Spanish Scale Of 1 to Awesome

There are some contrasts with Jacqueline's life and mine.

For example, while she is an intrinsic and necessary part of the human rights movement in a country, I spend my time watching spanish telenovelas (La que se avecina is THE BEST), learning the fifty million tenses of español and musing over the differences in linguistic formality between France and Spain.

For example, in french you had the familiar "tu" and formal "vous." Ever cautious google/most textbooks give you phrases using vous, which is why foreigners often come out with the equivalent of "Might I inquire of yourself as to where I might encounter the bathroom?"

In spanish, you have "tu" and "usted." But while usted is de rigueur in Central and South America, it is rarely used in Spain (according to my host family/professor, don't eat me if you think I'm wrong). My professor told me that during the dictatorship of Franco (forgot Spain endured a bloody dictatorship for almost 40 years within living memory?... It's worth taking a look at), there were strict rules about how to address teachers, figures of authority, even your own parents. When independence and democracy arrived with a vengeance in the 70s, an informal liberation took place.

Which leads to people speaking much more casually to each other.

And now for a bit of Spanish that I've learned, misused, and then learned correctly.

The Spanish Scale of One to Awesome

Vale- Okay/alright.

Bueno- Good

Muy Bueno- Very good

Fantastico- Fantastic

Tu puta madre- English has no equivalent phrase, but I think "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" comes fairly close. While Jacqui is going around saying "Insh'Allah" I'm traipsing about using this phrase vicariously.

This was what I made for lunch. It also coincided with a huge shock...

Courgette is zucchini... I grew up in a multilingual household, and because of that, my vocabulary gets a little mixed up. My british father always cooked courgette, and my american mother always cooked zucchini... And I never quite registered that they were the same thing.

And finally, a small anecdote from my night yesterday. I went out with a couple friends, to see a little bit of nightlife (the first time this stay, as I've been... cautious/tired). We went to an ice bar, where they give you complimentary coats and mittens, and then a discoteca where you have to pay to leave clothing behind.

After these two rather crazy experiences, we found ourselves chatting with an irishman under questionable influences. He mistook me for his "Uncle Thomas" but came back strong with the best line I've heard in ages.

"Sorry, it's not you that looks like a man, Thomas looks like a woman."

Ireland ftw...

Insh'Allah

Henna designs like this one indicate tribal heritage

Something that has always fascinated me is the way that language can inform my own perception of reality. Take, for example, the expression "Insh'Allah": "Allah (God) Willing." In Senegal, virtually every assertion is finished with an almost perfunctory "insh'allah" - "See you tomorrow (insh'allah), "We'll have the report in by Tuesday (insh'allah), "I'll bring the drinks (insh'allah)." To me, Insh'Allah is a constant reminder of the forces and circumstances outside of human control. It's a call to be grateful for the everyday occurrences that, Allah willing, will continue to be everyday occurrences. To my knowledge, American English has no such constant reminder of the fact that things don't always work out the way we intend them to.

La Raddho

Two weeks ago, the only thing I needed to do for my internship was write and publish a report. Cool. As of right now, I am also helping plan and moderate a nationally televised debate, going on a radio talk show, starting a human rights club at a local high school, working with walk-in clients dealing with issues ranging from petty theft to custody battles to gang/honor rape, and joining a task force to help supervise the upcoming presidential elections. All in French and Wolof. My brain hates me.

FESNAC

Life here is not all work, though. FESNAC, the Festival National des Arts et Cultures, has come to Saint-Louis! This means that I've attended seven concerts in the past seven days, and I took a choup (aka tie-dye, style Sénégal) class this morning. The only downside of FESNAC is that I've come down with a kind of awful cold that probably definitely has something to do with getting no sleep + the chilly winter Harmattan wind coming from the desert. The music here is the most beautiful I've ever experienced, and I think that it has to do with how Senegalese people are generally taught to make the most out of every single resource they have. Even the music serves a purpose: to come together to celebrate our heritage, mourn our losses, and share our stories. The music spans from the birth of humankind to the continental rape by colonizers to the new hope and challenges found in globalization.

Some of The Little Things

-I earned major street cred by breaking out a couple moves from dance class/concerts for the schoolchildren in my neighborhood (Le Youza, Le Facebook, and Le Casse-Casse). They now insist on escorting me anywhere I go within Sor (the mainland portion of Saint-Louis). Usually I have at least two students holding my hands and another two hanging off of my clothes.

-Gamou, Fatou, Mama Oumou and I have "adopted" a kitten that lives in our back courtyard (no, mom, I haven't tried to cuddle the feral cats...yet). She has this plaintive mewl that clearly says, "I am an orphan. I am adorable. Please bring me fish heads." We've named her Mimi. We bring her many fish heads.

-In this same back courtyard live my two arch-nemeses: the chickens. From 5 a.m. to well past human bedtime, the rooster starts crowing every fifteen minutes like diabolical clockwork. Worse yet, the rooster and his girlfriend have figured out how to climb onto the defunct rabbit hutch just beneath my window, meaning that they can cry right into my room if I look like I'm sleeping too peacefully. Whenever I go into the courtyard to feed Mimi, they both screech and flap their wings in an attempt to herd me into the back shed. I'm fairly certain that this is with the intent of trapping and murdering me. My roommate, Elisabeth (from Denmark!!), who is rarely shaken or bothered by anything, has this to say: "He is the worst rooster in the world."

Standards

Something I've noticed since the first week here is that my Toubab standards of luxury have gone through some significant changes. Some examples:

-Chewable Tums are my new favorite candy

-Any hotel or café with (preferably pilferable) toilet paper is a must-see

-Elisabeth the roommate's only 21st birthday wish is for a warm shower (although she might settle for a bucket of heated water and a clean washcloth)

Insh'Allah

Insh'Allah, I will be going to the Parc National des Oiseaux du Djoudj (the third-largest bird sanctuary in the world) next weekend. I will get over this cold (insh'allah), see some more concerts (insh'allah), be a helpful member of Raddho (insh'allah), and live to battle the chickens another day...insh'allah.

"For Being A Good Girl"

My reward for cleaning my room... I love my host family.

How To Organize A Gap Year

I got a wonderful message from a student from my old school asking for ideas about taking a gap year. This was such a good question that I thought it would be worth turning into a blog post. I've been starved for excitement lately (aside from eating patatas bravas and hot chocolate for lunch today).

Marielle's How To Organize A Gap Year:

1) Make a list. The first thing I did was start thinking of ideas. I divided them into a couple (or five) categories (spiritual, personal, academic, work, amusement) and then just went crazy. For example, I had ideas ranging from backpacking through south america, taking a class at CERN (home of the famous black hole creator, as it is commonly known to people who overreact to 1 in 50 million chances), volunteering for Habitat for Humanity, working at a ski chalet in the Alps and studying Italian and cooking in Italy.

I didn't end up doing any of those, but by process of elimination I was able to figure out what I could/couldn't do.

2) Get ideas. Talk to people about your plans, even if they are half-baked and extravagant (the ideas, not the people). I made so many friends and got help from people who had taken gap years or knew people who had done interesting things (a notable encounter was a lady from my church whose own daughter didn't know she'd taken a year off). My favorite story is as follows... (cue cheesy italics)

It is winter... There is a caroling party with a bunch of students who are a couple years younger than me. I don't really like singing in the freezing cold, especially christmas songs (save my favorite, We Three Kings). So I hid inside, chatting with likeminded adults. I met the mother of a friend of mine, who was from Minneapolis, but of Indian origin. She was a fascinating person, and we got to talking about that topic which was the bane of my existence for so long... College. When I explained that I was taking a year off, she wanted to know what I was doing... Which was very little so far. But then I got the offer of a lifetime.


The lady's mother ran a charity school for impoverished children in northern India, and they were always looking for volunteer teachers. Would I be interested?


Which is how, after many discussions, negotiations and harrowing descriptions of the rabid monkeys, food poisoning and over air conditioned trains, I agreed to go and volunteer for two months in the spring of 2012.

Check it out here... KHEL Charities

Even if people don't give you jobs, the ideas they present are inspiring. I've met people who traveled through South America attending soccer games, got their bartender license and then made bank in Amsterdam (picking up three languages in the process), and spent several months working for a geological team collecting samples around europe. To name three examples out of hundreds.

My follow blogger is currently working for an NGO (Non-Govermental Agency) in Senegal. She was working for the Sexual Violence Center in Minneapolis, and you can read an article by her here. (Jacqui fighting the good fight). We are going to India together, so I do not have to face rabid primates by myself.

However, it is worth mentioning that I've met people who have gotten addicted to drugs, become alcoholics, gotten really scary diseases, and/or completely wasted their time doing nothing of value, purpose or personal benefit. Your sabbatical time is YOUR time, out of YOUR life, and you are best served by planning well the overall framework. The little details (spontaneous trips to Spain, partying with some of the coolest people ever, becoming besties with your host siblings) work themselves out, with a positive mental attitude and a little luck.

3) ACTION.

Some websites, ideas and places to start.

Off Track Planet: I like this website for its rather sassy attitude and generally excellent ideas.

IRFFLE Program: This is the program I did in Nantes, which was really fun. I had quality teachers, met some of my best friends, and had a blast. While bureaucracy is Awful in France, it is a generally safe, welcoming city which has a lot to offer a student.

Home Stay: I had tons of friends who found their own apartments, but I'd decided early on that I wanted to stay with families. While I had help from grandparents in France, in Spain I used this website to find the NICEST family. While I promote all caution, the internet is a great place to bypass hella expensive family placement agencies.

Study Abroad Schools: This is how I found my school in Barcelona. So far it is quality stuff.

Wandering Earl: I love this guy's blog, for the writing, anecdotes and worldview.

Couchsurfing!: This website is AWESOME. I've met a couple couchsurfers with some great stories, and it's worth investigating to see whether you'd like it.

4) Things to Think About

-Do you want to/need to work?
-What skills do you want to develop?
-What skills do you have (languages, work experience, etc)?
-Do you know people globally (or locally!) who can help you?
-Deferring from a university should be something you do as soon as you have secured a place (if you are going the deferral route). Also, it is bad form to say yes, and then use the year to fill out other applications. Get your ducks in a row, before they lay rotten eggs (pretty sure this isn't a proverb... but whatever).

5) Be voraciously creative, the type that school often beats out of people. You don't have planned tests, assigned topics and typically don't have to ask to use the bathroom in real life. Libraries became my best friends in France, and I make sure to read newspapers, books and so forth in whatever languages I am learning. You can party anywhere, but this may be the only time when you are in a room with people from (almost) all continents. Talk to strangers (within reason guys...), make friends who are different from you, and be a representative from your country.

Also some fun books I've read are "Eat Pray Love" (the mid life crisis book for women) and "The Five Hour Work Week" (the mid life crisis book for type A workaholics who are way too good at everything they do).

6) Some ideas from people I've met.

-Bike around the United States.
-Go on tour with a band.
-Work on building and flying planes (the big kind), and taking engineering courses at a community college.
-Working as a barista, taking art lessons and doing small scale public artworks.
-Hitchhike from Paris to South Africa.
-Volunteer for Habitat for Humanity.
-Work for a sailing school for half the year, then sail from the south coast of England around the Iberian Peninsula to the Mediterranean Ocean with their father.
-Work on ranches around Australia, and then go skiing in New Zealand.
-Rotary International: If you are just finishing high school and got your plans in line earlier, this is an excellent option for experiencing high school in another country.

7) Good luck and keep me posted!!

Klepto Club

If you estimate that I've walked approximately 2 hours  a day (average in Nantes was 3, in England it was 1.5, and here it is just over 2), so far I've spent 16 full days walking in my gap year.


I wonder what I've done during that fortnight and a bit. A lot of absentminded ambling, open mouthed gawking, and deep thinking. I try to do little monologues in my head, and switch between French, Spanish, and English. I had three distinct narrators in my head for these different languages, and am looking for good names. Suggestions?


Moving on, some things Jacqueline and I have been chatting about...


I often felt lonely in France because of the lack of touching, hugs and "love" reminders. I had a wonderful, loving, caring family, so that wasn't the problem at all. However, culturally you maintain much more distance and only kiss on the cheeks. Here in Spain, my host mom gives me hugs and kisses dozens of times everyday. Nothing has made me feel so welcome before, and it is a lesson I will take to heart when I welcome people into my house and life. That is, while respecting people's boundaries, it is important to demonstrate that you appreciate someone, and are invested in them feeling comfortable. Also being aware of cultural differences in body language is SO. IMPORTANT. One wise thing my phonetics teacher said in France was that it is hard to have empathy for people who haven't "suffered" what you have. I have empathy now for struggling students, confused immigrants, homesick strangers, and people who don't do things "my way." And people who don't know whether to hug, kiss, shake hands or do some weird greeting ritual.


And then we also chatted about "traveling kleptomania", which she now understands with a vengeance (at first she thought I was weird for filching napkins, toilet paper, and tea bags). I gave her some tips, so now we can be in our "Klepto Club." Although, in all honestly we are not true kleptos, as kleptomaniacs are by definition those who steal regardless of value.


Toilet paper is VALUABLE. This is a classic example of an economics principle, whose name I forget (but I remember the material, which is more important!). That is, an object's worth changes based on the "demand." If you are drowning, you wouldn't pay a thing for a bottle of water. But if you are hella thirsty from your run, no water in sight for miles and miles, you'd pay $10, $15 for a bottle.


Same goes for TP. How much would you pay with your pants round your ankles, a hole in the ground and a case of food poisoning?


I rest my case, adding only that this problem is solved when you steal suitable materials.

Piano piano...

While life is certainly different here on the Iberian peninsula, even this sheltered midwestern child can find a niche in the artsy, fast paced, bilingual city of Barcelona.


A typical day (as in, without fail this is what has happened 5/7 days):


7:30- Alarm goes off. Snooze set, alarm clock hidden/thrown on other side of room, combined with various spanish/english/french swear words.


7:35- Snooze goes off. Sleepy stumbling around as I try to locate phone and figure out which button is off, and which is my tennis shoe sole. Blearily get dressed (luckily there aren't many options, otherwise things would be even uglier...)


7:45- Breakfast time! This is the only non-enormous meal of the day. Some sort of birdseed-ish bread (I am turning into my mother) combined with hot chocolate number one of the day.


8:00- Brush teeth, reciting verbs in my head, get vaguely presentable.


8:30- Run to catch the metro!


*Note on El Metro: There are weird people on the metro. I've been practicing my observational skills à la Sherlock Holmes (the observational, investigative habits of that detective, not the arrogant lazy cocaine addict side). I've noted so far that there is a large population of vigorously chewing old men who chomp really fast when they look at my shoes. The first time this happened, I thought it was a single incident... I've seen five of these masticating fogies now. There is also a lot of people with snake rings, Hollister perfume, and the scourge of sweatpants in public.


9:00- Arrive promptly to school. Teacher is invariably on "spanish time."


9:05-13:00 School! This entails lots of verb learning (why so many past tenses?? French people only need three, why four? I think this is a question of quality over quantity.) and the nicknames for various monuments. Like the one below, which is nicknamed "El Consolador."

Teehee.


13:00-15:00/16:00- Wander around Barcelona. Hang out in bookstores. Stare at architecture. Get lost. Walk and walk and walk. Various adventures that have happened include 

• Talking my way into a new metro pass after the machines spit it out. Not only did I get several "uses" on my pass for free, but the guy gave me a case. He said pockets were death to tram cards, and unless I was the grim reaper of paper, I should always always always (siempre siempre siempre) have a pass protector. Did I mention this exchange was in spanish? This meant while I understood the majority of this lecture, I could only smile and nod and say "no mato a los billetes." (Most likely grammatically incorrect, but in Marf-spanish means "I don't kill tickets.")
• Was eating an orange and had a french guy come up and ask me if I would give him my fruit. Unclear why he automatically spoke french to me (I don't really look french) but I told him fruit isn't too expensive here, and my favorite stall was just around the corner. He thanked me and left. So bizarre.
• Every single touristy offer gets directed at me. I try not to ooze tourista, but they keep coming... Nothing good so far.

15/16:00- Lunch! Huge, usually involving pasta, and delicious.

All Afternoon- Sleep. Read. Do "optional homework." Watch telenovelas with ridiculous plots.

20:30- Dinner! Huge, lots of veggies, good food (I swear, it is better than the restaurants here) and everyone quizzes me on what I've learned that day.

About the photos of before: so I went to this festival last night where you need to wear a hat because people chase you with devil tridents that have hazardous fireworks attached to them. And there is a giant pig which explodes in fire every couple of blocks and ambulances follow the parade and take people to the hospital as necessary.

It was GREAT.

But piano piano. Which is Italian for nDank a nDank, which is Wolof for poco a poco, which is spanish for little by little.

Doucement.

Explanation to come tomorrow.

Crackle, bang, pop.

Spanish Worksheets

A considerable amount of my time is spent doodling... and I present to you here my school worksheets. Once they are finished and corrected, I can't help but "beautify" them. Lacking a thorough visual arts education (my last drawing class was age 10?) I've been copying a lot of the graffiti, contemporary art, architecture and images around Barcelona.

My plan is to go around on Sunday with my much abused/unused camera, and snap some shots of what I've found interesting. This city has been wonderful for the last five days, and I'm full of boundless enthusiasm for the coming weeks of exploration (and spanish worksheets, yeeee).

Barcelona Vs. The Team That Shall Not Be Named

Just got back from a floor up, where I was watching the FC Barcelona game vs. Real Madrid. The city outside is... dead. Nobody dares breathe for fear of upsetting some soccer god.

Apparently. I'm not the biggest soccer fan, but I'll watch the game with my host family and their neighbors. Why? Because I get a whole new vocabulary.

"Tu puta madre Madrid."

Boom.

Ndànk-ndànk

l'île de Ndar, the first French colony in Africa, at sunset

Ndànk-ndànk ay jàpp golo cib ñaay is a Wolof proverb meaning, "Gentle step by step one catches a monkey in the forest." Ndànk-ndànk I am learning about my city and its people, picking up Wolof phrases, and finding a routine of work and free time. A few highlights from the past week:

Grand Magal de Touba January 12

The Grand Magal de Touba is the largest public holiday in Senegal (Magal is Wolof for "homage" or "celebration," and Touba is the holiest city in Senegal). Everyone who is able makes the mini-pilgrimage to Touba. As such, the streets were lined with hopeful hitchhikers and clogged with horses, carts, taxis and public Touba buses for a full week leading up to the event. While I didn't get to Touba, I did get invited to a large party here in Saint-Louis. Maybe sixty people dropped by throughout the day to sit, eat, and let the hapless Toubabs like myself look after their children. Griots (male storytellers and singers of praise) took turns chanting into the microphone while we listened.

A Wedding January 14

One of the other volunteers' host sisters got married this Saturday! I kind of went ahead and invited myself to the wedding. I showed up in my nicest Western attire, and was promptly whisked into a bright yellow pantsuit with matching headwrap. Yeeee. Jennifer (the other volunteer) and I sat with the women outside and...waited. For six hours. At one point we were served an orange drink and little bits of cake, but otherwise everything was calm and ceremonially quiet. The bride was lovely, although I've noticed that almost every Senegalese woman will wear makeup to significantly lighten her skin color for special events such as weddings or baptisms. The groom never came (when I asked someone when the groom was coming, all I got was "demain, ou...après demain" (tomorrow, or...after tomorrow). The men finally showed up, went into the mosque, filled out the paperwork giving the daughter over to her husband's family, and then the wedding was over.

A Conference January 17

This Tuesday, I went with another member of Raddho (La rencontre africaine pour la défense des droits de l'homme) to a conference called the "Journée de sensibilisation sur la lutte contre les pires formes de travail des enfants à Saint-Louis" (rough translation: Day of awareness of the fight against the worst forms of child labor in Saint-Louis). The two main points of debate were the effects of child labor on children's physical and psychosocial development, and potential methods of its prevention. While the conference was supposed to start at nine, we didn't have enough people to begin until about eleven. Luckily, a DJ was there to blast Senegalese club music while we waited to keep us wholly awake and alert. Prayers, introductions, and general thankyous took another hour and a half. The members of the panel discussion would switch, without warning, from French to Wolof and back so often and so fluidly that my forehead may never uncrease. I feel like I learned a lot, and it was a good introduction to "African time." We take things nice and slow here. Ndànk-ndànk.

Dance classes Every Tuesday

Modern and traditional African dance classes at the Institut Français are probably the greatest thing ever. Probably. They consist of an hour and a half of jumping, shouting, getting low and twisting around while two djembé players set the beat to an increasingly fast tempo. The last session, I convinced our instructor to include some yoga at the beginning and at the end for fun. My body hates me.

The best thing that anyone has ever said about me, ever

"Je vais prendre mes bagages et partir chez Mama Jacqueline"

-Ouseman, informing our family N'Diaye that he is going to take his things and leave with me when I go.

Step by step, I'm getting a deeper appreciation for Saint-Louis, Africa, and both what makes this place unique as well as what universal truths bind us together. To go back to the proverb, I don't necessarily feel like this monkey is mine to catch. I'm not totally sure what I would do with one, anyways. For now, just to be permitted to walk through the forest is enough.

Ba benèn yoon (until next time),

Jacqueline

Torpe=Klutz

I learned a bit more about my fellow classmates today in school.

In our number (7) there is a professional poker player, a subway train conductor, a business major, an event organizer, a dancer (didn't catch which type), a student and then me. We are learning the past tense and reflexive verbs at the moment. I've been coming home the past two days, taking a huge nap, and then studying to catch up. I asked my SECOND question in past tense, and explained to my host madre in past tense that I'd taken a shower, brushed my hair, brushed my teeth and put on my PJ's. She wanted to know what the big deal was about...

I've been very cautious so far (not venturing outside after... 4 pm) partially due to laziness, exhaustion and a feeling of being linguistically overwhelmed. It's nice just getting to know my family and surroundings during the day, taking things one step at a time. I've staked out ten different book stores I will happily spend several hours inside. Anti-socialness has a time and a place on a gap year.

After knocking over the water jug, tripping up the stairs, banging my head against the doorframe of the kitchen and spilling my water glass at dinner, I learned the word for klutz in spanish... Torpe.

Soy torpe. Another major learning experience was figuring out that if I speak in french with a spanish accent, people UNDERSTAND ME. Mostly because it sounds like catalan, but it reminded me of my english-french cheating. I was told spanish was an easy language. If I have it mastered in two weeks, sure, but the way things are looking it might take three.

I bluff. Updates will be provided on how many things I break due to my torpe ways and grammar rules I smash in the process of explaining. Tomorrow, Picasso!

I Am Une Désastre Linguistico

There is a disastrous mix of english, french and spanish coming out of my mouth. I am, as someone said at one point, a linguistic disaster. 


This would be fine if I spoke all three, but unfortunately I've achieved critical mastery of only english and french. And the language happens to be spanish (and catalan, but I'm sticking with one language per month) here in Barcelona. Despite my host family's encouragement, I've only got four hours of official schooling under my belt (as of this morning) and it shows.


My host family is wooooonderful. Things started off with a bit of a bang (or a crash...). You may have heard/seen all the stories about the cruise boat that sunk off the coast of Italy. My host parents were on it. LUCKILY they are okay (sans baggage though) and have some pretty crazy stories to tell. I'm glad they made it out okay, because they are delightful.


Today I went to school, BSed my way through a spanish placement exam, tried desperately to stay awake for class and then walked home... for an hour. This was the non-lost route, which featured a stop for dried mango and chocolate. One of my best lessons so far in traveling is to treat yourself nicely every few months. Like buying not-even-junk-food on a rainy-ish day in a city where both natal tongues are unintelligible save for a few choice words.


Thrills. The adventures continue, and I go sleep. BuenAs noches.

Hello From London

I write to you from London. I am currently installed on my aunt's couch, sitting next to a snoring cat that does his weird owl-with-a-cough purr to the beat of The Roots. There is a cup of green tea in my hand, and  my belly is full of cookies, curry and carrots.

Ahhhhhhhh.

After facebooking frantically in french and english (getting neither right...) and trying to write coherent emails to my daily correspondents, I am linguistically rather pooped. But happy.

Today I cleaned up my sordid nest in the country (packing took four hours... I'd been there three weeks. I got a little distracted practicing my tap dancing, otherwise it would've taken two.) and drove up the M21 to the tune of Caroline Smith & The Goodnight Sleeps, Lisa Mitchell, Seeker Lover Keeper, The Pierces, Emily Wells, Bowerbirds and Laura Stevenson. My grandpa had requested music that "wouldn't make him ashamed of my generation."

Kitty sleeping next to me has awoken with a start and begun to glare at me. S'not my fault you broke your REM cycle, demon cat.

I also went on a walk in Richmond Park with my aunt, and while we had a parking debacle (cursing colorfully anyone who dared park where we wanted to... which was anywhere), it was a lovely experience jumping in good english mud and feeling very cynical and british.

Which is how I take my tea. Cheerio!

Grandfather Quotes/Fancy Pants Foster

I am blessed to have a grandfather who is wicked clever, and has a tongue sharpened on both sides. During my stay in England, I've been privileged to chat with him about my family members and hear some of the more secret stories. While I've taken an oath to guard those (as wicked cool as they are), I've also compiled a bunch of quotes which never fail to make me laugh. These are publicly tradable.

"Her idea of tact was close kin to a charging rhinoceros."

"She was the type of person who called a spade a fucking shovel."

"I wasn't a troublemaker, I was a trouble-doer."

"I'm beginning to think you are a little bizarre." (Thanks grandpa...)

"If I had boobs I would talk about them all the time."

Grandpa: What was that phrase you used, goats awash?
Auntie: Totes emosh?
Grandpa: What on earth is that supposed to mean?
Auntie: Totally emotional.
Grandpa: Why thank you.

Advertisement: Are you skilled at writing letters?
Grandpa: I have a degree in pushing the envelope.

"The problem with you is that you judge my driving. You don't carp at me like someone we both know, you just cringe in terror at everything. If you are feeling carsick, it's because I'm not driving fast enough."

Marielle: Are you okay?
Grandpa: I'm just a little tired. The trouble with taking these sleeping pills is that, while they help me sleep, you wake up all groggy in the morning.
Marielle: Would you like me to drive?
Grandpa: NO!

And a cherry to top off this sundae (or Fridae...)

My grandfather went to school when he was little (during "The War") in Scotland, and was one of the only little boys who was half english and half scottish. His school teachers were very different people "united by a hatred of small boys." Because of his english heritage, his mother decided it was reasonable to not wear kilts all the time (damn things are itchy) and instead dressed him in corduroy trousers. Which led to him being teased as "Fancy Pants Foster", the best nickname I've ever heard.

Funnily enough he still wears corduroy on the daily...

We just played a very vicious series of card games, in which we took an honorable draw because his bath (pronounced Bahth) was getting cold. I made a miraculous comeback, and while I lost in points (by 43 measly points... final score 462-419), we tied in number of games and I was clearly on a roll.

Competitiveness runs in the family. Tomorrow is my last half day in the countryside, and then it's London. Sunday I'll be with my new host family IN BARCELONA! Wheeeeee!

Hating On Europe

The current republican primaries are causing a lot of warm feelings, appreciation and understanding of the American people over on this side of the pond.


Not.


I swear, if I have to read/watch another candidate speech explaining that european socialism is being forced down our (American) throats, I'm going to gag.


From saying that the current leadership “takes his inspiration from the capitals of Europe” and that european socialism is a modern re-incarnation of Hitler's policies, the jeers and pot shots at Europe are raining on the daily.


Which is a horrible way to make foreign friends and maintain allies, particularly when many of them have much better success rates than we do.


From social mobility, life expectancies, education rates, health care (both in terms of cost and availability), to child mortality rates, levels of mental illness, those damn european socialists seem to trounce us in most areas. What reasonable, wise, powerful leader would hate on those who are "winning?" Wouldn't you want to know what they are doing to succeed, or generate new ideas instead of continually asserting delusional all-powerfulness?


It is also worth pointing out that lumping Europe altogether is the same as lumping all middle eastern, or all asian countries together. Within each group are difference languages, cultures, ideas, political parties and modi operandi. Saying that they are all out to get us is silly. Sure there are lots of people who are less than pro-America (and spouting misguided hostile statements about them is unhelpful). But what I notice so far in my european adventures is that people are particularly rankled by the continuous assertion of "facts" by U.S. politicians, and the untactful way America moves around on the global spectrum.


And now an interesting TED talk I was given by a beloved teacher of mine... 

"If you want to live the American dream, move to Denmark."

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Love,

Marf et Cosette

B.Y.O.T.P.

My baby brother, Ouseman. He's sexy and he knows it.

Cité Niakh, Sor, Saint-Louis

I made it to Senegal! My host family lives in a quartier called Cité Niakh on Sor, the mainland portion of Saint-Louis. It's about a 40-minute walk to the center of town (la ville/l'île), located on an island off of Sor. Since I've only had two days at my internship, I'll focus on life at home for now.

The N'Diayes

My host family, the N'Diayes, are truly warm and welcoming, always making sure that I feel "chez moi" with my "deuxième famille." Although Senegal is a patriarchal society, my family seems to run on girl power; our matron, Madame Oumou, spends most of her time at home while her daughter and daughter-in-law, Ngagna (pronounced nyanya) and Mama, support the family by working as teachers at the local nursery school as well as taking care of all the shopping, cooking, and cleaning. Granddaughters Fatou and Mama Oumou (both 11) bring the house its energy, while the only grandson, Ouseman (3), brings the laughter. The only male other than Ouseman is Cheikh, Madame Oumou's son and Mama's husband, who works as an artist well outside of the city.

I love spending time with every one of them. Ouseman and I like to share a pot of tea in the afternoon (the secret to good tea à la Senegalese toddler, it would seem, is to add a handful of sugar for every few drops of tea). Fatou and Mama Oumou have yet to figure out that I learn just as much by helping them with their homework each night as they do: for example, Fatou's homework two nights ago was a recitation of The Five Structures of African Society (la famille, le clan, la tribu, l'ethnie, et le royaume), and Mama Oumou's was to translate numbers and phrases from French to English to Wolof. I try to help Ngagna and Mama by doing the easiest (although not necessarily most pleasant) chores, like crushing whole onions in the mortar, washing the dishes, and taking the dirty water out to the river. I'm sincerely hoping that, by the end of my stay, I will have been promoted from onion duty.

Things that have been very easy to get used to:

-The food. Senegalese breakfasts always consist of tea with baguette. On the baguette, you can put butter, la vache qui rit (laughing cow cheese), jam, or chocopain (African nutella!). Most meals consist of rice with some kind of meat in a sauce served in a giant bowl on the floor. Since I don't eat meat, I get my own little platter of vegetables and/or rice.

-Repellent-impregnated mosquito netting. With a little bit of imagination, it's just like having the princess canopy I always dreamed of.

-Flipflops in January!!! My home is a short walk away from the river, meaning that the streets are really just wide trenches of unpacked sand. I'm thinking about getting a pretty pair of Senegalese sandals in the near future, but only once I've had some more practice haggling at the fruit stands.

Things that I am still working on getting used to:

-The quantity of food. The amount set aside for me at every meal is often equivalent to the amount my entire family in Minnesota would have, and I cause great consternation and offense by not finishing it all.

-The constant staring and heckling: "Toubab!" (white person), "Bonjour Madame, donnes-moi de l'argent" (Hello ma'am, give me money), and "Je veux une femme blanche" (I want a white woman/wife) are the most common.

-The bathrooms. I...don't want to talk about it.

Banes of my Existence:

-Fatou and Mama Oumou's multiplication/division word problems. They are in French and use units of measurement that I've never seen before. I've been taking a hopefully less annoying Mr. Jeff Trinh approach (for two years, his answer to every physics question was a variation of "I don't know! You figure it out!")

-Electricity outages. They happen multiple times a day, as Senegal has to buy all of their energy from neighboring countries that are not always reliable. Apparently one of President Wade's pet budget-balancing techniques is to cut off electricity to whole regions of the country, sometimes for days at a time.

Proof that Marielle is an infinitely better person than I am:

Her second-to-last blog post mentioned that she practiced her considerable generosity by giving a cookie to an old woman on a train without expecting anything in return. My mother snuck two whole trays worth of chocolate chip cookies into my duffel before I left, and I secretly hoarded and then consumed every. single. one. You can really know a person by how they treat animals, children and cookies.

à +

Jacqueline

SVITZZALUHND! The stories, the photos, the adventures, and so forth

My apologies.

I meant to write yesterday evening, when I got back. However, I got caught up reading science articles on The Edge, listening to wicked euro techno on ABCD Eurodance and then all of a sudden it was 11 and I was falling asleep.

So I took an early night, and vowed to continue this morning. After my monthly run (1 hour, once a month... discipline at its finest my dears) and techno shower party (copyright R. Louis), I can now sit down to write properly to you. (Reference Alert: Jane Austen!)

Svitzzaluhnd and my impressions


The Flight Announcement: The flight from London to Geneva was very calm, and I had a nice time looking out the windows to the alps and lakes around. Then the flight attendant came on the intercom to give us the weather report. In english it was "temperature, around 5 degrees, sunny, some clouds but mostly clear." In french we got, "negative 3 degrees, it is snowy and raining, overcast with bad road conditions."

What the gwah?

Multilingualism: Switzerland has four official languages, Swiss German (apparently quite different from 'High German', as it only has simple past, immediate future and present tenses, and uses some french phrases.) French, Italian and Romanche. Speaking french got me around Lausanne and Berne just fine, but when I asked for directions in Zurich, all the officials spoke english to me. My aunt told me that when swiss germans and swiss french come together, they speak english together typically. An interesting phenomenon.

Jumping Jacks: I was reading an article about exercise in a swiss newspaper and scared my neighbor on the plane by bursting out laughing. Explained (in french) as "an american exercise phenomenon in which the participant waves their arms and legs while jumping in the air. A beloved tradition held by americans as a cornerstone of their efforts to not be fat."

Tschuss: Goodbye, almost like "toodles" for anglophones, as it is a familiar word. You would say tschuss to your friend, not to your superior at work. I adore this word and go around saying it all the time like a choo choo train. Tschuss tschuuuuuuss!

Croissant Phone: In Lausanne I saw a guy who was talking on a croissant like it was a phone. He kept shouting that he doesn't have service, and that he can't hear the person on the other line. What a beautiful image.

Art:

Music: Some various songs I was given. They are in french or swiss german. All the artists are swiss!

The sole song in English...

Touristy photos:

I Wangs My Bell

I've had a very lovely, exhausting time in switzerland. I leave tomorrow, and will then have access to my computer, and will upload the shocking amount of photos I took (Personal Record: Ten photos).

I dunno how I would manage without enormously talented photographer friends. And additionally, they are all pretty wicked sweet...

Tomorrow will hail an enormous blog post detailing my adventures, from having to explain why I burst out laughing at "I wangs my bell" (mind=guttered) to the man who was talking into his croissant like it was a telephone. He kept shouting "desolé, j'ai pas du reseau!"

I'm sorry, I don't have service. A bit mad perhaps, but such a beautiful moment. What the world would be like if pastries did have service... Overbaked?

Some fun I had on a swiss german friend's facebook... Feel free to check (and translate!) his revenge on mine.

I took to heart some advice I'd gotten the day before from one of my swiss aunt's, and gave someone a gift without even thinking of getting anything in return. A german old lady was sitting opposite to me on the train, and though we didn't speak the same language, I gave her a cookie (a specialty of the region I'd been visiting) and we smiled at each other for the rest of the two hour journey.

And then we waved goodbye.

Anti-Bad Guys Heavyweight

After being spectacularly one-upped by my co-blogger and annoyingly eloquent best friend/sister, I immediately vowed to step up the quality of these rambling monologues, which seemed to be turning into me giggling to myself on the internet.

Sadly, I got distracted by the youtube videos of "Mock The Week" and spent the last hour giggling to myself anyways. Alone. On the internet.

Today I got a tour of Laussane, Switzerland, the absolutely magnificent city with those mountains you see on Evian water bottles. Yep, look closely at your plastic earth-killer soon to be trash bottle and you will see me waving from the side of the lake that doesn't have a euro crisis.

The city is studded with fantastic architecture and this place called "Ouchy" (there are even "Pirates of Ouchy") which is a wharf on the bitterly cold lake. It is a very up and down, multilayered city which any tourist lacking a three-dimensional map will tell you is hella confusing.

Luckily I, the directionally confused "they always told me to just follow the northern star" child was accompanied by a local, my swiss aunt. An exchange student 30 odd years ago with my mother's family, I am now privileged enough to be welcome in their home, graciously allowed to sample chocolate and thai food.

*Heaven.*

For those of you who aren't up on your european geography and general facts, switzerland is known as a neutral, peacekeeping country and is home to four official languages. Here near the coast of France, we speak... french. Apparently there is supposed to be a funny accent, but I've only been tripped on various vocab words (like their word for towel... except I forget already). Or the fun word of the day, "casse-couilles" which means pain in the ass, although it translates as "ball breaker." Nasty image.

Not that I've been called this. Am attempting to continue my model-childdom.

I was treated to the most wonderful stories of the history of this very special part of switzerland, and also got to visit my aunt's husband's restaurant, a french-thai fusion resto. I didn't know such things existed before, but I would eat anything they make, anyday.

Dear Jacqueline,

I did research on Brussels, and I got mixed reviews. Everyone agreed that it was an exceptionally beautiful, central part of europe. It is great for those who work with the EU or the UN, or those who are well off and have decent jobs. However, life can be particularly difficult for those who are less fortunate, and I heard a couple people mention "le bulle que les ex-pats habitent dedans." It is quite easy to remain solely amongst foreigners, which is too bad given that the purpose of living in another country is to experience that country (typically).

Belgium also just got a government for the first time in over a year a few weeks ago. It has some pretty unsteady internal forces which constantly threaten to tear apart the Flemish half and the Belgian half. However, for social justice crusaders like yourself, I would say that it is an advantageous place to live and gain a reputation as a anti-bad guys heavyweight.

That is all.

Love,

Marf

Pa(ni)cking

Why hello there! My name is Jacqueline. Some of you may be wondering why I am not Marielle. This is a perfectly valid thing to wonder, as this is primarily her blog. Explanation as follows:

1. I am also taking une année sabbatique (a gap year) before going to Wellesley College in Massachusetts this fall. For the past semester, I trained to become a sexual violence advocate and then interned at the Sexual Violence Center in north Minneapolis. For a glimpse into what life was like there, you can check out a post I wrote for their blog a couple of weeks ago:

http://sexualviolencecenter.wordpress.com/2011/12/21/one-moment-at-a-time

2. I am leaving to intern at a non-governmental organization in Ndar/Saint-Louis, Senegal. In less than four hours (hence the title). I will be there for two months before Marielle and I meet up in India for the final blowout adventure (hem, educational experience) of the year.

3. I consider Marielle to be my sister. Since I already share/steal so many things with/from her, it felt natural to hop on board her blog, especially as we'll be traveling and living together from mid-March-June.

SO yes, that hopefully explains what I, a stranger, am doing here. I promise that I've done nothing to Marielle, and she will continue to regularly update her adoring fans of her adventures in England, Switzerland and Spain.

I filled the past few weeks with just about everything that I love about Minneapolis. There was a lot of tea, salsa dancing, Punch pizza, taking my dog/angel Odie to parks, and, of course, the season premiere of The Bachelor. However, now feels like the time to set sail. The wonderful people at SVC gave me a lovely and hot chocolate-y sendoff on Wednesday, and my family is already in the planning stages of a "Jacqui Liberation Dinner" (it's hard for normal people to live around a bossy, vegetarian health nut).

I have never gone so far away, so alone, and for such a long time. I can't fathom how someone could just pack up their bags and go. Especially if a certain canine companion named Odie had "buried" their bone at the very base of this someone's neatly folded clothing pile, destroying all semblance of organization in the process.

The next time I write, I'll have moved in with my host family in Saint-Louis and be a bit oriented to my city and job. Fun times!

à +

Jacqueline

I had every intention.

I had everz intention of writing, but Iàm mildlz handicapped bz a kezboard that changes the z and y kezs and en plus, Iàm quite tired. A third reason could be that this swiss kezboard switches all the punctuation up, thus confusing me to no end and making this blogging task much harder.

Plus, I flew to swityerland todaz. No trauma, just some of the silliest british girls ever to grace a plane or go on vacation.

"Do zou think, uh, if I, like, uh, put lemon on mz hair while we're going skiing, would that like uh still change mz hair color even if I'm wearing a ski helmet?"

Or the line which made mz staid british neighbor burst out laughing into his newspaper.

"SO I know the swiss are supposed to be, like, neutral, but I'm betting the men there would take mz side in anz conflict."

Looking for a twitter tutorial...

I was away for a day to my cousin's house in Kent (pronounced "Kent") and purposefully left my computer and phone behind, hoping I might be left stranded and they would be forced to keep me as the au pair for their adorable 2.5 red headed baby.

Perhaps it is just as well that I am returned to Grandparentland, as the baby's first word was "cheers" and displays dangerous ginger tendencies.

My visit was also marked by an encounter with a dog called Marmite, who fell in love with me. To prove his affection he chewed up my underwear and then insisted on cuddling and drinking my tea. Like the brand Marmite, either you "love it or you hate it." Both?

Sadly stripped of my undergarments, I've since recovered my good spirits by watching Mamma Mia with my grandfather (a stunning duet of "I Have A Dream" echoed through the rafters). I was always rather annoyed that they didn't put in my favorite ABBA tune, "On and On and On." Such a good message from that song.

"Father can you tell me what is right and and what is wrong?
He said keep a rockin' baby till the night is gone...on and on and on!"

However, it is (as my wise grandfather puts it) "The Ultimate Feel Good Film." Men in flippers, skinny dippers, and James Bond.

I do have a new favorite TV show, the stand-up comedy of "Mock The Week." Six stand up comedians are expected to respond with lightning speed to various acronyms, numbers, quotes and pictures. No one was spared the wicked wrath, not pompous politicians publishing their bore-all memoirs, nor the prostitute who maintained her class by not sleeping with Wayne Rooney INSIDE the house with his wife in it. You keep that standard high, girl. I giggled particularly about a rant on the subject of school.

"I spent half my time in school worrying about frrractions. And by half I mean..."

"My teacher asked me one day if I could take the guinea pig home. Six months later, starving, having worn through my trainers I arrived in the African Republic of Guinea."

On the menu for tomorrow: making the ultimate sacrifice by learning how to use twitter in order to explain it to my grandfather.

#Anysuggestions?

Rear of The Year Award

I went to a pantomime this evening with my beloved grandparents. Jack in the Beanstalk.

Pantomime have traditionally been the male lead role played by a woman. There might be more identifying features, like raunchy jokes or short petticoats, but that sounds suspiciously like most theatre.

We were pleasantly surprised (Cynical Grandpa: "I hope this isn't going to be too intellectual for you") by the hilarity of the whole affair. The story was nicely augmented by silly jokes (The 12 Days of Christmas had 5 pies thrown in the villain's face... 7 times. Which means he had 35 pies stuffed in his gob in the space of 5 minutes.) and some snappy lines.

Personal favorites (yes I took notes)...

King: May I kiss your hand?
Jack's mum: Certainly, a foot is out of the question.

Villain: I'm the main attraction in designer underware! (unclear how this was related to plot development)

"Get thee to thy compost heap!"

Narrator (speaking about Pippa Middleton): And Princess Pip is busy receiving the "Rear Of The Year Award..." (see below)

I was using the trusty search engine "ogle," ideal for proving a point or for exploitation by dirty old men.

ogle |ˈōgəl|verb [ trans. ]stare at in a lecherous manner : he was ogling her breasts | [ intrans. ] men who had turned up to ogle.

Couldn't have said it better myself!

What else has gone on today?

I attended the meeting part of a hunt (wasn't required to get onto a horse, though Grandpa got knocked into a bush by a frisky pony). We learned that horses with red ribbons in back mean "Stop! This horse is a kicker." And that wearing tweed seemed to be a requirement in order to get free cookies, scones and tea.

I also taught Grandpa how to upload photos to facebook and send inbox messages. Private AND public methods for sharing one's life? Mind=media-ed. This whole tutorial thing works well (we had a skype conversation the other day, in the same room no less. Practice makes perfect.)

Nighty night!

Stop Hooting You Stupid Bird

Owls are no longer my second favorite bird.

I SHOULD be asleep now, getting ready to go make a fool of myself at a traditional English hunt (Last time on a horse: age 12) tomorrow, or I guess now today.

But instead this stupid featherhead sits outside my window and lets out a hoooooooot every time I drift off again. Why bird, why? I'm nostalgic for the good old days back in the french countryside where the only owl around woke up at 1 pm and hooted plaintively. We'd shout at it...

"Go to bed you stupid thing! It's not our fault your eyes are hurting! They are biologically designed for night!"

Do owls call fellow owls who are awake during the day "day humans"?

Why are you still hooting Owl? Why can't you go find a lady owl and some other corner of england to hoot around in? Or go back to your dyslexic adventures in miplsnelig in the hundred acre woods? Leave me in peace so I can sleep. I don't want to fall off a horse anymore than you do. Nor do I really want to hunt anything persay.

Well, maybe I'd like to take care of this stupid bird for good.