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.
Monday, September 12, 2011
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.
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