, I headed back into class, only to be reminded of the all-encompassing frustration that comes from not being able to communicate, from having my identity as an intelligent, eloquent person be absolutely stripped away.
It's been raining for the past couple of hours now. Not pouring, not drizzling, just lightly raining. It's the kind of day I became accustomed to in Ireland. A dark day, in which every hour feels like nightfall with a constant, seemingly inconspicuous rain that, even after it stops, still drips and tinks and plops no matter how far inside you may be. The kind of noise that is inconsequential when you are busy and productive but nothing less than a dull roar when you have nothing else to do but stare outside. It was the kind of day without an appetite, the idea of hunger is completely foreign, but once you start eating, you can't seem to want to stop.
The Hours was playing in the dark living room when I came home. I watched it while I ate my lunch, which was appropriately unappetizing. The pork chop was mostly fat, which sat in a rejected pile on the edge of my plate, and the mashed potatoes had lumped and congealed sullenly.
It was a day for funerals. It was a day for cradling your head in your arms and staring at nothing for far too long.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
< Insert Dylan Thomas reference Here >
So as I settle into what I’m fast realizing is finals month (as opposed to the traditional finals week), I feel like it’s almost time to sit back and take stock of my astounding progress in el español. It should be a time for positive encouragement to propel me on to the end of the semester. It should be a time for secret self-congratulations because, after all, I’ve made it through four whole months of classes in a foreign language. I suppose it could be a time for minor stress and anxiety about taking finals and finishing final papers in a foreign language. But it really shouldn’t be a time for plummeting-gut, dry throat panic attacks (which, surprisingly are similar to that feeling I got yesterday after watching an epically intense movie. Perhaps that indicates that my experience here has been epically intense?) that grab hold and shake you like a wooden roller coaster. Picture red and blue spiny demons with claws, fangs and spikes, and giant evil eyes, obviously artistically rendered in a comic book style standing on my chest with their long fingers wrapped around my neck, shaking my head like a giant mosh-pit without the fun. I mean, at least that’s how I picture them…
Sorry. Where was I?
Oh yes. See I have this professor. He’s Haitian and a visiting professor which means that he doesn’t know much about the way things are generally done here. It also means that he speaks with an awesome accent that I can barely understand. He’s imposingly tall with an unnerving way of stalking through the rows of students and occasionally stopping to tower over someone and pose a question that the poor sap he’s standing over feels compelled to answer even though it was posed generally. His emphasis oscillates between deafening and almost inaudible and sometimes I think he’s just talking to himself. It’s generally a fun class. I haven’t the faintest idea what we’re learning about because sometimes we talk about the CARICOM and the OEA (which is apparently the “Organization of American States”) and sometimes we talk about Haiti and voodoo. I can honestly swear that I pay more attention in that class than I did in all of my MCB (molecular and cellular biology) lectures combined during the spring of 2008. And yet I’m always startled bright red when suddenly he’s talking directly to me and we’re talking about the word “hub?” Or he’s really interested in my opinion but for the life of me I can’t figure out what the question was, I’m still taking notes on what he was saying two minutes ago.
And then today he drew a diagram on the board and it all made sense. You see, his diagrams are a general source of mirth for the class. I have attempted to re-create it in Paint and, to fully understand it, you should know that I’m DAMN good with Paint. This is an actual and very reasonable facsimile of the diagram that was scrawled on the whiteboard earlier today.
(Profe: “Hmm… not sure why this one looks like an “8”…. This one down here, it’s probably Africa because it’s big, yes, Africa is big, and these little lines over here, they look like the Caribbean, right? I suppose these are the Caribbean…” True story.)
You see, we were discussing the 4 major poles of attraction (powers) of the world and then the peripheries. (Yes, that is what I am learning in a foreign language in which I can barely carry on a basic discussion of my day.) Obviously, the labeled blobs are the 4 poles (US, Europe, Asia and the Arabic world, which I can’t for the life of me figure out a better translation of) and all of the specks and lines and un-labeled blobs are periphery countries that are attracted to these poles for different reasons. One hopes.
And even after the rest of the class’s laughter had died down, I was still smothering uncontrollable giggles. Suddenly, it was all absurdly clear. The diagram was, in fact, a diagram of my experience in the class. You see, the labeled blobs represent the main ideas of the day’s lecture which are always written out in the syllabus or made explicit at the beginning of the class. Then there are the things that I assume I can label.
Considering that we are discussing CARICOM today and I’m pretty sure he just said “does not belong” I’m going to assume that we’re talking about Cuba. Sound assumption, if I do say so myself. He’s probably talking about international relations right now. Something about NAFTA? I’ll mark that down with an asterisk so that I remember to look it up later and maybe make a connection. And now I suppose he’s talking about integration again? Hopefully?
And then again there are all the little dots and specks which go straight over my head and I have no hope of understanding. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they are just words and that I’m able to hold onto the big idea blobs. Which is absurd right? It’s downright hilarious. At least, apparently I thought so…
I guess we’ll see… three weeks and counting!
Sorry. Where was I?
Oh yes. See I have this professor. He’s Haitian and a visiting professor which means that he doesn’t know much about the way things are generally done here. It also means that he speaks with an awesome accent that I can barely understand. He’s imposingly tall with an unnerving way of stalking through the rows of students and occasionally stopping to tower over someone and pose a question that the poor sap he’s standing over feels compelled to answer even though it was posed generally. His emphasis oscillates between deafening and almost inaudible and sometimes I think he’s just talking to himself. It’s generally a fun class. I haven’t the faintest idea what we’re learning about because sometimes we talk about the CARICOM and the OEA (which is apparently the “Organization of American States”) and sometimes we talk about Haiti and voodoo. I can honestly swear that I pay more attention in that class than I did in all of my MCB (molecular and cellular biology) lectures combined during the spring of 2008. And yet I’m always startled bright red when suddenly he’s talking directly to me and we’re talking about the word “hub?” Or he’s really interested in my opinion but for the life of me I can’t figure out what the question was, I’m still taking notes on what he was saying two minutes ago.
And then today he drew a diagram on the board and it all made sense. You see, his diagrams are a general source of mirth for the class. I have attempted to re-create it in Paint and, to fully understand it, you should know that I’m DAMN good with Paint. This is an actual and very reasonable facsimile of the diagram that was scrawled on the whiteboard earlier today.
(Profe: “Hmm… not sure why this one looks like an “8”…. This one down here, it’s probably Africa because it’s big, yes, Africa is big, and these little lines over here, they look like the Caribbean, right? I suppose these are the Caribbean…” True story.)
You see, we were discussing the 4 major poles of attraction (powers) of the world and then the peripheries. (Yes, that is what I am learning in a foreign language in which I can barely carry on a basic discussion of my day.) Obviously, the labeled blobs are the 4 poles (US, Europe, Asia and the Arabic world, which I can’t for the life of me figure out a better translation of) and all of the specks and lines and un-labeled blobs are periphery countries that are attracted to these poles for different reasons. One hopes.
And even after the rest of the class’s laughter had died down, I was still smothering uncontrollable giggles. Suddenly, it was all absurdly clear. The diagram was, in fact, a diagram of my experience in the class. You see, the labeled blobs represent the main ideas of the day’s lecture which are always written out in the syllabus or made explicit at the beginning of the class. Then there are the things that I assume I can label.
Considering that we are discussing CARICOM today and I’m pretty sure he just said “does not belong” I’m going to assume that we’re talking about Cuba. Sound assumption, if I do say so myself. He’s probably talking about international relations right now. Something about NAFTA? I’ll mark that down with an asterisk so that I remember to look it up later and maybe make a connection. And now I suppose he’s talking about integration again? Hopefully?
And then again there are all the little dots and specks which go straight over my head and I have no hope of understanding. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they are just words and that I’m able to hold onto the big idea blobs. Which is absurd right? It’s downright hilarious. At least, apparently I thought so…
I guess we’ll see… three weeks and counting!
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