Happy Holidays!
I've been hearing from everyone that it's cold in the States. It's still as hot as ever in Fogo. Sao Filipe especially; something about this town attracts the sun. This is the first time I've ever wanted a bikini for Christmas.
It's December 7th, my classes are slowing down and my students are preparing to take their tests to end the trimester. Some days they're brilliant. When one of my students wrote, "Beyonce is prettier than Rihanna" on the blackboard last week, perfetly, I almost cried with happiness. But instead I told him it's bullshit, Rihanna is definitely prettier. Other days, they're not so brilliant and I bop them with their notebooks, which makes them laugh. My 8th graders took their test today. Some of them came over yesterday evening and we spread out on the kushion on my floor in the living room and had a study session. They are so outgoing and shy at the same time. The first three boys took the initiative to come over and then were almost too shy to come into my house. I had to lure them in with candy, which always works (God I'm creepy). By the end of an hour and a half, they had become comfortable enough with the material to do well today. Or so they say. I have yet to grade.
Thanksgiving is going to happen this Friday at my house. We haven't had the time to celebrate it yet, and I'm so ready to eat some epic food and then fall into a blissful state of lethargy for a good few hours. One of the volunteers somehow managed to find cranberry sauce, and Peace Corps DC sends everyone turkeys every year, so the one male on this island is excited to be manly and take care of the meat (364 days of the year, Fogo is "sorority island" and I think this is a bigger deal than it sounds). I think I'm going to make mac and cheese. Is that normal for Thanksgiving? My sister and cousins always demanded Annie's mac and cheese on Thanksgiving so it's standard, along with drinking absinthe prior to dinner (but that one proved to be more difficult on my little rock). It seems appropriate.
In other news, my incredible friend Chris and I are planning to do a penpal type program between our students. He teaches in Arlington and knows so much about teaching, and we met in Ghana so he also has an idea what teaching in Africa is like, so I couldn't ask for a better person to exchange ideas with. His students sent me a list of questions the other day about life in Cape Verde, which were really fun to answer. Because I never experienced an exchange like that in my own schooling, it got me thinking about my past education, and the things that have made a difference in my life. Being here as an outsider has occasionally made me wonder what I can do to make a difference. What can I do differently that Cape Verdean teachers can't do on their own? Half of these kids respect me solely because I'm white, and the others are hesitant to believe anything I say for the same reason.
I remember my Spanish teacher at JMU. He was new to teaching, and didn't quite have the structure of the University down yet. On top of that, he didn't speak perfect English. And being a stupid kid, used to a particular structure and armed with a preconceived definition of "competency," I didn't take him as seriously as I should have. Now I'm on the other side, in a country that no one has heard of, speaking a language that I'd be surprised if anyone I'll meet for the rest of my life will be remotely familiar with. It's a completely impractical language in the scope of my life, yet my inability to speak it fluently results in a classroom of preteens not taking me seriously enough. Hindsight is a bitch.
But after I remembered my old Spanish teacher, I thought of the man who taught my Geography course sophomore year--the same semester as the Spanish class. I remember that we sat in a large room in the ISAT building, with tiers that seated a few hundred students. I played games on my cell phone sitting next to my boyfriend at the time and listened to half of what the man said. Despite having at least two hundred students in the class, participation was part of our grades, and he never made a mistake in remembering names and who participated and who didn't. How he acquired that skill, I will never know. He gave us quizzes on every country in the world. It will never again happen, but by the end of that semester I knew every single country on this planet and where it was on a map.
I remember him because all of the things that I remember him saying were things that he told us from his own travels. He was practical, and realistic, and he looked past the gimmicks and tricks of travel and did things the right way. He told us that when he was in Asia he learned never to give money to starving children, always give them food. There are too many drug addicted family members who send these kids out to get money that never benefits the youth begging for it. He taught me about Rwanda, and I cried when I studied the genocide for the test. He taught me so much about child prostitution that when the World Cup was first set to be hosted in South Africa my first thought was by what percentage this problem would increase, given the inevitable influx of Westerners touring the country. He unwillingly taught me something that I didn't appreciate until later: that oftentimes it's easier to choose to believe what we want to believe, and ignore what we want to ignore, than it is to have the courage to see what's truly in front of us. And over time that thought expanded, and I started thinking that if we go too long tricking ourselves, our nervous skirting grows into a blind investment in a dream world, and we're left in a fog that blocks out entirely the realities that we've become too afraid to acknowledge at all. He was calm, opinionated, open-minded and immovable. I don't remember his name.
Going back to finding out what makes an effective teacher: I started thinking that sometimes, we don't know what it is that impacts our lives. Sometimes when something happens we aren't able to immediately understand its gravity. Things stay bottled up somewhere inside ready to be used when we're ready to understand. So maybe that's what I can give that Cape Verdean teachers cannot. I've seen other parts of the world that none of my kids have seen, maybe don't even know about, and maybe the simple knowledge of something existing will spark within a few of them the desire to see more than what this one island in the compass of the entire world has to offer. I suppose that my hope in being here is that I'm able to put the potential for new thoughts into these kids, even if they don't understand the weight of the meaning right now. Because I damn well guarantee you, they aren't getting it now. I suppose my point is that you never know what you say or do that will affect people, even after you've exited their lives.
I don't know. Maybe in truth I'm just maternal and have a hidden, inherent desire to teach kids what limited things I know. I still don't know wtf a gerund is (it's a noun formed from a verb, I just looked it up) but I'm teaching English. Other, experienced people could do a way better job than I am; I knew that coming in. Who knows why we do what we do? Do we need to know, truly? If what we do stems from a sincere desire to do something good, and results in the bettering of our own lives and the lives of others, do we need to attach meaning to our motives? I read something months ago that a man wrote about his father (the beginning of the quotation is a quotation from his father), saying, "'I frankly doubt I could continue [volunteer activity] if I looked too hard within.'...In his own way, he was saying so very much about his mind, his way of thinking, of being. I no longer could regard him as someone who fled from self-recognition or, more broadly, denied the rest of us the authority to do so. Rather, he was telling me that what he did in the way of service to others came to, finally, a matter of unspoken faith. This was not a faith in the imperatives of transcendent code, but, ironically...a faith in the essentially benign workings of the mind, in its capacity to turn to good account all sorts of wayward or turbulent or egoistic impulses."
Weeks later, I re-read The Razor's Edge by W Somerset Maugham, who wrote, "I have never believed very much in...intuition; it fits in too neatly with what [we] want to believe to persuade me that it is trustworthy." The following week, I read The Alchemist, which read, "People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they don't deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them. We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away forever, or of moments that could have been good but weren't, or of treasures that might have been found but were forever hidden in the sands. Because, when these things happen, we suffer terribly."
So how do those things tie together? I've been thinking a lot lately about why we do the things that we do. I've come to the conclusion that it's terrifyingly easy to trick ourselves. Into anything: into thinking that we'll be happy to continue one profession or relationship, into settling for one course of action in hopes that it will work itself out in the end. Into believing that the little voice that we all have that tells us that our lives can be better, and we can be more than this, is wrong--pass it off as childish impracticality, and sternly insist to our own passions that we are adults now and need to behave as such from now on. In my dictionary, "adult" is defined as "a fully grown life form; a fully mature person." I don't think we reach that state by abandoning our inner callings and settling for something that other people label as appropriate for our age, because when they were young someone insisted the same to them.
Why I am here: I don't know. Because I remembered the kids I taught in Ghana and thought I owed them more than two weeks of my time and a desire to "experience Africa." Because the very fact that it was a difficult decision for me, that scared me and made me wonder what I could lose, made me realize how profound and necessary a decision it was. I've been here four months now and the idea of having chosen not to be here seems absolutely absurd.
So, the Sparknotes version of my unsolicited opinions: People shouldn't try to rationalize everything. It's neither necessary nor possible. Some things run deeper in us than words or comprehension can reach. People shouldn't put much stock into feelings that stem from "intuition," which often seem to run parallel with the decisions that result in the most comfort. Concepts like "intuition" were probably invented by the same person who invented Valentine's Day; it's useless in the end and results in personal investments that are ultimately worth nothing. And no one needs more greeting cards. Finally, it's inexpressibly important in terms of both happiness and success to devote sufficient amount of time to getting to know oneself, even if that sounds too zen for modern-day, fast-paced existence. That's not a lesson that many of us are taught growing up. We live with ourselves 24 hours a day, it hardly seems possible to not know who we are. But I'm convinced that few people do to the degree that they should.
Well I was planning to write about my chickens or this guy I met today who re-named himself after Stevie Wonder (he actually called himself Stevie One, but I didn't have the heart to tell him) but this just popped out instead. In more lighthearted news: Christmas break starts in nine days! I've discovered that I make awesome sweet potato soup. I think I've partially adopted a dog, but don't tell my roommate, who hates it. She smiles when she sees me and rolls around when I blow on her nose (the dog, not the roommate...though I haven't tried so maybe). The sunsets here have been phenomenal and I have way too many pictures of the same view with different streaks of color. I have about ten million plans for art projects and am determined to start on them soon. I'm also planning to do the PC world map project at my school, which will entail painting a huge mural on a whole wall that my kiddies will be able to help with. The boys in Boavista just finished this project and it looks incredible.
That's my life, in a nutshell. Email me your plans for Christmas! I'm camping on the beach in Santiago. I have to say, I miss the snow. But I say that every year and then shortly after I realize that I hate snow...so I'm envious of you but probably not really.
Cape Verde
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Ponta Verde's first Halloween
The bottom few pictures are of the view from my house. The one with the railing is my rooftop...more pics coming soon!
Friday, October 29, 2010
Hiace adventures
I'm sitting in Fogo Lounge waiting for a chicken salad sandwich and french fries. This is the place you go to when you want to feel like you're in America, in a place that's trying to reproduce a little resaurant in Africa but doesn't quite get it right. It actually takes me some convincing on my own part every time I'm here if I want to remember where I am. The sweltering heat always does its part in reminding me. Not exactly a representational picture to paint you of my life. But I needed french fries and I knew where this place was, which was working in its favor.
So my blog has been slacking. I decided against getting internet in my house so that I can try to have as close to "the African experience" as a little white girl can have. Not that Cape Verde supplies one with the stereotypical African experience, whatever that is. There's a lot that I want to write about; all little things that don't really tie together in any discernable way. It makes it exciting to write, to have so many things that I want to say, but also frustrating that there's no obvious structure to anything.
I spent the last few days in Mosteiros--a more urbanized area settled in the north of the island. The town is built on the ocean, and my friend's house is a moment's walk to the beach. Everywhere you are, you can hear and smell the sea. I spent most of the first day, while my friend was at work, rocking back and forth in a hammock and reading one of my old favorite books. I wrote lesson plans on the rooftop, and we made some awesome food that put my normal dinner of improvised rice to shame. I ended up falling asleep on the roof the first night, which was the first time I've slept outside without a tent. I met his friend, "Tony the artist," who is the most creative and self-driven Cape Verdean I've met here. We're already talking about a potential recycled art installation project to put up in Mosteiros and art camps during the summer for kids in my town who are interested.
The hour-long ride back home was, oddly, what stood out to me. It's just interesting to drive most of the length of the island in the beginnings of the morning when the world is starting to move. It feels a little bit voyeuristic, or at least slightly imposing, but it's always such an experience. I may have told some of you but my decision to apply for Peace Corps came when I was in Grand Cayman, and Jared and I spent the day riding around in a Hiace with Reggae blasting, and we saw the people and places that most people who visit the Caribbean don't care to experience. So maybe I just have a thing for public transportation.
But the day started early because the only guaranteed rides leave Mosteiros at 6am. So I walked down the street to the Shell station (weird) to wait. So many people were already up! Students were walking around well before school started and some people were jogging. I caught a Hiace which was completely empty, so we drove around to find more passengers. I sat in the front, because one thing I've noticed about the cars here is that they always include the one boisterous woman who likes to hug you and keep her arm around you for the whole ride, and the one guy who hasn't showered in a few days. And I've been crammed between the two of them often enough to know that if the front is empty, you take it.
The first thing that stood out to me was this old couple that was sitting on the side of the road waiting to be picked up. The culture here, from what I've seen so far, typically fosters an unromantic, sometimes apparently disconnected approach to relationships and I figured they were both just traveling to the capital for the day. The old man helped the woman into the car, got her settled, said goodbye and shut the door, and said to the driver "Deus bai ku bo," or "God go with you," in such a way that implied it was more a warning to keep his wife safe than the obligatory farewell to someone about to travel. He then slowly made his way back across the street to his house. I was surprised by how surprised I was. On the way back I saw people standing on the tops of tall, isolated hills watching the ocean; a monkey house; a donkey running down the street biting another donkey, which is hilarious; kids getting ready to go to school (even if they aren't my students they all yell "teacher!!" when I pass) and this little girl with milk chocolate skin and ringlets of Swedish blonde hair in pigtails above her ears. She had piercing blue eyes and something about her was very touching, though I can't put my finger on what unless it was just her exotic features. I think what makes these car rides so exciting to me is never knowing what I'll see or experience. It's always one brief moment of reflection followed by something I haven't seen before or, if it's something I have seen before, it's always something beautiful in a new way. Or, again, just a fondness for bumpy car rides.
So my blog has been slacking. I decided against getting internet in my house so that I can try to have as close to "the African experience" as a little white girl can have. Not that Cape Verde supplies one with the stereotypical African experience, whatever that is. There's a lot that I want to write about; all little things that don't really tie together in any discernable way. It makes it exciting to write, to have so many things that I want to say, but also frustrating that there's no obvious structure to anything.
I spent the last few days in Mosteiros--a more urbanized area settled in the north of the island. The town is built on the ocean, and my friend's house is a moment's walk to the beach. Everywhere you are, you can hear and smell the sea. I spent most of the first day, while my friend was at work, rocking back and forth in a hammock and reading one of my old favorite books. I wrote lesson plans on the rooftop, and we made some awesome food that put my normal dinner of improvised rice to shame. I ended up falling asleep on the roof the first night, which was the first time I've slept outside without a tent. I met his friend, "Tony the artist," who is the most creative and self-driven Cape Verdean I've met here. We're already talking about a potential recycled art installation project to put up in Mosteiros and art camps during the summer for kids in my town who are interested.
The hour-long ride back home was, oddly, what stood out to me. It's just interesting to drive most of the length of the island in the beginnings of the morning when the world is starting to move. It feels a little bit voyeuristic, or at least slightly imposing, but it's always such an experience. I may have told some of you but my decision to apply for Peace Corps came when I was in Grand Cayman, and Jared and I spent the day riding around in a Hiace with Reggae blasting, and we saw the people and places that most people who visit the Caribbean don't care to experience. So maybe I just have a thing for public transportation.
But the day started early because the only guaranteed rides leave Mosteiros at 6am. So I walked down the street to the Shell station (weird) to wait. So many people were already up! Students were walking around well before school started and some people were jogging. I caught a Hiace which was completely empty, so we drove around to find more passengers. I sat in the front, because one thing I've noticed about the cars here is that they always include the one boisterous woman who likes to hug you and keep her arm around you for the whole ride, and the one guy who hasn't showered in a few days. And I've been crammed between the two of them often enough to know that if the front is empty, you take it.
The first thing that stood out to me was this old couple that was sitting on the side of the road waiting to be picked up. The culture here, from what I've seen so far, typically fosters an unromantic, sometimes apparently disconnected approach to relationships and I figured they were both just traveling to the capital for the day. The old man helped the woman into the car, got her settled, said goodbye and shut the door, and said to the driver "Deus bai ku bo," or "God go with you," in such a way that implied it was more a warning to keep his wife safe than the obligatory farewell to someone about to travel. He then slowly made his way back across the street to his house. I was surprised by how surprised I was. On the way back I saw people standing on the tops of tall, isolated hills watching the ocean; a monkey house; a donkey running down the street biting another donkey, which is hilarious; kids getting ready to go to school (even if they aren't my students they all yell "teacher!!" when I pass) and this little girl with milk chocolate skin and ringlets of Swedish blonde hair in pigtails above her ears. She had piercing blue eyes and something about her was very touching, though I can't put my finger on what unless it was just her exotic features. I think what makes these car rides so exciting to me is never knowing what I'll see or experience. It's always one brief moment of reflection followed by something I haven't seen before or, if it's something I have seen before, it's always something beautiful in a new way. Or, again, just a fondness for bumpy car rides.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Slippy rocks
I don't have the linguistic aptitude to depict this trek to you. Suffice it to say that I channeled Bear Grylls for part of the way when the txuba came (downpour). This day was an adventure through and through. But you'd have to see it to believe it.
The pictures posted in reverse order for some reason and I can't mess with HTML right now so...enjoy backwards.
The pictures posted in reverse order for some reason and I can't mess with HTML right now so...enjoy backwards.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Pancake dance
I’m not fully convinced that I’m living in Africa right now. A music video from Titanic is on the tv (I think whoever airbrushes Celine Dion is one of the most underrated artistic talents of our generation) and I will do my best to describe the view I had yesterday, but it was a little (understatement) mind blowing so I’m sorry if I stutter. Or wax poetic…but I kind of have to in order to give you a semi-accurate mental picture.
I was riding back from Assomada in the karru and had the good fortune to be seated at the end of the bench, so I had a good view of our surroundings. As we reached the top of my mountain (it’s my mountain mostly because I live on it but also because I’m fairly certain it doesn’t have a name so it is now Monti di Rakel) I looked around behind me and almost fell out of the car because of how gorgeous this place has become. It was very pretty when we got here, but now that the rains have come, the green is springing out of the earth at a speed I never imagined was possible. But it was the mountains in the distance that surprised me. They looked like a scene from a Japanese watercolor scroll. The fog swirled around the mountaintops and between the crevices. Clear, brilliant white the color of untouched sketch paper. This view alone was enough for me to insist that all of my friends in the car crane their necks and bodies in impossible angles to catch a glimpse. So when I reached home, I was feeling inspired.
I grabbed my notebook and went to the top of the roof to write a little. When I reached the top and stepped out of the door, I saw more of the same Hiroshige-esque mountains, but there was also a rainbow shooting out of the clouds in a direct beam in a pristine blue sky that was streaked with pink. When I went back downstairs to finish writing (the only stairs up to the roof are precarious cement blocks of different sizes that twist around the back kitchen, and there is no light back there) I happened to look up. There was a half moon, clear in the sky that was streaked with pink, blue, purple and white. It was still very light out so I turned again to see where the sun had reached in the sky. The sunset looked like something you would see in the Caribbean, with yellows and oranges the colors of leaves in the fall and white shimmering on the surface of the ocean beyond Monti Brianda. I looked back to the mountains to see if the rainbow was there, and it had faded in front of cotton candy pink clouds that reminded me of spongecake, which had become a backdrop to a purple hazy mountainscape. At this point I was fairly certain that I had ingested acid at some point throughout the day. I felt like Lisa Frank had tried her hand at English landscape painting and I had somehow fallen directly in the center of the finished product. Seriously, if there were any time in my life when I would not be surprised to see a unicorn or Rainbow Brite, it would have been yesterday.
So that was the most sensory overload I’ve had at one time in a thirty minute span. Ever. In other news, we had a lesson on food items the other day in Kriolu and I was in desperate need of eating something other than rice and fish soup. We had made chocolate chip pancakes (or the closest equivalent we could manage) in the afternoon for a snack, but it didn’t hit the spot. Although my mood was improved drastically due to the contagious enjoyment of our Cape Verdean language instructor, who had never so much as heard of a pancake, and who became so excited with flipping them that he would let out an occasional, very African high-pitched “aaaaye!” and a giggle, and do a little pancake dance when it landed to his liking. Then he would stop to eat one of his masterpieces and forget that he was still cooking the next. I’ve never been so excited to see someone else so excited, and because it was all because of pancakes, it was also pretty funny.
Anyway, I had a craving and pancakes didn’t cut it. So after class I went to the Supermarket and we bought slices of goat cheese and crackers, which may be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I read an article last year that people who spend even just five minutes a day focusing on the simple details of one thing, like eating a single grape, are much healthier and happier than those who don’t. People aren’t wired to focus on things like that, but next time you pop a grape into your mouth, close your eyes and really think about it. Break the skin open against the roof of your mouth and let the juice coat your tongue. Eat it slow, and think about the texture of the skin compared to the flesh of the fruit. I promise that if you lose yourself in it, for two or three minutes, you’ll be much happier when you open your eyes. In my case, I’m not convinced that I so much as chewed the crackers and cheese. That shit was good. But next time I’m going to close my eyes.
Some homework for those of you inclined to allow me to eat vicariously through you (send detailed emails and/or pictures):
1. Eat some mac and cheese.
2. Drink a glass of dry red wine.
3. Go out to a nice restaurant and order dessert after dinner.
4. Cook with pesto.
5. Eat a cheeseburger with seasoned waffle fries.
6. Sip on a margarita on the rocks (outside on a hot afternoon)
7. Most importantly: make an egg and cheese bagel with bacon. But don’t tell me about that one, I don’t know if I can handle it.
I was riding back from Assomada in the karru and had the good fortune to be seated at the end of the bench, so I had a good view of our surroundings. As we reached the top of my mountain (it’s my mountain mostly because I live on it but also because I’m fairly certain it doesn’t have a name so it is now Monti di Rakel) I looked around behind me and almost fell out of the car because of how gorgeous this place has become. It was very pretty when we got here, but now that the rains have come, the green is springing out of the earth at a speed I never imagined was possible. But it was the mountains in the distance that surprised me. They looked like a scene from a Japanese watercolor scroll. The fog swirled around the mountaintops and between the crevices. Clear, brilliant white the color of untouched sketch paper. This view alone was enough for me to insist that all of my friends in the car crane their necks and bodies in impossible angles to catch a glimpse. So when I reached home, I was feeling inspired.
I grabbed my notebook and went to the top of the roof to write a little. When I reached the top and stepped out of the door, I saw more of the same Hiroshige-esque mountains, but there was also a rainbow shooting out of the clouds in a direct beam in a pristine blue sky that was streaked with pink. When I went back downstairs to finish writing (the only stairs up to the roof are precarious cement blocks of different sizes that twist around the back kitchen, and there is no light back there) I happened to look up. There was a half moon, clear in the sky that was streaked with pink, blue, purple and white. It was still very light out so I turned again to see where the sun had reached in the sky. The sunset looked like something you would see in the Caribbean, with yellows and oranges the colors of leaves in the fall and white shimmering on the surface of the ocean beyond Monti Brianda. I looked back to the mountains to see if the rainbow was there, and it had faded in front of cotton candy pink clouds that reminded me of spongecake, which had become a backdrop to a purple hazy mountainscape. At this point I was fairly certain that I had ingested acid at some point throughout the day. I felt like Lisa Frank had tried her hand at English landscape painting and I had somehow fallen directly in the center of the finished product. Seriously, if there were any time in my life when I would not be surprised to see a unicorn or Rainbow Brite, it would have been yesterday.
So that was the most sensory overload I’ve had at one time in a thirty minute span. Ever. In other news, we had a lesson on food items the other day in Kriolu and I was in desperate need of eating something other than rice and fish soup. We had made chocolate chip pancakes (or the closest equivalent we could manage) in the afternoon for a snack, but it didn’t hit the spot. Although my mood was improved drastically due to the contagious enjoyment of our Cape Verdean language instructor, who had never so much as heard of a pancake, and who became so excited with flipping them that he would let out an occasional, very African high-pitched “aaaaye!” and a giggle, and do a little pancake dance when it landed to his liking. Then he would stop to eat one of his masterpieces and forget that he was still cooking the next. I’ve never been so excited to see someone else so excited, and because it was all because of pancakes, it was also pretty funny.
Anyway, I had a craving and pancakes didn’t cut it. So after class I went to the Supermarket and we bought slices of goat cheese and crackers, which may be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I read an article last year that people who spend even just five minutes a day focusing on the simple details of one thing, like eating a single grape, are much healthier and happier than those who don’t. People aren’t wired to focus on things like that, but next time you pop a grape into your mouth, close your eyes and really think about it. Break the skin open against the roof of your mouth and let the juice coat your tongue. Eat it slow, and think about the texture of the skin compared to the flesh of the fruit. I promise that if you lose yourself in it, for two or three minutes, you’ll be much happier when you open your eyes. In my case, I’m not convinced that I so much as chewed the crackers and cheese. That shit was good. But next time I’m going to close my eyes.
Some homework for those of you inclined to allow me to eat vicariously through you (send detailed emails and/or pictures):
1. Eat some mac and cheese.
2. Drink a glass of dry red wine.
3. Go out to a nice restaurant and order dessert after dinner.
4. Cook with pesto.
5. Eat a cheeseburger with seasoned waffle fries.
6. Sip on a margarita on the rocks (outside on a hot afternoon)
7. Most importantly: make an egg and cheese bagel with bacon. But don’t tell me about that one, I don’t know if I can handle it.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The light has gone
This is a pretty common phrase here. Light goes every night. So I write my updates at home (thank God for batteries) and post when I can. In this case, it's taken me a week to put this up. Since then, I have been sick with three different ailments, witnessed the slow bloody death of a large mammal, eaten parts of said animal, and contracted three botflies in three different areas. I'll spare you all the details of that one, suffice it to say that my language instructor thought I was trying to tell him "I have butterflies" for the duration of my story the day after I attempted to perform surgery on myself with my makeup mirror, tweezers, a flashlight, duct tape, and more flexibility than I was aware I had. Think about that one.
So this was written on 8.10.10, sorry for the delay:
I’m sitting in my living room with my feet propped up, with Barenaked Ladies stuck in my head from lesson planning today, enjoying a fresh mango from one of my family’s trees. I keep stretching my pinky finger too far for my asterisk key because I’m getting used to Portuguese keyboards.It’s been one of those days where I’m in between forgetting and remembering that I’m in Africa, if that makes any sense.
I got one of my fellow volunteers grounded last night. The story begins innocently enough (though in retrospect, the entire idea was bad to begin with on my part) right after class. We finished our language instruction in Assomada and were riding back to Ribierao Manuel and I was feeling really good. It was nice outside, I had energy, and I was focusing on the idea that I might have the best legs EVER after training because I practically climb a mountain twice a day to get from home to school and back for lunch. So I decided that I’d love to go for a run, which is something that the other volunteers in the village do often enough. So I decided to go. I got home, changed, stretched, and started to run to the bottom of the mountain to meet my friends and run to the neighboring village.
Walking and running, though undeniably similar, in Cape Verde elicit completely opposite reactions from people on the streets. Walking down the street every day results in “txiga! Txiga!” from all sides, which is what people say to mean “come over and eat some food and talk for a few hours.”Hence the Cape Verdean tendency to be late to things (which is unfortunate for my own personal growth considering the track record I was already working with in the States). Running, on the other hand, results in “Forsa, forsa!” which more or less means “go faster! Keep it up!” And given the fact that the average ten year old wearing flip flops (or better yet, nothing on his feet) can out-run any American here without breaking a sweat, the adrenaline rush and motivation is tenfold what I’m accustomed to on a treadmill. I’m justifying my pending story shamelessly, if you can’t tell.
The first bad idea was going out for strenuous exercise so early in the week. I take malaria medication every Saturday, and the pills give me sporadic dizzy spells and headaches, both of which I had experienced earlier in the afternoon. The second bad idea was running to meet my friends, who live a mile or more away or more, before taking a mile or two run to Monti Brianda and then turning around to come back. The worst idea of all was running down a freaking mountain. Did I mention that I live on a mountain? Because I ran down a mountain, on a cobblestone road, very very fast. I must have landed on a stone wrong at one point because once I reached my friend’s house and started slowing down, I realized that something was a little bit off with my left ankle. There are at least two or three doctors reading this right now who might email me when I say that I decided to keep going anyway. Diskulpa-n.
We went a mile or more down the road and I realized I couldn’t keep going. The endorphins were pumping through me like I’d never experienced before, and it was wonderful and I wanted nothing more than to keep running until I reached the ocean, but the physical reality of what I was doing to my body was setting in. I was able to run in spurts, but couldn’t go a distance without my ankle hurting. We also started slowly realizing that, while the fact that the lights in our conselho were out seemed like another good reason to enjoy the outdoors, it was quickly becoming a reason why we shouldn’t be out.
On a poetic side note, there was one point when my friends continued to run and I tried to walk it off on my own. Toby had mentioned that on their last run, he and Lynette had seen grasshoppers jumping all around them and that it was magical. I was disappointed to have missed it, and had been looking for them all the way down the road. They weren’t jumping as we ran, but once I slowed my pace, they started exploding out of the dry brush like fireworks on all sides. Even the sound of dry tinder cracking as they took off and landed was beautiful, and the sun painted everything sepia tone as it was slowly starting to set over the ocean. I was floating.
Back to the problem: the sun was starting to set, and as beautiful as it was, the streetlights wouldn’t be turning on that night and I was easily over 2 miles away from home with a hurt ankle. By the time we reached Lynette’s house, the sky was turning grey. There was only one more mile to go, but we hadn’t seen a karu (public transportation) go by and we were wondering if they’d stopped for the day. The last stretch also included the two clubs in our town and people aren’t confined indoors when drinking. It’s not a route that I want to ever walk alone after dark, as independent or comfortable as I may ever feel.
We ran past the bigger club in our town, but it had already become too dark to see and the roads are too bad to try once vision is compromised. By this time I’d developed a limp anyway. We neared the top of the mountain and I saw my host mother standing in the road at our neighbor’s house waiting for me. I had reached home by curfew, but didn’t even try defending my decision to go. Toby and Lynette headed back fast, not sure of the reaction they’d receive from their respective families, and I apologized endlessly to my mother and also one of my brothers, who actually chided me in front of his friends for not going earlier. I explained once I was inside that I had hurt my ankle and there was no karu coming up the mountain, and that my friends had been wonderful enough to walk me back home to make sure I was safe. In reality we should have asked one of the family members at the bottom of the mountain to walk me back, or as Lynette later said, should have at least stopped for a second to explain to the other families and have them call my mother at home to let her know. Easy enough in retrospect. You can’t beat the setting sun if you’re walking up a mountain with a lame ankle. I think that’s a West African proverb (it will be by the time I leave here).
So I got off easily enough. Lynette, I think because she is blessed with the gift of language learning, suffered more dire consequences than I, despite her heroic efforts to ensure my safe passage home. First of all, when the three of us reached the top of the hill, my mother started to direct her chastising at Lynette instead of me. Though I got a taste of it later. But once Lynette reached her homestay, hell broke loose. She’s rightfully decided to chalk it up as a cultural experience that reflects her ability to fully and completely integrate into an African home, but really she was grounded. She’s not allowed out after 5pm; I’ve ruined her afternoon runs. I’m hoping it only lasts a few days, because I want to go out again and make it the whole way. Toby’s family wasn’t even home, so he got off easy.
In the end, the technical worst of it was that Lynette ended up returning home ten minutes past curfew. My limp is nearly gone, I’d only pulled a small muscle I think, but all of the other muscles that I’d been previously unaware of (did you know that you have an upper ass? I did not) are going to hurt like a mother tomorrow; they’re already starting. I have some great motivation to keep it up, however, and will use this opportunity to promote my small side of the world.
The volunteers currently on Fogo are trying to put together the island’s first marathon, tentatively scheduled to be held August of 2011. Fogo is a beautiful island (actually it’s a volcano) with a lot to offer. If the views don’t do it for you, it also has a winery and is the source of most of the country’s coffee. They’re in planning stages so anything is subject to change, but if any of you fit runners know of marathon organizers who might want to take part in this, please let me know. There was a lot of talk of marathon training from many of you right before I left, and I think this would be a great project to become involved with, even from the States. The people of Fogo are really excited about this idea and it would be really great to see it through. I think the time frame is scheduled around the time of Fogo’s Carnival as well, so if plans do pull through, any runners out there, this would be the perfect time to visit me. Just be prepared to suffer the embarrassment of having been passed by barefooted children and women carrying straw on their heads. They’re also in need of doctors to be on hand in case of injury if anyone is interested (hint hint, G).
In other news, I receive my site placement in two weeks. I’m reaching the end of month one of 27. PST is intense but I’m loving the pace of it. I’m getting used to the lights going out (sidenote, our lights just went out), giant bugs and cold bucket baths (much more enjoyable after a hard run). All of the trainees had a relaxing beach day at Tarrafal on Saturday, which was so fun. So all in all, things are good. Do me a favor and enjoy some mac and cheese for me. And read a book instead of watching tv tonight.
Txao, Rakel
So this was written on 8.10.10, sorry for the delay:
I’m sitting in my living room with my feet propped up, with Barenaked Ladies stuck in my head from lesson planning today, enjoying a fresh mango from one of my family’s trees. I keep stretching my pinky finger too far for my asterisk key because I’m getting used to Portuguese keyboards.It’s been one of those days where I’m in between forgetting and remembering that I’m in Africa, if that makes any sense.
I got one of my fellow volunteers grounded last night. The story begins innocently enough (though in retrospect, the entire idea was bad to begin with on my part) right after class. We finished our language instruction in Assomada and were riding back to Ribierao Manuel and I was feeling really good. It was nice outside, I had energy, and I was focusing on the idea that I might have the best legs EVER after training because I practically climb a mountain twice a day to get from home to school and back for lunch. So I decided that I’d love to go for a run, which is something that the other volunteers in the village do often enough. So I decided to go. I got home, changed, stretched, and started to run to the bottom of the mountain to meet my friends and run to the neighboring village.
Walking and running, though undeniably similar, in Cape Verde elicit completely opposite reactions from people on the streets. Walking down the street every day results in “txiga! Txiga!” from all sides, which is what people say to mean “come over and eat some food and talk for a few hours.”Hence the Cape Verdean tendency to be late to things (which is unfortunate for my own personal growth considering the track record I was already working with in the States). Running, on the other hand, results in “Forsa, forsa!” which more or less means “go faster! Keep it up!” And given the fact that the average ten year old wearing flip flops (or better yet, nothing on his feet) can out-run any American here without breaking a sweat, the adrenaline rush and motivation is tenfold what I’m accustomed to on a treadmill. I’m justifying my pending story shamelessly, if you can’t tell.
The first bad idea was going out for strenuous exercise so early in the week. I take malaria medication every Saturday, and the pills give me sporadic dizzy spells and headaches, both of which I had experienced earlier in the afternoon. The second bad idea was running to meet my friends, who live a mile or more away or more, before taking a mile or two run to Monti Brianda and then turning around to come back. The worst idea of all was running down a freaking mountain. Did I mention that I live on a mountain? Because I ran down a mountain, on a cobblestone road, very very fast. I must have landed on a stone wrong at one point because once I reached my friend’s house and started slowing down, I realized that something was a little bit off with my left ankle. There are at least two or three doctors reading this right now who might email me when I say that I decided to keep going anyway. Diskulpa-n.
We went a mile or more down the road and I realized I couldn’t keep going. The endorphins were pumping through me like I’d never experienced before, and it was wonderful and I wanted nothing more than to keep running until I reached the ocean, but the physical reality of what I was doing to my body was setting in. I was able to run in spurts, but couldn’t go a distance without my ankle hurting. We also started slowly realizing that, while the fact that the lights in our conselho were out seemed like another good reason to enjoy the outdoors, it was quickly becoming a reason why we shouldn’t be out.
On a poetic side note, there was one point when my friends continued to run and I tried to walk it off on my own. Toby had mentioned that on their last run, he and Lynette had seen grasshoppers jumping all around them and that it was magical. I was disappointed to have missed it, and had been looking for them all the way down the road. They weren’t jumping as we ran, but once I slowed my pace, they started exploding out of the dry brush like fireworks on all sides. Even the sound of dry tinder cracking as they took off and landed was beautiful, and the sun painted everything sepia tone as it was slowly starting to set over the ocean. I was floating.
Back to the problem: the sun was starting to set, and as beautiful as it was, the streetlights wouldn’t be turning on that night and I was easily over 2 miles away from home with a hurt ankle. By the time we reached Lynette’s house, the sky was turning grey. There was only one more mile to go, but we hadn’t seen a karu (public transportation) go by and we were wondering if they’d stopped for the day. The last stretch also included the two clubs in our town and people aren’t confined indoors when drinking. It’s not a route that I want to ever walk alone after dark, as independent or comfortable as I may ever feel.
We ran past the bigger club in our town, but it had already become too dark to see and the roads are too bad to try once vision is compromised. By this time I’d developed a limp anyway. We neared the top of the mountain and I saw my host mother standing in the road at our neighbor’s house waiting for me. I had reached home by curfew, but didn’t even try defending my decision to go. Toby and Lynette headed back fast, not sure of the reaction they’d receive from their respective families, and I apologized endlessly to my mother and also one of my brothers, who actually chided me in front of his friends for not going earlier. I explained once I was inside that I had hurt my ankle and there was no karu coming up the mountain, and that my friends had been wonderful enough to walk me back home to make sure I was safe. In reality we should have asked one of the family members at the bottom of the mountain to walk me back, or as Lynette later said, should have at least stopped for a second to explain to the other families and have them call my mother at home to let her know. Easy enough in retrospect. You can’t beat the setting sun if you’re walking up a mountain with a lame ankle. I think that’s a West African proverb (it will be by the time I leave here).
So I got off easily enough. Lynette, I think because she is blessed with the gift of language learning, suffered more dire consequences than I, despite her heroic efforts to ensure my safe passage home. First of all, when the three of us reached the top of the hill, my mother started to direct her chastising at Lynette instead of me. Though I got a taste of it later. But once Lynette reached her homestay, hell broke loose. She’s rightfully decided to chalk it up as a cultural experience that reflects her ability to fully and completely integrate into an African home, but really she was grounded. She’s not allowed out after 5pm; I’ve ruined her afternoon runs. I’m hoping it only lasts a few days, because I want to go out again and make it the whole way. Toby’s family wasn’t even home, so he got off easy.
In the end, the technical worst of it was that Lynette ended up returning home ten minutes past curfew. My limp is nearly gone, I’d only pulled a small muscle I think, but all of the other muscles that I’d been previously unaware of (did you know that you have an upper ass? I did not) are going to hurt like a mother tomorrow; they’re already starting. I have some great motivation to keep it up, however, and will use this opportunity to promote my small side of the world.
The volunteers currently on Fogo are trying to put together the island’s first marathon, tentatively scheduled to be held August of 2011. Fogo is a beautiful island (actually it’s a volcano) with a lot to offer. If the views don’t do it for you, it also has a winery and is the source of most of the country’s coffee. They’re in planning stages so anything is subject to change, but if any of you fit runners know of marathon organizers who might want to take part in this, please let me know. There was a lot of talk of marathon training from many of you right before I left, and I think this would be a great project to become involved with, even from the States. The people of Fogo are really excited about this idea and it would be really great to see it through. I think the time frame is scheduled around the time of Fogo’s Carnival as well, so if plans do pull through, any runners out there, this would be the perfect time to visit me. Just be prepared to suffer the embarrassment of having been passed by barefooted children and women carrying straw on their heads. They’re also in need of doctors to be on hand in case of injury if anyone is interested (hint hint, G).
In other news, I receive my site placement in two weeks. I’m reaching the end of month one of 27. PST is intense but I’m loving the pace of it. I’m getting used to the lights going out (sidenote, our lights just went out), giant bugs and cold bucket baths (much more enjoyable after a hard run). All of the trainees had a relaxing beach day at Tarrafal on Saturday, which was so fun. So all in all, things are good. Do me a favor and enjoy some mac and cheese for me. And read a book instead of watching tv tonight.
Txao, Rakel
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Just a taste
I dont actually know these people
Grogu distillery
Ciudad Velha
I wasn´t kidding! This is the one that caused the whole karmic mess...
A view from Ribeirao Manuel.
I could see the ocean the other day from my house...beautiful.
My neice Lidiane, she is my babysitter.
More to come!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Aranha karma
Hi all!!! I´m here safe, living in Riberao Manuel on the island of Santiago with a great host family and unbelievable view. I wish I could give you all the details but I don´t have much time at this cafe. I wrote a post from underneath my mustard yellow mosquito net at my home stay, but forgot to load it on my flash drive. I have some massive updates anyway.
Basically in my post I was describing a particularly embarrassing chase around my room involving myself, a tiny bottle of bug spray and a spider that was (I truly wish I were kidding) at least the size of my hand when my fingers are spread open. I chased the beast around my room for a good half hour, until I worked up a serious sweat, and eventually had to ask my sister to come ajuda me.
I wondered, I distinctly remember, right as the shoe met the spider, if such a thing as spider karma could possibly exist. It turns out, it does!!! My following story has since been discussed on our peer support phone network, and I wasn´t even the one to call.
One definitively foreign thing about life here is how dark it gets once the sun goes down. I mean dark, dark. I can´t tell if my eyes are open or closed dark. The verdict is still out on whether the malaria pills are affecting my dreams but I´m inclined so far to say that they are, which makes the process of going to sleep a little strange.
So, this particular night I woke up at probably 3 in the morning because I heard distinct scratching to my left on the wall. My bed is pressed against the wall, so this was only a foot away from me at most. I thought it was a rat, by how loud it was, until I realized that the noise was moving slowly up the wall. So I sat up quickly and turned on the light, and one of these spiders was sitting there in front of me, with only a mosquito net in between. I figured enough was enough, I needed to set some ground rules. Besides, I´m in Africa, there are creepy crawlies everywhere and I can handle this one. So I took my t-shirt, balled it up in my hand, and slammed my fist into the spider. I didn´t realize that it had a pouch of eggs on its underside, and as soon as I made contact, the one huge spider exploded into (again, I sincerely wish I were kidding) at least one to two hundred tiny spiders that started crawling around my wall. They were small enough that some of them started crawling through my mosquito net, so I grabbed my squeaky bottle of spray and kept pumping until I was out of spray. Unfortunately, I only got about 40 of them, and there was nothing left for me to do. This was the only room I could possibly sleep in, and being underneath the mosquito net was the best option I had.
I tried to sleep with the light on, but couldn´t, so eventually I had to trust that I was going to survive the night and turned the light out.
Think about that one next time you see a spider in the corner of your room.
Basically in my post I was describing a particularly embarrassing chase around my room involving myself, a tiny bottle of bug spray and a spider that was (I truly wish I were kidding) at least the size of my hand when my fingers are spread open. I chased the beast around my room for a good half hour, until I worked up a serious sweat, and eventually had to ask my sister to come ajuda me.
I wondered, I distinctly remember, right as the shoe met the spider, if such a thing as spider karma could possibly exist. It turns out, it does!!! My following story has since been discussed on our peer support phone network, and I wasn´t even the one to call.
One definitively foreign thing about life here is how dark it gets once the sun goes down. I mean dark, dark. I can´t tell if my eyes are open or closed dark. The verdict is still out on whether the malaria pills are affecting my dreams but I´m inclined so far to say that they are, which makes the process of going to sleep a little strange.
So, this particular night I woke up at probably 3 in the morning because I heard distinct scratching to my left on the wall. My bed is pressed against the wall, so this was only a foot away from me at most. I thought it was a rat, by how loud it was, until I realized that the noise was moving slowly up the wall. So I sat up quickly and turned on the light, and one of these spiders was sitting there in front of me, with only a mosquito net in between. I figured enough was enough, I needed to set some ground rules. Besides, I´m in Africa, there are creepy crawlies everywhere and I can handle this one. So I took my t-shirt, balled it up in my hand, and slammed my fist into the spider. I didn´t realize that it had a pouch of eggs on its underside, and as soon as I made contact, the one huge spider exploded into (again, I sincerely wish I were kidding) at least one to two hundred tiny spiders that started crawling around my wall. They were small enough that some of them started crawling through my mosquito net, so I grabbed my squeaky bottle of spray and kept pumping until I was out of spray. Unfortunately, I only got about 40 of them, and there was nothing left for me to do. This was the only room I could possibly sleep in, and being underneath the mosquito net was the best option I had.
I tried to sleep with the light on, but couldn´t, so eventually I had to trust that I was going to survive the night and turned the light out.
Think about that one next time you see a spider in the corner of your room.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Packing list of fame
You would never think that squeezing your life into an 80 pound weight restriction would be difficult. Well, allow me, three bags and nearly a bottle of wine to argue the contrary (there's no Trader Joe's in Africa, so shut it. I'm an angel from here on out).
So Peace Corps allows you to check exactly 80lbs of luggage, with a 50lbs max for one bag. I have spent the entire day, literally, playing tetris with mounds of clothing, small electronics, kitchenware and the little luxuries that I want to bring with me. I've laughed at myself a few times throughout the day, and was compelled to share parts of my list.
I have begrudgingly forfeit my face wash, some choice clothing, half of my bugspray, my favorite spices (blasphemy to my culinary father, sorry pops), numerous lotions, the one book I was dead set on bringing but which apparently weighs the equivalent of three other books and a pair of shoes, my new Disney World Tinkerbell mug (SAD!), half of my toothpaste, and my hair dryer (sorry Cape Verde, you have a hot mess coming your way) for the following essentials:
(This is a fantastic birthday present idea, second only to Annie's white shell cheddar mac 'n cheese)
So Peace Corps allows you to check exactly 80lbs of luggage, with a 50lbs max for one bag. I have spent the entire day, literally, playing tetris with mounds of clothing, small electronics, kitchenware and the little luxuries that I want to bring with me. I've laughed at myself a few times throughout the day, and was compelled to share parts of my list.
I have begrudgingly forfeit my face wash, some choice clothing, half of my bugspray, my favorite spices (blasphemy to my culinary father, sorry pops), numerous lotions, the one book I was dead set on bringing but which apparently weighs the equivalent of three other books and a pair of shoes, my new Disney World Tinkerbell mug (SAD!), half of my toothpaste, and my hair dryer (sorry Cape Verde, you have a hot mess coming your way) for the following essentials:
- A framed photo from Zurich, an old-school photo-booth print from LA, a small turtle from Grand Cayman and my Christmas ornament named Hootie.
- Ten goodbye cards and an incredible letter from a friend's co-worker who is also a RPCV from Senegal. Totally worth it.
- A very random decoration from India that I bought with a friend currently serving with Peace Corps in Ecuador.
- A framed card from my sister, paired with a framed photo of me as a baby with my hippie parents while I was being baptized in a lake. My mom with huge glasses and braids, my dad donning a flannel shirt before that was all modern day hipster. Best photo ever taken.
- Two journals: one was my Xmas present this past year, from my mom. The other was from Clint and Katie, who have no idea how much love I'm going to pour into it.
- One bottle of sunscreen from Reveal so that my Dr friend doesn't write me scathing emails about how I'm ruining my skin. It's self-tanning, I still win. Also a two year supply of chapstick because crazy people work there.
- The Chipmunk Adventure. I kid you not. I would leave a kidney behind to bring this movie with me.
- On a sad note, the thing that was at the tippy top of my list that I was unable to buy (don't sell your car until errands are done) is this beauty:
(This is a fantastic birthday present idea, second only to Annie's white shell cheddar mac 'n cheese)
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sneak peek
I'm finding that one of the outcomes of being posted to an African archipelago is that most people have no clue what or where it is. Myself included, until recently. But in many cases, understandably so. Unfortunately, Africa remains--despite being an incredibly diverse and culturally rich continent--an area recognized for its abundant hardships, desolation and coups, World Cup aside. You'd think I would have known better, having already felt the embarrassment of realizing I'd formed stereotyped expectations once before in Ghana. Yet when I was told I'd be serving in Africa my mind generally migrated to thoughts of dusty villages, expanses of yellow plains and the occasional lion. After all, that's where I thought I might be the most help. Fool myself twice...shame on me.
Anyway, you've all seemed curious about general information: food, weather, etc. My experience will depend on the site that I'm chosen for, so you'll have to wait for specifics. But as for Cape Verde as a whole, here's a brief glimpse:
Environment
The Cape Verde archipelago is located approximately 375
miles off the coast of West Africa. It is composed of nine
inhabited islands and eight islets. The islands have a combined
size of just over 4,000 square kilometers (roughly the size of
Rhode Island). The islands are divided into the Barlavento
(windward) islands (Santo Antão, São Vicente, Santa Luzia,
São Nicolau, Sal, and Boavista) and the Sotavento (leeward)
islands (Maio, Santiago, Fogo, and Brava). The largest island,
both in size and population, is Santiago, where Praia, the
capital is located.
Of volcanic origin, these islands, boast some of the windiest
beaches in the world, and vary widely in terrain. An active
volcano on the island of Fogo is the highest point on the
archipelago (elevation 2,829 meters). Extensive salt flats are
found on Sal and Maio. On Santiago, Santo Antão, and São
Nicolau, arid slopes give way in places to sugarcane or banana
fields spread along the base of towering mountains. The
climate is tropical, but the archipelago’s location in the Sahel
belt makes for periodic sand storms and devastating droughts,
interspersed with years of greater, yet still less-than adequate,
rainfall.
Water shortages and successive droughts have greatly
weakened crop production capacity over the last century. Any
decline in Cape Verde’s import capacity as a result of the price
increases or grain shortages could have serious implications
for the food security of this country where corn, rice, and
bread represent the basis of the dietary consumption. The
country has studied various solutions to overcome its water
and energy development burden and has strategically decided
to invest in alternative energy resources. The announced
goal is to produce 25 percent of energy needs from renewable
sources by 2011 and 50 percent by 2020. There are also plans
to make the island of Sal fully reliant on renewable energy (a
combination of solar, wind, wave, and biofuel) in the next 5 to
10 years. Until then, Cape Verde remains highly vulnerable to
price increases in the energy and food markets.
Food and Diet
The variety of food in Cape Verde can be relatively limited
depending on the site. Small restaurants can be found in
most cities and towns. Dairy products are limited to imported
powdered or pasteurized (boxed) milk and locally produced
or imported yogurt and cheese. Butter, yogurt, and cheese
are available. Gouda and Edam cheeses are available in larger
towns. In the countryside, locally produced milk is available,
but it is not pasteurized; it must, therefore, be boiled before
consumption. Due to the limited rainfall, the availability of
fresh produce will vary depending on the time of year. The
Cape Verdean diet is mostly based on fish and staple foods
like corn and rice. Vegetables available during much of the
year are potatoes, onions, tomatoes, manioc, cabbage, kale,
collard greens and dried beans. Fruits like bananas and
papayas are often available year-round, while others like
mangoes and avocados are seasonal.
Fish is available at the markets most of the year. Locally
produced canned tuna is also available. It is more difficult to
find fish in the countryside in the interior of islands.
Bread is available locally. There are also some biscuits and
cookies. Pastry shops can be found in a few larger cities.
Geography and Climate
Cape Verde’s climate near some of the coastal sites may be
milder than that of the African mainland. At the sites near
the sea, temperatures are moderate, but it can get very hot in
the countryside in the interior of the islands and a bit cool at
night in the dry season (though still hot in the day). In most
places, vegetation is scarce, so there is very little shade or
protection from the sun, which makes it even hotter. Cape
Verde is part of the Sahel arid belt and only receives about 8
cm (3 inches) of rain on most islands. When it does rain, the
rainfall occurs between August and October, with
brief downpours.
Anyway, you've all seemed curious about general information: food, weather, etc. My experience will depend on the site that I'm chosen for, so you'll have to wait for specifics. But as for Cape Verde as a whole, here's a brief glimpse:
Environment
The Cape Verde archipelago is located approximately 375
miles off the coast of West Africa. It is composed of nine
inhabited islands and eight islets. The islands have a combined
size of just over 4,000 square kilometers (roughly the size of
Rhode Island). The islands are divided into the Barlavento
(windward) islands (Santo Antão, São Vicente, Santa Luzia,
São Nicolau, Sal, and Boavista) and the Sotavento (leeward)
islands (Maio, Santiago, Fogo, and Brava). The largest island,
both in size and population, is Santiago, where Praia, the
capital is located.
Of volcanic origin, these islands, boast some of the windiest
beaches in the world, and vary widely in terrain. An active
volcano on the island of Fogo is the highest point on the
archipelago (elevation 2,829 meters). Extensive salt flats are
found on Sal and Maio. On Santiago, Santo Antão, and São
Nicolau, arid slopes give way in places to sugarcane or banana
fields spread along the base of towering mountains. The
climate is tropical, but the archipelago’s location in the Sahel
belt makes for periodic sand storms and devastating droughts,
interspersed with years of greater, yet still less-than adequate,
rainfall.
Water shortages and successive droughts have greatly
weakened crop production capacity over the last century. Any
decline in Cape Verde’s import capacity as a result of the price
increases or grain shortages could have serious implications
for the food security of this country where corn, rice, and
bread represent the basis of the dietary consumption. The
country has studied various solutions to overcome its water
and energy development burden and has strategically decided
to invest in alternative energy resources. The announced
goal is to produce 25 percent of energy needs from renewable
sources by 2011 and 50 percent by 2020. There are also plans
to make the island of Sal fully reliant on renewable energy (a
combination of solar, wind, wave, and biofuel) in the next 5 to
10 years. Until then, Cape Verde remains highly vulnerable to
price increases in the energy and food markets.
Food and Diet
The variety of food in Cape Verde can be relatively limited
depending on the site. Small restaurants can be found in
most cities and towns. Dairy products are limited to imported
powdered or pasteurized (boxed) milk and locally produced
or imported yogurt and cheese. Butter, yogurt, and cheese
are available. Gouda and Edam cheeses are available in larger
towns. In the countryside, locally produced milk is available,
but it is not pasteurized; it must, therefore, be boiled before
consumption. Due to the limited rainfall, the availability of
fresh produce will vary depending on the time of year. The
Cape Verdean diet is mostly based on fish and staple foods
like corn and rice. Vegetables available during much of the
year are potatoes, onions, tomatoes, manioc, cabbage, kale,
collard greens and dried beans. Fruits like bananas and
papayas are often available year-round, while others like
mangoes and avocados are seasonal.
Fish is available at the markets most of the year. Locally
produced canned tuna is also available. It is more difficult to
find fish in the countryside in the interior of islands.
Bread is available locally. There are also some biscuits and
cookies. Pastry shops can be found in a few larger cities.
Geography and Climate
Cape Verde’s climate near some of the coastal sites may be
milder than that of the African mainland. At the sites near
the sea, temperatures are moderate, but it can get very hot in
the countryside in the interior of the islands and a bit cool at
night in the dry season (though still hot in the day). In most
places, vegetation is scarce, so there is very little shade or
protection from the sun, which makes it even hotter. Cape
Verde is part of the Sahel arid belt and only receives about 8
cm (3 inches) of rain on most islands. When it does rain, the
rainfall occurs between August and October, with
brief downpours.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Bú rêga bú tchõ, bú flúri
Well, friends, the time is winding down to the start of my Peace Corps service. After a brief orientation in Boston on July 15th, I'm boarding a flight to Cape Verde, where I'll be living for a whopping 27 months. Surreal.
Island life isn't exactly what I expected when I was told I'd be posted somewhere in Africa. I knew it would likely be a Lusophone country, but it never occurred to me that it might not be mainland. When my offer letter and packet came in the mail I had to run to Googlemaps because I didn't know where I was going! As it turns out, Cape Verde is an archipelago made up of 10 islands, and it's about 350 miles off of the west coast of Senegal. The thought of being able to run laps around my country of service with an expanse of ocean on all sides took some getting used to. But I've learned about it, and hunted for pictures, and I think I'll settle in just fine, hammock in tow.
I'll post more details when I know them, but I won't know until I'm training where I'll be stationed so most details aren't concrete. What I do know:
Love,
Rachel
Island life isn't exactly what I expected when I was told I'd be posted somewhere in Africa. I knew it would likely be a Lusophone country, but it never occurred to me that it might not be mainland. When my offer letter and packet came in the mail I had to run to Googlemaps because I didn't know where I was going! As it turns out, Cape Verde is an archipelago made up of 10 islands, and it's about 350 miles off of the west coast of Senegal. The thought of being able to run laps around my country of service with an expanse of ocean on all sides took some getting used to. But I've learned about it, and hunted for pictures, and I think I'll settle in just fine, hammock in tow.
I'll post more details when I know them, but I won't know until I'm training where I'll be stationed so most details aren't concrete. What I do know:
- I'll be training in Praia, the country's capital on Santiago island, and living with a host family. Address soon to follow.
- I'll be learning Kriolu, a mixture of Portuguese and Creole. (Nha nomi é Rachel!)
- I'll be teaching English at a secondary school, Monday through Saturday...
- I would love love love to come home to letters and emails from you asking to visit, so do it!
Love,
Rachel
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