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.