ramblings

It has been almost five months since I first set foot on Fogo, and I think I am starting to get the hang of living here. The past five months have come and gone quite regularly, tranquilly and almost alarmingly fast. There were certainly some days that were better than others, but for the most part, life has been good. My hair has grown a lot too. It’s strange. As each day passed I would not tell you that I was any different than the day before. Well, perhaps there were some exceptions. For example, it’s not every day one goes to a birthday party for a 99 year old, or watches a pig be killed, or feels the chill of the funeral wails as a student’s grandmother passes… but other than the rare drastic moments of change, each day passed as the one before; wake up early, run, teach, make lunch and whatever else may happen. Sure, every day was not the same, but I would be lying if I said that, in retrospect, every day was distinct to me. If you asked me, I would not say that much about my life here has changed in the past few months. Similarly, I would tell you that my hair is the same length each day when I lay down for bed and each morning when I awake. But then, if this is so, how has it grown? I did not notice it growing each day as I lay in my bed for the brief moments that pass before I am consumed by sleep. Each morning it looked the same in the mirror as the day before, but it is not the same length as the previous month, or the one before that and it is even further removed from the first day I stepped foot in my house here. I too am not the same. The funny thing is that I think it is the everyday here that has really shaped me. The drastic moments have certainly carved deep groves, but they are no match for the everyday that wears away certain parts of me with an unflagging consistency and proceeds to open and build where there was naught before.

As I was saying, I think I am starting to get the hang of living here. I think I am also starting to learn a lot about living here, though in that respect I think I have just begun to scratch the surface. I think what always blows my mind is the smallness of where I live. From my previous perspective, it is like living in an aquarium amidst the rest of the world. I showed my students pictures from a Red Sox game that I went to before I left the states. I wanted to show them baseball and the team that they all represent unknowingly with hats and T-shirts, but what amazed them was not this strange sport or the object behind the symbols so frequently touted in this area, but how many people were in the stadium. Though I cannot say with accuracy at this moment what my reaction was while sitting in the stadium, I’m sure it wasn’t strictly focused on the spectators. Though they were many and being in the presence of so many is always a little exciting, I do not recall being overwhelmed. I looked it up because I wanted to make sure: That day that I sat in Fenway Park, those that sat with me exceeded the population of my current fishbowl. The 38,805 (accuracy?) capacity of Fenway Park exceeds the population of Fogo. That means that hypothetically I could take all my fellow islanders to a baseball game. Of course, logistics and expense removed from the picture, if we reserved the park for a game, it would be the first game not filled to capacity in how many years? (I can’t say I’m much of one for researching baseball stats, especially with my limited computer time.) My apologies for any inaccuracies here, but I’m just trying to make a point. Maybe that will put it in perspective a little? When I first got here I was too shocked by the initial changes to really take in the fact that my environment was so small. Logically, I knew I was in a small place. I even realized it when we would meet one person one day and see them all the time in all different places. But the actual smallness and isolation hit me like a train wreck when we visited sites of other volunteers only to found that people already knew of us through word of mouth and family in other zones. I don’t want to say that it was a feeling of no escape because that has too negative a connotation, but we’ll pretend there is another phrase comparable.

I’ve always been one for taking a step back and getting away to recharge. Because of this, I was really looking forward to spending a week on Santiago with fellow volunteers. In the days leading up to the trip I entered the light of each day with a building excitement. The day before our flight, we spent the day in the city in expectation of arriving in Praia early the next morning. However, this was not to be. Bruma Seca, (sp?) the remnant of the ferocious sand storms of the Sahara filled the air with a impenetrable shield of sand that has clouded the month of January. For almost a week, no planes arrived in or left from Sao Filipe. The mail was stopped, vacationers were frantic and training was cancelled. This news, though initially devastating, has since become yet another ironic comic relief amidst the daily routine courtesy of Peace Corps. Though the skies cleared enough for the frantic travelers to return home and the mail to recommence, the air has not been clear. Yesterday we saw the ocean and the island of Brava for the first time in almost a month. They really aren’t that far away. The smallness and isolation of the island has felt almost overbearing for the past month, and that feeling almost miraculously lifted as we sat on the porch watching the sun set for the first time in a month. It is one thing to be isolated and know that the rest of the world is out there across the blue expanse. It is another thing to pass each day, closed off and closed in, with nothing more to look at than the ominous crater that stands watch over our house (though days passed that even that gentle giant was obscured in a cloud of nothingness). The return of the ocean (yes, I know it was always there) has reopened a part of me that had wilted in the dry, sandy winds. It’s good to be back.

Perhaps you are wondering what is up with all this introspective nonsense. Perhaps you are wondering what I have been doing. I would respond that in addition to everything that I have physically done here and emotionally experienced has been paired with a good amount of thinking… hence all the introspective nonsense. But, for those that are more curious about what I have experienced, allow me to indulge. As you know, I teach 8th grade. Every Tuesday-Friday I go to school to teach. My objective is to get to know my students, encourage them to enjoy learning and instill as much English in their little heads as possible. For anyone that teaches, you well know that the day can go in one of many directions depending on the mood of the students, your own mood, the material, the day of the week, and, among many other influences, I would argue the weather. However, despite the great, terrible and middle road days of teaching, it remains a constant in my life. I love my students. They are a great age in a great place. Left out to grow amongst the corn, they are not quite yet exposed to “the evils of the city.” They are fairly innocent (I don’t fool myself) and are still, for the most part, eager to learn. Though they go from being overly enthusiastic to utterly uninterested, for the most part, they try, they participate and they appreciate.

Outside of school, we are active and visible members of the community. Obviously we are visible. I think it would be a little difficult to overlook the two white girls walking up and down the street everyday, but we do more than show our faces. We have visited many houses both in and outside of our zone. We have a goal to visit the houses of all our students and we are well on our way. With each visit we take the time to explain who we are, where we’re from, who we work for and why we are here. From there, people tell us what they think the country/island/zone needs and we take this all in. It’s remarkable to me how people are people, no matter where they are from or how they live. Where I thought I would see differences, I see similarities. I would argue with anyone that there are things that are innately human in all of us. Though they may be skewed or distorted by experience, perspective and a multitude of other influences, deep down, we are all just people.

We also organize soccer games for our students. Our students come from a many different zones up to 7-8 km away. They love to play soccer, but most of the zones do not have a place for them to play. They are too young to be in the leagues, so any games they play are pick-up games in the dusty ribeiras. We started with the idea of having games for the girls, but when we learned that the boys too were not getting a chance to play, we opened it up to all of our students. It is just plain fun. Because of these games we have gotten to know our students better, they have gotten to know us better and I am relearning how to play soccer.

We try to attend almost every meeting that exists. This is hard because they are often not planned until the last minute and then, once they are planned, they are subject to cancellation, postponement or extreme tardiness. It is also often difficult to get information without having to ask 12 different people. However, we persevere, we observe, we learn and, in the near future, we hope to implement.

I go to church here every week. It is part of that day-to-day that I was talking about earlier. It is not something that I particularly enjoy or get much out of, but it has been a good investment. It has aided us in integration, especially with the women of the community, and has also, during these months of observation, adaptation and preparation, helped to establish us as dedicated, hard working and consistent members of the community. I like to think of myself as a recovered Catholic (think recovered alcoholic) and the last place I thought I would find myself during my service would be behind the altar singing in the church choir. Yet there I sit. It has been an interesting experience to observe the Catholic culture through the eyes of an inside outsider. The service is given in Portuguese/Kriolu, so I do not understand everything. Instead of half-heartedly listening like I did when I used to go to church in the states, I either concentrate in an attempt to understand, or I sit there in a trancelike state going through the motions of a good Catholic. Stand, sing, sit, stand, sit, stand, recite prayer, stand, communion (I do not take communion here), stand, sit, etc. Insert more recitation of prayer and singing and you’ve pretty much covered mass. What is strange to me is that no one there seems to be getting any more out of it than I am. I wonder if everyone at home was as zombie- like as they are here and I just never noticed because I too was busy being a zombie as well… However, despite this revelation (that religious ritual is as empty as I always felt it was) I find myself thinking about religion more than I ever have in my life previously. I have been evaluating the role that religion plays in people’s lives, the differences of religions and what the motivation is behind religion, but that´s another story for another day….

This is the skeletal sketch of my life here. I will try to fill it in with some meat in the weeks to come as we push further and further outside the strictly TEFL role…