Sorry for the delay everyone. I wasn't able to stay in contact at all in Mali. My village had no electricity, and the few times that I was in Bamako, the capital, the only Internet access available was through an Internet café. We were only allowed to travel in-group for safety reasons, and because of that, my time got divided heavily with the other Canadians. Between that and the bad connection, as well as the unfamiliar keyboard, I didn't have nearly enough time to provide any kind of update. When you all got that tiny message when I first arrived in Mali, saying that I survived the trip, that was likely my best opportunity in that rotation.
But even in La Pocatiere, when I was speaking regularly, what I said was bland and empty. I had a lot of pressure to update by various people, and when I didn't, others would do it for me. In reality, I was not having a good time, and didn't feel like it was appropriate to share the reason. I updated only to control what information was published. Because of this, none of you ever got a real insight into what my Canada World Youth experience was like.
But now the program is over, and what I say here can no longer effect my experience. Let this message tell the full story, and with that, bring the program to it's close.
In La Pocatiere, I had two major challenges. One was language, and the other was family. I know that family issues are usually two things: one, very real and painful for those involved, and two, boring and tedious for those listening. So even though I'm speaking openly now, I'll still try to make this brief. If you want to know more, email me and I'll talk to you about it
My host mother complained to my Project Leader that I wasn't putting in enough effort to speak French. This wasn't true, my Project Leader said she was satisfied with my efforts and rate of improvement inside the group, and I made many efforts inside the family. But for some reason, my PL decided to bring me to the halfway point of being expelled from the program, and she started doing weekly follow-ups.
My host mother would also go through my and my counterpart's luggage, thoroughly, every day. She'd inventory and analyze what we had, and report it to my Project Leader, during the weekly follow-ups. She and my host father would also report it if we broke any house rules, which would be understandable, but they had millions of them, they never communicated them to us, and they were pointless and impossible to predict. And I kept getting failure reports for my efforts in French.
My host father wasn't so immediately offensive, but he completely ignored me. He was always taking pictures of my counterpart, and taking him on trips that I was never invited to.
Eventually we did move to another family, and that worked out fine, but it only happened three weeks to the end of the rotation, and we were still working with our first family during the day. Honestly, the whole situation was a lot more ridiculous than I can describe in these three short paragraphs, but I'm ending it here.
I left Quebec with the feeling that I had failed that rotation.
I would not leave Mali feeling this way. I want to take the time to say that Quebec-Mali is considered THE most difficult CWY exchange. For most people, including those in my group, this is because of Mali. But for me, it was by far the easier rotation. I don't know if any of you remember my first post to the logbook (I did another one, too, a preparation letter for the next group http://logbook.cwy-jcm.com/maliquebec1/2012/01/01/karadje-info/ ), but it was about my struggles in learning French, and about my experience with culture shock. In Mali, I experienced no shock, and, while I was the weakest in my group at speaking French, I would become the strongest at speaking Bambara.
In fact, you could argue that I adapted TOO well to Malian culture. My nicknames were Ali Bilébiléba (pronounced "Billabillaba", Bambara for Ali The Giant) and Samah (Bambara for Elephant). I had a Malian godson, and a Malian girlfriend.
But even if I was the best at adapting to the Malian culture, I was probably the worst at adapting to the food and climate. I got sunstroke a handful of times, food poisoning, an ear infection that, for a while, I thought may have caused permanent damage, and I lost thirty pounds on a malnourished diet.
Didn't get Malaria, though, and it turns out that, even if you're taking medication and taking precautions not to get bit by mosquitoes, there is still a very real chance of getting it. Two Canadians in our group got it, and three in the other.
Disease wasn't the only thing that set Mali apart from the other exchanges in terms of risk. Like I've said, Quebec-Mali is the most difficult exchange, and it's young, with only two sets of groups before us. Because of that, I feel like they hadn't ironed out all the kinks in terms of safety, and I'm not sure I would recommend the program, although I'm happy to have done it.
Before leaving Canada, we were told that the three deadliest creatures in the area were scorpions, snakes and wild dogs. After hearing this, I grew to hope that I would see each during my stay. I wasn't disappointed. I even had the opportunity to have a couple close calls with scorpions.
Heat was a big issue for the Canadians, too. Like I said, I got pretty familiar with heat stroke. The program is designed so that the Malians are in Canada at the hottest time of the year, and the Canadians are in Mali for the coldest (as you may have read in my logbook post). In this way, nobody is taken too far out of their comfort zone. Difference is, the Malians start at the hottest point of the Canadian rotation, and get weaned into the colder temperatures, whereas the Canadians start at the hottest point, without having the opportunity to adapt.
So, we were starting at the hottest time in our rotation, doing manual work in an open field, and taking medication that makes us sensitive to sunlight in sub-Saharan Africa. I can't believe my final words to you guys were “It's not as hot as I thought it would be.” In my defense, I never sunburned, and I swear I've had better tans in Canada. Truth is, you have to learn to be sensitive to your body when you stand under the African sun. It will take you down before you feel it.
I think I had the best host family, which made up for Quebec. I was probably the only Canadian that never had to see his host father beat his wives or children. All of the children went to school, which isn't mandatory in Mali. I was probably the only Canadian in both groups to remember the names of everyone in his host family, and my family had one father, two mothers, and eleven children.
Family communities didn't come in the form of a big house, like they do here. Instead, you would have all these little mud huts. Most CWY pairs would live in sort of a remote edge of their family community, but mine was built more like a circle, with all the houses facing inward, so that no matter where I sat, it was always with someone. I felt this may have contributed to how close I got to my family. They even named a newborn child after my Malian name, and “gave” him to me as a godson.
Nobody in my family spoke any French except my host father, who spoke less than I did. In Quebec, I learned about how much people rely on language. In Mali, I learned the opposite. I communicated with those of whom I didn't share a common language just as much as with those of whom I did.
They kept an eye on my meal preferences, too. The food was difficult for me. Before the program, I was worried I wouldn't have enough to satisfy my appetite, but it turned out, I would completely lose my appetite in Africa. I would sometimes wonder, were it not for my counterpart and my family, always yelling at me to eat, whether or not I would have starved myself to death.
This is what I ate
Breakfast: instant coffee and bread, with corn or millet porridge. Breakfast was always enjoyable.
Lunch was: rice with sauce. Either gumbo, green, or peanut sauce. Either that or toh, which was a pastry that you rip chunks off and dip in sauce. That came with fish, gumbo, or red sauce. Lunch was the most intolerable meal.
Dinner: I rotated between potatoes with tomato sauce, spaghetti, and... French fries. Apparently, French fries were a traditional Malian dish.
No matter what they gave me, I was always grateful and never complained, but they observed my reactions and tried to adapt to my preferences. Some Canadians complained that their families would feed them only subsistence food, so they could keep more of the money CWY gave them for themselves. Not my family. I became the one of the only Canadians to be fed French fries on a regular basis.
Work was tedious and mundane. Our first project was creating a garden for the women. This meant, we were tilling lines of earth with little hand-hoes called dabas. We did this for two thirds of the rotation. It was physically exhaustive and not exactly mentally stimulating. I can't really say I learned much through that.
Our other projects were: preparing planting soil, tending trees, putting up fences, developing, dividing and distributing potatoes, and building mud ovens. That last month managed to fit in some interesting stuff.
I had to learn to get comfortable with bartering, too. In Sirakorola, the neighboring village, where the other CWY group was stationed, and which hosted a weekly market every Thursday for all the surrounding villages, you could get by with a pretty simple bartering method: cut the asking price in half, and then work your way up to a quarter less than the asking price. In Sirakorola, everybody knew each other, and if someone ripped someone off, that would get around and effect the business of the merchant.
But there isn't a whole lot that you can buy in Sirakorola. If you want anything cool, you have to get it in Bamako, and Bamako's a different atmosphere. If a merchant sees someone who isn't African, he'll take you as a tourist. He's not going to worry about maintaining a reputation for someone who isn't going to be around very long, so he'll try and get as much out of you as he can. He's also going to assume you don't know the prices for anything, that you want souvenirs to bring home, and that you have tons of money to pay for them. This brings you to situations where someone may give you an asking price of 20 000 francs for something that's only worth 1000 francs. If you implement the Sirakorola bartering method, you'll still pay 15 times more than you should. I never thought I'd adapt to the barter system, but I did, and even got to enjoy it.
Well, that kind of gives an overview of my experience in the program. There's way too much to express in just one letter, but I have to stop somewhere. If I write any more, there's no way anybody is going to read it all in one sitting, anyway. So, thanks for reading, and if I do anything like this again, maybe I'll drop you all another note.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Monday, September 12, 2011
Climate Change JAE
Me and Ousmane completed our JAE (EAD, for 'Educational Activity Day' in English) on Climate Change. Ours was the longest of any JAE thus far, and since there's only one more group left to present, unless they really feel like showing us up, we'll probably have had the largest one in this rotation. We were planting trees, and it took a full day. The idea was to delete our ecological footprint by planting enough trees to collectively absorb the carbon emissions, over the course of 20 years, that the group will create on our trip to Mali. To do this, we needed to plant 324 trees. Originally, our plan was to plant 300 trees, which is a touch below expectation, and because the Amqui group (the other group, that we did our first rotation camp with) planted 400 trees, we were looking kind of sad (although, since the calculation includes a 30% mortality rate for the trees, we could have still lucked out and deleted our ecological footprint, anyway). But, somewhere along the line, the goal became to plant 350 trees, and then, on the day of the presentation, we somehow wound up planting 429. I don't know where all those trees came from. So, we beat Amqui, and since they were apparently planting small trees, while we were planting ones taller than ourselves, we defeated them pretty soundly. I wish I knew which pair was in charge of Climate Change for their group.
All week, we worked to prepare for the JAE. That doesn't just mean we were researching for it. We had to dig holes for each tree, and supply a tree for each hole. I guess we taught the group that, if you want to stop climate change, you just have to walk outside and find a bunch of holes with trees next to them, and then put the tree in the hole. Although, there were no holes for the extra 75 trees that showed up, so the group did do a little digging. And that thing with the stick that you attach to the tree so it grows straight. I've been doing it a lot, but I don't know the word for it in English.
I didn't tell anyone that, if we include the trip the Malians took to get here, and the trip we're going to have to take to get back to Canada, that triples the exchange's emissions, and to delete them in 20 years would require 970 trees. Actually, I told quite a few people, but not in the official presentation. Well, we'll be planting trees in Karadjé, and me and Ousmane have been planting trees all season, so maybe we will wind up deleting our ecological footprint.
Our activity actually made quite the impression on Head Office, and they put themselves out to make sure what we did was publicized and used as an example for Canada World Youth. When someone told me that, at first I thought they were joking, but it turns out they weren't.
So the activity was pretty successful. The oral segment was... Well, my Project Leader told me not to prepare a speach for it, because, when I read something, people can't understand me, but when I speak naturally, everyone can understand me. I'm 'good at improv' as she put it. So I just made a point-form list on what I wanted to talk about, and I used my own vocabulary to do the presentation. Naturally, when I'm baby-talking my way through it, the whole thing seems less official even than if I incomprehensibly read a more eloquent speach. I didn't really want to do that, since you only do this once or twice in the program, but since the whole group already knows me, it's not exactly like I'm hiding anything. So, I don't know. I got through it.
The new host family is really nice. They were hosts for the Malian Project Leader last year. They were also a billet family for Katimavik for 9 years. Their daughter has done Canada World Youth. She went to Senegal, which is a neighbour of Mali, and also a part of French Africa. I tried to friend my billet dad on FB, and I found... an information page on him. Apparently he was the Bloc Quebecois representative for Rivier de Loup. Here's his`Wikipedia page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Cr%C3%AAte
There's a new participant in the group. I don't know if you remember me saying that an anglophone girl dropped out of the program inside two weeks. They had a lot of trouble finding a replacement for her. Seems like the 21-25 age demographic is the hardest to fill. Someone in Amqui dropped out (17-20 demographic) and she was replaced almost immediately. If I was offered a position as replacement participant almost halfway through the program, I don't know if I would have accepted. On one hand, it means you probably get a certificate giving you credit for doing six months when you only did three, which kind of feels like a bargain, but on the other, you only get half the experience.
I went to Quebec City today. Turns out, everyone who had not been to Quebec City was offered the opportunity to go. The whole thing with the Olympics, and it being a prize, and then the winners having the opportunity to give it away, but there was only four slots... Yeah, it didn't work out that way. Maybe it was a psychological test or something. Still was nice to hear my name called on the original 'to go' list, I guess.
All week, we worked to prepare for the JAE. That doesn't just mean we were researching for it. We had to dig holes for each tree, and supply a tree for each hole. I guess we taught the group that, if you want to stop climate change, you just have to walk outside and find a bunch of holes with trees next to them, and then put the tree in the hole. Although, there were no holes for the extra 75 trees that showed up, so the group did do a little digging. And that thing with the stick that you attach to the tree so it grows straight. I've been doing it a lot, but I don't know the word for it in English.
I didn't tell anyone that, if we include the trip the Malians took to get here, and the trip we're going to have to take to get back to Canada, that triples the exchange's emissions, and to delete them in 20 years would require 970 trees. Actually, I told quite a few people, but not in the official presentation. Well, we'll be planting trees in Karadjé, and me and Ousmane have been planting trees all season, so maybe we will wind up deleting our ecological footprint.
Our activity actually made quite the impression on Head Office, and they put themselves out to make sure what we did was publicized and used as an example for Canada World Youth. When someone told me that, at first I thought they were joking, but it turns out they weren't.
So the activity was pretty successful. The oral segment was... Well, my Project Leader told me not to prepare a speach for it, because, when I read something, people can't understand me, but when I speak naturally, everyone can understand me. I'm 'good at improv' as she put it. So I just made a point-form list on what I wanted to talk about, and I used my own vocabulary to do the presentation. Naturally, when I'm baby-talking my way through it, the whole thing seems less official even than if I incomprehensibly read a more eloquent speach. I didn't really want to do that, since you only do this once or twice in the program, but since the whole group already knows me, it's not exactly like I'm hiding anything. So, I don't know. I got through it.
The new host family is really nice. They were hosts for the Malian Project Leader last year. They were also a billet family for Katimavik for 9 years. Their daughter has done Canada World Youth. She went to Senegal, which is a neighbour of Mali, and also a part of French Africa. I tried to friend my billet dad on FB, and I found... an information page on him. Apparently he was the Bloc Quebecois representative for Rivier de Loup. Here's his`Wikipedia page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Cr%C3%AAte
There's a new participant in the group. I don't know if you remember me saying that an anglophone girl dropped out of the program inside two weeks. They had a lot of trouble finding a replacement for her. Seems like the 21-25 age demographic is the hardest to fill. Someone in Amqui dropped out (17-20 demographic) and she was replaced almost immediately. If I was offered a position as replacement participant almost halfway through the program, I don't know if I would have accepted. On one hand, it means you probably get a certificate giving you credit for doing six months when you only did three, which kind of feels like a bargain, but on the other, you only get half the experience.
I went to Quebec City today. Turns out, everyone who had not been to Quebec City was offered the opportunity to go. The whole thing with the Olympics, and it being a prize, and then the winners having the opportunity to give it away, but there was only four slots... Yeah, it didn't work out that way. Maybe it was a psychological test or something. Still was nice to hear my name called on the original 'to go' list, I guess.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Changing Hosts
Okay, so I heard that I should update more, and in smaller doses, so here I go:
I'm sending out a character sheet, briefly detailing the relevant faces in my program.
Gryphon: Me.
Ousmane: My counterpart.
Pierre: My billet father.
Monique: My billet mother.
Lucy: Some lady that lives with us.
Franceline and Maud: My former work partners. Maud's on maternity leave now, and Franceline's contract just ran out.
Phillip and Sedio: CWY counterparts that work with us Mondays and Tuesdays. Philip's giving me French lessons.
Fanta: Mali woman whose counterpart quit the program. Used to work with us Wednesdays and Thursdays, but now only Thursdays.
Stephen and Abdulaye: The only ones other than us who legitimately live inside the city, so we see them a lot. Stephen used to be my chief translator, until I got good enough to manage by myself.
Hollyn and Aichatta: These two lived with us for four days after the first rotation camp because their billet family's house was under renovation.
Chris and Bernard: It's not so obvious with this pair, judging only by name, but Bernard's the Malian, and the only non-Muslim Malian in the group.
Julia and Rose: Their billet mother is the birth-mother of Franceline, my former work partner.
Scott and Boubacar: Scott's the only one in the group with a language disadvantage comparable to mine. Boubacar's the only not-bald Mali man.
Anne and Adiata: Anne's the only one in the group who has French as a first language. Adiata speaks English and was the one who thought I was a Mali traditionalist in that conversation I outlined.
We just had our mid-phase rotation camp. I was on the committee to organize it. Before we left, we held a presentation, where I acted for the first time as Rule Enforcer. I felt terrible. I can't say I enjoy this position. It went over pretty smoothly, though. I was thanked by those I criticized, and they were confused when I apologized. I said I wanted to deal with things privately, and everyone said no, it was better to deal with it in-group.
I really should have used the 'Speak French in-group' rule, to counter my obligation to enforce the rules.
During a break, Scott told me that, when he was researching Karadjé, he found my blog. We had a computer connected to one of those projectors. I refused to give the address for my blog, so they tried searching, found both my regular blog and my CWY blog, and it was projected over the room. So now I may have an in-group audience. Better keep that in mind.
During the mid-phase, we had to draw a picture of our host families and present it. Because I had little prep time, Madam Assan told me I could speak in English. I said no, I'd do it in French. Which I did, and it was understood. Of course, it was at the level of 'This is me. This is Ousmane. This is Pierre. Pierre has a pineapple. Pierre love pineapple.' Etc. Still, not bad, and I went a while. I even comprehended and responded to several questions in French.
Right now, I'm at the level where I can understand 40% to 60% of what I hear. 40% if I know the context, and 60% if I don't. If someone dumbs down the language and uses simple words, I can fully comprehend most things. I can usually express my ideas and oppinions, too, unless they're complex.
Somehow, I won a trip to Quebec City during mid-phase. It's weird, because it was a prize in an Olympic-theme competition, and me and Ousmane's team got last place, but both of us got the prize. The winners decided to share out the wealth to those who hadn't been to the city before. I said I'd been to Canadian cities before, and it would be more of an experience for the Malians, but for some reason, two Malians simultaneously backed out or something, and when the prize-winners were anounced, I was surprised to hear my name called.
The Griffon dog isn't named after me. It's actual name is Brian. When I started hearing them call it by that name, I asked them why, and I thought what they said to me was that they renamed the dog to avoid confusion around me, but what they were actually saying is that it's the name of the breed of the dog. Kind of strange, since there were a few slip-ups where they shouted 'Griffon!' and I mistook it for 'Gryphon'. I guess they were in the habit of calling their dog by the name of it's breed.
I'm... changing host families. It's a long story, and I don't even know if it's worth it, since there's only a month left in La Pocatier. That CTI I got is the halfway point to getting kicked out of the program, and, if my PL hadn't recognized that the person who got me there was... let's just say, 'not a good fit'... I would likely have been kicked out of the program by now.
Ugh... Unsettling Mali trivia
First of all, all the guys don't have beards because it makes their mothers angry. Only old people have beards, and I think it's because, as soon as your mother dies and there's nobody to be angry at you, you take your first opportunity to grow one. Right now, I'm imagining my billet mother in Karadjé, scowling at me and my beard.
The guys hold hands and dance with each other. All the Malians do that hand-jive thing. There's the standard handshake, the half high five, half handshake, the fist bump, and combinations like hand clap, over fist-bump, under fist-bump, forward fist-bump, heart thump. Sometimes I'll be doing this type of thing with the Malians, and one of them will forget it's not cool to hold hands in Canada, so instead of letting go, he'll just chill back, as if to say 'Yeah, we're just a couple of cool guys, holding hands' until he remembers or I remind him.
And, uh... Eating isn't the only thing they do with their hands that we'd find unsanitary. They use only their right hand when eating, because their left hand is for the... other end of the cycle. They wipe with their hands! I was a little startled, but it looks like us dainty, pampered Canadians even get our own toilet paper.
I'm sending out a character sheet, briefly detailing the relevant faces in my program.
Gryphon: Me.
Ousmane: My counterpart.
Pierre: My billet father.
Monique: My billet mother.
Lucy: Some lady that lives with us.
Franceline and Maud: My former work partners. Maud's on maternity leave now, and Franceline's contract just ran out.
Phillip and Sedio: CWY counterparts that work with us Mondays and Tuesdays. Philip's giving me French lessons.
Fanta: Mali woman whose counterpart quit the program. Used to work with us Wednesdays and Thursdays, but now only Thursdays.
Stephen and Abdulaye: The only ones other than us who legitimately live inside the city, so we see them a lot. Stephen used to be my chief translator, until I got good enough to manage by myself.
Hollyn and Aichatta: These two lived with us for four days after the first rotation camp because their billet family's house was under renovation.
Chris and Bernard: It's not so obvious with this pair, judging only by name, but Bernard's the Malian, and the only non-Muslim Malian in the group.
Julia and Rose: Their billet mother is the birth-mother of Franceline, my former work partner.
Scott and Boubacar: Scott's the only one in the group with a language disadvantage comparable to mine. Boubacar's the only not-bald Mali man.
Anne and Adiata: Anne's the only one in the group who has French as a first language. Adiata speaks English and was the one who thought I was a Mali traditionalist in that conversation I outlined.
We just had our mid-phase rotation camp. I was on the committee to organize it. Before we left, we held a presentation, where I acted for the first time as Rule Enforcer. I felt terrible. I can't say I enjoy this position. It went over pretty smoothly, though. I was thanked by those I criticized, and they were confused when I apologized. I said I wanted to deal with things privately, and everyone said no, it was better to deal with it in-group.
I really should have used the 'Speak French in-group' rule, to counter my obligation to enforce the rules.
During a break, Scott told me that, when he was researching Karadjé, he found my blog. We had a computer connected to one of those projectors. I refused to give the address for my blog, so they tried searching, found both my regular blog and my CWY blog, and it was projected over the room. So now I may have an in-group audience. Better keep that in mind.
During the mid-phase, we had to draw a picture of our host families and present it. Because I had little prep time, Madam Assan told me I could speak in English. I said no, I'd do it in French. Which I did, and it was understood. Of course, it was at the level of 'This is me. This is Ousmane. This is Pierre. Pierre has a pineapple. Pierre love pineapple.' Etc. Still, not bad, and I went a while. I even comprehended and responded to several questions in French.
Right now, I'm at the level where I can understand 40% to 60% of what I hear. 40% if I know the context, and 60% if I don't. If someone dumbs down the language and uses simple words, I can fully comprehend most things. I can usually express my ideas and oppinions, too, unless they're complex.
Somehow, I won a trip to Quebec City during mid-phase. It's weird, because it was a prize in an Olympic-theme competition, and me and Ousmane's team got last place, but both of us got the prize. The winners decided to share out the wealth to those who hadn't been to the city before. I said I'd been to Canadian cities before, and it would be more of an experience for the Malians, but for some reason, two Malians simultaneously backed out or something, and when the prize-winners were anounced, I was surprised to hear my name called.
The Griffon dog isn't named after me. It's actual name is Brian. When I started hearing them call it by that name, I asked them why, and I thought what they said to me was that they renamed the dog to avoid confusion around me, but what they were actually saying is that it's the name of the breed of the dog. Kind of strange, since there were a few slip-ups where they shouted 'Griffon!' and I mistook it for 'Gryphon'. I guess they were in the habit of calling their dog by the name of it's breed.
I'm... changing host families. It's a long story, and I don't even know if it's worth it, since there's only a month left in La Pocatier. That CTI I got is the halfway point to getting kicked out of the program, and, if my PL hadn't recognized that the person who got me there was... let's just say, 'not a good fit'... I would likely have been kicked out of the program by now.
Ugh... Unsettling Mali trivia
First of all, all the guys don't have beards because it makes their mothers angry. Only old people have beards, and I think it's because, as soon as your mother dies and there's nobody to be angry at you, you take your first opportunity to grow one. Right now, I'm imagining my billet mother in Karadjé, scowling at me and my beard.
The guys hold hands and dance with each other. All the Malians do that hand-jive thing. There's the standard handshake, the half high five, half handshake, the fist bump, and combinations like hand clap, over fist-bump, under fist-bump, forward fist-bump, heart thump. Sometimes I'll be doing this type of thing with the Malians, and one of them will forget it's not cool to hold hands in Canada, so instead of letting go, he'll just chill back, as if to say 'Yeah, we're just a couple of cool guys, holding hands' until he remembers or I remind him.
And, uh... Eating isn't the only thing they do with their hands that we'd find unsanitary. They use only their right hand when eating, because their left hand is for the... other end of the cycle. They wipe with their hands! I was a little startled, but it looks like us dainty, pampered Canadians even get our own toilet paper.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Mid-Rotation Quebec
Hi everyone,
We have a logbook, now. If I'd known it was in English, I would have volunteered for it. I can still make posts, though. I have one up on my struggles with language, although it's basically what I already sent over my personal blog last update, but cropping out anything irrelevant to language and sort of sandwiching it to sound relevant to my group. Don't be too impressed by the person who commented, even if it sounds relevant. She's spam. You can also read up on the weekly activities of the group, as well as a little additional info, like how we celebrated Boubacar's birthday (I'm on the splash page for that one, although really, it should be Boubacar) and a couple posts by Philip, another person in my group, and his reflection.
Anyway, here's the link: http://logbook.cwy-jcm.com/maliquebec1/
One thing I didn't put on the logbook post, though, is how, once you start to pick up the language, it can become even more difficult. At first, all you hear is nonsense, but when you start to pick it up, you start confusing words and contexts, and sometimes you get worse miscommunications than you would if you didn't understand anything. One time, I thought someone was asking me if I would marry this one Mali girl. That's... not what was being said, but it's what I responded to.
There are three things with my name in this town: A dog, a beer, and a flower, although the dog and beer are spelled incorrectly (Both 'Griffon', and therefor, I find it possible that the dog is named after the beer, and not me, going against my original assumption). The beer's disappointing, but what do you expect of something named after a dog?
My boss showed the flower to a Mali girl, and now I think she thinks I'm named after a flower...
Until a little while ago I was working directly under the mayor, moving chairs for a weekly classical music concert held at a building attached to the cégep (something inbetween high school and university, if I understand correctly). It was pretty cool, because I'd see him all over town, and he'd shout me and Ousmane out. Felt like I had connections. Also, he'd pay us $20 every week, which is disappointing if you look at it from the perspective that the same amount of work would have netted me $46 back home, but when you think of it from the perspective that I currently make $15 a week, that means that me and Ousmane were making more than double the salary of anyone else in the group. Unfortunately, our PL caught wind of this, and she killed it. Turns out, we're not supposed to be getting paid for anything in CWY. I'd still do it, even if it was unpaid. When I started, I didn't know we'd be getting paid, and honestly, there's not a whole lot else to do around here. But the mayor's not comfortable assigning unpaid labour, so... yeah. That's done.
We got a couple of bikes. It's been eight or nine years since I've been on one, but they say it's like riding a bike... Which, turns out, it IS! Well... mostly. It took me a couple tries to take off, much to Ousmane's amusement, and afterwards, I wasn't... Well... I'm not so bad I can't ride the bike from one location to the next, and I'm not so bad that it's a safety hazard, but I am bad enough that it is very, very funny. Ousmane let my coworkers know that I lack in this area, which I denied. When it was time to leave, everyone dropped what they were doing to slip glances at me. I took off on the first shot, but not so gracefully, and everyone was snickering into their hands. At least I've got a presence in the town, now. Sometimes, I notice people watching me wobble and weave, so I wave to them, and the other day, when I was going along pretty smoothly, two people in a car gave me the thumbs-up, which for me, implied that they had seen me in my less-graceful stage.
Mali trivia:
The Malians are completely hairless. They shave their faces, heads, arms, armpits, chests, legs, and... and everywhere else. It makes me wonder how they perceive me, as I am not quite entirely hairless.
In Mali, everything is shared, and a host is obligated to do anything the guest requests. This combination means that the poorest person in the village can go to the richest person's house uninvited, eat their food, and boss them around. Remind me not to get wealthy in Mali.
Another thing they share which isn't quite standard in Canada is their beds. They sleep three in a bed, and it can be anyone.
They eat with their hands. I tried it, and it felt a little weird. At first, I was just picking the food up with the tips of my fingers and dropping it in my mouth, but Ousmane showed me the proper way to do it: mash it up, and lick your hand clean. It's not so good for my beard to get so up-close-and-personal with food. Now I know why the Malians always wash up before and after eating.
My PL says that the Canadians will be getting spoons to eat with, and our own mattresses. That sucks. I don't want to come live at someone's house, not speaking the language, putting chemicals in my water, eating with a spoon, and sleeping on my own private Canadian mattress. As Group Rule Enforcer, I will have to Enforce the rule on our group contract that says that in Canada, the Malians adapt to Canadians, and in Mali, the Canadians adapt to Malians.
Probably won't go far, though. Someone pointed out the spoon thing is a Health and Safety type deal. We've already been told that the Malians have certain resistences that Canadians don't have, so Canadians will have to take more precautions. I think Health and Safety trumps the Canda-Mali Adaptation rule. I said that I would develop the same resistences as the Malians, but I don't think I will get special priveleges by that claim.
And now, to end on a downer... First of all, I have a CTI. That stands for Commitment To Improve, and getting one... It's not too uncommon, but it's not great, either. They had the same system in Katimavik. I don't want to delve too deeply into the subject, but I thought I'd touch on it.
And also, recently Ousmane's uncle passed away. Ousmane's suffering from nostalgia already, and even though the families are larger in Mali, and death more frequent, I get the impression that this particular uncle was important to him. I had that impression even before he passed on. I think it must really hurt to be so far away from his home at this particular time.
We have a logbook, now. If I'd known it was in English, I would have volunteered for it. I can still make posts, though. I have one up on my struggles with language, although it's basically what I already sent over my personal blog last update, but cropping out anything irrelevant to language and sort of sandwiching it to sound relevant to my group. Don't be too impressed by the person who commented, even if it sounds relevant. She's spam. You can also read up on the weekly activities of the group, as well as a little additional info, like how we celebrated Boubacar's birthday (I'm on the splash page for that one, although really, it should be Boubacar) and a couple posts by Philip, another person in my group, and his reflection.
Anyway, here's the link: http://logbook.cwy-jcm.com/maliquebec1/
One thing I didn't put on the logbook post, though, is how, once you start to pick up the language, it can become even more difficult. At first, all you hear is nonsense, but when you start to pick it up, you start confusing words and contexts, and sometimes you get worse miscommunications than you would if you didn't understand anything. One time, I thought someone was asking me if I would marry this one Mali girl. That's... not what was being said, but it's what I responded to.
There are three things with my name in this town: A dog, a beer, and a flower, although the dog and beer are spelled incorrectly (Both 'Griffon', and therefor, I find it possible that the dog is named after the beer, and not me, going against my original assumption). The beer's disappointing, but what do you expect of something named after a dog?
My boss showed the flower to a Mali girl, and now I think she thinks I'm named after a flower...
Until a little while ago I was working directly under the mayor, moving chairs for a weekly classical music concert held at a building attached to the cégep (something inbetween high school and university, if I understand correctly). It was pretty cool, because I'd see him all over town, and he'd shout me and Ousmane out. Felt like I had connections. Also, he'd pay us $20 every week, which is disappointing if you look at it from the perspective that the same amount of work would have netted me $46 back home, but when you think of it from the perspective that I currently make $15 a week, that means that me and Ousmane were making more than double the salary of anyone else in the group. Unfortunately, our PL caught wind of this, and she killed it. Turns out, we're not supposed to be getting paid for anything in CWY. I'd still do it, even if it was unpaid. When I started, I didn't know we'd be getting paid, and honestly, there's not a whole lot else to do around here. But the mayor's not comfortable assigning unpaid labour, so... yeah. That's done.
We got a couple of bikes. It's been eight or nine years since I've been on one, but they say it's like riding a bike... Which, turns out, it IS! Well... mostly. It took me a couple tries to take off, much to Ousmane's amusement, and afterwards, I wasn't... Well... I'm not so bad I can't ride the bike from one location to the next, and I'm not so bad that it's a safety hazard, but I am bad enough that it is very, very funny. Ousmane let my coworkers know that I lack in this area, which I denied. When it was time to leave, everyone dropped what they were doing to slip glances at me. I took off on the first shot, but not so gracefully, and everyone was snickering into their hands. At least I've got a presence in the town, now. Sometimes, I notice people watching me wobble and weave, so I wave to them, and the other day, when I was going along pretty smoothly, two people in a car gave me the thumbs-up, which for me, implied that they had seen me in my less-graceful stage.
Mali trivia:
The Malians are completely hairless. They shave their faces, heads, arms, armpits, chests, legs, and... and everywhere else. It makes me wonder how they perceive me, as I am not quite entirely hairless.
In Mali, everything is shared, and a host is obligated to do anything the guest requests. This combination means that the poorest person in the village can go to the richest person's house uninvited, eat their food, and boss them around. Remind me not to get wealthy in Mali.
Another thing they share which isn't quite standard in Canada is their beds. They sleep three in a bed, and it can be anyone.
They eat with their hands. I tried it, and it felt a little weird. At first, I was just picking the food up with the tips of my fingers and dropping it in my mouth, but Ousmane showed me the proper way to do it: mash it up, and lick your hand clean. It's not so good for my beard to get so up-close-and-personal with food. Now I know why the Malians always wash up before and after eating.
My PL says that the Canadians will be getting spoons to eat with, and our own mattresses. That sucks. I don't want to come live at someone's house, not speaking the language, putting chemicals in my water, eating with a spoon, and sleeping on my own private Canadian mattress. As Group Rule Enforcer, I will have to Enforce the rule on our group contract that says that in Canada, the Malians adapt to Canadians, and in Mali, the Canadians adapt to Malians.
Probably won't go far, though. Someone pointed out the spoon thing is a Health and Safety type deal. We've already been told that the Malians have certain resistences that Canadians don't have, so Canadians will have to take more precautions. I think Health and Safety trumps the Canda-Mali Adaptation rule. I said that I would develop the same resistences as the Malians, but I don't think I will get special priveleges by that claim.
And now, to end on a downer... First of all, I have a CTI. That stands for Commitment To Improve, and getting one... It's not too uncommon, but it's not great, either. They had the same system in Katimavik. I don't want to delve too deeply into the subject, but I thought I'd touch on it.
And also, recently Ousmane's uncle passed away. Ousmane's suffering from nostalgia already, and even though the families are larger in Mali, and death more frequent, I get the impression that this particular uncle was important to him. I had that impression even before he passed on. I think it must really hurt to be so far away from his home at this particular time.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
CANADA WORLD YOUTH!!!!!!
Alright, it's been a little over three weeks and I still haven't made an update here. I have not messaged the email newsletter, either, but they have been kept up-to-date. This is because my mother took it upon herself to write updates for me when I couldn't. Because of this, at least this update will not be a copy-paste of the newsletter, as I have to compensate for several posts, and I want this to be in my own words.
Canada World Youth was willing to look up a good method of transportation for me, and to reimburse me when I got to my destination. Since I haven't travelled by train since I was young, and never alone, I didn't have a proper understanding of the cost of train tickets. Therefor, I was surprised to be charged $88.00 as opposed to CWY's estimated $260.00. Turns out, they were willing to pay first-class, and when I showed up, they gave me $288.00 (they wanted to pay breakfast and lunch, too).
At this point, I feel pretty big and important, but I get quickly humbled when I find out we're doing a four-day rotation camp shared between two groups. That's 36 participants, and out of them, CWY sent 35 bilinguals... and me.
I was surprised at the diversity between the Malians in terms of skin tone and dress. I was a little apprehensive by the way they sullenly approached us with their eyes down and the way they systematically shook each of our hands.
They're all really educated, though, and a handful of them speak English. I remember, one time, one of the Mali girls called me over, and said `how are you`. I replied `ca va bien` because I thought she had memorized an English phrase as a way of showing that she is willing to make an effort to communicate with me, if I'm willing to make the effort to communicate with her. Her response to me was, `You don't speak English?`
Another guy spoke to me in English, and I learned that he speaks five languages and has a veterinary degree.
I had had a bit of a misconception that all of them would come from the village we'd be travelling to, Karadjé (pronounced care-odd-jay, by the way. I gave some bad info on it's pronounciation before I started the program). This misconception was further strengthened by the in-depth knowledge they had of the town. Apparently, the town is run by a guy in his 90s. There are fishermen, farmers, hunters, and sometimes nomads. The nomads cause the population of the village to fluctuate, but apparently there won't be any when we're there. They told us there are three religions: Christianity, Islam, and traditional. The town is split 25% Christian, 25% Muslim, 50% traditional. They described traditionalism as `like not having a religion`. They said not everyone has the same gods, and a god can be in anything.
But, in fact, they come from all over Mali. Later on, I would learn that all of them were graduates of one degree or another, all to do with agriculture. It's a prerequisite, and at least for my counterpart, it was a requisite he sign up for CWY, in order to take his course in the first place. The reason they were all so versed with Karadjé is because they had a Mali-exclusive four-day rotation camp before the Canadians even started, which was held in Karadjé, and where they lived with the families they and their Canadian counterparts would come back to live with.
I had read that 90% of Mali was Muslim, so I was surprised to hear that only 25% of Karadjé was. Turns out, though, that Karadjé is a bit of an anomoly. All but one of the Malians in my group are Muslim, the one exception being Christian. I don't normally talk about my spiritual beliefs, but Mom touched on it in the newsletter, so I'll touch on it again.
Continuing the conversation of the Mali woman who first spoke to me in English, she then asked me if I was Christian. I said no. She asked if I was Muslim. I said no. She asked me what religion I belonged to. I said none. She then looked as if she understood me, and in all seriousness, asked me what my gods were.
I would have been confused, except previously that day, I had heard the description of the Mali traditionalists, how they described themselves as `not belonging to a religion` and all of them having a roster of personal gods. After a few more conversations about me and my religion, I grew to believe they all took me for something similar to a Mali traditional spiritualist.
Anyway, I got a bit ahead of myself, talking about all my successful conversations. When I first arrived, I got hit by culture shock really badly. The language barrier had me feeling more foreign than the Malians. In Katimavik, I wondered how places could look so different, yet feel so similar to everywhere else. In Canada World Youth, I grew to wonder how someplace can look so much the same, yet feel so completely different.
I lost my conviction. I got homesick in ways I never did for Katimavik. I wanted to go home. I felt like all I needed was to see a friendly and familiar face, and I worried that I was risking life and limb for no reason. I tried writing a letter, outlining my convictions, and it came off wanting. I told myself that I lacked life direction, was unemployable, and was facing a personal crisis going into Katimavik, but having come out of it, I'd gained direction, become employable, and had gotten over my crisis. I told myself that pride, entitlement and obligation from having had my first opportunity to do the program taken from me, and from having been given so much support to do it this time around, were the only real reasons I was there. I reflected on those that dropped out of Katimavik, how none of them had personal conviction, and that I had preached at that time that only people with personal conviction could handle such a program. I also noticed that of the three people with language barriers, two of them dropped out in my group, and they had at least each other to share their burden, whereas I had no one. I told myself that I lacked personal conviction, that CWY sent me to the wrong program by accident, and that language barrier was a hurdle large enough to topple even those with personal conviction.
I felt out of character. When people spoke in English, I hated myself, and when people spoke in French, I hated them. Both feelings I knew were irrational. I didn't want to succeed in the program. When you go after something, you want to succeed at it. And if you fail, you're disappointed, because all the way through, you wanted to win. To avoid that disappointment, you're spurred to try harder. But this time around, I didn't feel that spur. I wanted to want to win, but in my heart, I couldn't imagine success feeling good. I hadn't felt so helpless since I was a very small child.
And it was so stupid, because I had become something of a celebrity, and was very popular. Panicking over the lack of friendly faces was starnge because there were friendly faces all around me. And I've been strange places before, and never felt that reaction, anyway. Not only that, but almost half the group grew up in English-speaking regions and had English as a first language, so it's not like I was surrounded by people of unfamiliar lands, either.
Even the Malians weren't so different. I could describe some of their manners and beliefs as being startling, but not shocking. And like we had been expecting barbarians, and were so ready to be accepting and understanding to any of their savage beliefs, they were also thinking the same of us. That's why they were so private and sullen at first, because they'd heard we were racist and barbaric.
So everything turned out to be less different, but more difficult than I'd imagined, much to my humiliation.
We had a woman who could only be described as a therapist come in to do workshops with us. She went over culture shock, and started asking what people were feeling. I was surprised that everyone started listing symptoms I thought only I was feeling:
-Headaches
-Constant exhaustian
-Antisocial
-Out of character
-Hating yourself, hating others
Etc. We were also each given a notebook, giving us instructions on how to overcome culture shock. Obviously, this wasn't a rare development. I wondered how putting a bunch of intelligent, understanding, and kind people together could feel like such a sadistic move on behalf of our government.
I kind of grew to learn that the reason for my popularity was because what made me feel foreign just got more spotlight than what made the others feel foreign. Everyone wanted to hide their misery, but I couldn't, and because of that, it turned the focus off of their insecurities, it turned them into supporters instead of victims, and because I handled my issue openly and with grace, my continual successes in overcoming weakness gave them courage that they could do the same.
My counterpart's name is Ousmane Diallo. He's from the Segou region of Mali, and he had just completed his degree when he came here. He has a position as an agricultural technician being held for him until after he completes the program. He gave me the Malian name Ali Diallo, which I will use when I go to Karadjé.
My billet home is with Pierre Saindon and Monique Samson. They've been a billet family for every CWY group since it opened in La Pocatier... So twice. They have four cats and two dogs, with one of the dogs having the same name as me. There is more English in La Pocatier than it looked like originally, but my specific billet family doesn't speak it. My workplace is with Pierre, who's a fleurist. Yeah, remember how I spent half of Katimavik as a male nurse? Fate seems to like putting me in machismo-grating environments.
I do a lot of weeding and transplanting. We go around the city, and visit clients. The whole town is buried in flowers, and they all seem to have a root in Pierre. If I'm going to have a machismo-grating job, I guess you might as well be the best in the business.
Honestly, this program isn't a mile-a-minute like Katimavik was. Katimavik worked me twelve hours a day, seven days a week. In CWY, I get evenings and weekends FREE! I didn't have this much spare time back in Guelph!
I work in the city, as do two other counterparts, so we see each other regularly. Actually, one of them recently had to change billet houses because of a cat allergy, but it's okay, because we work with that pair twice a week, anyway. The other two we don't work with, so it's nice to have them close by. Even if we don't plan it, it feels like we run into each other every time we go outside, which makes me wonder exactly how small this town is.
Two days a week, we work with Philip and Sedio, another pair of counterparts from our group, and Wednesdays and Thursdays we work with Sam and Fanta... Or we would, except Sam dropped out. She was the second-worst at French, after me. I kind of saw it coming, but it sucks to see people getting broken because of the burden I carry most.
Fridays, we have EADs (Educational Activity Days) where we do a workshop or activity instead of doing our regular work placements. Every pair of counterparts will be responsible for planning one. Me and Ousmane are doing Changement Climactique (Climate Change) which will be held on September 2nd.
I was made the Enforcer of the group. Remember when I was made Chairperson for half of Katimavik? It's a little bit like that, except this time, there wasn't a position like that available. This title was invented so that I could hold it. We have a group contract, like we had in both my previous youth programs, and if anyone violates the rules, I'm supposed to lay down the law. Yes, this position was invented by participants who are bound by the contract. I can only Enforce, though, if I can state my command in French.
I recently learned that, even though Mali's official language is French, my specific family in Mali doesn't speak it. So that means I have to learn French for Quebec, and Bambara for Mali. I'll come home trilingual!
I still suck at French, but I can talk to Ousmane. They say comprehension comes before speach, but so far, I haven't found that. Because when I speak, I use the vocabulary available to me. When I try to comprehend, it goes by the vocabulary available to them. I can talk to Ousmane because he knows the limits of my vocabulary.
I can order from Tim Hortons (popular Canadian coffee and donut shop, for you non-Canadian readers), and I got second place in a game of French Scrabble against three French speakers!
That's only because I kept putting words that 'sounded French' and telling people to look them up. I also just kept attaching e's and r's to the ends of people's words.
'Luxer'
'Non Francais!'
'Oui, Francais! Dictionnaire!'
That means 'To dislocate' by the way. I didn't know that.
It's funny. When I started out, I thought the time I'd spent learning French in Katimavik was useless, but now I don't think so. Almost my entire vocabulary, I had before I started CWY. The thing that's changed most is simply my reflexes, the speed at which I can pick those words out of someone's speech, and how fast I can remember which word I want to use when I'm talking.
French keyboards are messed. You have to hold shift and press 6 to make a ?, but the ? icon is indicated on a different key. To make an @ you have to hold the right-hand alt key and press 2, and it's called an aerobuzz.
I've already burned through almost half my paper journal. We have separate rooms, and it's such a relief to have some private English time that I get carried away. It's brought me back to my literary roots, too. I was pretty much out of touch with that side of myself for more than a year. Now I read and write like nobody's business. Most of it is stupid stuff, like 'Today my alarm didn't go off, because I set the time, not the alarm, wrong. I didn't realize it went by the 24 hour instead of the 12 hour clock' Yeah, see if I care about that in a year. I started off writing really eloquently, like one of those books written as the diary of a great explorer, but after a while, it stopped being a discipline, and started being an indlugence.
The French doesn't bother me at all, now. Now it almost feels like having a project like this fills these slow days. And the idea of dying in a foreign land surrounded by unfamiliar people who cannot understand my screams doesn't seem nearly so unpleasant, just like it usually doesn't. I don't know where that moment of weakness came from.
Canada World Youth was willing to look up a good method of transportation for me, and to reimburse me when I got to my destination. Since I haven't travelled by train since I was young, and never alone, I didn't have a proper understanding of the cost of train tickets. Therefor, I was surprised to be charged $88.00 as opposed to CWY's estimated $260.00. Turns out, they were willing to pay first-class, and when I showed up, they gave me $288.00 (they wanted to pay breakfast and lunch, too).
At this point, I feel pretty big and important, but I get quickly humbled when I find out we're doing a four-day rotation camp shared between two groups. That's 36 participants, and out of them, CWY sent 35 bilinguals... and me.
I was surprised at the diversity between the Malians in terms of skin tone and dress. I was a little apprehensive by the way they sullenly approached us with their eyes down and the way they systematically shook each of our hands.
They're all really educated, though, and a handful of them speak English. I remember, one time, one of the Mali girls called me over, and said `how are you`. I replied `ca va bien` because I thought she had memorized an English phrase as a way of showing that she is willing to make an effort to communicate with me, if I'm willing to make the effort to communicate with her. Her response to me was, `You don't speak English?`
Another guy spoke to me in English, and I learned that he speaks five languages and has a veterinary degree.
I had had a bit of a misconception that all of them would come from the village we'd be travelling to, Karadjé (pronounced care-odd-jay, by the way. I gave some bad info on it's pronounciation before I started the program). This misconception was further strengthened by the in-depth knowledge they had of the town. Apparently, the town is run by a guy in his 90s. There are fishermen, farmers, hunters, and sometimes nomads. The nomads cause the population of the village to fluctuate, but apparently there won't be any when we're there. They told us there are three religions: Christianity, Islam, and traditional. The town is split 25% Christian, 25% Muslim, 50% traditional. They described traditionalism as `like not having a religion`. They said not everyone has the same gods, and a god can be in anything.
But, in fact, they come from all over Mali. Later on, I would learn that all of them were graduates of one degree or another, all to do with agriculture. It's a prerequisite, and at least for my counterpart, it was a requisite he sign up for CWY, in order to take his course in the first place. The reason they were all so versed with Karadjé is because they had a Mali-exclusive four-day rotation camp before the Canadians even started, which was held in Karadjé, and where they lived with the families they and their Canadian counterparts would come back to live with.
I had read that 90% of Mali was Muslim, so I was surprised to hear that only 25% of Karadjé was. Turns out, though, that Karadjé is a bit of an anomoly. All but one of the Malians in my group are Muslim, the one exception being Christian. I don't normally talk about my spiritual beliefs, but Mom touched on it in the newsletter, so I'll touch on it again.
Continuing the conversation of the Mali woman who first spoke to me in English, she then asked me if I was Christian. I said no. She asked if I was Muslim. I said no. She asked me what religion I belonged to. I said none. She then looked as if she understood me, and in all seriousness, asked me what my gods were.
I would have been confused, except previously that day, I had heard the description of the Mali traditionalists, how they described themselves as `not belonging to a religion` and all of them having a roster of personal gods. After a few more conversations about me and my religion, I grew to believe they all took me for something similar to a Mali traditional spiritualist.
Anyway, I got a bit ahead of myself, talking about all my successful conversations. When I first arrived, I got hit by culture shock really badly. The language barrier had me feeling more foreign than the Malians. In Katimavik, I wondered how places could look so different, yet feel so similar to everywhere else. In Canada World Youth, I grew to wonder how someplace can look so much the same, yet feel so completely different.
I lost my conviction. I got homesick in ways I never did for Katimavik. I wanted to go home. I felt like all I needed was to see a friendly and familiar face, and I worried that I was risking life and limb for no reason. I tried writing a letter, outlining my convictions, and it came off wanting. I told myself that I lacked life direction, was unemployable, and was facing a personal crisis going into Katimavik, but having come out of it, I'd gained direction, become employable, and had gotten over my crisis. I told myself that pride, entitlement and obligation from having had my first opportunity to do the program taken from me, and from having been given so much support to do it this time around, were the only real reasons I was there. I reflected on those that dropped out of Katimavik, how none of them had personal conviction, and that I had preached at that time that only people with personal conviction could handle such a program. I also noticed that of the three people with language barriers, two of them dropped out in my group, and they had at least each other to share their burden, whereas I had no one. I told myself that I lacked personal conviction, that CWY sent me to the wrong program by accident, and that language barrier was a hurdle large enough to topple even those with personal conviction.
I felt out of character. When people spoke in English, I hated myself, and when people spoke in French, I hated them. Both feelings I knew were irrational. I didn't want to succeed in the program. When you go after something, you want to succeed at it. And if you fail, you're disappointed, because all the way through, you wanted to win. To avoid that disappointment, you're spurred to try harder. But this time around, I didn't feel that spur. I wanted to want to win, but in my heart, I couldn't imagine success feeling good. I hadn't felt so helpless since I was a very small child.
And it was so stupid, because I had become something of a celebrity, and was very popular. Panicking over the lack of friendly faces was starnge because there were friendly faces all around me. And I've been strange places before, and never felt that reaction, anyway. Not only that, but almost half the group grew up in English-speaking regions and had English as a first language, so it's not like I was surrounded by people of unfamiliar lands, either.
Even the Malians weren't so different. I could describe some of their manners and beliefs as being startling, but not shocking. And like we had been expecting barbarians, and were so ready to be accepting and understanding to any of their savage beliefs, they were also thinking the same of us. That's why they were so private and sullen at first, because they'd heard we were racist and barbaric.
So everything turned out to be less different, but more difficult than I'd imagined, much to my humiliation.
We had a woman who could only be described as a therapist come in to do workshops with us. She went over culture shock, and started asking what people were feeling. I was surprised that everyone started listing symptoms I thought only I was feeling:
-Headaches
-Constant exhaustian
-Antisocial
-Out of character
-Hating yourself, hating others
Etc. We were also each given a notebook, giving us instructions on how to overcome culture shock. Obviously, this wasn't a rare development. I wondered how putting a bunch of intelligent, understanding, and kind people together could feel like such a sadistic move on behalf of our government.
I kind of grew to learn that the reason for my popularity was because what made me feel foreign just got more spotlight than what made the others feel foreign. Everyone wanted to hide their misery, but I couldn't, and because of that, it turned the focus off of their insecurities, it turned them into supporters instead of victims, and because I handled my issue openly and with grace, my continual successes in overcoming weakness gave them courage that they could do the same.
My counterpart's name is Ousmane Diallo. He's from the Segou region of Mali, and he had just completed his degree when he came here. He has a position as an agricultural technician being held for him until after he completes the program. He gave me the Malian name Ali Diallo, which I will use when I go to Karadjé.
My billet home is with Pierre Saindon and Monique Samson. They've been a billet family for every CWY group since it opened in La Pocatier... So twice. They have four cats and two dogs, with one of the dogs having the same name as me. There is more English in La Pocatier than it looked like originally, but my specific billet family doesn't speak it. My workplace is with Pierre, who's a fleurist. Yeah, remember how I spent half of Katimavik as a male nurse? Fate seems to like putting me in machismo-grating environments.
I do a lot of weeding and transplanting. We go around the city, and visit clients. The whole town is buried in flowers, and they all seem to have a root in Pierre. If I'm going to have a machismo-grating job, I guess you might as well be the best in the business.
Honestly, this program isn't a mile-a-minute like Katimavik was. Katimavik worked me twelve hours a day, seven days a week. In CWY, I get evenings and weekends FREE! I didn't have this much spare time back in Guelph!
I work in the city, as do two other counterparts, so we see each other regularly. Actually, one of them recently had to change billet houses because of a cat allergy, but it's okay, because we work with that pair twice a week, anyway. The other two we don't work with, so it's nice to have them close by. Even if we don't plan it, it feels like we run into each other every time we go outside, which makes me wonder exactly how small this town is.
Two days a week, we work with Philip and Sedio, another pair of counterparts from our group, and Wednesdays and Thursdays we work with Sam and Fanta... Or we would, except Sam dropped out. She was the second-worst at French, after me. I kind of saw it coming, but it sucks to see people getting broken because of the burden I carry most.
Fridays, we have EADs (Educational Activity Days) where we do a workshop or activity instead of doing our regular work placements. Every pair of counterparts will be responsible for planning one. Me and Ousmane are doing Changement Climactique (Climate Change) which will be held on September 2nd.
I was made the Enforcer of the group. Remember when I was made Chairperson for half of Katimavik? It's a little bit like that, except this time, there wasn't a position like that available. This title was invented so that I could hold it. We have a group contract, like we had in both my previous youth programs, and if anyone violates the rules, I'm supposed to lay down the law. Yes, this position was invented by participants who are bound by the contract. I can only Enforce, though, if I can state my command in French.
I recently learned that, even though Mali's official language is French, my specific family in Mali doesn't speak it. So that means I have to learn French for Quebec, and Bambara for Mali. I'll come home trilingual!
I still suck at French, but I can talk to Ousmane. They say comprehension comes before speach, but so far, I haven't found that. Because when I speak, I use the vocabulary available to me. When I try to comprehend, it goes by the vocabulary available to them. I can talk to Ousmane because he knows the limits of my vocabulary.
I can order from Tim Hortons (popular Canadian coffee and donut shop, for you non-Canadian readers), and I got second place in a game of French Scrabble against three French speakers!
That's only because I kept putting words that 'sounded French' and telling people to look them up. I also just kept attaching e's and r's to the ends of people's words.
'Luxer'
'Non Francais!'
'Oui, Francais! Dictionnaire!'
That means 'To dislocate' by the way. I didn't know that.
It's funny. When I started out, I thought the time I'd spent learning French in Katimavik was useless, but now I don't think so. Almost my entire vocabulary, I had before I started CWY. The thing that's changed most is simply my reflexes, the speed at which I can pick those words out of someone's speech, and how fast I can remember which word I want to use when I'm talking.
French keyboards are messed. You have to hold shift and press 6 to make a ?, but the ? icon is indicated on a different key. To make an @ you have to hold the right-hand alt key and press 2, and it's called an aerobuzz.
I've already burned through almost half my paper journal. We have separate rooms, and it's such a relief to have some private English time that I get carried away. It's brought me back to my literary roots, too. I was pretty much out of touch with that side of myself for more than a year. Now I read and write like nobody's business. Most of it is stupid stuff, like 'Today my alarm didn't go off, because I set the time, not the alarm, wrong. I didn't realize it went by the 24 hour instead of the 12 hour clock' Yeah, see if I care about that in a year. I started off writing really eloquently, like one of those books written as the diary of a great explorer, but after a while, it stopped being a discipline, and started being an indlugence.
The French doesn't bother me at all, now. Now it almost feels like having a project like this fills these slow days. And the idea of dying in a foreign land surrounded by unfamiliar people who cannot understand my screams doesn't seem nearly so unpleasant, just like it usually doesn't. I don't know where that moment of weakness came from.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Grand Finale!
Well, this will be my final Katimavik newsletter. I'm heading back home tomorrow! My first flight departs from Chisasibi on August 18 at 14:35 and arrives in Montreal at 18:35. Then I take an express bus to Gared’autocar de Montreal, where I travel with Coach Canada, departing from Montreal at 00:15, August 19, and arrive in Kingston at 3:25. Then I depart from Kingston at 3:45 and arrive in Toronto at 6:20. I then switch to Greyhound and leave Toronto at 7:00 and arrive in
Guelph at 8:15.
A lot of people are being sent home by bus, not just in my group but throughout the cluster. It's the first time they've done it to any of us. I think it's because now that we're done with the program, they don't care about us. Or, Grandma has offered that they aren't concerned with taking time out of the program, now that we're done.
In the last couple weeks, we managed to fit in some cool stuff. This will probably be my craziest post. Don't worry, though. You just go with the flow, and when the flow is sane, you get sane. When the going gets crazy... you get a little crazy. I'll be okay when I get back. Promise.
There's this Native ritual, where they all go into a small, tent-like structure with hot coals at the centre that they throw water on, called a "sweat". A group back on Prince Edward Island did it, and the girl I spoke to told me that of their eight members, only two made it to the end. She also told me that it's like "A taste of Hell". We came to this Cree village, and out Project Leader said that of her first
group of eleven, only two made it to the end, and she wasn't one of them. She said that it was like "A trip to Hell."
Well, we just did it. And guess what? Of our nine, seven made it to the end. And I'm one of them, baby!
Before going in, I talked to a man outside about why they do the sweats. See, there are four aspects of the human: the body, the mind, the emotional, and the spirit. You need to feed each aspect of the human to be healthy, and a sweat is food for the spirit.
While I was in there, and beginning to panic, his words came to me. I thought, "If I'm in pain, that's the body, so forget that. If I'm scared, that's the emotional, so forget that. If I worry I'm losing my mind, that's the mind, so forget that."
So, if you take away all those aspects, what do you have left?
You have your spirit. If you can find your spirit, which is being nourished, it will not be a painful experience for you.
It's pitch black in there. The people who go in all have the aspect of warriors about them. But in the sweat, all of your internal sufferiengs and miseries are brought to the surface and let out. Grown men weep in there all the time. And because of the darkness, it is completely anonymous.
They chant, they drum, and people scream and cry. Their emotional outlet is a contribution to the song. The person I sat next to for the first three rounds wept the loudest. We were all squashed together so tight, I felt his convulsions and his breath.
It's like, when you drink alcohol, you feel warm inside, but that's really because your core body heat is moving to your nerves as it leaves your body. It's the same way for your inner sufferings in the sweat. You feel them more acidically, but only because they're moving out, toward the more sensitive part of your being, as they leave you.
I felt great! I could see myself doing that kind of thing again!
I want to do the more intense version, where you fast for four days, and then have piercings ripped out of your shoulders, back, and nipples, while doing a sweat!
I also want to get in on the chanting, but I don't know Cree and I can't hit their pitches... When everyone got excited at one point, roaring and hooting like mad, I threw in a roar. I wasn't comfortable doing much more than that, though.
When we first went in there, our fire-master introduced himself by his spirit name "Too Hard Bear."
TOO HARD BEAR! Is that really the guy you want to lead you to Hell?
It was held on the site they do the Sun Dance every year, and they tried to summon the spirit of a 14-year-old girl who comitted suicide three years ago, but who's spirit never moved on, and tried to put her to rest.
Turns out, not only I, but two other people in the group felt really cold twice during the sweat. And some of the Natives saw the ghost of the girl... Maybe we sensed it's presence?
We had a Shaking Tent Ceremony, where you summon the spirits of the ancestors, and learn all kinds of cool stuff. It's powerful, too. There's a small, one-person-sized tent at the centre of a giant teepee, and an elder goes in there and acts as a medium for the spirits. They warned us not to go inside the spirit tent, because if
you do, THE SPIRITS CAN KILL YOU! There was some negative interference, and it beat the tar out of the elder inside. It might be because the ceremony was botched and it upset the spirits and also, apparently there were Northern Lights something fierce, which is considered dangerous around here. The elder had to fight off the evil presence while answering our questions. I... don't think we got real answers. I think he needed to give us answers, but he wasn't really picking up on anything because of the interference.
Because I refuse to believe that my spirit name is "Fox-Man"! I am not going to introduce myself to the spirits as "Fox-Man"!
We met this guy who's lived out in the woods for eleven years, has an epic beard, and raises wolves. He looked at my beard, shouted "MY BROTHER!" and hugged me. He taught us how to harvest mushrooms. At the end of the day he gave me a magic staff. He'll shelter and feed anyone for a month, and if you want, you don't have to do anything. It can be like a vacation, or it can be like a work experience. And he offered to help me get a job in Chisasibi if I stayed.
You guys came THIS close to losing me to Epic Beard Man. I love that guy so much, I baked him a loaf of bread and volunteered to wash his dishes. My PL convinced me that I should get my life in order and wait until I have something confirmed for my future and have some leeway time. Apparently, he's got connections with all the truckers across Canada, and will provide free transportation via truckers to get to
his place.
In Katimavik, I have played one video game, read three books, and watched 39 movies! Maybe not something to brag about...
Guelph at 8:15.
A lot of people are being sent home by bus, not just in my group but throughout the cluster. It's the first time they've done it to any of us. I think it's because now that we're done with the program, they don't care about us. Or, Grandma has offered that they aren't concerned with taking time out of the program, now that we're done.
In the last couple weeks, we managed to fit in some cool stuff. This will probably be my craziest post. Don't worry, though. You just go with the flow, and when the flow is sane, you get sane. When the going gets crazy... you get a little crazy. I'll be okay when I get back. Promise.
There's this Native ritual, where they all go into a small, tent-like structure with hot coals at the centre that they throw water on, called a "sweat". A group back on Prince Edward Island did it, and the girl I spoke to told me that of their eight members, only two made it to the end. She also told me that it's like "A taste of Hell". We came to this Cree village, and out Project Leader said that of her first
group of eleven, only two made it to the end, and she wasn't one of them. She said that it was like "A trip to Hell."
Well, we just did it. And guess what? Of our nine, seven made it to the end. And I'm one of them, baby!
Before going in, I talked to a man outside about why they do the sweats. See, there are four aspects of the human: the body, the mind, the emotional, and the spirit. You need to feed each aspect of the human to be healthy, and a sweat is food for the spirit.
While I was in there, and beginning to panic, his words came to me. I thought, "If I'm in pain, that's the body, so forget that. If I'm scared, that's the emotional, so forget that. If I worry I'm losing my mind, that's the mind, so forget that."
So, if you take away all those aspects, what do you have left?
You have your spirit. If you can find your spirit, which is being nourished, it will not be a painful experience for you.
It's pitch black in there. The people who go in all have the aspect of warriors about them. But in the sweat, all of your internal sufferiengs and miseries are brought to the surface and let out. Grown men weep in there all the time. And because of the darkness, it is completely anonymous.
They chant, they drum, and people scream and cry. Their emotional outlet is a contribution to the song. The person I sat next to for the first three rounds wept the loudest. We were all squashed together so tight, I felt his convulsions and his breath.
It's like, when you drink alcohol, you feel warm inside, but that's really because your core body heat is moving to your nerves as it leaves your body. It's the same way for your inner sufferings in the sweat. You feel them more acidically, but only because they're moving out, toward the more sensitive part of your being, as they leave you.
I felt great! I could see myself doing that kind of thing again!
I want to do the more intense version, where you fast for four days, and then have piercings ripped out of your shoulders, back, and nipples, while doing a sweat!
I also want to get in on the chanting, but I don't know Cree and I can't hit their pitches... When everyone got excited at one point, roaring and hooting like mad, I threw in a roar. I wasn't comfortable doing much more than that, though.
When we first went in there, our fire-master introduced himself by his spirit name "Too Hard Bear."
TOO HARD BEAR! Is that really the guy you want to lead you to Hell?
It was held on the site they do the Sun Dance every year, and they tried to summon the spirit of a 14-year-old girl who comitted suicide three years ago, but who's spirit never moved on, and tried to put her to rest.
Turns out, not only I, but two other people in the group felt really cold twice during the sweat. And some of the Natives saw the ghost of the girl... Maybe we sensed it's presence?
We had a Shaking Tent Ceremony, where you summon the spirits of the ancestors, and learn all kinds of cool stuff. It's powerful, too. There's a small, one-person-sized tent at the centre of a giant teepee, and an elder goes in there and acts as a medium for the spirits. They warned us not to go inside the spirit tent, because if
you do, THE SPIRITS CAN KILL YOU! There was some negative interference, and it beat the tar out of the elder inside. It might be because the ceremony was botched and it upset the spirits and also, apparently there were Northern Lights something fierce, which is considered dangerous around here. The elder had to fight off the evil presence while answering our questions. I... don't think we got real answers. I think he needed to give us answers, but he wasn't really picking up on anything because of the interference.
Because I refuse to believe that my spirit name is "Fox-Man"! I am not going to introduce myself to the spirits as "Fox-Man"!
We met this guy who's lived out in the woods for eleven years, has an epic beard, and raises wolves. He looked at my beard, shouted "MY BROTHER!" and hugged me. He taught us how to harvest mushrooms. At the end of the day he gave me a magic staff. He'll shelter and feed anyone for a month, and if you want, you don't have to do anything. It can be like a vacation, or it can be like a work experience. And he offered to help me get a job in Chisasibi if I stayed.
You guys came THIS close to losing me to Epic Beard Man. I love that guy so much, I baked him a loaf of bread and volunteered to wash his dishes. My PL convinced me that I should get my life in order and wait until I have something confirmed for my future and have some leeway time. Apparently, he's got connections with all the truckers across Canada, and will provide free transportation via truckers to get to
his place.
In Katimavik, I have played one video game, read three books, and watched 39 movies! Maybe not something to brag about...
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Arriving in Chisasibi
Before I start things off, I want to give you guys a look at my beard. Here's a video of Cole from my group doing an interpretive dance representing the life of a butterfly while we were camping at Quetico Park with the Alberton Katimavik group. I'm in the background (the one with a beard): http://www.youtube.com/user/arxyn17#p/a/u/0/XgHcQiTI0pU
Also, I want to point out my newfound Katima-fame. If you Google-search "Katimavik Thunder Bay" the fourth hit is my original blog, and if you Google image-search "Katimavik competencies" the first hit is a picture of me! To a lesser extent, I plugged Pierre's pet rabbit Whisky's video on my Katimavik blog, and his view count doubled. It went from 14 to 28. That's not bad.
Anyway, our PL gave us a real good send-off from Thunder Bay. She got us all to select nine beads from a bead store called Jangles, one representing each member of the group, with an explanation for why we chose them, and string them onto a bracelet. I wore my bracelet every day until we were doing a dreamcatcher-making workshop in Chisasibi, and our new PL suggested we use them to decorate our dreamcatcher. I thought it seemed like a good idea, because I'll probably only wear a Katima-bracelet outside of Katimavik for a couple weeks, but I'll probably use a dreamcatcher for years. I lost Pierre's bead, and Clay's wouldn't fit, so I wound up with no dreamcatcher, and no bracelet, and now I'm scared that all of the things I learned from Pierre will disappear from my mind because I lost his sacred bead! NO! I learned so much from him!
She also gave us each a little gift package. A rock from Mt. McKay, an animal representing us, and a note with an explanation as to why. I got the rooster, because of my affinity with birds, because birds are capable of picking up on things that other creatures aren't, like I can, and because it is a symbol of my growing initiative. She has a toy goat which she carries everywhere. I'm doing the same with my rooster.
I have to plug this song in memory of my T-Bay PL: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBmlyfWd5GQ
(I really hope that's the right video, since I can't watch them myself on this slow computer)
Our group decided to all do seperate Final Presentations, because we couldn't find one we all wanted to do. I did a presentation on my hat. I made a poster of all the pins I got in T-Bay and told the story behind each.
I completed my hat in T-Bay, too. Filled the entire rim with pins. I first finished it when we were camping at Quetico, and a girl from Alberton gave me a Drumheller, Alberta pin, but I managed to reorganize them so that I could fit more on. There's absolutely no more space, now. The finishing pin turned out to be a Chisasibi, Cree Nation pin which I got for volunteering at a cultural camping trip called Mamouidow.
When we left, we stopped over in Montreal for six hours before taking another flight from a smaller airline to Chisasibi. Me, Clay, Pierre and Rachel missed the flight and our punishment was a free day in Montreal!
...Well, our real punishment was missing seeing eleven bears, which Devon, Cole and Marie got to see by chance on their first day.
Em got a special leave to go to her sister's wedding, so we all arrived in pieces. When I first found out that it was only Devon, Cole and Marie to get on our third flight, I felt like this was like elimination rounds, and only one person would actually make it to Chisasibi.
Anyway, the people in Chisasibi are really friendly. Unfortunately, I have not gotten to experience culture shock or racism. In Montreal, everyone spoke English, and in Chisasibi, everyone speaks English, too.
Around here, Katimavik are like celebrities. I remember our PL turned on the radio, and we heard the last Katimavik crew introduce themselves between songs. Everyone knows who we are.
In Summerside, we did less work than in Thunder Bay, but got more acknowledgement. In Chisasibi, we do less work than we did in Summerside, but get more acknowledgement.
Actually, there's a lot of similarities between Summerside and Chisasibi. People in Chisasibi prefer Pepsi to Coke, and say dinner instead of lunch, and supper instead of dinner, just like in Summerside!
But on the flip side of all the positivity, we've been here for less than two weeks, and there's already been:
-one murder
-two rapings
-one plane crash
-one suicide
That's significant for a community of 3000 people. Every time something like this happens, it rocks the community, because everyone knows each other, at least on an extended level.
Okay, so in Quebec there is this brand of beer called Griffon. It comes as a red ale and a blonde ale. Obviously, I want to try it, since it has my namesake, but we're in a dry community. That means that we aren't allowed to consume alcohol! But it's only a dry community for Katimavik, not for the village! (Did you know I'm in a Cree Aboriginal village in Quebec?) And if we're caught, we don't get a verbal warning, or a CTI, or even a Final Warning. We get kicked out! And the village is small enough that everything comes back to this PL!
Here are some reviews of Griffon beer:
http://www.united-nations-of-beer.com/griffon-rousse.html
http://www.united-nations-of-beer.com/griffon-extra-pale-ale.html
If it were just a Final Warning, I'd think, "They're not going to kick me out in the last month of the program, and I've made five months with a clean slate". But an automatic kick out in the last month of the program?! You HAVE to respect that!
When we first came to the new house, we were assigned a task. We each chose a random balloon, popped it, and found a slip of paper inside. The slip of paper had an animal on it, and whatever animal you drew, you would have to ask around the community to learn more about. I drew rabbit. This means that, between rooster and rabbit, I got the smallest animal of everyone in my group both times, which is funny because I'm the largest person.
I haven't learned a ton, and I've been asking around. I've learned that rabbit in Cree is wopsh, that their fur is used for blankets and children's coats, that these are warm in winter but cool in the other seasons, and that you can make good dumplings out of them.
I think the new house has an impractical setup. It has two common areas, but they're not large enough for everyone to chill in at once. It like, forces the group to divide. It's the first house I've felt myself hanging out in my room. I think that's the mark of a bad Katima-house. Our Summerside one had only one common area, but it was large, so everyone hung out in the same area, promoting unity. Thunder Bay had two large common areas, so people could or could not divide. I think it's better motivation if people are forced to be together through the bad times, but it's still better than a house that forces the group to divide.
It does, however, have a dishwashing machine, and we're actually ALLOWED TO USE IT! Thunder Bay had a television and dishwasher which we weren't allowed to use.
I feel like the group has gone full cycle. At Summerside we all acted like we did at home. In Thunder Bay, it seemed like we all demonstrated new aspects of positive personal development which we learned through Katimavik. In Chisasibi, we all act like we did at the beginning of the program! In the end, we didn't learn anything! I told this to Cole, and we both burst out laughing. I'm glad he laughed, because if he cried, I just might have as well.
Final rotation battle for chairperson. This time, I matched off against Pierre. Like last time, it was real bloody. Both of us were betrayed by someone we were great friends with, and it came out a draw. I won on a coin flip. I felt bad. I wouldn't have competed against him, but I was nominated. I tried to give him the position, but he wouldn't take it. So I get chariperson, two terms in a row, and for the entire last half of the program.
We saw the Northern Lights. The local don't like them. They believe they're dangerous and they can kill you. There are ritual behaviours they act out in order to ward them off.
We went camping for a week with the Cree. Turned down bacon, ham, spare ribs, beans because they were bacon-baked, marshmallows because they have geletin, but ate tarmigan, caribou, goose, beaver and bear. I'm sorry, Katima-vegis!
There are seven people who turned vegetarian inside Katimavik, to my knowledge. In the two clusters I've been in, there were only a total of four original vegetarians. That's four to eleven!
The cluster vegetarians forgave me pretty quick, but the two in my group are kind of leary. I upset them pretty bad, but they're coming around...
Also, I want to point out my newfound Katima-fame. If you Google-search "Katimavik Thunder Bay" the fourth hit is my original blog, and if you Google image-search "Katimavik competencies" the first hit is a picture of me! To a lesser extent, I plugged Pierre's pet rabbit Whisky's video on my Katimavik blog, and his view count doubled. It went from 14 to 28. That's not bad.
Anyway, our PL gave us a real good send-off from Thunder Bay. She got us all to select nine beads from a bead store called Jangles, one representing each member of the group, with an explanation for why we chose them, and string them onto a bracelet. I wore my bracelet every day until we were doing a dreamcatcher-making workshop in Chisasibi, and our new PL suggested we use them to decorate our dreamcatcher. I thought it seemed like a good idea, because I'll probably only wear a Katima-bracelet outside of Katimavik for a couple weeks, but I'll probably use a dreamcatcher for years. I lost Pierre's bead, and Clay's wouldn't fit, so I wound up with no dreamcatcher, and no bracelet, and now I'm scared that all of the things I learned from Pierre will disappear from my mind because I lost his sacred bead! NO! I learned so much from him!
She also gave us each a little gift package. A rock from Mt. McKay, an animal representing us, and a note with an explanation as to why. I got the rooster, because of my affinity with birds, because birds are capable of picking up on things that other creatures aren't, like I can, and because it is a symbol of my growing initiative. She has a toy goat which she carries everywhere. I'm doing the same with my rooster.
I have to plug this song in memory of my T-Bay PL: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBmlyfWd5GQ
(I really hope that's the right video, since I can't watch them myself on this slow computer)
Our group decided to all do seperate Final Presentations, because we couldn't find one we all wanted to do. I did a presentation on my hat. I made a poster of all the pins I got in T-Bay and told the story behind each.
I completed my hat in T-Bay, too. Filled the entire rim with pins. I first finished it when we were camping at Quetico, and a girl from Alberton gave me a Drumheller, Alberta pin, but I managed to reorganize them so that I could fit more on. There's absolutely no more space, now. The finishing pin turned out to be a Chisasibi, Cree Nation pin which I got for volunteering at a cultural camping trip called Mamouidow.
When we left, we stopped over in Montreal for six hours before taking another flight from a smaller airline to Chisasibi. Me, Clay, Pierre and Rachel missed the flight and our punishment was a free day in Montreal!
...Well, our real punishment was missing seeing eleven bears, which Devon, Cole and Marie got to see by chance on their first day.
Em got a special leave to go to her sister's wedding, so we all arrived in pieces. When I first found out that it was only Devon, Cole and Marie to get on our third flight, I felt like this was like elimination rounds, and only one person would actually make it to Chisasibi.
Anyway, the people in Chisasibi are really friendly. Unfortunately, I have not gotten to experience culture shock or racism. In Montreal, everyone spoke English, and in Chisasibi, everyone speaks English, too.
Around here, Katimavik are like celebrities. I remember our PL turned on the radio, and we heard the last Katimavik crew introduce themselves between songs. Everyone knows who we are.
In Summerside, we did less work than in Thunder Bay, but got more acknowledgement. In Chisasibi, we do less work than we did in Summerside, but get more acknowledgement.
Actually, there's a lot of similarities between Summerside and Chisasibi. People in Chisasibi prefer Pepsi to Coke, and say dinner instead of lunch, and supper instead of dinner, just like in Summerside!
But on the flip side of all the positivity, we've been here for less than two weeks, and there's already been:
-one murder
-two rapings
-one plane crash
-one suicide
That's significant for a community of 3000 people. Every time something like this happens, it rocks the community, because everyone knows each other, at least on an extended level.
Okay, so in Quebec there is this brand of beer called Griffon. It comes as a red ale and a blonde ale. Obviously, I want to try it, since it has my namesake, but we're in a dry community. That means that we aren't allowed to consume alcohol! But it's only a dry community for Katimavik, not for the village! (Did you know I'm in a Cree Aboriginal village in Quebec?) And if we're caught, we don't get a verbal warning, or a CTI, or even a Final Warning. We get kicked out! And the village is small enough that everything comes back to this PL!
Here are some reviews of Griffon beer:
http://www.united-nations-of-beer.com/griffon-rousse.html
http://www.united-nations-of-beer.com/griffon-extra-pale-ale.html
If it were just a Final Warning, I'd think, "They're not going to kick me out in the last month of the program, and I've made five months with a clean slate". But an automatic kick out in the last month of the program?! You HAVE to respect that!
When we first came to the new house, we were assigned a task. We each chose a random balloon, popped it, and found a slip of paper inside. The slip of paper had an animal on it, and whatever animal you drew, you would have to ask around the community to learn more about. I drew rabbit. This means that, between rooster and rabbit, I got the smallest animal of everyone in my group both times, which is funny because I'm the largest person.
I haven't learned a ton, and I've been asking around. I've learned that rabbit in Cree is wopsh, that their fur is used for blankets and children's coats, that these are warm in winter but cool in the other seasons, and that you can make good dumplings out of them.
I think the new house has an impractical setup. It has two common areas, but they're not large enough for everyone to chill in at once. It like, forces the group to divide. It's the first house I've felt myself hanging out in my room. I think that's the mark of a bad Katima-house. Our Summerside one had only one common area, but it was large, so everyone hung out in the same area, promoting unity. Thunder Bay had two large common areas, so people could or could not divide. I think it's better motivation if people are forced to be together through the bad times, but it's still better than a house that forces the group to divide.
It does, however, have a dishwashing machine, and we're actually ALLOWED TO USE IT! Thunder Bay had a television and dishwasher which we weren't allowed to use.
I feel like the group has gone full cycle. At Summerside we all acted like we did at home. In Thunder Bay, it seemed like we all demonstrated new aspects of positive personal development which we learned through Katimavik. In Chisasibi, we all act like we did at the beginning of the program! In the end, we didn't learn anything! I told this to Cole, and we both burst out laughing. I'm glad he laughed, because if he cried, I just might have as well.
Final rotation battle for chairperson. This time, I matched off against Pierre. Like last time, it was real bloody. Both of us were betrayed by someone we were great friends with, and it came out a draw. I won on a coin flip. I felt bad. I wouldn't have competed against him, but I was nominated. I tried to give him the position, but he wouldn't take it. So I get chariperson, two terms in a row, and for the entire last half of the program.
We saw the Northern Lights. The local don't like them. They believe they're dangerous and they can kill you. There are ritual behaviours they act out in order to ward them off.
We went camping for a week with the Cree. Turned down bacon, ham, spare ribs, beans because they were bacon-baked, marshmallows because they have geletin, but ate tarmigan, caribou, goose, beaver and bear. I'm sorry, Katima-vegis!
There are seven people who turned vegetarian inside Katimavik, to my knowledge. In the two clusters I've been in, there were only a total of four original vegetarians. That's four to eleven!
The cluster vegetarians forgave me pretty quick, but the two in my group are kind of leary. I upset them pretty bad, but they're coming around...
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