Domestic Drama

Sunday, July 19, 2009

On this day, I learned of a disheartening situation that I became embroiled in. My female friend Karpo informed me that her friend was beaten by her husband because he believed she was cheating on him with me.

Apparently, this situation had been developing since I initially met this woman upon my arrival in Liberia. My host brother Joscee is a close friend with Karpo. Karpo is friends with this Minister’s wife—the woman who was allegedly sleeping around.

My initial meeting with this minister’s wife was quite brief. I met Karpo, her sister in-law Cynthia and this woman within my first 48 hours of being in Monrovia. I do not specifically recall our interaction but I believe it was limited to exchanging a few pleasantries and discussing briefly my purpose for being in Liberia.

Subsequent interactions with this woman resumed only last week as I was invited to a graduation party that was hosted by Karpo’s brother and sister in-law. This party was held at the minister’s house since they rent from him and he has a larger yard with which to entertain. I spent my day with Karpo, Joscee and others.

Then, this weekend, I spent an hour or two with Karpo, Cynthia and the minister’s wife. This time we were sitting outside the house chatting. I do not recall having any conversation with the minister’s wife. Anyway, she and her husband were to leave for a party later in the evening. Apparently, after they left, he accused her of cheating with me.

What is strange is that the minister never introduced himself to me and I still do not yet know his name or his wife’s. So the whole situation was perpetuated on gossip and speculation. Apparently, this may have been the very thing that caused the man to believe his concocted version of events. Being that we were never introduced and yet I continued to visit the home, often drinking with his wife and her friends, he came to believe that I must have had ill intentions and was acting on them.

Since this time, I have come to learn that people in the neighborhood are skeptical of spending too much time around this man’s house for the fear of being seen as interested in his wife or being assumed of wanting to take advantage of him/his family. I can only conclude that there are existing problems within the marriage and a foreigner’s presence has provided an impetus for a conflict.

I think the most important lesson I have learned from this drama is that skin color is an incredibly powerful tool that can be used to one’s benefit or demise, even without much force or intent. Here, white skin seems to immediately purport power, money and control. It has become clear that being white can be a security concern in and of itself.

It is disheartening that this jealousy has caused such disrespect. The benefits that we could achieve by working together and building a mutual understanding have been lost before they were ever built.

In addition to the personal discomfort and anger this has caused, it also exemplifies the challenge domestic rights still face in Liberia. When a minister’s wife is hit for allegedly cheating on her husband despite no real evidence to support the claim, and no one is concerned about him having hit her, it is clear that there are some cultural values that are astray. I can only hope that President Sirleaf’s attempts to address these issues are embraced.

And today, as I rode in a taxi to work, I saw a sticker that sums it all up: “Real Men Don’t Abuse Women.”

Musings from Liberia

Random musings which I find interesting (you may disagree)

Mice. While I realize they are probably just as scared of me as I of them, nonetheless, whenever I see one, I nearly scream. Their presence in my Liberian bedroom was initially apparent as I saw their droppings all over the room. Now, they have either multiplied quickly or have become much more brave as they scurry about in the evening as I write and reflect. If only a cat could be found. But that might open a whole other box of worms, almost quite literally, or fleas or other insects that I do not need crawling around in my bed with me at night.

500 ml bags of water. I have never been a big fan of plastic. This aversion stems in large part to the core material in plastics—that of petroleum. I prefer to avoid plastic jugs instead opting for the glass alternative. Taking my own bags to the supermarket is as much anenvironmental statement for me as it is a fight against big oil. Anyway, it seems I will have a difficult time escaping the material here in Liberia as my source of life is packaged in it. It appears West African countries have become big fans of 500ml plastic bags of water which can be easily opened with your teeth in order to allow for a quick quenching of your thirst. I have enjoyed a great many of these bags and have now resigned myself to buying large sacks of them to keep a constant supply of potable water available which seems better than using waterpurification tablets on a continuous basis.

Water leaks. Yes, while plastic bags can be great, as is witnessed when plastic bags have too much weight or get caught on anything sharp, they rip. I am not sure how the bag sprung a leak (though the first paragraph may signal a culprit) but I awoke one morning this week to find a water trail on the floor and my backpack drenched. My original idea of prepping my bag for work the evening before by placing two bags of water on the side seems to be misguided. While my computer survived the inundation (thanks in no small part to the carrying case Jay lent me) my papers had to be air dried at work in order to avoid taking on the mildewy odor that is quite common in this humid climate.

White man. I find it quite obvious that my skin color is white and in fact have never really questioned it. Lest I be in need of reassurance of my skin color, I find that anytime I am out in public, children and adults alike enjoy calling out “White man”, as if it were my name. While I became accustomed to “aramuie” in Morocco—which literally means Roman—I did not usually find children chanting to the extent that they do here. When I first encountered this phenomenon—largely when I was in Lofa County—I smiled and waved to the adoring fans. Now, as this has become more common and a bit annoying at the same time, I have come to ignore the heckles. It seems as though the chanting has grown more intense as I ignore it. Just this morning, a couple children chanted “White man, white man, white man”, for several minutes while I walked down the street. These children were out of eyesight but still seemed to enjoy their moment of viewing a foreigner.

This year

This year, I will:
-fly my kite, in the company of friends, more often
-star gaze more often
-wake up early, more often, to feel the warmth of the sun rise
-pause, more often, to find solace in the setting of the sun
-slow down to catch more snow flakes on my tongue
-relieve my stress, more often, by baking cake from scratch
-eat more in tune with the seasons
-plant more trees
-further reduce my carbon footprint
-blow more bubbles
-enjoy the serenity of candle light, more often

Pants

Today, as I washed my pants I thought about the meaning in them. The clothes I wear here in Morocco will most likely stay here after I leave, given to friends or family as a gift, being that clothes are a luxury that many cannot afford to purchase new in this subsistence-level community. I brought clothes with which I was willing to part, knowing that I could only bring a limited supply and would not spend much of my modest monthly Peace Corps living allowance on them.

My cargo pants, that I was hand washing in a small basin in my red rock, Berber-built house, have now become a pair I wear almost exclusively here in the village. I leave my blue jeans, which were purchased here in Morocco, for use when I am in Ouarzazate and cities beyond. My clothes, in a way, have become a means to mentally place myself in my environment. When in the village I dress and act conservatively, attempting to play my role as a Peace Corps Volunteer. When out and about in a larger city for work or travel, I often wear my cleaner, newer clothes when I can act more western and try to blend in with the tourists.

These olive-oil-stained pair of pants are beginning to thin from the frequent hand washing. But it is this that reminds me of my home here, the frequent sugary-mint tea breaks served with homemade bread and olive oil, the daily hard labor of men and particularly, women--washing, cleaning, preparing the fields, collecting wood for cooking and fodder for livestock, taking care of children, and the list goes on.

These pants, fraying at the ends, remind me that I do still seperate myself when in a larger city, avoiding the instantaneous judgement if I were to wear my worn-out, stained pair of pants. What would I be viewed as? It is crazy to think that after almost two years here I still think in terms of my outer appearance. I have gained a greater love for the inner, but my western influence is so ingrained, 21 years of it, that I still resort back to the superficial. But, I can see that a difference or change has allowed me to recognize more readily that outside appearance is such a small part of a person. I have come to realize that what we carry inside is what will connect me to my hopeful love, one day.

These pants, with buttons that have been sewed back on several times, also help me to remember how much I do enjoy being able to wear clean clothes and experience a little western culture from time to time, something that is a large part of who I am. I enjoy being able to look and feel beautiful.

Additionally, these pants remind me of the book, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and how I read it--a book genearlly intended for young girls. A thought that reminds me that as a Volunteer I have had much time to read and reflect. This has lead the way to a library list that I may not normally acquire back home.

Most importantly, these pants, with a zipper that no longer fully zips, help me remember how grateful I am for this experience, for all that I have at home and here in my second home, and for family and friends.

It seems as though daily routines often prove to be great chances for reflection and I am grateful for this life in order to help me to be more understanding, sensitive, caring, and honest. It amazes me that this pair of pants opens up such a torrent of words, but it is a mere reflection of the thoughts gained in the last 20 months.


November 6, 2006

Environmental reading

If you are interested in learning more about the importance of wetlands (as recent flood events can attest to), or learning why local and state policy can be instrumental in stimulating national and international environmental policy, visit http://www.campusprogress.org/, to find out more.

Search for:

Valuable Wasteland

and

Laboratories of Environmentalism

These are just two of several articles related to current environmental issues we face as a human population. Solutions are sought.

Au revoir

After 7 months of teaching in St. Dizier, my contract came to an end, as planned, at the end of April. My final days in France included travels outside the borders to visit some famous and off-the-beaten path European destinations.

Traveling with my Mom around various parts of western Europe helped to reinforce many of the lessons learned over the last few months. From walking across the Rhine River into Germany by foot-bridge to taking a tour of an historic chocolate factory in Brugge, Belgium, we enjoyed seeing new places and meeting new people.

Perhaps what continues to be strikingly obvious, upon returning to the U.S., is the incredible size of everything. Whether it is the size of our cars or buildings or the size of our meal portions, I am reminded that our culture has seemed to embrace the idea that bigger is better. While this is not always true, it is acutely apparent after time abroad.

Another striking difference is the pace of life. French people, especially in areas outside Paris, continue their long lunch breaks, meaning most shops and offices are closed from noon to 2pm. Additionally, life in general is a bit slower paced. A return to the U.S., almost as soon as you set foot in the airport, reminds you that we are a country accustomed to hustle and bustle, clock watching and punctuality.

I do not mean to imply that one culture is better than another; but, rather, to identify and raise awareness of some distinct differences. The value of living, traveling and/or working abroad is that you begin to appreciate these subtleties. To rethink our way of living -- whether it is learning to drive smaller, more efficient vehicles, or spending more time with family and friends, or eating or cooking foods with less sugar and fewer preservatives, there is often much to be learned from cultural interactions.

While I was sad to leave France and a more relaxed way of life, I found solace in visiting with Claire — a French woman who we ran into at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport while awaiting our ride home. Ironically, Claire lives in the same neighborhood in Paris as my friend Anne, where my Mom and I had stayed while visiting the city. She had come to the states to visit an old friend in Phoenix.

I continue to find inspiration in the interactions with people around the world, knowing that we are all learning and hopefully, working towards a brighter tomorrow; and that we actually share many commonalities. We must be open to broadening our minds through new experiences and interactions. These past seven months in France and previous two years in Morocco are proof to me that cultural exploration and interaction is invaluable.

Tunisia

Wow!

This one word describes my experience in Tunisia--my vacation destination during the recent spring break. From the unique people I met to the beautiful places visited and sights seen, the trip was simply amazing. Returning to France was not easy. I wish I could have extended my stay, but for the moment it appears I will simply have to return another time--to reconnect with friends and hopefully, make new ones.

The best part of the trip was the interactions I shared with my new Tunisian friends. I was able to see Tunisia not only through the eyes of a tourist--visiting the popular historic sites, but also, from the eyes of Tunisians. From visiting the Roman ruins of Carthage to the blue city of Sidi Bou Said, to sitting at a cafe with friends, chatting about religion, politics, the role of the media in our current views of the world, and many other topics, I gained an incredible perspective into the country and culture in a short amount of time.

The truly extraordinary people I have met over the past few years, and especially during my time in Tunisia, give me a total sense of happiness and optimism.

Most recently, I cannot stop smiling when I think of the friends I made during my trip. I met teachers, students, fathers, mothers, conservative Muslims, homosexuals, hard-metal music lovers, and shop-keepers. All were eager to show me their country. All are proud of their culture.

Whether receiving a fresh bouquet of flowers picked from the family garden--and with fragrances that I've never before smelled, then returning to my room to find the whole room filled with its truly delightful scents, or sharing stories and laughs on the Mediterranean coast, watching the waves roll in and out, while the sun sets and the stars brighten in the night sky, these memories all bring shivers up my spine.

Of course there were times when I was frustrated--feeling used because of the color of my skin and the inherent thought that I must be wealthy. Then I am reminded of how often I hear stories of friends who have been treated the same way here in France (Arab friends who are questioned by security as they enter a bank where they have an account), and numerous stories from the U.S. and I realize that I must think about how I have prejudged people based on their appearance.

In a way, I think I enjoyed Tunisia because it reminds me so much of Morocco--the food, the religious rituals, the pace of life. The country was unique in its vibrancy and modernity. Taking the metro system in Tunis was fascinating in that it was quite possibly more extensive than what exists in many American metropolitan areas of its size. Similar to Morocco, the ability to travel from the northern coast--a relatively green landscape, and arriving at the eastern coast line and sitting on the beach, one that stretches as far as the eye could see, provides an incredible opportunity for reflection and relaxation as you listen to the waves roll in and out.

It was difficult to leave the new friends I made. But all have been invited to visit me in the United States, and I hope some of them have the chance to do so. I look forward to being able to provide them with a unique perspective of the American culture. Hopefully I will be able to return one day to work or for vacation to reunite with friends and continue the cultural exchange.