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.
Monday, August 29, 2011
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.
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