That's right, folks. The day has come. Later this evening, I hop onto my first flight home. A swift 12 hours later (during which I'll probably sleep 0, because I don't know how to do that), I'll land in foggy London-town, spend a few hours of layover-time fumbling my way through security, and then make my way back State-side on an 8.5 hour flight to Chicago. See you soon? Yikes.
Oh, Africa. I have no words.
Blog Description
the lowdown before, during, and after Sarah Yale's volunteer venture abroad
Friday, May 6, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Thoughts from an African Hostel
As it turns out, girl cannot survive (happily) on peanut butter sandwich alone. After my forth, or maybe my fifth, I broke down and bought some apples to supplement what is arguably my otherwise nearly perfect diet. On my walk back to the hostel, with apples under arm, Table Mountain looming on my left and a slight drizzle falling from above, I started recounting the already innumerable hilarious international anecdotes my backpackers stay(s) have afforded me… as well as lessons in patience, common ground, and cultural sensitivity. There’s nothing like sleeping in a room with nine other people all living out of backpacks and hailing from all over the world. Ahh, the smells, the sounds, the stories. Yesterday, the medical student girls from Sweden and I cooked dinner together (if you could call what I’m doing “cooking”) and then picked each others brains over our various travels, research, and home lives. The well-traveled man from Bangladesh (who snores like a freight train from the moment his head hits the pillow) followed my recommendation to take the cheap train through False Bay to Simons Town and giddily came back with the greatest video of a papa penguin that nearly bit off the Bangladeshi’s finger in order to protect his young. To each his own! Who knows what (and who) today will bring.
In addition to having innumerable opportunities to practice my Swahili with staff, I also met some interesting internationals while staying at the hostel with Lucetta in Nairobi, Kenya. From the young California entrepreneurs on the bus to that other avid-traveler guy who followed us to our restaurant at dinnertime, we’ve chatted with some truly remarkable people. I’d tell you all about ‘em, but it would take 20 blog posts at least. In fact, every time I got into a cab in South Africa, Tanzania, Zanzibar and/or Kenya, it was a cross-cultural learning opportunity. I’ll never forget Paul from Nairobi (who drove Lucetta and I everywhere), or Samuel from Zanzibar (who befriended Randi and I every meal of the day), though I may very well never see them again. It’s amazing, truly, how many people there are in this world – so different from you, but all dreaming and working for the same noble things. It’s a diverse planet, but we all want to live long, comfortable lives, full of family, friendship, and basic accomplishment. There are few who really want to be bothered by wars and hate and greed. When you remove yourself from your comfort zone and really start talking to people, you come to find this.
I credit my ability to handle and appreciate these moments with any degree of grace and reception to that upbringing I mentioned in the post prior… but also to Cross-Cultural Solutions, the organization I’ve been working for the last six months. In all that they do, they strive to teach their volunteers and partners that while we come from many different countries, we are Global Citizens, and this is what binds us and holds us responsible for the fate and happiness of all human beings. So, yes, while I’m proud to be an American, I’m even more satisfied to say I am a citizen of the world at large.
I received an email from Josie (my teenage Tanzanian brother and artist-extraordinaire) this weekend – a delicious mixture of English and Swahili. He’s found the space and start-up funds for the art school he wants to open for street children like him. It’s a wonderful world.
In addition to having innumerable opportunities to practice my Swahili with staff, I also met some interesting internationals while staying at the hostel with Lucetta in Nairobi, Kenya. From the young California entrepreneurs on the bus to that other avid-traveler guy who followed us to our restaurant at dinnertime, we’ve chatted with some truly remarkable people. I’d tell you all about ‘em, but it would take 20 blog posts at least. In fact, every time I got into a cab in South Africa, Tanzania, Zanzibar and/or Kenya, it was a cross-cultural learning opportunity. I’ll never forget Paul from Nairobi (who drove Lucetta and I everywhere), or Samuel from Zanzibar (who befriended Randi and I every meal of the day), though I may very well never see them again. It’s amazing, truly, how many people there are in this world – so different from you, but all dreaming and working for the same noble things. It’s a diverse planet, but we all want to live long, comfortable lives, full of family, friendship, and basic accomplishment. There are few who really want to be bothered by wars and hate and greed. When you remove yourself from your comfort zone and really start talking to people, you come to find this.
I credit my ability to handle and appreciate these moments with any degree of grace and reception to that upbringing I mentioned in the post prior… but also to Cross-Cultural Solutions, the organization I’ve been working for the last six months. In all that they do, they strive to teach their volunteers and partners that while we come from many different countries, we are Global Citizens, and this is what binds us and holds us responsible for the fate and happiness of all human beings. So, yes, while I’m proud to be an American, I’m even more satisfied to say I am a citizen of the world at large.
I received an email from Josie (my teenage Tanzanian brother and artist-extraordinaire) this weekend – a delicious mixture of English and Swahili. He’s found the space and start-up funds for the art school he wants to open for street children like him. It’s a wonderful world.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Miss you already, CCS Staff
Officially…
1. I am no longer a CCS volunteer and intern. My last day of volunteering came and went on Friday to the tune of Kate and Will’s wedding on the hospital television in the baby ward of Sarah Fox. I had spent the morning (and prior mornings that week) learning all the babies names (and in some cases, their afflictions, which were usually malnutrition, HIV, and complications related to HIV such as TB, meningitis, and various other virus bummers). Other duties included feeding them porridge, rocking them to sleep, and getting them to giggle whenever possible. As I stated before… it was a great way to go out. My last ten minutes were spent cleaning up the carrot spit-up baby Charles had just spewed all over his crib and then chatting to him as he perched on my hip, tickling his belly and booping his nose until His Royal Cuteness calmed down. For the first time since I started there, he wasn’t crying when we left. Miracle.
2. I am still sleeping in a bunk bed, but have been “downgraded” to top-bunk status. Yesterday afternoon, I packed my bags and hopped a cab to my dowtown backpackers hostel. It’s pretty bomber, as far as hostels go – centrally located but not on Long Street, cheap as all get-out (hence my modest sleeping status in a ten-body dual-sex dorm room), friendly and relaxed in all respects. I’ll be staying here until I fly out on Friday.
3. I am proud to be an American. (I know. Gag me.) I just spent the first hour of my first morning eating a 2-dollar breakfast in the lobby, eyes glued to the BBC, where I watched President Obama tell the world that justice for 9/11 has been delivered – Osama Bin Laden is dead. Hollllllysmooookes. After watching 2001 footage of the Twin Towers falling, and then present-day clips of your average American flooding Times Square to chant “U-S-A!,” I realized my hand had traveled up to my heart; I was all kinds of choked up. Maybe I’ve been away too long, you know? (If that's possible.) After taking a quick language-poll of the room, I decided that at the moment, I was the only American present. What a weird feeling… to be surrounded by 20-something-year-olds from Sweden and Norway and France and South Africa, and be the only American taking in this “proudly American” moment.
During my travels these last six months, I’ve come across a lot of people who have been personally affected by the terrorist acts of 9/11. More often, I’ve also been surrounded by many incredible local injustices. I’ve meet people who have had to overcome the most abhorable personal histories of loss, abuse, and marginalization (often at the hands of their own communities or families), only to be met with more challenges and obstacles of disease and war and poverty, all of which thwart them from obtaining their basic human rights… life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, if you will. I’ve grown up with the incredible privilege of having a family who cares for and supports me in ALL that I do. I am entitled to a complete and equitable education, quality healthcare, and innumerable personal rights I am sure I take for granted on a daily basis. I mean, I am a young woman and I can vote and have my voice heard in the community any time I want, if the mood strikes me. I can practice (or not practice) any religion I choose. I can go out in public on my own, wear whatever I want to, marry nearly whomever I want to, and earn my own living in any career I want for my own personal use and fulfillment. I've long since reached puberty and not had my female parts mutilated and my freedom sold off to the highest bider, for goodness sake, and not every woman can say that in 2011. I was born and raised in America by loving parents who taught me to be humble, hard-working, and open-minded, and was given the most precious gift of choice. It’s not a perfect nation, and now having left it and lived other places I know it more than ever; we could learn a great deal from the rest of the world, just as the rest of the world could benefit from knowing the less arrogant, aggressive, and close-minded bits of America. Even with all the rights American citizens are granted, too, not everyone is able to access and benefit from them. With all that I’ve been given, I’ve had to work hard to earn many of the greatest opportunities I’ve been granted. This is the reality. But I’ve got to tell you… I’m proud to count my birth-right blessings and I’m looking forward to the 4th of July. Thanks to everyone who has made this possible.
4. Even still, I have Travel-Fever. I’m not even home yet from this six-month adventure and I already caught myself combing the travel-mag section of the local bookstore. Living in a house with dozens of other people suffering travel-bug (falling asleep to each other reminise about backpacking Australia and teaching English in Thailand) isn’t helping to heal the infection, either.
5. I AM ready to come home, however. I’m not ready to leave Africa, per se, but I could not be more thrilled to see friends and family. It’s the people I have missed, more than anything, that have aided me to envision myself cruising around Chicagoland again (on a bike, mind you, not in a car – I can’t afford those gas prices I’ve been reading about). Anyway, break out your datebooks, people, and make some room for me! I am so excited to see you lot again.
1. I am no longer a CCS volunteer and intern. My last day of volunteering came and went on Friday to the tune of Kate and Will’s wedding on the hospital television in the baby ward of Sarah Fox. I had spent the morning (and prior mornings that week) learning all the babies names (and in some cases, their afflictions, which were usually malnutrition, HIV, and complications related to HIV such as TB, meningitis, and various other virus bummers). Other duties included feeding them porridge, rocking them to sleep, and getting them to giggle whenever possible. As I stated before… it was a great way to go out. My last ten minutes were spent cleaning up the carrot spit-up baby Charles had just spewed all over his crib and then chatting to him as he perched on my hip, tickling his belly and booping his nose until His Royal Cuteness calmed down. For the first time since I started there, he wasn’t crying when we left. Miracle.
2. I am still sleeping in a bunk bed, but have been “downgraded” to top-bunk status. Yesterday afternoon, I packed my bags and hopped a cab to my dowtown backpackers hostel. It’s pretty bomber, as far as hostels go – centrally located but not on Long Street, cheap as all get-out (hence my modest sleeping status in a ten-body dual-sex dorm room), friendly and relaxed in all respects. I’ll be staying here until I fly out on Friday.
3. I am proud to be an American. (I know. Gag me.) I just spent the first hour of my first morning eating a 2-dollar breakfast in the lobby, eyes glued to the BBC, where I watched President Obama tell the world that justice for 9/11 has been delivered – Osama Bin Laden is dead. Hollllllysmooookes. After watching 2001 footage of the Twin Towers falling, and then present-day clips of your average American flooding Times Square to chant “U-S-A!,” I realized my hand had traveled up to my heart; I was all kinds of choked up. Maybe I’ve been away too long, you know? (If that's possible.) After taking a quick language-poll of the room, I decided that at the moment, I was the only American present. What a weird feeling… to be surrounded by 20-something-year-olds from Sweden and Norway and France and South Africa, and be the only American taking in this “proudly American” moment.
During my travels these last six months, I’ve come across a lot of people who have been personally affected by the terrorist acts of 9/11. More often, I’ve also been surrounded by many incredible local injustices. I’ve meet people who have had to overcome the most abhorable personal histories of loss, abuse, and marginalization (often at the hands of their own communities or families), only to be met with more challenges and obstacles of disease and war and poverty, all of which thwart them from obtaining their basic human rights… life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, if you will. I’ve grown up with the incredible privilege of having a family who cares for and supports me in ALL that I do. I am entitled to a complete and equitable education, quality healthcare, and innumerable personal rights I am sure I take for granted on a daily basis. I mean, I am a young woman and I can vote and have my voice heard in the community any time I want, if the mood strikes me. I can practice (or not practice) any religion I choose. I can go out in public on my own, wear whatever I want to, marry nearly whomever I want to, and earn my own living in any career I want for my own personal use and fulfillment. I've long since reached puberty and not had my female parts mutilated and my freedom sold off to the highest bider, for goodness sake, and not every woman can say that in 2011. I was born and raised in America by loving parents who taught me to be humble, hard-working, and open-minded, and was given the most precious gift of choice. It’s not a perfect nation, and now having left it and lived other places I know it more than ever; we could learn a great deal from the rest of the world, just as the rest of the world could benefit from knowing the less arrogant, aggressive, and close-minded bits of America. Even with all the rights American citizens are granted, too, not everyone is able to access and benefit from them. With all that I’ve been given, I’ve had to work hard to earn many of the greatest opportunities I’ve been granted. This is the reality. But I’ve got to tell you… I’m proud to count my birth-right blessings and I’m looking forward to the 4th of July. Thanks to everyone who has made this possible.
4. Even still, I have Travel-Fever. I’m not even home yet from this six-month adventure and I already caught myself combing the travel-mag section of the local bookstore. Living in a house with dozens of other people suffering travel-bug (falling asleep to each other reminise about backpacking Australia and teaching English in Thailand) isn’t helping to heal the infection, either.
5. I AM ready to come home, however. I’m not ready to leave Africa, per se, but I could not be more thrilled to see friends and family. It’s the people I have missed, more than anything, that have aided me to envision myself cruising around Chicagoland again (on a bike, mind you, not in a car – I can’t afford those gas prices I’ve been reading about). Anyway, break out your datebooks, people, and make some room for me! I am so excited to see you lot again.
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