rural versus urban: Post - Malawi, Southern Africa. Back in Obama's US of A

after effects less than two months later

2009-06-29T09:21:00.002-04:00

One night I dreamt that I was part of a street scene. Some people seemed either short or shaped different. Upon waking up I realized the short and misshapen people were those who had club feet, flipper arms, and one walked with his bottom on the ground with sneakers cut to fit into his hands. You don't see that kind of scene here in the States with correctable surgery and vaccinations such as polio. The misshapen people I've seen in Malawi were not limited to the poor.

Hygiene is heavily emphasized, especially with risk of cholera. Waiters or servers in any restaurant would come to your table with a pitcher of water and a basin for you to wash your hands. Or, there's a complimentary water jug with soap at the entrance. However in fast food places like the Hungry Lion, a dingy looking sink is screwed into a wall. Least there's running water and soap handy. In more fashionable chains such as Nando's - there's a pretty sink set-up in a nook. Back in the States, I was in a restaurant last Thursday with a friend and we spotted a small bottle of Purell on our table, next to the napkin dispenser. I thought, how nice, not need to get up and go to the toilet to wash hands.

Madonna has Mercy now. Finally. With so many poor people already taking care of relatives, it's unfathomable for someone to come and adopt a child from already overflowing orphanages. Most of the children are already sick from HIV or other communicable diseases. Many orphaned children prefer living on the streets than in orphanages and I can't say I blame them because some orphanages can't take care of every child.

a month and few days after the return

2009-06-08T22:08:00.002-04:00

I have more or less adjusted to life back in the US. The excessive materialism (and I'm guilty, too having been sucked into H&M today - but hey I did need new shirts) still bothers me. The very available stacks of toilet papers and paper napkins are still beyond me. Before Malawi, I used loads of napkins to wipe my mouth or hands when eating or drinking, terribly conscious of any mess I might make. After Malawi, I use one napkin or not at all. A couple weeks after return to the US, I was prompted to use a napkin - probably because I was licking my lips and fingers clean. I don't use tissues much as I used to. If I have sniffles I would suck it in or ignore it altogether.

So far, especially in allergy season and having hay fever, I've not been sick other than typical morning sniffles. At all.

I discovered something during my stay in DC in the last few days - I can't do buffet style meals anymore. My stomach goes out of whack and I'm in and out of the toilet the next few hours, sometimes with a ring o' fire or two. Also, since my return I've not eaten many processed or canned food. The food I've eaten since January is usually straight off the stove or freshly prepared. Again, I've not been ill from seasonal allergies and rarely touch the sudafaded. Odd.

Other things beside the food - the streets (not counting cities) seem oddly bare of life. In Malawi, there's people everywhere at all hours - working, loitering, chatting. Even daytime here with no one on the streets is depressing. Highways and streets were not always occupied by automobiles - Malawians also walked on foot or on bicycle usually carrying their wares. There is no one riding on the back of pick up trucks and lorries. Automobiles and people are far apart.

Internet access - practically unlimited especially with the active Blackberry device in my hands - is disturbing. I'm fickle with the internet use because I no longer have to set time to be tied to my laptop for a fixed time frame. Once the fixed internet time was done I could focus on doing other things, not thinking I ought to be checking the laptop or the BB every other minute. I have been lax with my overall daily structure. A month has passed now - no more excuses!

Post from route 50 west - One week and three days after return to the US from Africa

2009-05-13T11:59:00.002-04:00

I'm typing a quick blog from the Bolt Bus - quite a change from several weeks ago. The bus has its own internet and my laptop is plugged into a socket. Sweet. After months of being in a mild homogeneous environment in Malawi and upstate New York - I made a stop in New York City for several days. I'm now headed to Washington DC to graduate with my MA in International Development with a concentration in People with Disabilities and tie up any loose ends (like loans - eek) on campus. And see my poor and overworked Academic Advisor :-). New York City was nice and a rude slap. I'd forgotten how many nationalities live and work in the city, and how much I enjoyed its energy especially during peak hours riding the subways. Other than bathroom stalls stuffed full of toilet papers (totally opposite in Malawi) - fashion wasn't scarce either. The 80s style have been creeping in the last several years and after months away - every other young man is wearing Clark Kent style glasses frame. Whew. People watching is great. Malawi isn't a very materialistic country when it comes down to napkin rings and wearing the most trendy hat.

In a way, it's good to be home but I know I'll be back anyplace in Africa in the near future. I just turned 33 years old and is becoming quite set in my ways - but I will make this work.

Liwonde National Park, Malawi

2009-05-10T23:49:00.003-04:00

I decided to make my own trip before returning to the United States - I chose Liwonde National Park because according to the Bradt travel guide, it's supposedly the more pristine of the game parks in C entral Africa. The park is approximately 548 square kilometers close to Lake Malawi and one other lake, and the Shire River goes through the Park. The park is populated by hippos, crocodiles, elephants, antelope, monkeys, birds, and the African Buffalo. Three days without electricity and the prices were reasonable. Long as I chose only one tour activity I needed not to carry wads of kwachas money since like many places, the lodge I stayed at doesn't take credit or debit, in cash only. I did go a little over because I forgot to include the 16.5% VAT and I was not expecting entrance and exit costs of the Park itself. I was around 600 Malawian Kwachas short (5 dollars).

Chinguni Lodge was my choice of the place to stay, slightly cheaper than Muvuu Lodge, also in the Park. It used to be a home of a game warden so the common rooms were full of skulls belonging elephant, buffalo, imapala, baboon, and hyena I think. The environs were very rustic and nice - I wished I opted for thatched huts that supported covered canvas tents and a patio. I had a nice room inside the lodge with the beds covered by high quality mosquitoes nets, candles, my own hot shower and toilet. The meals - prepared English style - were decent and filling, but when you're not walking around like you're accustomed to, your clothes start to feel awfully tight after several square meals.

A favorite spot of mine to pass the time over the next two and half days was outside in a shade that did not change and breezes were consistent. The chairs were canvas with wooden frames, severed tree trunks served as a side table for either your drink or your feet to put up. The spot overlooked the lagoons of the Shire River. Nice. Sometimes I'd be sitting there with a bottle of Carlsberg Green and a novel or diary. The Lodge is part of the Park so one would be a lucky to spot an animal to saunter by. Once, a yellow baboon visited the lodge grounds munching on this and that in the bushes. It heard the loud rip of the brillo pad as I opened my camera and off it went. The morning I left the Park for Lilongwe and Zambia - I saw a large lizard that appeared prehistoric slowly crossing the open plain maybe 10, 15 yards in front of me. Consulting my guide book - it's a Monitor Lizard, a very big lizard that looks like it came in through a time machine.

I wasn't allowed to walk on my own outside the lodge - once I was wandering after taking some pictures of the baboon and the wildebeest, and a staff approached me on his bike with a note from the management. It said something like "you are not allowed to be on your own - the elephants are not friendly". Whoops. I didn't see any :(

My only mini safari trip was the canoe. It was good - more stimulating along the lagoons but out in the water, was kind of boring. Also, I'm accustomed to be paddling on my own - two men accompanied me; one as my guide (he patiently wrote out the sights) and the other to paddle. We didn't see any crocodiles, but saw hippos at some distance. My best photograph attempt were tops of their heads and fluttering ears. We saw several fish eagles, islands of moving reeds (I never could grasp that concept), and varieties of birds including Egyptian geese. It was a mild trip because many animals basically kept away from people and it was hot outside. The lodge provided a hat woven by reeds, shading my face and neck quite well.

Possibly the most thrilling part of the three-day stay was riding the motorbike. The lodge's safari truck - their only mode of transport - broke down so the lodge sent a motorbike to pick me up. I've never ridden on one before and the ground was uneven so a very nerving one for me. Wearing a helmet and gripping the seat strap, I tried to channel my fright into trust for the driver. Parts of the road were muddy so we skidded one or twice, sometimes the driver would go into the forest between trees, and some bushes scratched at my legs. I was very relieved when we arrived at the lodge but had a small pang of disappointment that the ride was over. The driver thought I was an awfully good sport.

MANAD in Mulanje, Blantyre

2009-05-06T15:06:00.004-04:00

Several days after completing the Karonga-Chipita Survey Trip, I met Euphrasia and other MANAD officials in Mulanje for a five day training in Organizational Capacity Training (how to work as an advocacy, identify issues pertaining to the Deaf, etc). Mulanje is a southern most town in southern Malawi not far from the Mozambique border. Due to long training hours I could not explore much of the area. On the upside, our motel where we also had the training contained a perfect view of the Mulanje Massif (for geological information, go to: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mulanje_Mountain_Forest_Reserve) behind us. Because of low clouds (not unusual in Malawi) that the Massif is often referred as “Island in the Sky” and we did not get the view of the full mountain until the end of the training when it cleared up. As far as Thyolo, I could see the giant base of the Massif, like Jack the Beanstalk's Giant's Elephant foot through the low and heavy clouds.

A minibus took me to Mulanje, from south of Blantyre via Thyolo (the tea capital of Malawi) on M2 which took over an hour. On the way back with all of us in the minibus – needing no additional passengers) took the M4 road which is a shorter route, a strikingly different scenery. On the M2, within couple kilometers south of Blantyre and all the way to Mulanje were fields upon fields upon fields of tea. I think at the moment all of the tea picked, cured, dried and made into individual cups of tea – everyone in Southern Africa that consists of 12 countries plus the tea loving United Kingdom and Ireland can drink at the same time. Tea plantations are quite busy, some open to tourism (nope never had the chance to go though I’ve planned it one time or other  ). A deaf Malawian I know used to work in a plantation, he and his wife picking tea leaves from morning to dusk. It depends on which company owns the tea plantations – some are generous with benefits for its employees while others are not.

It was rather hypnotic with miles and miles of tea fields and people employed to pick the leaves. In the old days, one had to pick by hand which can be painful. Now they have a special kind of large hand (hedge?) clip with a small basket attached to catch the cut leaves. I observed men and women in the fields with large baskets strapped to their backs, cutting and collecting and tossing it over their shoulder into the giant basket. Long hours for little pay unfortunately.

Thyolo, where I changed minibuses – we passed near one of the largest marketplaces in the country with dizzying variety of produce. There were maybe 5 foot piles of cabbages and kale freshly brought in. I never had the opportunity to shop there.
That’d be sweet. For a while we passengers in the minibus watched touts (conductors) fight over passengers, and one tout dissing a couple who decided to switch minibuses. Often we don’t have the pleasure of choosing what minibus to take. What can really anger a tout is if you go into his minibus and you change your mind and go into another minibus. You either argue with the tout or let the touts argue among themselves. It’s mostly shouting and finger jabbing but I’ve never seen it escalate. Other touts would interfere and calm the angry tout down. Sometimes the passenger would return to the original minibus to shut them up.

Anyways, since I arrived early at Mulanje, I decided to try an Italian place for lunch (real mozzarella cheese!). Couple hours later I was ready to go to the motel – I asked the waiter to hire a taxi for me because I was not in the mood to be piled upon by taxi drivers and pick one, hoping I will not be a sucker and pay too much money. The waiter returned and introduced me to the taxi driver. We went outside and expecting to find a cab, he gestured to his bike. I’d forgotten. Many towns do not have taxi cabs, only taxi bikes. I had my rucksack not only with a week worth of clothing but with some paperwork and laptop inside. The motel is two kilometers down the road with some rises and slopes along the way. I pointed at my rucksack and pantomimed whether the taxi driver is strong? He laughed and told me to get on. I tightened my rucksack, securing all belts and loops, and made myself comfortable on the passenger seat. I was grateful for the extra handlebar too, giving me more security to hold on. Not topple over backwards.

As in any other Malawian town – there are more pedestrians and bike taxis than cars, every other bemused (or amused, depending!) face looked at me grinning. All I could do was wave.. A mazungu with a rucksack, on the back of the bike. The driver pumped his legs up and down the whole way and I was impressed he didn’t stand up for more traction. I gave him a tip for his good humor :). When we arrived at the motel, two MANAD Board members were grinning at my grand entrance.

Mulanje Massif attracts hikers and backpackers around the world – it is no easy feat. Some from my lodge went and returned with sore muscles and nasty blisters on their feet. The Malawian Deaf told me about local myths that the spirits and witchcraft cause disappearances of several backpackers. Evidently the Netherlands and one other country sent their teams and the backpackers were never found. Usually because they never hired guides – people I know went they came back because they hired guides. Better safe than sorry! Several times during training if a MANAD official was very late we’d go “witchcraft! Maybe taken away!”.

will post a picture or two..

Back stateside

2009-05-04T14:29:00.002-04:00

Been hit by hay fever already. A nice welcome back. I am in a weird transition phase where I'm back in familiar surroundings (my parents' house) and thinking wow, did I really go to southern Africa then back here?

My 4 year old PC Dell laptop barely survived the trip. The poor thing needs rehabbing. Lots of clean up, backing up, and resting. Its internet won't work. Sigh. Will tinker with it til the internet start working.

Yes, will catch up blogging this week...

ta for now.

Behind in Blogging at Lusaka, Zambia

2009-05-01T09:11:00.004-04:00

The last two weeks have been hazy pending the last days in Malawi with MANAD and impending finals via online course. I spent half the time researching and writing, and the other half having anxiety attacks thinking about the finals. I rarely do well mentally and physically at the end of the term. Especially since this is my last semester of my graduate career. To do an online course in a developing country’s weak internet infrastructure in your last term and prone to being neurotic, it ain’t funny. With the slower broadband connection and schizoid wifi – I've given myself so much grief. I think I have much more grey hair now than I came in with on December 30.

I just sneezed and took a look around in the internet café I’m at. No one is looking at me in fright. The Swine Flu hasn’t hit Africa yet (I'm enjoying the jokes on the FB, especially the bogus article about Miss Piggy getting arrested at the border) – so far as the information is released things seem decent. Malaria and AIDs here are scary enough. Perhaps with my uneven tan and faded clothing they think I’ve been here long enough not to carry the virus. I wonder what the scenery will be like when I pass through Heathrow and JFK airports this weekend. They'd probably detain me for sporting a Dorothy Hamill haircut (I had a decent clean up job yesterday from homemade haircuts I’ve been inflicting on my poor hair) the stylist did a good job and my hair was blown dry for the first time since Christmas. Still it’s wee short, but least the stylist cut my hair with intent on growing it out.

I have maybe four posts to write regarding my work with MANAD, griping about the internet, and touristy travel in Malawi prior to Lusaka. Will post again from London or stateside.

Chipita Deaf and “not Deaf”

2009-04-20T13:08:00.004-04:00

Chipita is a small and isolated town in the highlands close to the Zambian border. M26 is the only road linking Chipita to Karonga, nowhere else. If there was a road from Chipita to Mzimba, a town south of Mzuzu but closer to Chipita – the travel might be easier. The two days were used by returning to Karonga to spend a night and take the reasonably priced coach bus back to Blantyre that leaves only at noon. The town is unpaved with cattle and goats roaming the streets and between marketplaces. Mazungus must be far and few because many children were fascinated by my presence. Many would wave hello or stare at me. One child came up behind me to look at my tattoo on my forearm – I nearly jumped when a fingertip traced my tattoo. A group of school children went out of their way not to cross my path. One girl was afraid of me and her friends tried to pull her across but they took a back alley and around a building.

We had much work to do in only two days and we were exhausted but we plowed on. We stayed at this Roman Catholic Church lodge complete with a bar (“Papists” The Poisonwood Bible’s Bible-thumping Baptist minister Nathan Price would have muttered) for two nights. Exhausted from the 5 hour trip ordeal in a taxi cab on M26 – we retired early just in time for a blackout. Also during our stay, the showers weren’t running but we were supplied with pails filled with hot water for bathing. The hot water at my lodge in Blantyre was broken for nearly two weeks by the time I left for the trip so hot water was heaven for me, even by pail.

We had one solid lead in Chipita – a teacher at Karonga gave us this schoolteacher’s contact information in Chipita. Karonga had called ahead and the schoolteacher that met us – riding his bike – with a stack of handwritten lists of student names. They were all “deaf”. We soon found out that Chipita had an oddity – many, many students and adults had a degree of hearing loss. Many of them complained of an infection in their ear and very few we met were functionally deaf. At least one man we met wore a hearing aid donated by a South African NGO. The rest wanted a hearing aid. And they do not sign. Like in Karonga, a national association for hard of hearing will be better suited for these goals. We also met a hard of hearing school teacher who relied on his students shouting their answers back to him. We distributed survey for the record keeping purposes, that many hard of hearing people reside in Chipita.

Not all is lost. The schoolteacher contact is very resourceful. After meeting a classroom full of students with a mild hearing loss – Project Advisor Euphrasia Mbewe asked them if their doctor said they have hearing loss. Upon replying no, Mbewe sent them out – all left except for one student. Her father came by to affirm that she does indeed have a hearing loss. We hired bike taxis (the townspeople would stare at a long line of hired bikes passing by – one teacher on his bike, four Malawians and one mazungu clinging onto the rear of their bikes) since it was the main mode of transportation. Taxi cab drivers, upon noticing me = my presence means money = would demand higher prices. Not worth it.

We rode out to an edge of town where many villagers lived. We walked through the cornfields, passed a few huts until we arrived at one. A man came out to greet us and several moments later, his wife dragged their 8 year old girl who did not want to be out there with us. She was struggling and kicking against her mother’s hold. She calmed down once she and her mother sat behind the father and once in a while would peek at us. The family only spoke Tumbaka not Chichewa, so there was quite a lag in translating process. The teacher translated the father’s answers into English and Haji our MSL interpreter translated the answers into MSL. Advisor Mbewe wrote down the answers on the survey form. The situation is really sad – the only positive thing is that the family came up with home signs to communicate with the daughter. They are aware of Karonga School for the Deaf, but it is too far and the transport, clothing, and fees for books are costly. The deaf daughter can not benefit from Chipita local schools because sign language is not promoted. The family requested for access to open a small business so they can afford to send her to Karonga. We really, really felt for them.

Word spread quickly about our presence in Chipita. Our first morning there, two men on a bike brought a secondary school age male student who was in Form Four. He was oral and very bashful in our presence. His brother was the informant, filling out information. At the end of our first full day someone left a letter at our motel lodge requesting to meet us the next morning. The man brought his daughter, and his neighbor and wife brought their deaf son. The man and his daughter, it turned out her hearing loss was caused by her seizures (they were advised to get a hearing evaluation from their doctor) so away they went. The second family, like in the village with the little girl, they communicate with their son in home signs. Again, they knew about Karonga School for the Deaf but distance is too great. The village family and the local family recommended Chipita open their own Deaf unit within its schools or establish a school for the Deaf. The latter family also brought a written list of names of families that rely on signed communication with their deaf families.

Our survey trip to Karonga and Chipita was a big success despite starting with very few contacts. We were fortunate because school teachers and families of deaf children needed help and made sure that we knew of it.

M26 Between Karonga and Chipita

2009-04-17T03:37:00.004-04:00

There are three signs in MSL for Chipita, a remote town in the far northwest of Malawi near the Zambian and Tanzanian borders. In Blantyre it’s “C” shaped hand sign in front of your face, forming a shape of the very top of Malawi meeting another hand, signifying the border of Zambia. In Chipita, it’s a “C” shaped hand above your head, outlining the top of the country border line. In Karonga, your hand snakes a few turns above your head before becoming “C” shaped and follow the shape like the second sign. The third sign is the most appropriate description especially if one is travelling to Chipita from Karonga.

Chipita, a town due northwest from Karonga is probably 150 kilometers long across southern Africa’s Great Rift Valley including many twists and turns that can last for miles. From our experience going there in a hired cab, and our return trip in a 4x4 pick-up truck the trip takes about 4 to 5 hours. I believe it is the last major motorway unpaved. The current Malawian president, Bingu wa Muthiraka, his paved road projects have made much more headway than previous presidents despite fits and starts with foreign assistance. His re-election campaign (presidential and MP election is May 19)’s motto is something like “look at the work my hands have done for Malawi” frequently with the road projects as a backdrop. M26 is facing delays possibly due to available contractors needed. And there is an uranium mine located on the motorway – we joked that Iran is buying from Malawi. Apparently, the muzugnu presence is far and few so I got more stares than I’m accustomed to. Another joke we had is I’m the real leader of the team, not Euphrasia. Once or twice during the trip, I shamelessly made the act of leading the team just to satisfy the stereotype.

Outside of Karonga, the dirt road is flattened, some areas obviously blasted and shaped for some miles and it becomes rough. Very frequently we come across a road partially collapsed by flooding (rains are frequent between November and May) and lack of maintenance. Some collapses are tiny and others are huge.

The population in northern Malawi is very sparse and the villages are far and few between Karonga and Chipita, including cars that aren’t many. I actually prayed for our cab and pick up truck not to break down in middle of nowhere. There is also a dead cell range smack in the middle. Outside of both towns, villages (growing mainly tobacco leaves, maize and cassava) were a-plenty.

On our trip to Chipita in a hired cab – it took five hours. The automobile suspension is low and whenever we tackled a difficult collapse, the men in our group – Byson, Malonje, and Haji would get out of the taxi cab and walk alongside.
Euphrasia and I remained in the taxi with the driver as he navigated the deep and/or wide crevices. Because the sun beat down on us the taxicab was stuffy and windows remained rolled down despite my left side of face and hair became grimy from the dirt. It took some good washing at the motel that night especially the crevices where my nostrils and cheeks meet. On the return trip to Karonga we rode on a pick up truck with its open bed piled with people, some standing and holding to the Hillux frame (the big black frames attached to the rear of the cab of the sporty pick up truck). The cost was probably almost cheaper by half than hiring a cab. Many lorries and pick up trucks, most of them empty after delivery would make extra cash by transporting people between the two towns, there are no minibuses or buses that travel on the route. Euphrasia and I squeezed inside the cab in one seat, and again I had the window. The driver indicated I should be the one riding inside, being white and all, but I invited Euphrasia to sit in with me. The men in our team were in the open bed with other passengers. The truck being 4x4 and higher suspension despite the heavy load of passengers in the open bed were able to navigate across the collapsed parts more easily than the taxicab and without incident. Once in a while the driver would pour water into the engine under the hood to cool it – the engine is working that hard. The trip back was shortened by one hour. The sun was really beating down and I wrapped my arm in my chitenga because it was burning. My left knee was sore from continually pressing against the door to give Euphrasia leg room, so the driver could shift gears without smacking into her leg. We encountered quite a few pedestrians along the route and the truck made stops for people to board and deboard. More people boarding actually, and I can’t imagine how the many passengers on the open bed with luggage and some produce squeezed inside the truck bed – it’s a regular sized pick up truck.

When we got off in Karonga, the passengers were encased in reddish orange dirt. Haji, our interpreter, used a t-shirt to wipe dirt out of his ears. My rucksack was also encased in dirt. I was grateful that the truck had slightly better shock absorbers than the taxicab and a little less bouncing and rattling around. Hands down, that is the toughest road I’ve ridden on. Some twist and turns would last for quite a few kilometers before returning where we turned, maybe a couple kilometers ago.

Karonga Deaf and the Town

2009-04-15T05:29:00.004-04:00

We were very fortunate to find a group of deaf people in Karonga one of the northernmost towns because MANAD, to our knowledge never made contact there. A schoolmate of one of our team members lived and worked in Karonga so we contacted him prior to the start of the trip.

After our appointment with Karonga School for the Deaf, we headed to the market section of town. Limba works as a trained carpenter, sawing and fitting shelves into walls of small shops. Because he is hard of hearing and has many hearing friends, Limba is successful at what he does. He also uses sign language but one can tell he doesn’t use much opportunity to utilize them. The team walked through a semi-maze of shops and found him measuring planes of wood to cut. Two teenage boys assisted with grunt work. After being introduced to the team, he was actually puzzled at the concept of an interpreter but once explained he got it and seemed mildly impressed at the role, saying he’s never heard of one. Limba had contacted several deaf prior to our arrival and they met with us. Since they were illiterate and not reliable informants in how they acquired their deafness (none of them were born deaf far as I can remember), Euphrasia instructed them to take the survey forms home with them to their families and return the following morning. A hearing friend of Limba’s who seemed to hang around the place, took an active role explaining to siblings of the deaf of what is needed to be done (mainly because he can speak three languages, English, Chichewa, and the regional language, Tumbuka) since Haji, our interpreter is fluent both in English and Chichewa, other than Malawi Sign Language (MSL). Limba mentioned that two deaf – one worked as a tailor and another in a hospital were unable to come due to work, but gave us information where to find them.

The next morning, we returned to find the two same deaf individuals in addition to Limba (one never returned – we were told she was on her way from quite a distance. We could not wait for her) plus couple of new faces. They all brought their brothers and one her eldest son. I thought two of them smelled quite fishy and I couldn’t help but think about cholera (the smell is associated with the illness) but it turned out, much to our shock, the deaf mother and hearing son waded across a fast moving river – up to their chests – to meet us. When enquired why they not use a bridge, the mother explained that the bridge is too far away and would add more hours (eeps) to their trip to meet us. Other than Limba, the mother (names kept escaping me unfortunately because I was overstimulated) is the most verbal about feelings about being deaf and problems encountered. She had very little schooling and her primary communication is sign language. Her son communicates with her using sign too but was rather bashful doing it. The two other deaf women we met were not very forthcoming about their views – as if they were never asked what or how they thought and feel. I have met a number of deaf people like it back home in the US and it’s like pulling teeth to get information but they do not do it on purpose – they rarely had opportunity to be expressive with thoughts, feelings and ideas. The glimmer of information we were able to use about the deaf conditions in northeastern Malawi, one woman makes her living by sifting dirt and stones out of rice and beans and paid very little for it, and one man makes an almost decent living by doing a dirty job most people wouldn’t do – collect refuse and dispose of them. (Not all towns have sanitation control – certain neighborhoods in Blantyre, for example, do) The deaf mother ekes out a survival as a villager by growing her own food and making them into meals and selling the remainder of the crop. Her children and her siblings do subsistence farming and odd jobs for the family to survive. They don’t look shabbily poor – just barely to make ends meet and be able to present themselves well. The three, not including Limba, because of their profound deafness, never made it far in school because of oralism. They were either ignored or promoted through. One woman, in a rare moment of clarity, said she was not motivated to do anything because no one gave her reason to. That’s my best attempt at describing her situation in my words. She eventually left school after grade six or seven because she was not getting the benefit of education.

After we left the market, we searched for the two other Deaf. The hospital told us that she was home sick and gave us directions to her home – we did find the deaf tailor, a rather impressionable woman who gave us information however she thought we wanted it. She signed very little and relied on her younger sister who also worked as a tailor as an informant/interpreter. Euphrasia, a veteran in taking surveys immediately became suspicious at the information provided, eventually got the needed information. We ran out of time and unable to find the sick hospital worker, we left for Chipita another target town of our trip.

Karonga was very successful because we only had one person to start with and we added a deaf school to MANAD’s knowledge. We were very fortunate to come across two men with different spectrums of hearing loss – within an hour of our arrival into town fresh off the 14 hour bus coach trip from Blantyre. The first one, Briton, was a Deaf, capital D, from Mzuzu who was in town visiting a (hearing) friend. He spotted us signing and apprehended us, ensuring that we were really signing not gesturing like hearing people. We were very thrilled because he is one of the FEW deaf Malawians who do not use their mouths to form words as they sign (think Ben Moore in DC. MSSDers and Gallaudetians from the 1990s should know! Ben, I say this with love and honor ) – that is how repressively oral Malawi is. One of the motels we hoped to (and didn’t) secure – one man who is hard of hearing boarded there. He works as a senior administration director at the District Assembly office in town. He wears a hearing aid (he can talk on his cell phone easily – he was constantly interrupted by his mobile) and doesn’t sign. What really blew us away is when he informed us that his office did indeed receive the survey forms that MANAD circulated in mail last December. Steven, his name is, forwarded them to some offices such as welfare he thought could be of assistance but they were never returned to him. And MANAD didn’t get any from Karonga area.
Through Euphrasia, one of the things I am learning about is the population limit MANAD can serve – signers only. But for survey reasons we did not discard information from people like Steven. The MANAD Constitution explicitly says the primary mode of communication is sign language. To our knowledge, and probably not yet, there is no hard of hearing association in the country to better serve the interests of people like Steven and people we would soon meet in Chipita.
Karonga town, the sign name of it is “boat” “sailing” due to its proximity and growing reputation as a major northern town situated on Lake Malawi for boaters and hikers (tourism, what else?). The town is also a major crossing point for those coming from and going to Tanzania, Zambia and Mozambique. I took every opportunity to eat chambo fish because they’re fresh out of the lake, not refrigerated and shipped inland. My family and those who know me well will be shocked to learn that I ate the generous meat portions off its head, neck and behind the gills. Since my sister isn’t around to scrape them off for me, I sucked it in – tried to think of it as chicken as I scraped the skin and gills off the meat, then the meat off the bones, and picking remaining cartilage bones out. I set the remains in the bowl far away from my field of vision, and mixed the meat in with the rice and vegetables. My appetite remained, thank goodness.

Cattle roamed freely around Karonga and one had to watch out for the cow piles. Some resembled dry stacks of pancakes. I had the pleasure of stepping into a couple. One time, I was forced to walk through a herd that was grazing in front of the magistrate court (I didn’t have the camera on me!) they were all bigger than me and though mild-looking, their humps in addition to their horns and hooves seemed threatening. I tried not to jump as one of the cows bellowed in my direction. I must admit the calves with their little humps were adorable.

Long accustomed to southern Africans with the presence of people from Zimbabwe, Zambia and Mozambicans among the Malawians, I was struck by the migrant (mostly beggars) population in Karonga – the Somalis and Sudanese. They were much taller, their facial features showing part Arabic ancestry and lighter skinned. Children were around, and Somali/Sudanese men loitered in groups. I don’t recall seeing the women anywhere. There were also few men that I identified as pygmies. They were much shorter than me (I’m 5’2ish) and well proportioned as full grown adults.
Karonga is more famous for its dinosaur, commonly known as Malawisaurus a 12 meter long remains of a plant eating beast with long neck and tail and tiny head, exhibited at its cultural museum in the among small exhibitions. We just returned from Chipita and we had a free evening before returning to Blantyre the next morning and though tired and fried I was I immediately took off to see it. The museum is nice and small with Karonga’s origins from the Iron Age before colonialism – the Portuguese and English, the local skirmish between British and German colonial armies located along the Lakeshore coast during the First World War. My fried brain, exhausted from the weeklong travel and fresh off the five hour trip on a dirt road through the mountains inside a cramped pick up truck – took in very little information from the museum. Then came independence from the British, the dictatorship and repression under Kamuzu Banda and the eventual lead into democracy today as Malawians know it with Bingu wa Mutharika.

For two days and nights, we stayed at this motel lodge along the Lakeshore. I did have the pleasure of seeing the Lake’s famous sunrise (well maybe after the first 45 minutes) despite heavy clouds. To my disappointment, the shore is fenced off due to security reasons and once we asked permission from one of the lodge staff to unlock the gate and he acted as our brief guide. I think at least 50 feet of marshland between the shore and the fence, we had to walk through a maize garden (what they call cornfields) to reach the solid shore for a look. Sunset had set in and we did not have our flashlights. Cattle also roamed the lodge grounds. Once I showed my exasperation when beef wasn’t available for lunch, I commented to someone that someone could at least walked out there to whack a cow and butcher it. The reply, dryly returned said that the local cattle aren’t tasty.

Karonga School for the Deaf, Karonga

2009-04-13T01:12:00.003-04:00

We received tips from Karonga locals that there is a school with deaf children, but we got the impression that it might be a unit within the school (think resource room). Much to our surprise and pleasure, we officially included a fifth school in Malawi to MANAD’s knowledge, Karonga School for the Deaf. Like Embangweni, it is funded and operated by the northern Synod of Church Central Africa Presbyterian. It is much smaller and sparsely equipped. We hired a cab from our motel lodge since it was rather a distance from town and we arrived late in the afternoon and the students were doing their afternoon activity, learning and practicing traditional dancing.

We met with the head teacher who turned out to have taught at one of the deaf schools near Mulanje, south of Blantyre. After requesting and securing an appointment to visit the school and its students for the next day, the students demonstrated their dances. I hate to say, but the boys’ dance is much more entertaining than the girls. The girls marched/danced around a teacher banging a drum with various arms, legs, and hip movements. However the boys stood in a semi circle around the drummer with one experienced boy leading. It’s very hard to describe – it consists of synchronized movements with their arms and legs, some boys holding a cloth in one hand. I took a brief videoclip of it and will post it somehow.

The next day, we returned to explore the campus and interview some older students. Children under ages 10 aren’t always reliable informants, requiring presence of parents. Those entering secondary schools are more ideal interview candidates than those of primary age. The school itself is small and rooms are used as classrooms and eating areas, and a couple, sleeping areas. The CCAP is in process of expanding the school – we saw some buildings in progress and shown a design of the new campus.
There are only three classes – divided into age groups. The lessons provided at our visits were; letters via speech and some English and Tumbuka languages in total communication method. Chichewa, despite the national language status is not widely spoken in the North. Sign language presence and recognition in deaf schools is still weak in Malawi. Mountview School one of two schools in Mulanje promotes full sign language while two others rely strictly on oral methods. Karonga and Embangweni use total communication (voice and sign) and teachers – in our very presence – preferred the students to use both voice and sign, not sign alone. The students, hopefully not for show for our visit, were eager to give answers to teacher’s query. In the beginning the teacher would review name signs of each student, and other students would point at the named student.

The enunciating of speech brought back memories of my own speech therapy lessons when I was their age. The teacher would hold a chicken feather and sound (and hiss/breathe) the letter. One student used a stick to indicate the correct letter on the blackboard. The teacher would lead a resounding round of applause. If a student made a mistake, the teacher would make a comical show of disappointment. It is a positive learning atmosphere though with good intentions. It’s a double load (and I can testify to that!) to learn the three R’s and speech each day. When I left the mainstreamed school and transferred to a deaf high school, there I slowly learned critical thinking. It took me years to learn and gain confidence in discussing issues as opposed to being one sided on things. I doubt that oral and total communication method leave room for critical thinking on various school subjects. Back to the point – it was really a trip down the memory lane for me.

The second class was having a maths lesson when we arrived. The location was in a corner of a church. Like the first class, total communication was used. One thing that struck me that day is that they used small rocks and stones for adding and subtracting. The teacher would point at one mathematical question on the blackboard and the chosen student replied with the numerical answer and supported it by counting out (in voice) their answer by placing the correct amount of stones in a chair for all to see. The students had their homework assignments done and with the teacher’s permission, they rushed to the five of us, Euphrasia, Byson, Haji, myself, and Malonji pushing and shoving each other to show us their answers for us to correct. Once order was improved, we were able to mark off the answers.

The third and oldest class held a Tumbuka lesson, in total communication. The teacher used individual words cut out in paper strips; placed one under his lips and enunciated the word by syllable. One word, wazungu, all the students, smiling, pointed in my direction. Confused, I turned to look what was behind me. Euphrasia smiled and said I’m a wazungu (a variation of muzungu). Oh. Ha.

Next, we visited the sleeping quarters. No beds for younger children, not even dressers or wardrobe – the school is that poor. The boys’ room we visited is one large room with dozens of mattresses and mats lined up by the wall with suitcases at the head. There is one bed for a head boy. I have to admit that the room is very clean and orderly. We also visited sleeping quarters for older girls – a small room with maybe four or five beds placed together, sharing few bed nets. The suitcases were at the foot of each bed. The bathrooms were favorable – showers and toilets.
After exploring the partially built new classrooms, we returned to the third classroom for lunch with teachers (the students had cleared out the benches and blackboard, swept the floor). The room was transformed into a dining area with pots of food waiting for us. We enjoyed a delicious lunch of chicken stew and boiled kale with nsima.

Some moments later, the five of us with three teachers in attendance interviewed two oldest students. They were both slightly intimidated by the large group looking at them, the girl more than the boy. Since they did not comprehend much of the Blantyre Malawi signing, one teacher helped translate. I think he did a little of prompting, too. The boy gave a little background and thoughts about pertaining issues around his deafness. The girl mostly shrugged as her answers to baseline query. We did not get much as we hoped out of the visit for the baseline, but finding the school existence and observing the classroom was a big deal for us.

M1 between Blantyre and Karonga

2009-04-09T11:35:00.004-04:00

It is the longest route in Malawi by coach bus I think. Including stops in towns and two layovers (1-2 hours), the trip took about 14 hours. If we took a minibus it might take two days or more and valuable time would be wasted. We, Project Advisor Mbewe, MANAD Executive Director Byson, Haji the interpreter, myself, and a last minute addition, Malonji a Board member set off in early evening and reached Karonga the following morning. Not all went as planned – due to miscommunication (mainly me) I went to the wrong bus station. When the 5pm departure passed and difficult SMS (Blackberry is so much easier) failed to unite me with the others, I decided to take an available bus that was leaving the following hour. No way was I missing out on MANAD’s third and final baseline survey trip. I texted Euphrasia I would be meeting the team in Karonga, and she replied, promising to inform me of the lodge status. My bus left around 6 30 pm and made stops through Zomba and Liwonde. In Dedza, around 10pm or so, I was nodding on and off. Someone shook me awake and it was Euphrasia. I could not believe my eyes, thinking it must be a dream. Euphrasia indicated that I must get up now and go with her.

Confused, half asleep and babbling how she can possibly be there in my bus, I gathered up my things and followed her out to her bus. Byson later told me that he watched the whole thing through the windows from their bus. My head was lolling around with mouth open, and when Euphrasia woke me up I stared at her and went back to sleep. Euphrasia shook me awake again and I was half asleep following her out. We were very fortunate. Their bus had a flat tire and took some time to fix it. The group kept an eye out for my bus, certain that I would catch up. After the flat tire was replaced, they asked the driver to wait a little longer. When they thought they spotted me, Haji yelled through the window until a man replied. Haji asked if a muzungu woman was on the bus and an affirmative was shouted back, he and Euphrasia went to get me. We were happily reunited. She was terribly relieved to see me in one piece.

We went back to sleep, and waking up from time to time whenever the bus made a stop. Once or twice, everyone in the bus had to exit and wait outside to allow the police to check inside and the cargo. All major towns – district capitals I think – have police checkpoints for smuggling purposes. The bus reached Mzuzu at around 5am, the last major town on the route for a two hour layover. We munched on some things, went to the toilet, slept some more. With a fresh driver, the bus departed for Karonga our destination four hours away. A couple hours in, Lake Malawi – my first glimpse – slowly began to come into view. Chitimba, a lakeside town took some time to reach. M1 crossed through the one of the biggest part of Great Rift Valley and the 20 minute drive downhill to the lakeshore was rather disorienting. So many turns in the road, barely long enough for the coach bus to complete each turn. Left, right, left, right, left, right. I cannot imagine driving down that road. Looking at the valleys by the Lake you can almost read that the ancient waters carved them into its present day state. The Northern Lakeshore of the Lake Malawi is the most mountainous and stunning. From our lakeshore lodge in Karonga, we could see Tanzania’s Livingstone Mountains across the Lake – that is where the Lake narrows and taper off. A number of villages depend on the lake for fishing – many, many sardines were being dried on tables (stinky), and the chambo fish (very tasty) hauled onto the shore and sold either smoked dry or fresh out of the water. We arrived at Karonga around 11am feeling very out of sorts and anxious to find a lodge to unload and freshen ourselves up to begin working.

Karonga to Blantyre

It was very uneventful ride back. We had a successful survey over the week and it was hard work. We left Blantyre Sunday evening and arrived on Monday morning in Karonga. For Chitipa, the second town in our survey trip we left on Wednesday afternoon and returned Friday afternoon. On Saturday, we left at noon and did not arrive to Blantyre until around 4 30am. The day before, we rode a four hour trip on a pick up truck on an unpaved road from Chitipa, an isolated town out northwest from Karonga near the Zambian and Tanzanian borders. Before reaching Chitimba to turn off across the Valley, the police checked the bus but we were allowed to remain inside. Euphrasia who was across the aisle from me, remarked that a dog had some fish in its mouth and is running away. From my side, I observed a somewhat lighter skinned man and woman opening the cargo under my window, showing the police their stamped papers and gesturing at whatever was inside. I described the scenery to Euphrasia. She said they are probably Tanzanians transporting their goods to sell in Malawi.
The zigzagging route up the Valley was not as hypnotic as the way down, and for a split second I spotted a Yellow Baboon monkey by the road. That was when I had just put my camera away. Darn darn darn darn.

Mzuzu, again the two hour layover – we were restless, wanting to continue the trip. We sought out some food, toilet and newspapers. The major bus stops never have books or magazines. The shop stands sold food and electronic items such as DVDs, CDs, radios, even large TVs. Insane. A deaf man met us at the stop, a friend of Malonji’s from Lilongwe who is a college student in the area. I met him briefly when I was in Lilongwe at the end of the second baseline survey trip. From the bus, I watched a man, assisted by two men struggle with a large load of charcoal to load it on top of a coach bus. I even videotaped them with my camera. The man, achieving balance of the load on top of his neck, climbed the ladder attached to the rear of the bus steadily. Upon reaching the top he leaned over to let the load roll off. Eventually they loaded four or five large loads of charcoal on top of the bus and tied them down.

The bus left half an hour late and made a couple unscheduled stops along the way. Like the trip to Karonga, the bus lights were turned on whenever the bus made a stop to drop off or pick up passengers. Peddlers selling variety of food and occassionaly socks and toothbrushes would crowd around the entryway into the bus or raise their wares into our windows for us to see. Being a muzungu I sometimes have to beat them away. The bus was full, unlike the trip to Karonga and there was no room to stretch out to sleep. We were sleepy and cranky in Lilongwe, another long layover at 11pm. Upon arriving to our stops in Limbe and Blantyre, we quickly dispersed to our homes desperate for some solid sleep after two days of hard travel.

The budget did not allow us to fly to Mzuzu and Karonga to save some time and energy for work, but we did get a taste of how far it takes one to travel up north and observe the changing environment from the densely populated southern region to sparsely populated north. And the northern region is the least developed with more dirt roads and tiny shops packed with everything one can buy from ladies underpants to biscuits to bleach liquid in one store.

Karonga/Chipita Trip in Short

2009-03-31T02:16:00.004-04:00

The seven day survey trip was overwhelming and wonderful. And hard. Returning to Blantyre at 4am, in my sleepy state (and my eyeglasses off) I thought I was back in Scotland. That's how developed Blantyre is compared to the rest of the country, especially the far and remote North.

The trip was a success - we managed to track down at least five signing Deaf in Karonga and collect information. Chipita - we also found two children whose families invented sign language. We went into an actual African village to meet one family - we had to take a bike taxi there.

The M26 approximately between Karonga and Chipita is the absolute toughest road - the road to Embangweni School for the Deaf mentioned earlier in a post looks like a piece of cake. The 150 km trip took nearly five hours in the dirt and crossing or bypassing partially collapsed sections.

Lake Malawi is gorgeous. It's the size of Vermont, the 3rd largest lake in Africa and 11th in the world, I think. Many village livelihood depend on the Lake.

Tomorrow, I leave for the south - Mulanje - for MANAD Board training. Mulanje is also where southern Africa's largest mountain is. Woot!

Deaf in Development

2009-03-22T09:35:00.003-04:00

With Project Adviser Euphrasia Mbewe back in Malawi in the second week of March, work began for me. Within the first week I saw how development worked from the coordination and activities to achieve goals/objectives of the project based on Annual Negotiation Meeting (ANM) as agreed between MANAD (Malawi National Association of the Deaf) and FAD (Finnish Association of the Deaf) from December 2008. Ms Mbewe and I poured through survey results as a project activity, to see what the prevalence of deafness, family and societal attitudes around them as a deaf person or with a hearing loss, education and employment barriers if any, their experiences visiting their doctors or hospitals, and other general living conditions they experience. In the survey forms, there is space provided asking what suggestions, priorities that MANAD should focus on (ie sign language instruction, improved access to higher education) and additional comments. They are now being compiled into a report format organized by city or district with recommendations based on United Nations’ Optional Protocol of Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities. (The Optional Protocol is for countries that do not have sufficient resources to meet the Convention requirements to incorporate the rights into national legislation). The Articles that the recommendations are based on; Article 31’s Statistics and Data Collection and Article 4’s General Obligation. Article 31 contains three sections that describe the privacy of individuals the data is collected from, the legal safeguards (human rights) with intent to eliminate identified barriers, which the national government is to implement. Article 4’s General Obligations (for Disabled Persons Organizations DPOs to perform in consult capacity) to persuade the government to include DPOs, such as MANAD and FEDOMA as consultants to write policy to ensure the identified barriers are eliminated.

A little fewer than half the survey forms were filled out in English and the rest in either Chichewa or mixture of both English and Chichewa. I complied dozens of results into a format developed by Ms Mbewe grouping the data into year of birth, prevalence of deafness (i.e. at birth, from malaria), their communication experiences at schools, hospitals, place of employment and so on. Ms Mbewe is compiling the Chichewa language survey results to include them in the draft report. Some information we have are from the trips we made to Embangweni and Kasungu back in January. The next trip will be the far north of Malawi, Karonga and Chipita to meet deaf adults there and interview them.

Some mornings and afternoons when the new staff, Executive Director Byson and Administrative Secretary/Accountant Edna is present and available together, Ms Mbewe trains them how to operate an office, the hierarchical structure, how to comply with MANAD Constitution from 1993 and Plan of Action agreed from the ANM, job descriptions. For me, it brought many memories of training I’ve received at New York Society for the Deaf and FEGS back in New York City. Not all that different. Ms Mbewe allowed me to share input from my own experiences in office and management work.

Now that MANAD has an office, two full-time staff (with two vacancies left – Programme Officer and Accountant), the MANAD Board can focus more on governance and manage less. The Board has already approved the activities, budget and policies for this year. The MANAD office staff is to implement and carry out the activities outlined in the Plan of Action agreed between MANAD Board and FAD. Ms Mbewe used training materials from other African countries she was Project Advisor for but they are adjusted slightly according to a national NAD’s needs.

So far, the experience is a very positive one for me. This is even better than case studies back in the graduate classroom, taking it at face value. I am interacting with MANAD staff and Board, observing how they work; and how Ms Mbewe uses the information compiled from the survey, as part of the Organizational Capacity Training regarding living condition awareness of what’s out there and what to expect.

Zomba Plateau and Cutting Wood

2009-03-18T13:18:00.004-04:00

I have had enough of Blantyre and MANAD planning that I needed to get out for couple days to have a change of scenery. Saturday afternoon on March 7, Annie one of the med students at Kabula Lodge and I travelled via minibus to Zomba town. There is a very limited coach bus run between Blantyre and Zomba so Annie and I opted for the minibus – for a 67 kilometer ride, it took us a little over an hour to get there. The minibus sped on the road so fast that clutching my rucksack from slipping, I actually got a little carsick. The seats are not 100 percent secured to the floor so whenever the seats rocked from sharp turns and jarred from potholes I’d be lurching to and fro. On the return trip to Blantyre, I was by the window; my head occasionally bumped the window.

Zomba town is a quiet and leafy town, the former capital of Malawi until 1975 when Banda, Malawi’s post-independent President moved the seat to Lilongwe. The Parliament still has a seat there. I did not see much of the town since Annie and I were concentrated on gathering provisions needed and trying to shake peddlers and taxi drivers off our tail (we averaged at most three yapping and arguing access for poor Annie’s ear). They’re more persistent in Zomba, compared to Blantyre and Lilongwe. The beggars are the same as elsewhere. They often beg at entrances and exits of food stores and I’ve long become accustomed to their presence. When Annie and I left the store, a beggar woman was chatting to another beggar woman. Once she realized our presence – she seemed to shift her identity. One moment she looked like she was gossiping, and the next moment she gave us her best pitiful face and begging motions. Anyways, after going nowhere being tailed by the peddlers we enlisted assistance from a police officer who was kind enough to find a taxi driver and escorted us to our hostel on the Plateau.

The road from Zomba town to the plateau of the mountain took quite some time, navigating the winding road both tarred and dirt. It was nearing 4pm and we observed many people walking up or down the road with wood piled on their head or high on their bikes (our hiking guide later explained to us that wood chopped and carried into town on a person will earn K500 (around $7) and those using bikes, K1500 ---?). A number of women and children carried produce and few children were finishing school. After a while, we reached the Trout Farm, an up and coming eco-tourist type of lodge that depends on breeding trout and attract tourists. The cabins and room did not contain electricity (as advertised) so we depended on candle light and campfire. Sorta like camping. Our room was large with wooden floor, a sofa and a plush arm chair, one table with a candleholder, two beds with bednets, and a large freezer (huh??). The ceiling is made of mats and simply tailored curtains covered the windows (and plastic sheeting too).

Since there was some daylight left, we opted to check out a local waterfall with the guide. Soon as we set out the rain poured by the sky but we trooped on (our clothes would not dry properly overnight) and checked it out best as we could see through the downpour. We were properly soaked to the bone and our sneakers were squishy. As I write this a week and half later, my toenails are slowly recovering from two days of wearing soaked sneakers. After changing into dry and warmer clothes, we prepared our dinner by candlelight – avocado mixed in with tomatoes, onion, and canned tuna. We bought some wood for fire (a “camp-boy” from the UK asked to share with him so he paid us some kwachas) and cooked baked beans and canned sausage in a pan. We ate the tuna salad after. It’s actually pretty delicious once the taste of tuna with vegetables is acuired. I’d prepare the same for next camping trip back home.

At dusk when we began the fire, it was pretty eerie. We were high up on the Plateau that the fog and clouds were moving through the Trout Farm. The misty fog created a very ghostly presence. Later during the night all the light sapped by the mist, Annie and “camp-boy” were a little skittish. I then looked where they were looking and saw a strange light flickering on one of the lodge windows. Eventually we figured out it was the reflection of our fire. Some moments later, Annie and Camp-boy jumped in fright and trained their torches (flashlight) in the direction of the source of their fright. It was some reddish light and it moved to reflect our guide’s torch and his heaving laughter. He obviously made some creepy noise and followed it with some torch-playing to have some fun with the two.

After a while, I hit the sack and Annie soon followed. Oh - before I went to bed, with the heavy fog, I basically had to feel my way to the bathroom – the flashlight was useless in the mist and I had the visibility of maybe two or three feet front of me. One time I nearly walked into one of the water farms. I made it to the bathroom and back without incident. Early the next day, after a breakfast of very powdery and sweet orange juice, crumbly bread (squashed from Annie’s rucksack) with peanut butter, we two and the guide set off to cover the highlights of the Plateau; the two viewing points, one of the lakes from dams, a waterfall, and through the woods. It did not rain this time, thank goodness.

The walk to the viewing point on the road and through the forest was a long one. But interesting. Many people who lived nearby and at the base of the mountain were up there, cutting down and stacking wood to take into town and sell them. With the increased rolling blackouts in Malawi more and more residents are turning to firewood and charcoal for cooking and cleaning purposes. Since I’ve read so much in my graduate courses in development about cutting down wood not because of environment destruction ignorance, but for survival, I *had* to take pictures of men and women cutting and tying strands of wood to take to town. They were friendly with the guide engaging him in chitchat. The Trout Farm also grows and plants new trees to replace the cut down trees. It is a matter of how much the Farm can keep up with the deforestation.

The waterfall we visited, a man was sitting near the top watching women across the waterfall cutting and gathering wood. One of the women, possibly in her late teens was attempting to cross the stream (flowing through and over boulders) between two points where the water fell and the next falling water, with a strand of ten foot long wood balanced on her head. One hand held the wood on her head and another hand shielded her eyes to give her a better look at where the bottom of the stream to place her foot in (barefoot I must add). The man remained up there, watching. The woman looked very unsteady. The guide approached her closely as possible and talked her way through the water. As the woman stepped into the rushing water she nearly lost her footing (the water went up almost to middle of her shins) and in my mind’s eye I could see her abdomen core muscles working to maintain her balance. We thought she would actually fall over, be crushed and pinned down by the wood strand or be washed away downstream. After some tense moments, she fought to maintain her posture and righted herself. The ten-foot batch of woods balanced on her head did not fall or shift. Impressive. When the woman reached closer to us through the stream, the guide grabbed and held the end of the wood to help her out of the water. When it brushed by me it felt so heavy. The man waved at us as to thank us. Asshole. Another woman came by with the wood and the guide was able to talk her out of it and find another way.

That young woman the guide helped earlier could’ve been a typical causality of hard life. She could have had a fatal blow to her head from falling down or break many bones in her body if the rushing water carried her through another waterfall below us. In disability studies of developing countries some women became disabled or confined to wheelchair as a result from this type of work.

On the lighter side, we reached the two view points, the King Haile Strasse View (named after an Ethiopian King who visited and viewed at this very spot) and a smaller view point called Queen Elizabeth (no, not HER)view named after a famed mistress of President Banda’s who enjoyed the view from that viewing point. We were on the same level with the clouds – and Zomba sprawled below us and we could see as far as Mulanje Mountain (close to Mozambique border). Sometimes the clouds would pass through us and we’d see nothing but each other, the ground and the whiteness of the cloud. We were standing at an elevation much higher than Michuri (find out height). Then we walked around a small lake created by a dam and greeted hello to a young man fishing. Some of the trout bred by the Trout Farm is stacked there. We walked through the woods and passed men and boys cutting wood and stacking them in bundles or tied to bikes. Some men were all muscle, bone and tendon. Chopping and shaving wood with axes and machetes, sometimes using their bare feet (no I am not dramatizing the scene) to hold the wood as they chopped or shaved the bark off.

It was a very enlightening walk and good exertion of our bodies. The dirt road was slippery from the rains so we mostly kept our eyes down making sure we walked on grass, crumbly rocks for traction. There were several times when I slipped and danced to keep my balance. Annie – once, all 5’10 of her slipped, and all I saw was her arms pinwheeling as she danced to the side of the road. I was doubled over, my mouth covered by my hands – I was afraid that if I laughed, I’d fall down.

A visit to the ER in southern Africa

2009-03-14T11:56:00.005-04:00

The day before I visited the deaf in Ndirane, I decided to go to the emergency room to get the itchy hives on my neck, shoulders and arms checked out. The Kabula Lodge recommended the Adventist Hospital catering to those who can afford medical care. The hospital is on the intersection of Michiru Road and Kabula Hill Road so it was only a 15 minute walk for me. I set out first thing in the morning hoping the wait would not be too long. In the US, the average wait can range from an hour to three hours depending how you are triaged. I once went to one in Bristol, UK for a case of nasty food poisoning. The visit at the Adventist Hospital is probably and my only shortest visit ever. I was out with prescription pills and creams within 50 minutes.

At 8:30 am, the waiting room was already packed by those waiting for appointments and others, like me, needing treatments as a walk-in. Several long and navy blue banners trimmed with white or silver, hung from the ceiling with verses from the Isaiah book of the Bible. Something about God is watching over you. A South African morning news show played on the television. The majority of the people, judging from the way they looked and dressed (not all women had chitengas) were working class and upper, and there were a couple of elderly white men among the people.
Portraits of Malawian President Bingu wa Mutharika, hung in each room (as in every other public place in Malawi, including banks) and another portrait, nearly equaled in number was a woman to direct complaints to. I recognized her when she came to the cashier’s office – she made a point to wave at me that all is well, although I was being shuttled from one place to next with efficiency.

At the reception, I wrote a brief note signifying my deafness and purpose of visit. Someone handed me a form with clipboard (how familiar is that?). I filled out the necessary information such as origin of place, my name, date of birth, purpose of visit and so on. A form was made available for me to sign promising to pay for services rendered (I gulped, hoping that 2,000 Kwachas I had on me was enough). A document, very much like a HIPAA back in the States promised me confidentiality of my visit. Several minutes after I handed in the completed form, a staff escorted me to a cashier’s office and I paid 800 kwachas for consultation fee, then directed to a different waiting area. Not a minute a nurse took me to a room to take my vital signs. I couldn’t see what my BP was and it was the first time I read my weight in kilograms instead of pounds. A thermometer was inserted in my armpit, not my mouth. It was awkward, not moving my arm out of fear dropping the thermometer. She took a look at my hives and wrote a note in my file. The nurse instructed me to wait until a doctor is available to see me.

Five or ten minutes passed after discreetly sitting away from a young woman looking feverish and coughing, a doctor beckoned me to come in. She appeared to be Indian. I wrote down when the hives first appeared and I’d been scratching non stop at night since Friday. The doctor gave me a look over and diagnosed that I had an allergic reaction to something. She told me she will write a few scripts and give them to the pharmacist. I went back to the waiting room. Some minutes passed and I was told to go to the cashier’s office and to pay 600 kwachas for three different medications (one oral and two topical). The total dollar I paid amounted to around 12 dollars. Shocking. Lastly, I was told to go to a third waiting room where people were waiting for their medication to be dispensed to take home. I did not wait long to receive mine.

“Is there a place I should go to next, or am I done?” I asked the pharmacist desk. He told me I’m done and can go home now. I think my deafness and as a foreigner contributed to the speedy visit. It’s been said that many hospitals and clinics (well, probably those that catered to the poor) that treated Deaf Malawians, would put them off until the end of the day, or asked to return the next day. The Adventist probably wanted me to get treatment quickly and be done with.

Deaf in Ndirane

2009-03-11T01:07:00.003-04:00

On March 3, Martyr’s Day in Malawi (a national holiday to commemorate the sacrifices the Malawian nationals made against the British rule in 1914 and in 1959), MANAD Chair Juliana and I visited Ndirane, a northeast Blantyre suburb where many Blantyre deaf people resided. It’s one of the poorer areas where corrupt politicians thrive by buying votes from the suburban population via cash giveaways, gifts, and other ways to win over the people. I found this out when I noticed a dozen small children following Juliana and I through the neighborhood, I commented about it and Juliana replied that they are expecting me to give them money. Later, during the meet up with the Ndirane deaf, I made the allusion to the group of children and Juliana brought it up as a point to the deaf gathering that they must work and not rely on handouts like the children outside.

We found our destination, a small apartment squeezed in behind a store. It was apparent that the room was prepared for our arrival and anticipating the size of the gathering, the straw mats were laid out on the floor and chairs set back against the wall. In a short time, less than two dozen deaf people and children squeezed inside the tiny room. Some were late deafened and six children ranging from age 3 to mid teens and one elderly man, are learning sign language from one of MANAD members. The member found them throughout the suburb and is providing sign language instruction for two hours a week. A handful of deaf adults in attendance were employed, carpentry, tailors, a go-to-guy (who is fortunate to have many hearing friends who constantly referred business to him), a woman who counted medicine pills for an Indian manufacturer, and a man who worked for a disabled office constructing and attaching mobility assistive devices together.

Juliana gave a speech about the intent of MANAD, its mission to collect and advocate for the rights of the deaf to the Malawian government. She also announced the new head office and its location and encouraged them to visit. During the visit we collected some comments and feedback from those in attendance, they desired for better access to medical facilities and communication with its personnel and secondly, it seems the hot topic is that they felt they are in the middle. The disabled community sees the deaf as able bodied, able to do many things physically. However, the hearing community view the deaf as incapable to have jobs and do tasks. One interesting fact I learned is the Muslims in Malawi, in accordance to their religion and beliefs celebrate Ramadan and other holidays by giving gifts and money to the disabled community (including the deaf) as a cause. However, the average disabled group or individual would receive K1,000 (around USD 6 or 7) more than the deaf because many local Muslims felt that the deaf are more capable.

It was the first time for me to interact with the deaf community that does not revolve around school. Many deaf persons there reflected the rest of the hearing (and able bodied) poor and working class Malawians I’ve observed around town and in the newspapers; they own few articles of clothes and often wear their best shirt and trouser/skirt – their only pair – each day, travel long distance to work, have at least one meal a day mainly to save money, and rely on a well for drinking and washing clothes. The “well” is a single faucet at the top of a two or three foot pipe jutting up from the ground. In the outskirts of Blantyre I see two dozen women waiting for their turn at the faucet. I asked someone how long she waited for her turn but she only replied “we get very little water each time”. There is much for MANAD to do.

Feasting on American blood

2009-03-01T07:20:00.002-05:00

Upon the eve of my two month stay in Africa, the mosquitoes, spiders and whathaveyou feasted on me. I woke up in the morning with bites and rash on my shoulders, top shoulder area under the back of my neck, arms and some on my feet. Some of them itched like a son of the bitch. Unfortunately the more I scratched, it spread. It’s not too bad during the day but at night – I’d be awake for an hour in the middle of night, furiously scratching my elbow, knee, ankle or right hand until it burned lulling me back to sleep. Yesterday, I took the sheets, pillow case, and blankets off and deposited them in the laundry room. I lay the foam mattress upright on the wall, sprayed it and the pillow with bug spray, and the bed net as well. They were left like that for the majority of the day. Before going to bed, I made sure the ends of the bed net were tucked in securely under the mattress. But the opening remains a problem since the mosquito can crawl around the net until it finds the opening. The first month l lived here in Kabula they weren’t really a problem and I would let the bed net hang loosely around the bed. But no more.

With the increasing summer rains, the mosquitoes are plentiful. They also frequent the showers and bathroom that doesn’t have outside vent. If I’m lucky I’m able to shoo them out the door before doing my business. In the showers, they’re a menace. There are half dozen squashed mosquito carcasses on the bathroom wall from me and others. Some are bloodied. Nice. When I slapped one against the wall it burst into blood (hopefully mine) and I quickly washed my hand and splashed some water on the wall.

Since there is no malaria in the US, I have no immune system against malaria like the local Africans do. I remember the doctor’s lecture during SLI training week, talking about malaria – he swept his hand towards me and two Scots saying that if we didn’t take anti-malaria meds we can die or suffer from cerebral malaria after returning home. I can tell some locals have recurring bouts of malaria – the way they bend down with their head on their arm or lap waiting for it to pass. I take Doxy, an antibiotic each day and if I’m not careful with what I eat and how much I eat prior to taking it, the nausea from the med can really, really make you feel sick and want to keel over. Consuming dairy less than two hours before and after can cancel out the effectiveness for Doxy to work. For me it usually lasts half an hour or so and if I’m at home I can sleep it off. But if I’m around town all I can do is to find a place to sit, drink soda and wait for it to pass. As of few weeks ago, I began to master in making breakfast that doesn’t require dairy. Oatmeal without using milk and butter, a piece of bread with peanut butter, tea with sugar or honey, fruit and vegetables if I have any left in the morning, and orange juice. Yesterday I had an engagement in the morning and I didn’t eat early enough for it to pass, so on my way into town I bought a block of bread from a vendor. Last week I made the mistake eating a meat pie so I could take the med while about town. I got a mild food poisoning from the meat pie AND nausea as a side effect from Doxy. It was awful. Meat pie is a gamble in Malawi – one can be good while the other will make you sick. As someone I know put it as “a recipe for disaster!” Before the two hours expired I filled myself up with bread and took the Doxy. No nausea came. The label says to either consume a full glass of water or eat snacks with Doxy, it does not work for me. I need to have a full breakfast before taking it. Like my program adviser, Dr Wilson says, better to be alive!

Who knows – I hope the mosquito that passes my blood to a local person, perhaps my Obama fervor will make a difference for them to vote peacefully and inspiring for May 19 presidential and parliamentary elections. My jadedness seems to be replaced by corniness since I began living here. Vey’s mir!

Update: I've been reminded that the rash and itching may be a result of bugs laying eggs in my clothes while they hang to dry. Evidently one is supposed to iron clothes after drying. Ack. Now I appreciate the drying machine back home!

Kabula and its people, foreigners and local

2009-03-01T07:13:00.001-05:00

Kabula, a suburb in close proximity to Blantyre’s city centre, Kabula has an interesting mix of residents varying from wealthy and the celebrity (no idea who), some hostels catering to both foreigners and local, Indian business owners, some whites, several NGO offices including a FICA Small Loans, a Muslim private school, a couple orphanages, and many peasants in the outer reaches of Kabula by the Michiru mountain. On the way back to the hostel from the Michiru Mountain I glimpsed a great vegetable market down Michiru road but quite a walk and I’ve yet to do so. They contain more variety than the supermarket, and cheaper. On Kabula Hill Road there is Chez Maky, a 1930s house that serves a rather boring menu, but delicious food. Their crepes and French pressed coffee are out of this world. I love their crepe filled with chocolate cake and ice cream – sinful. There is a swimming pool at the charge of K500 (a little less than $4) if you do not order their food. I’ve used it and it’s very pleasant. If I have some money and decide to treat myself, that’s where I head to. Additionally, their wi-fi is superfast compared to Kabula Lodge.

Walking on the road towards the city centre, people continue to gawk at me even though I’m not the only white foreigner living in the area, but possibly the regulars have figured out that I don’t hear at all or they just like to look at me. Sometimes children would try to test me out but what can I do, really? Smile at them and wear invisible horse blinds, and proceed. That is part of my deafness that I’m unable to communicate with them with some reservation. Mine is all the way up, especially men who try to talk to me (one tried to sell carved wooden figures after initiating a conversation with me) and sometimes children who beg. It’s not worth my energy. Several times, I walked with a couple other hostel guest and they engage in easy conversation with locals. It’s reassuring for me but I cannot afford to let my wariness down.

Part of the road adjoining Kabula Hill Road is pretty narrow due to some deterioration of the road, with little room for two lanes. At the corner there are some vendors selling bananas and phone charge cards (I’ve bought these from them frequently – so convenient on the way home), pine or ground nuts, cigarettes, and sometimes maize. Automobiles speed by (no speed regulation) and I think my neck has thickened from constantly craning and twisting my neck to check because if the car speeds up I can’t hear the engine. If it’s slow I don’t hear it until its right alongside me. Hearing aids make a little difference. Also they pop up from nowhere, seconds after I’ve noticed. More than once there are inches between me and the car. Once, the speeding SUV was so close that I could feel the engine’s heat. Last week or so, I had the umbrella up (very hot and sun was hard) and someone grabbed it. I looked up and a minibus sped by and the driver shook his fist at me. I retorted by slapping my ears with a “nothing” sign. The driver gave me an apologetic wave. I’ve noticed Africans, yes hearing, in both Zambia and Malawi have some gestures for communication purposes – most commonly, “nothing” and numbers like ten. They are also incorporated in both Zambian and Malawian Sign Languages. It’s been helpful in many situations.

The area is not vulnerable to water shortages (I’m told to blame the Water Board) and electrical blackouts, they can overlap or occasionally happen at the same time that borders on annoying. During the outages, meals consist of munching on available cold vegetables and fruit, bread, other snacks that doesn’t require water or stove to cook. The locals probably have a laugh on our expense – we’re only supplied an electrical kitchen with running water, stove and oven, and appliances. When we have blackouts that interfere with our meals (lunch or dinner) we don’t have access to firewood and charcoal to build a small fire out of a small pot with a tri legged stand and a grate on top. Oh well. I recently saw a blurb in the paper that a local hip hop celebrity put his name to run for the commissioner of the Kabula suburb because of the “old infrastructure” (I have to assume water and electricity), that it’s a shame due to its being so close to the city centre. Two weeks was possibly the worst with water being out for three days, and an hour or two shy of the restoration of water, the electricity went off. The rest of the week, it seemed that the water and electricity took turns to be shut off. It was maddening and I’d lost a few, thankfully a few items in the fridge that I had to throw out. I spent money on dining out if I couldn’t abide another cold meal or one consisted of snacking. If it’s during the day, I would eat out and hope that the power and/or water are restored by dinner time. I have a couple tuna fish cans handy for such dinner outages. The newspapers warned that the blackouts will continue more frequently due to summer rains and the continuing corruption of ESCOM (electrical company) and the Water Board.

One morning, as I started to handwash some clothes some water faucets slowly drained out. It had a domino effect on other sinks and toilets until just after lunch, no running water. In the early evening the electricity went off – fortunately it lasted couple hours – the electricity came back on with running water. We were overjoyed. Now, it’s a daily occurrence either the water or electricity shut off – it’s a good day if it’s only one shut off that lasts couple hours. Candles come cheaply – less awkward and expensive than flashlight batteries when you’re in the bedroom reading, or trying to conjure a meal in the kitchen without cooking and using water. Candles and matches are sold in batches in the stores. I never realized that lighted candles can produce some heat when you’re using two on the table you’re working at. Can get a little hot sitting by the candles. Window and the door are opened in my room to tempt in the evening breeze. The summer daylights hours are very different from the US, even in the height of the season. Sun comes up around 5am and dusk is at 630pm – if the sunlight continued until 8 or 9pm as it is back in the Northeast, it’d be tad easier. So far, the longest and strangest daylight hours I’ve experienced are in Ireland since it’s pretty far up north. 10pm, the dusk time. I can imagine my friends up in Finland will scoff and say so what – I think they’re the same latitude with Alaska containing few hours (or less) of nighttime. Poisonwood Bible, one of the few novels about Africa I read prior to coming here, one of its main characters described that daylight begins and end in the Congo (where the story took place) at 6am and 6pm no matter what season. Possibly Malawi is close enough to the equator to have almost even number of day and night times.

The people I live with and are exposed to daily – cheap rooms, communal bathrooms and showers, and sharing a kitchen to cook in, aren’t the NGOs I hoped to mix in with. There are NGO folks that come and go, they don’t stick around much most of the day. One day, I saw a JICA truck (a very well-known Japanese development agency) but its people were hardly nonexistent and I’ve had a glimpse or two of them. The folks that I live and share the kitchen with are the younger sorts from the UK, Australia, and continental Europe coming in for several weeks or two months to volunteer at orphanages. That is approximately one half. The other half are medical students usually from the UK – a new one from Holland arrived the other day. And there’s the German one. They come here to do rotations, or research on tropical diseases and HIV, or explore practicing medicine in other countries. One of them, a brave one, works with children. She sees dead children – or those that come to die - nearly every day. I don’t know how I can stomach that (and I told her so). This week, she treated children ill from cholera (she said they smell like fish). There are some Malawian interns (doctors) that are staying in more expensive rooms and receive meals at the government’s expense. The child doctor grumbled to me that all that money could go to supplying medicine, not to pay for housing. I opined to her that it’s probably an incentive to tamp down the flight of skilled medical personnel to other countries such as South Africa. For orphanages I’ve heard there are both good and bad ones. I’ve not gotten around to (though I’d plenty of opportunities) visiting them.

Earlier in my stay, I befriended a speech therapist – out of all people. Her task in Malawi is to train rehabilitation staff to work with stroke victims to regain speech. She recently expanded to schools that have students with disabilities. I saw her today briefly after she returned from a two week stint at SOS Village School (the very same that I visited in Lilongwe to meet and screen teachers for the deaf for SLI training). The speech therapist was very frustrated how some teachers and speech therapists treated deaf children and children with disabilities. She asked me for some resources to “inform” them; for instance, a child with severe cerebral palsy unable to speak the staff would WAIT to determine whether the child is deaf or not. My friend told them it didn’t matter – find a way to communicate, even sign language, must be utilized to avoid development delay and affect cognitive abilities. They looked at her as if she came from another planet. It is too bad she doesn’t have much say in training these staff. There are few organizations that come to mind that specializes in training these staff for child development intervention but I need to flip through my resources to give her specific information. I’m glad that I might be of use for her. I can’t imagine her seeing that everyday for two weeks.

Michiru Mountain Trail, a “Third World Conservation”.

2009-02-25T07:03:00.005-05:00

I’ve learned my lesson. Not to wear my LL Bean (teva) sandals on a trail and not to ASSume the trail is like any other I’ve encountered in the Northeast (US) and parts of its Appalachian Trail. When several volunteers from the hostel invited me to come along, I’m like oh cool, a hike. I’ve not gone on a proper hike (not counting a small mountain near where I grew up, and miles of streets in New York City) for years.

The Michiru Mountain conservatory is one of the closest one to Blantyre, about 9 kilometers away. The road was difficult, some smooth, a couple short wooden bridges (in a taxi cab – nerve wracking), and a gap in the road that the cab cautiously drove into and out minding the tail pipe wouldn’t be scraped out from under . Eventually we reached the conservatory. There were several trails ranging in difficulty and one trail for birdwatching. The group opted for the difficult trail all the way to the top of the summit which is 1,470 meters high. Why not?

Unfortunately, because my Doxy med (anti-malaria) can’t be taken for two hours if I consumed dairy products (sometimes a challenge for breakfast) so I had taken it just prior to the hike. And in combination with my other prescription meds, my heart went sky high from climbing a short steep hill. I was sweating profusely. I was more embarrassed than winded. It never happened to be before with my heart rate this high and rivulets of sweat running down my body from my head and neck. Several times I had to stop to rest and continue to drink water – I felt old and sick. Also my sandals attracted snagging by long plants, grass, and rocks on the trail, so in addition to being winded, I kept tripping, occasionally stumbling. After the first rest, my heart went to normal thudding properly from an exercise. However when we neared the top, I started seeing black spots, and sat down for good 10 or 15 minutes. The other three continued to the summit and the guide stayed behind with me with his rifle. I guess I’d be a weak prey for the large mammals (leopard, jaguar or big baboon monkey) – eventually I reached the top with the guide and I thanked him for not shooting me because I was weak and idiotic for wearing my sandals. One other volunteer in the group, a German medical student also wore tevas sandals – he didn’t have a problem but he was a little faster than me. The two young English women, 18 years old and wearing sneakers, full time smokers and first time on a trail were perfectly fine other than being winded. It looked like it was a little rough walk in the park for them.

The height of the summit was amazing. The Shire Highlands and other koppies (South African word for small mountains – more like big hills) appeared as dollops on the ground. We could see several towns laid out between or at the base of the koppies. Blantyre is a very hilly city – not as steep as San Francisco streets though. We could see Mulanje mountain (about 70 kilometers away) that is bigger than Michiru and possibly Zomba mountain. We took several pictures, posed on the summit and our guide as well.

The trip down the trail to the base was even worse, more work on your feet, knees, thighs, and hips to maintain balance, not to pitch forward. And plants and grass snagging at my toes and sandals – about three-quarters of the time I’d be stumbling and falling down. But I bounced back and I’m still amazed I don’t have bruises – only minor cuts from plants and fallen tree branches, a wicked blister, and a calloused skin torn off from my big toe. My feet were sweaty so the callous softened and scraped off, from the exertion of keeping my balance on the steep trail. Sort of like a rough pedicure on the trail. Matthias, the German med student kept monitoring me, reminding me to drink water and dawdled behind me. I think he conjured up quite a number of possible scenarios involving me – him treating me for a cut, scrape, or even worse a broken bone. He was a tad nervous. Near the bottom I did have a nasty fall – we were walking down a relatively easy trail but I missed a step. The next thing I knew, I was on a steep side off the trail, my hands holding to thick plants and my feet anchored. Matthias had to pull me up – I strained my left shoulder from grabbing the plants for anchor.

I sure kept the group entertained. We reached the bottom and in the last 100 feet or so I kept the stumbling to a minimum until I slipped on a small dirt mound on a very level ground by the office and fell on my butt. The mountain had its last word with me.

We (I missed them due to communication barriers – not fast enough for a paper and pen) saw a bushbuck, a vervet monkey and some sort of a large bird. Afterwards, we took the taxi back along the same road we took earlier we spotted a large baboon monkey in the middle of the road. The taxi slowed but inched a little further and further for a better look. I managed a picture until the monkey left the road into the cornfield.

MANAD and Deaf Action (Scotland)’s Sign Language Interpreter Training (SLI)

2009-02-19T07:15:00.003-05:00

This is my first exposure to a NGO working with Malawians here, not someone (both white and Malawian) driving around in vehicles with a NGO logo pasted or painted on its sides, or a signpost announcing an ongoing project (which is plentiful), sponsored by this and that in coordination with this and that, and the estimated duration. I do not work for Scotland and since Finland (Finnish Association of the Deaf that placed me with MANAD) will not be here in the duration of my internship, so I sat in the training for the sake of experience and exposure. Since I do work for MANAD, I provided some assistance as an extra hand (or body) for Betty and Erick, and feedback to the trainees along with the Scots.

The training is a second phase with returning trainees from the first phase last June. It lasted for six days with themes; religious, medical, and legal along with fingerspelling practice, voice to sign and sign to voice translation and self-care such as avoiding a common interpreter malady, repetitious injury. The facilitators who organized the SLI training, Betty, the top interpreter in all of Malawi and Erick, a deaf man, some couple years ago received training at Edinburgh in interpretation and sign language instruction and curriculum development. The Scots, a deaf man who freelances in sign language instruction, Bryan and an interpreter Nicola, sent by Deaf Action to observe Betty and Erick, to determine whether the funding for SLI to continue and provide input to both the facilitators and trainees.

Recognition of MANAD, and the need for the deaf and hard of hearing population’s right to access to information, and other human rights are nascent in Malawi only 15 years old. There are around 11 sign language interpreters in Malawi, but their skills and fluency varies and all is voluntary meaning very little opportunity to work. In some ways similar to Ireland back in 2001 once they emerged as a Celtic Tiger. When I lived there, there were only 13 interpreters but none for the city I resided in. I told this to Betty and the trainees so that seemed to help their anxiety some. The Woodford Foundation (UK) is currently working with MANAD to provide funding to pay the interpreters in the near future. Many of the trainees are not skilled signers especially in the eyes of the UK and the US (the best ones might be considered level 3 below the top), but there is an alarming need of interpreters hence the MANAD and Deaf Action’s decision to provide both signing and training for interpreters as a foundation. There is a talk about a separate training for Malawian Sign Language (MSL) instruction and learning. For trainees, there are promising individuals such as several teachers of the deaf, a young man whose parents worked for deaf schools and grew up playing football with deaf students, and a rehabilitation worker who occasionally has a deaf patient.

Probably the most interesting part of training was the first day which fell on Sunday beginning at a church (St Michael’s) a CCAP. One interpreter refused citing personal reasons but others including a Muslim woman wearing a headscarf, several Jehovah’s Witnesses, and Catholics, and a nonbeliever (me) gamely went as part of the training to interpret in a religious setting. The trainees took 5 or 10 minutes rotations, interpreting the sermons from the reverend (a Scot I believe with a thick accent who attempted occasional phrases in the Chichewa language that sounded awful to Malawian ears), Malawian deacons (or elders?) and some choir singing. It was a real exposure to the trainees because the average Malawian often uses English (official language) and Chichewa (national language) in the same sentence or lectures, even in the newspaper. I learned that part of the Malawian culture is to mix in proverbs in Chichewa for wit, and to describe a particular situation. Talk about throwing the trainees in water with a weak life ring on the very first hour of the six day training. One part of the training, later in the week was translating Chichewa into MSL and vice versa. It proved a challenge for many, especially one woman a pastor from Zambia who spoke a different dialect of Chichewa.

There were many words in legal and medical terms that are not in MSL, in addition to regional sign language. MSL used in the towns or cities of Mzimba and Lilongwe can be vastly different from Blantyre and many trainees were frustrated on what is the right sign language. The facilitators and Scots, pitching in, offered some consolation (very little in the trainee’s eyes – that was obvious to see) that MSL as a national sign language is still relatively new and over the years MSL will continue to evolve and once MANAD becomes stronger the MSL will become more uniform. There was also encouragement (I also pitched in) that the trainees to form local support networking with deaf people to share MSL. MANAD has a registration of interpreters around the country for support and new names will be added and they will be provided upon request. That seemed to appease the trainees some. Betty was very intent on not using ASL or BSL (British Sign Language) but there were already some signs recognizable no doubt due to the missionary influence in the past. I would sometimes tease her that I would tell deaf Malawians that ASL is better and Betty would laugh-shriek and tease me that my true intent is to oppress the Deaf here. Zambia Sign Language has a heavy ASL influence with some tinge of BSL. MSL is probably more national than Zambian sign, though some signs are in ASL or BSL. But it is relatively common. For instance, the Irish Sign Language has some BSL influence because of deaf Irish working in London to send money back home (long before Ireland became the Celtic Tiger). ASL has roots in French Sign Language and Martha’s Vineyard Kentish sign language in addition to home signs from more than 200 years ago. ASL evolved as any other language on its own, despite regional signs but it is still understood in conversations.

Medical and Legal also proved to be interesting sessions as well due to numerous deaf people being seen at clinics or in emergency rooms and being arrested for simple misunderstanding with police officers. Best scenario is that an interpreter or a signer would show up, help clarify matters and the deaf prisoner released with apologies. But sometimes actual petty crimes do happen such as stealing and battery. Awareness about the Deaf and those without hearing is still slow but worse in the rural parts. The visiting lecturers, a doctor and a magistrate provided typical scenes what to expect in a legal (court room or prison) and medical (conversing with doctors and nurses), the common terms – such as body parts, diseases, medication dosages and court procedures. I provided some input with basic scenarios because I spent five years in NYC working with deaf people in both medical and legal settings, which the trainees and the Scots seemed to appreciate.

One sign to voice interpretation (both English and Chichewa) session involved Erick signing funny scenarios such an animal, a dog or monkey stealing food from a local who worked hard to get it, a man driving by staring at a shapely woman and crashing into a tree as a result, and so on. It was evident that the trainee’s receptive skills is better than expressive (in MSL) and there were many laughs when they took turns translating what Erick said. Many got it right, some got it wrong. The group or paired work, and role play exercises were more enjoyable for the trainees, taking turns to be deaf, interpreter, a doctor, a lawyer, judge, police, and magistrate and so on. Betty, Erick, and sometimes Charles, and two other deaf Malawian resource persons when available to attend went from group to group to provide feedback and criticism. Bryan and Nicola pitched in, too.

Deaf Action is pleased with the overall improvement in how MANAD coordinated the training and the future together is ensured. I know it’s corny but looking at two interpreters and two deaf people of different nationalities (and First World and Third World) working together as equals were really inspiring. There are some cultural differences and I could tell Deaf Action tried not to let their British culture interfere with how the Malawian trainees should learn but as long as the basic foundation in interpreting is covered, and MANAD has enough to go on. There is a very respectful relationship and partnership between MANAD and Deaf Action. Yay for cooperative development!

pictures posted

2009-02-14T08:06:00.004-05:00

PAH! I've uploaded couple pictures to each post. Scroll down and enjoy! - kb

PS - a shout out to my fellow ID classmates and professors. A Worldvision office near Mzimba. And its headquarters isn't far from the Gallaudet campus.

Embangweni School for the Deaf and the Ministry of Persons with Disability and Elderly

2009-02-11T09:19:00.004-05:00

The first school we visited for the three and a half city seven day survey trip is Embangweni School for the Deaf, a primary school that relied on total communication method within the huge Livingstonvia Synod of Church of Central Africa Presbyterian (CCAP). The Synod also consisted of several primary schools, a couple of secondary schools, a mission hospital, and a colonial house where the head minister and his family live. All hearing, in case you were wondering. Some deaf students would qualify for a secondary school but not very many of them. All teachers and administration live on the CCAP grounds as well.

Our visitor’s quarters had toilets and showers which I know the student housing does not provide. During a walk, I saw students, both deaf and hearing receiving water from a well to wash their clothes or carry the bucket inside to bathe. During the survey session I had “to go” very badly cos I’ve had too much instant coffee at breakfast - the guest toilets were too far away so I had to settle for student toilets – cement “outhouses” with doors marking “girls” and “boys”, and rectangular holes in the ground. Unfortunately someone pooped out a bad breakfast and missed the hole. The pile was covered by flies, so, no. I used the boy’s outhouse hoping that a boy wouldn’t walk in and have living daylights scared out of him by discovering a white woman sitting on her white haunches. Fortunately that did not happen.

We started the next day (a Friday) by accompanying students and staff to their morning prayers and greetings. The teacher who led the prayer used both his voice and signed, but naturally more voice than signing. They talked about the value of hard work, that God does not reward lazy people that sort of talk. For a demonstration, the boys gathered to ring out something (something like a Xylophone I cannot remember but it sure brought back memories of my own “hearing-impaired” class doing the same thing when I was in second or third grade), had bells and rang out a song with a teacher pointing at notes. I was wearing my hearing aid and all I could hear was different bell and jingling sounds, and some singing (not signing). The boys finished, and then the girls got up and signed/sang a chorus, with basic foot movements to count out the beats. Voices rang out differently to my tone-deaf ears.

Students, ranging from ages 5 to 20, and several students that I later found out were in their late 20s, one as old as 37 settled down to listen to the announcements of the day. Most of them were watching us, at Charles and Betty who were signing to each other. I couldn’t help but be amused and smile when I noticed some students discussing among themselves who is deaf who is hearing “no no that woman is not deaf that woman is interpreter I’ve seen her before” “that man is deaf” “white woman maybe deaf”– the universal deaf culture assessment and discourse of strangers in their midst. They were used to receiving hearing visitors, both white and African, but not Malawian signers and a deaf white woman too, so they were very intrigued by us. After brief introductions, the headmaster sent the children to their morning classes.

The headmaster held a brief meeting with us, explaining the school’s background (established in mid 1990s) to meet the need of having a deaf school up north since most deaf schools are in Central and South regions. The Embangweni school is also considered a place for students who failed in other schools to try their luck there. They are permitted to take exams for a number of times to give them a fighting chance to pass their certificate exams. Some thrived but others did not. Those who were unable to pass were placed in carpentry and tailoring classes to give them some skills (and hope). Hera, the headmaster placed the importance of Charles’ visit – not only as a leader of MANAD, but also as an employee at a Ministry office – that he is a role model to the children who’s never seen a deaf adult in that capacity.
Next, we joined the faculty for their tea break – and they asked Charles and me a series of questions about our experiences in deaf education. One thing that really turned me off (and I would later see in other schools, too) that there were exam results and announcements implying failure of students. And a teacher would point to a student and tell us that she failed four or five times before being placed in his carpentry class. I made the choice to share a personal story with them that I was not a star student in my early years, that both my parents and teachers were frustrated with me and pushed me to work. When I found an interest in history and social studies, I began to show more interest and improve. I encouraged the teachers to find their students’ interest and work with them on these.

The survey/needs assessment session a long and grueling one, for me because I was still learning Malawian Sign Language (MSL). Charles and Betty began with MANAD’s purpose of being and partnering with Finland to gather and document information from Deaf and hard of hearing Malawians, to see what needs and problems they have to enable Finland to provide more funding to help MANAD work on improving the Deaf living conditions in Malawi. I introduced myself as an intern for MANAD to learn from their work, shared my experience in a total communication school environment that I learned the same way as they did. I saw some heads nodding as if they understood that I went through the same thing they did.

Charles opened the floor asking students to come up and share their problems or experiences with their villages, schools, hearing family members and friends. Quite a number volunteered, saying that their home villages are generally OK, some thought they were “mad”, good relations with their neighbors, one student complained about a hearing soccer team pulling dirty plays to card the deaf players, among many others. Really not different from what deaf people everywhere encounter. The only differences are technology access since most of them do not have TV and media information, and acknowledging their rights for better things in life (education, jobs, etc). After bread and soda break, we then moved on to health information – access to clinics, communicating with doctors and nurses, the depth of information about TB, HIV+, cancer and AIDS. Many of students said they relied on their hearing family members or friends as interpreters. One young boy maybe 12 years of age, shared his experience about finding the right kind of dosage. He described going from nurse to nurse, finding information on instructions he could not understand until he found someone who were able to gesture with him, by using the hand as a clock or placement of sun during the day. “morning” “2 pills” “night” “none”. We three cheered him on and Charles encouraged that kind of initiative to the students.
Then came the toughest part. I’d already had a tense five minutes. Betty received a call and she and Charles had to step out. They told me to take over the floor – the students were patient with me and helped clarify signs for me. Since most of the students were weak with both English and Chichewa languages, Charles, Betty, and I were surrounded by students demanding assistance filling out the survey forms. Several teachers helped out to lessen the demand. I had four (or five) girls with me and a teacher helping out with communication barriers. It seems most students became deaf from an illness such as malaria, grew up with at least one signing family member and/or friend, and have overall stable relations with their families. For health information such as HIV they know the word or letters mean something bad, but not the depth or details about it. For priority goals for MANAD to work on, most asked for improvement in education and jobs. Charles was very impressed with the teachers (all men) who maintained good rapport with students and really communicated with them. The students rarely complained about their teachers, only that they wished for more materials to use.

At the end, I took a large group picture and many students wanted pictures taken of themselves. I gladly put my camera to use. We didn’t have lunch until 4pm and Charles was demanding (jokingly) that we have to give him our lunch for him to eat – then we ate dinner at 7pm with faculty and staff. All the information from the day was leaking out of my eyes and ears and I went to my room for some downtime. Then hit the sack early after observing Betty screen two teachers as candidates for the 2nd phase of interpreter training.

Two days later, we visited a deaf class within a hearing secondary school (name escapes me) in Kasungu, a couple hours north of Lilongwe. We met with five or six students and they are not doing so hot because their teacher’s signing skills deteriorated evidently under pressure from the school to pursue oral methods. It was rather depressing collecting information from them, especially after our experience at Embangweni. Charles sternly lectured the teacher for letting his signing skills slide, thus hurting the students’ chances in school and after. Most of the students didn’t know what they would do after completion of school – they are already taking tailoring and carpentry training. I recommended to Charles of a project in the future to construct and update (if any) a resource career guide for secondary school deaf students.

The classroom had small windows and was very dark, especially with a thunderstorm happening outside. We had trouble following conversations. Charles requested the teacher to turn the lights on, urging the importance for the Deaf to see each other. The teacher declined saying the Braille machine (the size of a small suitcase) is plugged in and he couldn’t unplug it. The dark classroom contrasted with bright and cheerful classrooms we saw in Embangweni and another in Lilongwe. We left the school, concerned and depressed about the future of those students we met.

On Monday, our last full day of work and travel we went to SOS Village School in Lilongwe, a primary and secondary school that contained two classrooms for younger and older deaf students. We didn’t meet the students however Betty screened three teachers for the deaf for the 2nd phase SLI training with Deaf Action. They had various signing skills and the classroom we used had large windows, the red brick walls and wooden ceiling reflected light well. Student’s work were pasted on the walls and strung up across the room. We left the school; a deaf secondary student found us and chatted with us on the way back to Lilongwe on a minibus. He knew Charles and Betty but chatted with me, and an opportunity to use my ever-improving MSL.

Before visiting the SOS Village School, we had coffee and cookies with Mr F Sapala, Director of Disability Program with his other subprogram directors, at the Ministry of Persons with Disability and Elderly. Charles and Betty gave their reports about the MANAD’s status in projects assisted by Finland and Scotland – evidently something they liked to hear about and that the relationship with both countries is ongoing. Charles also mentioned that MANAD is currently developing a project with the British High Commission Office for a second attempt at Deaf Awareness campaign. The people were very pleased that MANAD is working. They were particularly interested in my MA program in International Development specialsing in Persons with Disabilities and asked what courses I took. I replied and gave them the website address and Dr Wilson’s email as well. A woman, the head of a rehabilitation program asked if I studied rehabilitation and I affirmed saying its part of our coursework. She appeared to be content with my answer. One other program head informed me he had gone to Gallaudet in 1980s for some sort of disability related conference. He did enjoy the nightlife in DC, he added. Mr Sapala mentioned to me that his ministry along with the Malawian government very much supported my “new government” and is looking forward to working with President Obama’s administration. I felt that I was somewhat an US representative in the room and did my best to present honest but diplomatic answers. I did answer honestly that our race relations isn’t perfect when they asked me that. That was when they interjected saying President Obama is a good man for change. I think so, too!

on the road - smooth and bumpy

2009-02-10T13:00:00.002-05:00

This post is typed two weeks late – not as exciting as the previous posts. I’m trying to cram as much information as possible. Will write a post shortly about deaf students, then another about the SLI training. – kb
Out of the seven days we traveled, approximately good four days of it consisted of being on the road or waiting for a bus or minibus filled with passengers and luggage to the driver’s content before leaving. The longest we waited for our minibus to fill up and depart was two hours in Mzimba with destination to Mzuzu. We missed our meeting with Deaf adults in Lilongwe because of the paperwork needed to be done and travel from Kasungu.

The toughest road was the one from Jenda to the Embangawe school for the deaf, one of the several primary and secondary schools in a huge Embangwei/Loudon synod branch of CCAP (Church of Central African Presbyterian) of Livingstonvia , in the southern portion of the large Mzimba district bordering Zambia. One hour on 30 kilometers of hard dirt road filled with lumps, crevices, holes, and mud spots that can test the car shock absorber and tires. The first ride to the school was in a 4 x 4 overland an ancient ambulance truck that our contact head teacher hired. It was a very bouncy ride in the dusk. Within a quarter of a mile from the synod, the truck blew a tire in the pouring rain. We three (myself, Betty and Charles), Hara the teacher and two other passengers with a small baby stood outside under the trees, watched the driver change the tire with assistance from a couple of passersby. On the way back two days later, one sunny morning the head teacher secured a pick up truck to take us three back to Jenda to take a bus to Mzimba for long detour to Mzuzu for a last minute meet up with a retired teacher to distribute survey forms. To make the trip leaving the school quicker, Charles, assisted by Betty interpreting had to negotiate with the driver on an agreed price to make him hurry up. However the driver resisted a little preferring to add a couple more passengers before leaving. Betty and I were squeezed in the truck cab with the driver and Charles rode in the open truck bed with several other people and our luggage. I wanted to ride in the back for the sake of experience, but Charles wanted to enjoy the sun and breeze. However, he told me that if it rains he’ll gladly trade places with me. The ride was smoother, probably because the truck didn’t have 4x4 wheels and the driver seemed to maneuver around the lumps and crevices more expertly. Along the way, we picked up few more passengers. There were many bikes riding up and down the road – costing MK 600 for a ride on the extended seat behind the rider. There aren’t bikes in Blantyre and Lilongwe, possibly due to the volume of automobiles (they were scarce up north) only outside the cities for those riding in from the rural parts.
Along the way back to Jenda – we spotted two cut branches of leaves on the road placed in a way to slow us down and pass through the narrow space provided. Betty explained that it’s to warn drivers and pedestrians that a funeral is in progress. After passing the second set, a group of men sitting near a graveyard spotted us and begged for money (for burial payment Betty reckons).

After nearly an hour and half on the back road, we reached Jenda and immediately boarded a minibus ready to leave for Mzimba. The drive lasted maybe two or three times the actual distance of the trip, due not only frequent pick ups and deboarding of passengers along the way but to navigate hairpin curves on the road. There’s a slogan in Malawi for its roads – “Arrive Alive!” and “Speed Kills”. We eventually reached Mzimba and expecting to leave again, but the driver and conductor preferred to wait until the minibus filled to capacity. Two hours were spent breathing in the diesel fumes from the running engine, a kid (well a young man) would come up to move the bus around every 10 or 15 minibus. Occasionally he’d shout and bang onto his door as if he owned it. Several other passengers going as far as Mzuzu were not amused but were silent. An internet café sitting across the street tortured me. But I knew I’d have a nervous breakdown whenever I see the minibus move, thinking it’ll go to Mzuzu without me. The minibuses are that unpredictable.
Finally, filled with passengers including several with large maize bags, and one man holding a flat of live baby chicks – occasionally a tiny feather drifted by my face – the driver decided to depart for Mzuzu. Like Jenda and Mzimba, the route between Mzimba and Mzuzu was long, but filled with scenery. The northern region is heavily forested, filled with timber mills. I had become accustomed to seeing people live in concrete dwellings with either a tin or thatched roof, the dwellings were all wood looking like it was clapped together with nails and mud. The planed wood beams piled like large grates dotted along the road. Occasionally we’d see a lorry or large truck hauling cut or uncut wood. Sometimes we’d pass acres and acres of deforested land, land lying bare with thin trunks poking out. Other lands and hills consisted of new trees – afforestation is big here, and the government is trying to promote an afforestation campaign. Once in a while, a man riding a bike (or pushing his bike) with cut wood piled high on the extended seat, as high as four or five feet, held together by braces or splints of some sort. The route also went through or on top of the highlands, with steep or narrow roads.

The route from Mzuzu (a small but upcoming city, filled with bike taxis, many registered and so jazzed up with colorful padded passenger seats with complimentary handlebars – I was angry that I didn’t have the camera on me at the moment) to Jenda, then Kusungu were uneventual. It was becoming dark and we were becoming bored and restless being on the road. Charles and I traded and fought over newspapers before dusk. I happily gave him Chichewa language pages. Some he translated for me. We arrived into Kusungu and we were grateful for the ride a friend of Betty’s gave us. We arrived in time f or a late dinner then totally crashed for the night.
After visiting a secondary school outside Kusungu, and few stops in Lilongwe (including a visit to the Ministry of Disabled and Elderly office) Betty and I headed back to Blantyre on a slow minibus. After seven days of packing and repacking my rucksack I was glad to settle into a more permanent housing at the Kabula Lodge.

The motels we stayed at, does not cater to the Westerners. The rooms and its bathrooms are pretty grim and Spartan like, with mildew damage, cement and bugs. I quickly became accustomed to toilets without seats, shower or bath with freezing or scalding water (sometimes I bathed out of the bucket to reach acceptable water temperature) – one place had perfect water temperature I think. After few weeks in Malawi I’m not as bothered by bugs and ants as I used to be. I merely flick them off or scoot them away. I was grateful that in all situations at least the toilet flushed without problems, running water, warm but simple beds and rooming with Betty. The Malawian sign for “bath” is the action of splashing water to one shoulder then to the next. The motel menus basically consisted of rice or nsima with chicken or beef and vegetables. Nutritious though.

a brief post....

2009-01-29T10:40:00.005-05:00

Ignore my hair - it's going through an awkward growing-out stage. A couple pictures from Embangwei, a deaf school up north near Mzimba. The painting was hanging in the guest dining area - I love the quirkiness of it. (shoot. the pics failed to upload. will keep trying)

The seven day baseline survey/needs assessment of some deaf students was an eye opening experience for me. I returned Tuesday, settled in a new hostel and now nursing a cold praying that it will not progress into a flu since it's been going around. Next, I will participate and assist with Betty and Deaf Action (Scotland)'s 2nd phase of a six day sign language interpreting training starting this Sunday. It also include religious, medical, and legal themes so the training should be quite interesting.

Minibuses (or Matolas) and the informal sector

2009-01-21T01:51:00.002-05:00

They are the informal transportation used by the public in Malawi. Informal, in international development term meaning that is not under control or licensed by the government. Informal sector is the economics of those unable to afford the license and maintenance required by the government. Or, the government does not have resources – in the case of this post – for public transportation. Many times, especially in countries in Africa, parts of Asia, South America and even smack in the Chinatown area of New York City where illegal sweatshops sewing Louis Vutton bag duplicates thrive, informal is the way to eke out a living. The informal sector considered the grey market I believe.

Based on my observation, Malawi tolerates the informal industry such as the minibuses because it is the only way the majority of people can afford to pay MWK 50 a ride (or .34 cents in US money) to travel to their jobs, homes, and errands from a distance of miles – or kilometers (therefore contribute the growing economy by doing errands and being employed by whatever means). However due to safety issues, Blantyre places random traffic police spotchecks to ensure that the minibuses aren’t stuffed full of people or vendors carrying produce that can compromise not only the safety but for sanitary reasons. Once, I had the pleasure of sitting (or squished) next to a vendor holding a large uncovered homemade metal bucket full of sardines stinking up the bus.

Most of my experiences riding a minibus are good, but there are occasionally bad rides. It depends on how well the driver and the conductor care for their bus. Sometimes I would appraise the conductor and driver before boarding (or choose not to). Petrol and diesel are expensive, so the conductor would shout out through the window try to recruit riders out of pedestrians and bypass the three people to a row regulation. A minibus can hold three to four rows of seats and one or two rows contain an extra seat that folds out into the crouch/walk space. Each row can seat up to five people depending on how big or thin the passengers are. Small children usually sit on their parent’s lap to make room for others. Once in a while, a minibus would drive by with a conductor’s backside sticking out of the window. I have seen police halt a minibus or two at a time and force the excessive passengers to de-board, and inspect produce if a passenger is carrying any, checking whether the items were properly packed. The driver can face fines. Once or twice I’ve seen a minibus eject some passengers or passengers with produce if they see a police checkpoint ahead of time.

Riding a minibus is the top adventure I’ve encountered so far. No, I have yet to visit a nature park and observe lions, hippos, or hyenas in action like the Animal Planet on TV (Nicar is disappointed in me and now questions the accuracy of the cable channel). The wildest animals I have seen are geckos on my wall or ceiling in my hostel rooms in Lilongwe and Blantyre, and snails outside. Oh, there’s crows and a couple varieties of birds. Back to the point – I’ve a couple bruises from some seat hinges that stuck out, and a very surface scrape on my forearm because people do not wait for you to get on or get off. I’m glad I had a tetanus shot before leaving the States. I still haven’t oriented my physical space – I still bump my head, occasionally slip and/or stumble getting on and off. The motor of the minibus is between the driver’s seat and the front row. Some buses cover it with scraps of rug while others don’t. It can be hot to the touch and my shins have been cooked once or twice. If I’m lucky, I sit on the side or in the middle row, for optimal view of scenery so I know when to get off.

Sunday night, my colleague Charles and I were changing minibuses having arrived into the city centre from a Blantyre suburb. One minibus appeared questionable. Charles was confirming if this was the correct route and he had one leg inside. The driver (an immature one) slammed the pedal and the minibus shot backwards. Charles was able to skip and hop out to avoid becoming a road kill. The minibus went in full speed reverse up the street and a minute later shot down back to us, into a screeching halt (well I didn’t wear my hearing aids but I imagine it did screech). Strange. The conductor beckoned us to climb in, and Charles was wary and put a foot in. Either the driver didn’t check or didn’t care, stepped on the pedal again, and jerked forward. I snapped a sharp HEY! at him. Charles climbed inside and I made eye contact with the driver as I climbed in, daring him with my stare to pull that on me.

Soon as I found my seat – the driver hit the gas. He is the most undisciplined driver I’ve seen so far. On the average bus, the conductor would communicate with the driver and their coordination works well. The conductor tends to be in charge of how the bus move and stop, I’ve noticed.

goBAMA!

2009-01-20T03:29:00.002-05:00

A store was selling Obama chitengas so I snapped one up. Woot!

2009-01-19T03:21:00.003-05:00

What I encounter and observe on Chileka Road, leading into the city of Blantyre are broken down into the following:

I typically leave Grace Bandawe Hotel and Conference Centre at 8am and join numerous pedestrians walking up and down the road, depending where they are going. School children, most of them dressed in white and blue or green (blue skirts or jumpers for girls, blue sweater for boys with school initials embroidered into their sweater) walk up to several schools, past the hotel. Adults, who I assume are teachers and administrative of sorts walk up too. The other professional dressed ones walk to town, I'm assuming they work in the bank, businesses, and retail stores. Most of them wear professional clothing in various degrees of style and newness or wear and tear. Few women wear traditional chitenga wraps over their work clothes.

Hawkers and peddlers – all women, men, and children carry their wares in baskets or bundles on their heads walking down to the city, rarely out of the city. I sometimes see them carrying luggage on their heads too. I’ve observed them putting the bundles on top of their heads – depending on the weight it’s usually the task of two people. The first person held the bundle in her (and sometimes his) hands, and the other to help heave the bundle onto the first person’s head. When they reach the balance they’re content with, the second person lets go. Most of them are poor, wearing secondhand clothes – women often wear chitenga wrap and rarely without children in tow (or tied to their back). Boys sell small meat pies, bread, nuts, cigarettes, and hard candy. Some of them walk among the people selling the wares and others have fixed spots along the road waiting for a passerby to show interest and stop. I’ve not tried them yet – I was warned by someone that my Western digestive system may not tolerate them. One day soon, I’ll ask a colleague of mine to point out anything that I can eat or not. Lastly, but not least – the phone people with plastic tables containing the Top Up logos. They remind me of the phone ladies in “Banker for the Poor” by M. Yunis. There are many of them dotted alongside the road and in the city – with a wireless phone and “top up” stubs for mobile phone units costing around 100 to 200 kwachas, depending on the company brand. I think in town, maybe half a dozen or more would line up on each side of a block. A fair many of them are women with a child or two, and there are a number of men also. Some men would stand on the road or highway median in hopes that someone stuck in traffic (usually by the roundabout or at the traffic lights) would be tempted to reach out and purchase a stub to increase their mobile units.

People outside working: Instead of men mowing the lawn, there are men and young boys swinging machetes the size of a slender hockey sticks cutting down the grass in even and steady arcs. They seem to follow the hockey rule – do not swing higher than your shoulders. Several older men would keep one arm behind his back as a precaution. On much larger lands, I saw a couple gas powered lawn mowers and even an electrical lawn mower, the man taking care not to mow over the electrical cord (think of trying to vacuum a room and holding up the cord). At the large shopping mall outside Blantyre, a man using shears cut grass on a tiny island in the parking lot.
There is a large marketplace, consisting of shacks selling mobile phones, shoes, clothing, repairs, very similar to the one Allen and I walked through in Lusaka, though not as big and sprawling. Some shacks and hawkers even placed themselves on the narrow footbridge across a shrunken creek. The peasants invaded perhaps half the city’s public lands, usually by the highway, the creek, some odd place here and there growing cash crops. The other day I saw a small patch (maybe 6’x6’) of corn. Now it’s been hacked down.

I see quite a number of cars and overland trucks bearing the logo or picture of a NGO office and EU offices driving around town. I’ve spotted a few offices on the outskirts of town. The only major development in works visible is the construction and maintenance of a nearly completed highway between Blantyre and Limbe, sponsored by Japan. The pathwalk alongside one side of the highway is completed and many pedestrians (including myself) walk alongside it. The pathwalk on the other side (towards Limbe) is still being constructed. There are many local workers working on beautifying the median between the roads (decorative stones cemented along the road) and roundabouts. Occasionally I see Japanese foreman and surveyors (both Japanese and local Malawians) checking in on progress and thinking over any snafus that occurred. I saw in the newspaper over the weekend that China is giving more aid to Malawi, and part of it goes to improvement of another highway between two cities somewhere in the southern region I think.

The city centre is compact, filled with many stores and business. Several times I failed to pay attention because at the edge of the city centre the scene suddenly changes into a leafy suburb, sort of like Minneapolis since half the city is suburban. I’m still learning the streets and shortcuts around the city centre so I often have to backtrack to the city centre. There are some parts of it I’ve yet to explore – mostly due to my energy stemming to fits and starts of MANAD (Malawi National Association of the Deaf) and the distance of my hotel from the city. I’m usually carrying my bag full of stuff in anticipation of going over them with MANAD.

By the time I think about exploring the other parts of the city, I’m slick from sweat and covered in dust, and my chest begins to complain from breathing in the diesel fumes from the city’s many, many minibuses (an informal public transportation). Soon I will dedicate a post on minibuses or matolas. I tend to be out and about from 8am to around 2pm. Once in a while I’d stop by Doogle’s a hostel by the bus stop for a beer – if I’m in the mood to walk across the lumpy parking lot full of holes and rocks, minibuses and large buses belching diesel fumes, saying NO to taxi drivers pursuing me asking if I needed a ride. It’s a very popular hostel for mazungus and they have some meals there as well if I’m in the mood for burgers and lasanges. They make WONDERFUL garlic bread. Heavenly. Once I return to my room unit, I’m taking off the sweaty and dust covered clothes then step into a cold (and refreshing) shower feeling clean again. Some reading and a siesta follow. Puttering around my room, walking among the hotel’s gardens, wash an occasional clothing item sort through my pictures and writing, then go to dinner at 630 pm.

My online course begins after MLK Jr holiday and basically waiting for MANAD to actually meet so they can have me follow them to places where the Deaf people work (some weaving factory outside Blantyre employs all disabled folks) and meet, visit Deaf schools near Mulanje, and plan the next survey trip upcountry.

Week in Blantyre III

2009-01-13T01:36:00.000-05:00

I think the toughest day for me was Thursday. After finding a very reasonably priced and fast service internet café, explored the city a bit and had a delicious and cheap lunch at a Chinese restaurant (noodle fix!) – I encountered child beggars. Back in the States I’m accustomed to men beggars and some local crazies – but child and disabled beggars. I’d seen some of them in Lilongwe but seem here in Blantyre, they’re awfully persistent. One boy pursued me half a block until I finally faced him and shooed him away. A small toddler emulated the older child beggars and it was sort of like a game for her. Ouch. I was feeling like crap but I know there’s nothing I can do for them – there are existing services for them. What really set me over that upon arriving back to the hotel, Dee, a young deaf woman I’d befriended the day before, was waiting for me and was about to give up (after 4 hours wait) once I arrived. I was amazed to see her, and I couldn’t recall agreeing a visit from her. She informed me that there is a possibility of renting a room (one room together – eh) and after chatting about random things, she didn’t appear to be ready to leave. Dee mentioned something about a long walk back home. I’d just rented a DVD in hopes that it’d be subtitled, so I took out my laptop to see if it would work (and kill time with Dee). The movie wasn’t subtitled. Shoot. How else to entertain her? I showed her a digital key chain of pictures my boyfriend took of us together and a couple books. She began inquiring about the cost of them – something was a bit off. Then the red flag sprang into my mind. Dee blurted out that the banks are closed and she wanted to borrow MK 2,500 (about $12 or $15) and I flat out refused. She pressed me why – I finally told her that as a foreigner student on official funds, I can’t be loaning out money for emergencies. I showed her the door. It also helped me decide not to be roommates with her – it would suck if I had to cover her rent.
First, ignoring the beggars on the streets (including a child leading a blind woman) and this with Dee happened in my own room within the same day. I was cranky and vulnerable. The following morning, during an online chat with my boyfriend, who was raised in a third world country, helped me bring back to my senses – that I don’t have much of a choice, it’s either a) be depressed and succumb to give money, or b) focus on why I’m in Malawi in the first place.
In a way I’m faring much better here in Malawi than I did in Ireland back in 2001-2002. Malawi is the second country I’m residing in – my first few months was rough in Ireland, despite a Western country, but different types of culture, food, transport, deaf and hearing Irish – it was stressful. I think my experience working as a case manager, then as a group home manager for five years in New York City exposed me to stressful (and yes, dangerous) conditions, and taught me how much of my limits I can push, and when to stop.
With the experience under my belt, the transition in Malawi is much smoother so far. It really helped starting the trip with Allen in Zambia, him holding my hand for the first few days before we parted ways in Lilongwe. And having a journal to write about the events of the day, vent my thoughts, and feelings as well as e-mailing really made a difference for me. And blogging. In addition, making introductory meet-ups with the Deaf professionals I’ll be working with – Euphrasia, Juliana, and Charles a priority – another smooth transition. Mom – I’m eating very well here so far, no worries - not like it was in Limerick. I hope (and gosh darn it, WILL be) using this vibe to last me through to the end of April.
On the upside of this post – the internet’s been restored in my hotel. Yay! But it’s not at the luxury in my room and using my laptop. Better than nothing – least there’s a place in the city, cheap and fast. Now that I’m pretty much settled in, I will begin to coordinate webcam times (hint…). There is a possibility I may be moving to Limbe, a town 5 kilometers from Blantyre, closer to FEDOMA. Or, I can remain in Blantyre at a different hostel where development workers reside. Networking would be awesome.

Second Week – Blantyre II

2009-01-11T03:14:00.002-05:00

Remember I mentioned my excitement about Hostellerie de France? Well, it turned out to be a huge disappointment – I lasted one night and left for the Grace Bandawe the next day. It was way out from the city, isolated, no internet (as it was advertised), and no people around. I think I was the sole guest since I did not see other guests. The French couple that ran the hostel was very out of touch, acted superior to their African staff, and two German Shepherd dogs patrolled the area (they turned out to be darlings I found – I miss their affections and wonder how they are doing). The pros about the place: clean, hot showers, real coffee, efficient staff, and excellent view of the Rift Valley. Something about the place rubbed me the wrong way. It is ideal for those who can’t book a hostel elsewhere, come in groups of people, and have no interest in the city.

Juliana, the Chair of MANAD helped me get into Grace Bandawe, a Central African Presbyterian Church operated hotel and conference center. Malawi National Association of the Deaf and I believe, Federation of Disabled Organizations in Malawi (FEDOMA) used the place for retreats and conferences, so they’re accustomed to having deaf patrons. Juliana assisted me because, me being a foreigner the Grace will overcharge (not uncommon in Africa), and that Juliana is well known, the hotel agreed to book me at a reduced price. Interesting note and I’m not sure how to interpret it, Juliana persuaded me to rent the whole unit (at a cheaper price anyway) so an African patron will not share the unit with me, because I’m white and too different in lifestyle from the African. I’m not the first mazungu Juliana has set up accommodation for. I’m here for two weeks while Juliana searches a room for me to board. The last volunteer before me, Judy, stayed at a deaf school outside Limbe, but she mainly worked with children. So I’m not sure where Juliana will place me.

The Hotel is very pleasant – two rooms and a bathroom to each building unit, many thatched gazebos for reading, relaxing, and small groups to meet, and plenty of plants and flowers to admire. It’s closer to the city – though still a longish walk, but there are pedestrians and cars passing by in front of the Hotel gates so I feel more connected to humanity. The staff is all African and they manage the hotel and conference center, I see a number of other patrons. I’m content here but: no internet and no hot water (my coping method is to think of it as camping, by soaping and scrubbing myself before turning the cold water back on). Least the cons is only two .

A hostel down the road – Doogles – a hostel catered to foreigners, have internet and a bar. I go there at least once a day since it’s halfway to the city. I avoid the tourists there because they seem so…. flighty. So I’m a snob now (after a week and a half!).

Second week – in Blantyre I

2009-01-11T03:06:00.002-05:00

I consider Tuesday, January 6 my second full week in Africa. It is also the day I left Malawi’s capital, Lilongwe for Blantyre its business and NGO (non governmental organization) capital of Malawi. It is also the oldest European settlement in the country. I hope to visit Zomba – Malawi’s colonial capital until shortly after its independence from the British – during my 4 month stay here. I did not see much of Lilongwe – except for the Old Town part where I stayed and patronized. The first president, Banda, made it capital and used Apartheid South African money to build road and governmental buildings. I’ve heard there isn’t much to look at but I will make the effort the next time I go through the city.

The bus trip down to Blantyre from Lilongwe was pleasant, taking a total of four hours and half. The scenery (until the bus stewardess – yes you read this right – sort of like being on the Hampton Jitney) was interesting and pleasant until the conductoress (?) played a Whoopi Goldberg movie, Sister Act II. And it was subtitled! I’d seen the first movie years ago and never saw its sequel. The story setting took place around 1993 – oy, flashbacks of hair, clothes, the lingo –whew. The scenery outside the bus was much more interesting than Zambia. Malawi though its land is a tiny fraction of Zambia -100 miles width and distance about the same as east-west Pennsylvania I think, has a larger population of 13 million than Zambia’s 11 million. The villages were plentiful – some nicer or shoddier than the next one - and like Zambia, mixed huts with concrete structures, and thatched roof (bamboo I think?). And so many farmland – with the success of fertilization coupon scheme pushed by the government there’s been a surplus of crop vegetables. However vendors and some government officials exploited it, overcharging farmers and peasants, and there are still pockets of poverty all around. Those who did not benefit I suppose. The fields look so fertile that one could swear that valleys, boulders, and even mountains sprang up. Eastern Africa’s Great Rift Valley runs through most parts of Malawi so it’s rare not to miss a mountain or valley peak when you’re in the city.

Having grown up among valleys it was very pleasant for me to stare into the scenery through the bus window. As opposed to the Appalachian mountains in the Eastern United States smoothed by the glaciers, the Rift Valley seemed to be more random and sculptural.

Blantyre, the largest town in Malawi, definitely qualifies as a small city with many shops, restaurants – African and Western, and Chinese – businesses, banks, lodges and hotel. I have not ventured into the markets like the one Allen and I went through in Lusaka. I saw few mazungu people along with Indians and Arabs but not until I went to the (new) Mall south of Blantyre, to another town of Limbe. I’ve never seen so many Africans with mazungus, Indians, Muslims (both African and Middle Eastern) and Arabs in one place. One department store called Games was full of every other person of race or color. Games reminded me of K-mart and Wal-mart. It would have been a scene in an American city populated with different kinds of races and creed, but the security guards checking receipts and purchases wore military style uniform (down to high topped boots and color bars on shoulders) with Security Guard tailored into their uniforms made it distinctly African in a way.

The deluge of rains continued – my second night in Blantyre and first at Grace Bandawe, I woke up to a strange sounding thunderstorm. The thunder seemed to choke or drag on itself every time, like a rumbling straining to boom. Like belching without the consequential release of a burp. I think Friday was the worst I’ve been stuck in so far. After a day and a half of heavy gray and white clouds, the rains were finally released. I had left the mall and gotten onboard a minibus moments before the first drops fell. The bus made a stop at a large truck refueling place, with a large and flat canopy. The rain created curtains of water spilling down the sides – every few minutes, a wind would blow the water onto us. Many people – riders and pedestrians – huddled under the canopy waiting for the rains to pass. The more of us grew, the more irritated the security became with us. We were blocking the minibuses and large trucks. The guard with an energetic german shepherd wearing a muffler not unlike the one worn by Anthony Hopkins in The Silence of Lambs, each time he yelled and corralled us into one side, the dog would echo him by barking insanely. Both the guard and the dog’s eyes appeared to be crazy and twitching, bloodshot. The thunders were booming and sometimes it felt like someone was banging the canopy roof. In a short time, leaks from the roof formed and eventually people shifted around forming holes where the leaks dripped (or flowed). For a long while it appeared that the leaks continued to form here and there. Nearly an hour later, the rains became lighter and people began braving to go out. I gave up on waiting on a minibus with my destination (and breathing in all the petrol and diesel fumes) – I walked to the hostel. I'd misplaced my umbrella. Again.

Old Town, Lilongwe

2009-01-05T06:08:00.003-05:00

I’m inside a restaurant, Nando’s – a reasonably priced Portuguese inspired cuisine with chicken and vegetarian burgers, and salads. For a very early lunch I had a platter of lemon flavored yellow rice with two marinated chicken kebab. Delicious. This place has wi-fi access – though the connection is very strong, much better than the camp (too weak to go online). However, the online registration doesn’t work and it’s pouring rain outside. I took the opportunity to polish the Week of Firsts blog post and now, this post. With one hearing aid on, I can hear the chatter of people outside waiting under the concrete alcove, for the rain to pass. And it’s windy outside. Not good.

My errands finished earlier than I expected – I exchanged a couple traveller's cheques(I’d run out of cash) into kwachas, walked up the hill to the immigration and visa permit office only to find out I didn’t need one after all. I pressed the officer to clarify that I am volunteering for four months in Blantyre. That seemed unimportant to him. He instructed me to check in for an “extension” in Blantyre as needed. O-kay. Least I have it in his writing in my notepad .The Axa coach line was next door (the Shire coach line recommended by my guidebook is in rubble - really), so I took an opportunity to book a 7am bus to Blantyre. The trip takes four to five hours so might as well get an early start.

I’m excited about this French hostel I booked in Blantyre – for a week I’ll have a room to myself, free towels, a swimming pool and they have a wine bar. I’ll really have to discipline myself. I’ve been told that FEDOMA outside Blantyre is anticipating my arrival and my accommodations are planned. I hope. To spoil myself a bit, I will keep my reservation at the Hostellerie du France. In a way it’s sort of a poke at me. A former roommate of mine, Guthrie called my old apartment in Hell’s Kitchen – Hotel du Breen – because I often had friends who were between apartments or out-of-towners staying over.

The hostel/camp I’ve been staying since late Thursday night is pretty decent. The staff there is nice, and there are three large dogs and a black cat lounging around the grounds. The cat mainly sticks to the dining hall and the dogs basically follow their muzangu owners (who run the hostel) around. There are a lot of young and old folks from Europe - far as I can tell and some native wazungus (wa is for many white people).

I’ve been very, very fortunate in terms of meeting deaf people. In Lusaka, I ran into Euphrasia, a deaf woman who I will be working with on her baseline survey travels around Malawi. She’s completed one or two travellers I believe. On Saturday afternoon, a large yellow 4x4 caravan bus arrived with 24 people stopping in Malawi along its 4 month trip from Egypt, wending down through countries (the Sudan, Tanzania, Rwanda, Kenya, and Burundi so far). Malawi is its halfway point to South Africa. Two of its travelers are Deaf British – one of them having worked with the Deaf in Blantyre so she knows people who I will work with. Very small world and how random is that???? She showed me some video on her camera of deaf children she’s worked with (her primary tasks were collecting and documenting Malawian sign language – that part I may assist between MANAD and my online class tasks) and a gathering of disabled and deaf Malawians at FEDOMA (Federation of Disabled of Malawi). She was able to help facilitate a meeting point for me and Charles, one of the people I will work for who lives in town. I was very grateful for her assistance! The next day, I met up with Charles who gave me some insight on Malawi Deaf – to basically focus on tasks on hand and try to remain neutral, not to let the Deaf gossip distract (or bother) me. My overwhelmed reception skills – attempting to absorb conversations mixed in with ASL, Zambian sign, International Sign, BSL, and now, Malawi signs thrown inside – is on the fray. I probably understood – or absorbed – maybe 50 to 75 percent of information since Saturday evening.

So far, my stars have been good – perhaps because I was able to see part of the constellation at night while travelling through Zambia. When I’m not moving and standing in one place with lights turned off, it’s not cloudy or raining I hope to get another look at the night sky.

The Week of Firsts

2009-01-05T06:01:00.003-05:00

- Taxi cab from the airport to town: Once I was in the taxi with Allen, during chatting I took in some scenery. I observed a number of women carrying mounds of bags on their heads and the men, on their bicycles mostly carrying charcoal.

- African meal: a piece of chicken with nsima (maize ground into a firm porridge that you ball a piece in one hand, and use it soak it up with tomato sauce) and a local variation of broccoli rabe. No utensils and napkins! During an IM chat with Nicar, I proudly told him I ate using my hands. The chicken was tough, had to pull it apart with my hands in order to eat some hard to reach meat.

- Deaf interaction: at the Zambian National Association of the Deaf, then at the marketplace. A deaf tailor working on a linen shirt commissioned by Allen, and two deaf shoppers dropping in – a priest and a teacher of the deaf. The next day, Allen chatted with a group of deaf men from Zimbabwe who were looking for work, saying things are very bad at home.

- Township and marketplace visit: Many, many people walk everywhere especially on the highway alongside speeding automobiles, buses, and trucks. Riding a taxi in Lusaka, the driver will basically drive through people, and occasionally bumping arms with the sideview mirror. After visiting the ZNAD, Allen wanted to show me what it’s like walking through a busy marketplace. It’s sort of like Chinatown in New York City where you’re shoulder to shoulder walking among people trying to avoid stepping on wares or being brushed by a car or minibus. Many women sat or squatted on muddy ground selling and bartering their wares such as oranges, mangoes, onions, clothes, rubber boots, crafts, kitchen appliances, machine parts, and everything you can possibly imagine. What impressed me most, their babies or small children tied onto their mother’s back or side in a wrap, mostly quiet, asleep or watching. I’m accustomed to seeing restless children back in the States. Inside the legit marketplace supported by roof and walls – I say legit because those who sold their wares can afford the booth fees – sold similar wares as these outside, but better or diverse quality. There were also tailors, hat and dressmakers. Allen met a friend of his, a deaf Zambian tailor who’s been working for 18 years and he has regular customers. Two deaf shoppers stopped by to chat – a priest and a school teacher.

-Bus trip: a 10 hour trip to Lilongwe from Lusaka, via eastern Zambia, and the border crossing into Malawi. Eastern Zambia comprised of valleys, bunched up together, or at distances looking like pointy mounds separated by miles, and eventual grasslands dotted by trees, large and small fields of crops. There are deforested spots here and there, and you often see tree stumps in gardens and fields. Many villages of huts dotted along the road, children looking at our bus as we passed by. The deeper in the rural country, the more huts we saw in grouping of huts, some walled with thin stapling trees, and those without, serving as meeting centers. The women wore traditional chitengas (something like sarongs) in various prints and colors in more frequency and a different wrap style than the city women. The bus drove so fast that the villages and scenery blurred by. Allen, sitting on the aisle seat with a better view of the driver, saw the bus nearly hit the people riding bikes on several occasions. He once observed that cars or all forms of transport comes first, those on bikes come in second for their right of the way, and various other transports until the pedestrians come last.

-squatting on my haunches over a rectangular hole to relieve myself. Enough said. Let’s say I was successful and didn’t wet myself in the process. The latrines were inside a small concrete structure with two holes separated by a wall. This happened at a rest stop along the bus route, deep in the country. Public bathrooms cost a fee and evidently, this is a good business for locals to maintain. A bonus: a large bottle with stopper handy to wash your hands. Cholera is rampant in Zimbabwe and it’s spread into north of South Africa (last I heard). Evidently Zambia and Malawi aren’t in any serious danger from the epidemic from Zimbabwe. I’ve seen many billboards sponsored by the Ministry of Health in Lusaka reminding all to wash hands and retrieve water from safe wells.

-Washing clothes by hand. I decided to wash some shirts, underwear, and pants and found it to be rather tedious work. A bottle of beer helped keep me company. The shirts and underwear were the easy part until I did the pants. The pant, especially the seat where the fabric is heaviest, my arms shuddered from the effort to lift the soaked pants out of the soapy water and under the tap. With the humidity it took a day to dry. The morning after the thunderstorm, in direct sunlight – I hung the clothes in better proximity (from the inside of the washroom). It dried in several hours and I was able to get them inside before more rain arrived.

- African rain: though it rained hard in Lusaka but it was late at night or early in the morning so I only saw the results. My second night at the hostel camp in Lilongwe, a thunderhead appeared and some time after dinner a deluge of rain poured down. Worse than cats and dogs. Allen said this is African rain since this is a rainy season beginning in November until April or May. September and October in Zambia was very dry, the land and gardens were very brown and desolate. The previous dry and hot winter (our summer up in northern hemisphere!), there were very random light rains. Allen marveled two or three times a day how green it is and how fast everything grew from the ground. Back to the thunderstorm – it was very close to the camp and loud. I was reading “The Poisonwood Bible” (thanks, Pat!) which really gave me insight on the weather and people – African and mazungu(white)’s mentalities or state of being. Allen says mazungu so much that it’s caught on me. It’s sort of being in reverse where the majority here is black Africans and I’m the mazungu deaf woman. Off the point again. The thunder boom was so loud and hard that I could feel the hostel shudder under my bed. Looking outside, the lightning lit up the ground like a camera flash. The power went off briefly – perhaps for half an hour. Some of my clothes I’d washed that morning became increasingly damp. With the rains, I began to see the wisdom in concrete floors and mini irrigation canals not only on the campsite, but in town as well. The bathroom and shower area, being on the ground flooded (I found out the hard way by stepping my bare foot down needing to go to the bathroom). When I set my foot down, I think it went past my ankle before I quickly yanked my foot out of the floodwater. After the thunderstorm stopped for good, I saw some workers mopping up and disinfecting the bathroom and showers. As the Borg would say, efficient.

Fast Food – I met with one of my supervisors, Charles at the Hungry Lion, a chicken and hamburger fast food place, and it is Halaal approved (so says the sign behind the cashier). It was very greasy but decent – two pieces of chicken; wing and a breast I think with chips (I offered them to Charles) and a slender glass bottle of Coke.

Tuesday, I depart for Blantyre – some more of the country to see.

Back in School - midterms already...

2008-10-06T22:31:00.003-04:00

It's midterms now - good to be back in school full time. I think. I've only two courses this fall (not counting practicum and graduate assistantship) so I procrastinate more. I should be halfway through Micropolitcs Development take-home midterm but .. I'm taking a break. I'm eating popcorn again which I should not be - I had a toothache all weekend because a kernel was stuck in my teeth. Tonight I'll floss properly before going to bed.

It's good to be a graduate student living on Gallaudet campus - I tend to stay away from undergrads. They're pretty much half my age now (good lord) and I have no intention reliving college years. After Christmas, I'll be leaving overseas for almost five months to intern as a researcher to collect data for a NAD, as part of their leadership, training, and organizatonal capacity. Basically running around in between classes, filling out visa applications, where to get immunizations, and wonder if my rucksack should be enough or use my large LLBean luggage. I should be focusing on my take home midterm and how much popcorn are wedged between my teeth.

Back in the Urban - Washington, DC

2008-08-30T22:25:00.002-04:00

My laptop is pulled close to me on my desk with my face leaning in and my eyes squinting. I realized I'd not given myself a facial in quite a while and now's a good time as any. So I'm not wearing my glasses, not desiring the frames to be smudged by the facial clay.

So! I'm back in Washington, D.C., on campus of Gallaudet University. I was happily ensconced in the Rural for so long and using the FaceBook and the University's BlackBoard to express my thoughts and maintain contact with my friends and colleagues, that I neglected to post entries here.

My eight months in the Rural was pretty uneventual - getting to know my parents again, contributing to the household chores, studying courses online, and holding a part-time job outside the village. To get to work, I bought a road bike using my tax rebate money from LL Bean. The agency I worked for is nearly a mile and half outside the village and I had to scale two huge hills, alongside speeding cars and 18 wheelers. After three or four weeks of adjusting the 21 speeds and walking up the hill with the bike feeling like a loser, I finally rode up both hills without getting off. I was so proud of myself! It went on for another couple months until mid-summer allergies (leading to a nasty common cold in the last week of work) rendered me incapable to breathe properly while pedaling up the hill. I was so disappointed to use the county shuttle bus that ran at intervals of two hours. It was that or gasp my lung out and fall into the path of an incoming car.

For my second year in graduate study, I moved back to D.C. after seven years away to attend classes on campus, to start my practicum and work as graduate assistant. It took a while to readjust to being back - long as I avoid the undergraduates (I'm so over that chapter in my life) I'm able to enjoy interacting with my fellow graduate students and reap the benefits Gallaudet has to offer.

The humidity here still blows.

2008-07-07T10:02:00.002-04:00

I've been terrible - I've no excuse to slack off on blogging now that I've more time on my hands and nothing confidential to hinder me from telling interesting stories.

Summer is going very well that I'm terribly looking forward to this fall when I relocate to DeeCee. It's been eights years since I left the city. I'll be in DC for the fall term then somewhere overseas for spring then I'm done with the MA. The overseas portion of my program is probably the most stressful as well as poignant because it's supposed to be my stepping stone into my International Development career. Still few more overseas programs to wade through.

I've been having a proper summer so far - I don't remember the last time, when I had more freedom to choose what to do. I'm a student again and is using this summer (and possibly the last one for quite some time) to do whatever I want outside of few hours of work a day. Swim. Bike. Read tons of books. Taking naps indoors and outdoors. First stab at weeding and gardening. Watch movies and movies and FireFly. Go camping later this month in Maine. The Hamptons later this week with my ultimate favorite: outdoor showering. Second favoriest: a picnic and drinking wine on the beach. I'm slowly working on my old bedroom - removing old wallpaper, fishing out old painting canvas to hang in my room (they used to hang around the house before my mom stored them to make room for additional paintings and pictures).

To enjoy them more, I better get some internship and pre-fall planning out of the way this morning.

define patriotism and many deja vus

2008-06-12T15:14:00.004-04:00

We're in a proper (I mean general) election season once again. Same old ho-hum topics on the economy, terrorism, the wars and occupation of Afghanistan and Iraq, and health care. See how this new or veteran candidate handle warping questions from intellectual and idiots alike.

On the subject of idiots - the Republicans are nitpicking this very tired old patriotic thing: Michelle Obama, upon her husband's securing the needed numbers of delegates said "for the first time in my adult lifetime, I am really proud of my country". Any simple-liberal minded person would see her as a cynical person embracing the current success of Barack Obama's campaign. An African-American woman married to a man of Kenyan and white parentage saying this, I think it is a big deal.

But no, the Republicans have to find the weak-ass ammo of patriotism to fire.

Is anyone really doing their work, based on campaign promises. I know things can happen that is unexpected but really - energy should be spent working on these issues instead of crowing and criticizing about this issue and that. Hillary had the same start as Howard Dean - proclaimed president elect only to burn out, say stupid or unnecessary things out from exhaustion and see your party opponents sail by (Kerry and now Obama). Haven't the Democrats learned anything? I wonder about McCain - I did a paper on his campaign in 2000 when I took a special course as part of my Government BA, what he did the evolution of his campaigning his wins and losses. He was doing well until South Carolina when Bush trumped him. This time, McCain was careful around South Carolina. He has the advantage of lessons learned this time around. It's pretty much the same for others who ran campaigns more than once or twice.

But the media and party people treat it as in once in a lifetime thing. It's exhausting, really.

This one last tired topic - patriotism. It's been nearly eight years. Even the flag waving red blooded American saw through both Republicans and Democrats making gafffes and being hawks on wars and discrimination in the name of patriotism. I like to think of patriotism that we have the right to question the integrity of where our elected folks is taking the country. The Patriot Act (can't recall if they updated the Act to continued or ended it altogether) is the dumbest name (it was 9/11, we hadn't been directly attacked by a foreigner since the 1812 War) and deciding if we are patriots based on our library books, internet searches, and wire tapping. The Law&Order show occasionally throws pot shots at the current administration. The police are looking into a murder - what else? - of an artist woman collector who made some contacts in Germany to buy controversial paintings. The police run into a wire-tapping FBI man who's following information on the murdered woman, that she is involved with terrorism. The FBI man tells Green and Lupo that there are "jihads" many other terrorist related jargon that the woman used in her conversations. But the police knew that the woman mentioned them because "jihad", etc are the name of paintings this German painter did. The FBI man is like, 'so she's not a terrorist? huh.' Apparently, their programming are wired into identifying these words and track down these suspects not knowing or bothering to find out the story. The FBI man shrugged at the police, mumbling "we didn't know". And left.

I know it's only a TV shows and they take certain dramatic licenses but that's something to think about isn't it?

almost six months in the rural..

2008-05-17T17:48:00.003-04:00

and two and a half more until I move back to DC. I'm amazed I lasted this long though there were few times late in winter and early spring when I was feeling rather despondent about not being in a full fledged ASL environment and being involved in the community. Monthly trips to NYC and DC helped keep me sane. Most of all - my parents are pretty cool and can engage in enough conversational sign language to keep me stimulated. The online courses at Gally helped pass the time and the timing is pretty good. I finished school last week and at the same time, started a new part time job at a place couple miles outside my hometown. It's still a hearing community, but I was raised with speech therapy and am accustomed to how people talk around here, so it's not bad as I expected. My co-workers are nice and a couple of them, I like their sense of humor and they get mine. I was amazed to find that the place I work in have a basic knowledge of sign language because a number of consumers do not have ability to speak and for expressive/comfort reasons, they are encouraged to sign. There are a couple deaf consumers but they have their own signs and it's funny to have the hearing staff teach ME a particular consumer's signs. Some of the staff can finger spell and know few but necessary (bathroom, eat, and so on) signs.

I'm really looking forward to the summer here at home - the lawns and fields out here have recovered from the wet winter and we replaced the linen in the swimming pool so it looks good as new. We've not been blessed with continuous sunny weather for a month now so it'll be a while til the pool is warm enough to swim in. The gardens are overrun with weeds but looks great anyhow! I'm working on convincing mom to let me at her gardens to do grunt work. My friends from NYC will visit me this summer starting next weekend so I'm totally psyched about it.

I actually had a decent Thai dinner in Cobleskill - I thought I would have to drive 30 miles to Albany for a proper cuisine.. it's nice to know ONE ten minutes away..

now I'm hungry.. gonna make me some grub.

deaf myanmar gets the last..

2008-05-17T17:45:00.002-04:00

if you're interested in helping out the deaf folks, for information go to:

http://deafhdcbr.blogspot.com/2008/05/deaf-myanmar-at-end-of-line-literally.html

sucks, really. the military junta are too paranoid to let others help. Against the US, I understand, but other sources of help.. really.

lull

2008-04-23T19:29:00.002-04:00

very behind in posting, it seems. i guess when one types so much for the sake of interactivity and education, there's reading or watching TV in the downtime.. the month of May shall see postings...

10 months and 8 more days of Errors

2008-02-21T12:12:00.001-05:00

Hat tip to my aunt..

Best Bumper Stickers for 2008

1) When Bush Took Office, Gas Was $1.46
2) 1/20/09: End of an Error
3) That's OK, I Wasn't Using My Civil Liberties Anyway
4) Let's Fix Democracy in THIS COUNTRY First
5) If You Want a Nation Ruled By Religion, Move to Iran
6) George Bush: Like a Rock. Only Dumber
7) You Can't Be Pro-War And Pro-Life At The Same Time
8) If You Can Read This, You're Not the President
9) Hey, Bush Supporters: Embarrassed Yet?
10) George Bush: Creating the Terrorists Our Kids Will Have to Fight
11) Already smarter than George Bush! (On a baby's t-shirt)
12) America : One Nation, Under Surveillance
13) They Call Him "W" So He Can Spell It
14) Cheney/Satan '08
15) Jail to the Chief
16) No, Seriously, Why Did We Invade?
17) Bush: God's Way of Proving Intelligent Design is Full Of Crap
18) Bad president! No Banana.
19) We Need a President Who's Fluent In At Least One Language
20) We're Making Enemies Faster Than We Can Kill Them
21) Is It Vietnam Yet?
22) Bush Doesn't Care About White People Either!
23) Where Are We Going? And Why Are We In This Handbasket?
24) You Elected Him. You Deserve Him.
25) Impeachment: It's Not Just for Sex Anymore
26) The Republican Party: Our Bridge to the 11th Century.

random stuff

2008-01-22T12:33:00.000-05:00

It's snowing again, whee! It's difficult to enjoy snow when you're living in cities like DC and New York. You really appreciate nature again - blankets of snow on the ground as well as the valley, and tree branches covered in snow.

One year from today - Hillary or Barack residing at the White House (If Republican again, I accept McCain.. grudgingly..)

Ten years ago last Saturday - I was unaware of Monicagate because I wasn't following the news for two days. I called the White House to inquire after information about interning there. I couldn't understand why the woman on the other line was so confused with my interest (they did send me an application package) . Once I got home with take out dinner - I turned on the TV. Boy, was I mortified. Ten years sure flew by.. the other night, Dad and I caught "Primary Colors" on cable. It just occurred to me to think about "War Room" - good way to see how the campaign works and boundaries a human being with or without a conscience can do.

my rant today - why, WHY was the federal rate cut again?! this time, three-quarters a very deep cut. Bernanke is a slap happy cutter - and our money is much more worthless. Sooner or later, we'd end up like Argentina.

Settling in...

2008-01-17T14:51:00.000-05:00

I'm at the Schoharie Library enjoying its hotspot. My wi-fi doesn't work at home and for a change, the library is a pleasant setting. Perhaps because it is smaller and more quieter than a NY public library and the location is a converted house. Each room and hall is filled with books, magazines, some and reference local and faraway; and upstairs - a community meeting room and two rooms filled with historical artifacts of the house. Furniture, paintings, old style wall papering and stencilling adjourned the rooms and some lovely wood moldings.

While my laptop caught up on its virus check I read an older edition of a Nancy Drew book (a black woman was described as 'colored') but fret not as there's plenty of literature in current print. Far as I can see, I mean. There's a Thursday Next pre-sequel hard cover, published last fall. I know of it because I bought a copy around then. So there's hope for me and this library.

Hopefully I'll utilize this library several times a week so I won't go insane being confined to the house studying and reading school materials. That was the mistake I made last semester in NYC - basically staying in my apartment and not going out for days, unless I needed to restock the kitchen of food.

I've been walking around my home town on a nearly daily basis, becoming familiar with it again. It's not the same without a bike back when I was a kid. My house is located in central part of the village with access to Stewarts, schools, and a couple bars. The post office had moved to northern part of the village almost close to the village boundaries so It's almost a mile and a half round trip. I needed a set of stamps because I couldn't find the ones I'd packed and walking is a better excuse than going through my parents' stuff looking for stamps. It was snowing when I walked so it was rather pleasant, but much to my irritation the desk was closed for lunch hour and it was only 20 minutes into. There wasn't even a stamp vendor machine like the ones back in NYC. I wasn't keen on standing between walls of post boxes for the next 40 minutes and the neighborhood consisted of houses, a shut down ice cream place (it just occurred to me now that a diner is located couple doors down) and a sort of garden mill and tractor store place.

I returned the next day in the morning and got a full book of stamps. Some more adjusting to do but I'm in a relatively good shape except for some food withdrawal such as sushi. Hopefully will go to the city this weekend and grab a plate.

Living out of the city now

2008-01-03T15:27:00.001-05:00

I've been here upstate since Monday evening - it hasn't hit me yet that I've actually moved back into my parents'. I think it'll sink in once I receive an annoyed e-mail from my old property manager about the state of the apartment I left it in.

A bit of the trip down the memory lane - I cleaned out part of my closet so I can make room for a temporary storage closet, found quite some stuff I'd stuffed in there over the years: a Kirk Cameron poster couple years before he became born-again, a "fashionable" pair of puffy blue boots with wedge heels (must be when I was 13?), a box full of Baby Sitters Club, Sweet Valley Twins and High (I sure don't miss my pre-teen years!) in mostly good condition. Same for a few stacks of Archie comics I collected as a kid. I emailed my brother seeking his advice how to dispose of them. The books, I'll donate them to the village library when I get my hands on either of my parents' cars.

Cars. That's one thing - I miss the public transportation. What qualifies as public transportation here is for senior citizens shuttling between here and few other villages.

Ed note: few days after I posted this, I paid a visit to the village library - Schoharie Free Library - and found several phamphlets on routes and schedules of public transportation for *everyone* not limited to senior citizens. Last night, my mother informed me that she read my post and we agreed that I should correct this. There's routes to towns outside Schoharie County to Schenectady and Amsterdam.

Two things to get used to around here which are good. My parents are big on routine doing this and that regularly and I'm happy to report that it's slowly rubbing off on me. And the dogs - they have to go out few times a day, so I have to go outside too. The sub-zero cold is plain awful - once I'd gotten used to having two dogs outside with me at once, instead of turns I enjoy the outside better. Five minutes is the max once the dogs start eating snow and sniffing around for the neighbor's cat.

off to finish couple chores before mom gets home..

democratic candidates for US President for people with disabilities

2007-11-28T17:38:00.000-05:00

transcript of Q & A :

http://www.aapd.com/News/election/070804comp.htm

August 13, 2007

2007-08-13T20:57:00.000-04:00

to Karl Rove: good riddance!

to Brooke Astor: rest well, Lady of New Yorkers

my first-ever presentation at WFD

2007-08-12T20:36:00.000-04:00

It was like a wedding - six or seven months in preparation on top of the 24/7 job, the winter blahs. I had all the research together from back in 2002 from my master's dissertation but needed to add the new information about the new UN Convention on the Rights of Disabled Persons (2007). It was no fun cramming a 50 page dissertation into a 10 minute 17 slide lecture. I basically decided to keep it along the message of empowering deaf people and those with disabilities worldwide by recommending current national legislation include rights to education and job training, acknowledgement of sign language and so on, or include them in a developing legislation.

I finally polished my slide with help of Debra the day before and had it downloaded into the central computer. Should be smooth sailing, no?

Some lessons learned - my bit of arrogance that things will go fine no matter how many times I'd run this through my head. I'd been knocked down by a virus laying dormant in my throat that would reappear no thanks to an uncomfortable overseas flight from New York to Madrid so I was pretty much flat on my ass and a nervous wreck for three days before my presentation. I didn't time myself on the slides - I'd done one too many tours and presentations at the MET between 45 minutes and one hour.

Seems the lady who ran this particular commission that I'm part of, her clock was several minutes ahead of mine, so I started late and ended on the dot by a hair. There was confusion between myself and the interpreters since we communicated through the commission. Quite a few minutes were spent on myself and the terps wrangling out the correct way to communicate. I relinquished control of my slides (gave it to the lady) and had to stand for the camera for international signing because there wasn't an ASL interpreter for me. So I did my best in my very bad and rusty international sign.

It didn't hit me until later that the previous WFD in Montreal used American Sign Language and Quebec Sign Language because the deaf Canadians used ASL. the Spanish used only Spanish sign language. the official spoken and written language were Spanish and English, like the French and English in Montreal. D'oh!

I was halfway through my presentation until this lady, told me time is up and tapped her watch. I pleaded for more time to finish, but she continued with her frozen smile and tapping on her watch. I'm like OK, OK, go on to the last slide. She refused. I'm like, go to the goddamn fucking last slide so I can wrap up. She refused. God. I went ahead and wrapped it best as I could.

Do practice time with slides.
Do plan to have an ASL interpreter if you did not make time to rehearse in International Sign
Get a remote control for slides.

NYC subway boo-hoo

2007-08-09T18:53:00.000-04:00

The Spitzernator put in a request to review why heavy rain crippled the transit system throughout the tri state area, especially the greater NYC.

check the trash - all that fucking trash people toss into the tracks and streets (the rain would wash down the garbage into a curb drain - not a pretty sight) further clogging up and jamming the pumps.

most of the train systems are 100 years old or younger. it's a 24 hour 7 days a week operation and the city itself, especially Midtown and downtown would have a hissy fit if some lines were suspended during the week for repairs for days at a time. partial line suspensions are usually reserved to poorer neighborhoods for a length of time. That's a different topic.

Trippy experience, yesterday, that. It took me an hour and half to get to work from Columbus Circle to the Lower East Side - the buses were packed like sardines, overloaded with passengers. I wish I had my camera with me because for a good hour from Midtown, the buses were full of people from the front to the back including the no-no areas, next to the driver and standing on the steps by both the entrance and exit doors. The lucky folks crammed in the stairway by the doors - some had slightly apprehensive expressions on their faces like the doors would suddenly fling open. I gave up on 9th avenue and Broadway bus routes, and walked across 57th or 58th, past Madison and Lexington until I was able to get inside the m15 on 2nd Avenue. I suspected the m15 would be reliable because it has the most buses on a route in the city with the lack of subway lines on the eastern side of the island. Some bus routes I tried to board - I gave up the politeness immediately. There are actually some nice things about people, but I guess when you're hot and thinking how many hours you'd lose at work, being polite is the last thing on your mind. I kindly opened the exit door to help people out, the next thing I knew, more people crammed inside without a glance at me. Jeez!

I was lucky to board a less crowded bus with a fully functioning A/C. Some buses I'd seen, people were fanning themselves.

Probably the most suckiest thing had to happen to one of my staff. He chanced with one of the trains, but it suddenly stopped at the West 4th stop. The doors didn't open and people were trapped inside for a good hour. He and some people pulled on the emergency cord several times and no response. Finally, an off duty worker came by and unlocked the doors - people verbally abused him "what the fuck was that?" "fuck you!" "what happened?" the worker replied ignorance and returned some fuck yous back at the newly released pissed off crowd. Lucky the A/C was on and running - if it wasn't, that'd be one and very angry mob for an asshole worker to contend with.

I love New York.

Dr Paddy Ladd's lecture in Madrid

2007-07-31T22:42:00.001-04:00

In Madrid, Spain where the 15th Congress of WFD was held, Paddy Ladd gave a lecture after Yerker Andersson and Kim Robinson gave theirs on Sign Languages as a Human Right. "Cultural Rights and Sign Language Peoples". The abstract of the paper as printed in the WFD convention book:

"Although Deaf communities have started to fight for their inguistic rights, there has been very little consideration of whether they have cultural rights. This is in part because the concept of Deaf culture itself is recently emerged and is not yet fully understood.... This paper examines the battles initiated by other minority cultures to achieve recognition and ownership of their cultural rights. It draws on the UNESCO Convention of the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions 2005 to illustrate how Sign Language Peoples may fight to protect and preserve their cultural heritage, including their Deaf schools, and illustrates how the recent UN Charter of Rights of Persons with Disabilities, being focused on mainstreaming/inclusion, does not offer such protection."

Paddy spoke about current trends like tribal tattoos (I'm guilty) as an example of how people graft other cultural identity onto their own, the ongoing spread of globalization and capitalism, people losing cultures and others gaining for right and wrong reasons. Few days ago, Ridor posted Maureen Klusza's cartoon strip of a deaf baby not signing and a hearing baby using signs. Whew. I didn't realize how easy it is to borrow others'.

Don Mackay, UN Ambassador to New Zealand, one of the UN Convention's architects, at WFD's invitation, opened the week with a plenary paper (just before Yerker and Paddy's) describing his experiences with WFD and other organizations and representatives hammering out the Convention into existence. Along with other plenary speakers including Deaf lawyers Howard Rosenblum and Alexis Kashar (who presented their analysis of the Convention and how it would or would not impact the lives of Deaf around the world) - their messages retained the same. Don't treat it as a piece of paper for protection - it must be actively embraced and supported, showing it can work or what flaws may appear.

Out of 100 countries that signed to the convention, promising to uphold it to include in their legislation or reflect their existing disability laws - US of A is not one of the 100 countries that signed to it (Quatar is number 100 as of July 18). The British with its disability law already in effect since mid to late 1990s signed to it.

Phlegmy July

2007-07-29T08:23:00.000-04:00

*SNIFF*strangledcough*hack*COUGH!*

basically the story of my life right now. I'm trying to focus on getting better, forcing myself to worry less about work - and take care of myself and my apartment more. I went to Brein's wedding in Connecticut yesterday- despite being sick, I'm glad I went. Saw fellow MSSDers - 10-12 years after graduation I see them chasing their toddlers around the reception room, ensuring they navigate the staircases properly. You know how it is with little ones needing to scale them big and many steps.

I recently acquired a new and efficient assistant manager at work, after 5 months of holding down the fort on my own and informal help. Once the dynamics settled in, responsibilities shifted around - a small insignificant sore throat showed up. Before I knew it, my body told me "it's time!" so I've been walking sick since mid-june... faded in and out at work, shuffled through WFD in Madrid, and now back in town.. I'm now down to basic hay fever - nonstop sneezing in mornings and boxes of tissues ready to mop me up.

I want August to be a proper summer for me - I've yet to hit the beach, swimming even. Maybe rent a bike or kayak one day if I actually wrap my head around it. There's a rental few blocks from where I live - so that will be a tough one for me.

Harry Potter - finished the book. Won't say anything right now but I need to say the epilogue, is uh.. okay. well. the movie (order of phoenix) : kickass! Debra and I saw it in Madrid with Spanish subtitles - she knew enough Spanish to translate some significant points and I read the book loads of times to let her know of certain characters and situations. Very fun - I highly recommend the activity!

WFD - not bad, I wish I wasn't so sick to absorb it more.. the next WFD Congress for 2011 will be in Durban, South Africa. Even though it's white man's country in the African continent but first time the Congress been held outside the rich countries.

Bush II and his minions - just when you know their actions can't possibly be worse... this time it's the data mining of voters to weed out potential terrorists. Sure, other administrations have done the same at different points of history - I wish the US Government could retain the memory and mindset of the Bene Gesserit.

My jade tree - I bought the plant when it was a wee one sometime last fall or winter. It's not grown much and I did move it into a bigger pot in the spring. Few days ago, I finally moved it outside on the fire escape and boy did it perk up. The sunlight is pretty poor in the apartment - and the frosted windows doesn't help and not to mention recent gentrification in my neighborhood further reducing the sunlight.

I've a photo crisis - I took over 100 pictures in Spain and I wasn't paying attention and downloaded into a program which it's locked in. I can't move them out, duplicate them in a different folder. I tried to burn a few in the CD and it won't even come off the CD. Argh! I might have to make a new account with that program (adobe pictures) so I can share them at least. Then I'll delete that damned thing. Be careful when you're updating your adobe program and a separate program will sneak in. *sigh*

Will post info about my trip to Madrid and WFD shortly now that I'm finally on the mend and dealing with hay fever only.

ta

vay-cay-shun 2007, Part One

2007-05-08T21:16:00.000-04:00

I couldn't wait until Madrid in July so I took some time off to treat myself. I hadn't visited my hometown since Christmas so I split my vacation into two parts: two days upstate, one night in NYC before flying out to L.A. the next morning. It basically took me four days to completely unwind that I was actually on vacation without the pager as my umbilical cord to work. It was the morning, Tuesday, I think when I caught some Magnum PI or I Love Lucy on television with Alexa, whom I stayed with for the first part of my LA stay. I enjoyed the last two remaining days much as possible, even missing my flight because I dawdled at the airport and missed it by mere moments.

I took the Amtrak upstate and I made sure to take the primary seats on the right side, with the view of the Hudson River for the next two hours. The last half hour off, the train tracks would veer more inland approaching Albany. I was fortunate to catch the sunset over the river which was dazzling. I'd been in the city way too long to remember what the wide open sky looked like and things not moving. When I looked at the clouds I spaced out a bit imaging what shapes and forms they took. The Catskills and Hudson Valley looked like home to me since I grew up around Schoharie and Mohawk valleys. There was no food on the train so I texted my dad asking him to pick up some McDonald's. yeah, yeah, McDonald's but Albany being Albany and I don't know the town well for some late night munchies. I wasn't sure if I could last a further 45 minute trip on the car without food. Cheeseburger, fries, and milkshake never tasted so good!

The next day, Mom and I drove to Syracuse for a bit of genealogy research on my dad's side of the family, the first ones from Ireland to settle in the state. The first generation continues to elude my mother since no concrete information between 1850 and 1870s. We did do some elimination on other members to narrow down the right relatives and wrong ones following what information and family line my mom had on her research (15+ years worth). We had some lunch and beer at a local pub then headed back home. I took a leisurely nap and watched "The Queen" with my parents.

The next morning, mom and I went up to Saratoga area to see my grandparents who live in their "camp", built by my great-grandfather (see how proud I am of my family?). They had a Nor'easter (that monster rain storm, remember?) several weeks back and I was saddened to see some of the trees which I climbed as a kid, to be very brittle or split apart in some places. Quite a number of fallen branches for my grandfather and uncle to cut for firewood. We had a snack (my grandmother made chocolate cookie pie - yummy) by the window facing part of their yard that is full of bird feeders and some grub for my grandfather's beloved chipmunks. My grandfather (a spry 90 something) was grousing about a rat invading their yard. Sure enough, I saw it. Compared to rats I see in NYC - it appeared to be smaller, plump with a glossy fur even! the rat chased the chipmunk away from his grub and my grandfather was muttering that he would shoot it (with his BB gun). I haven't inquired whatever happened to it, but I'm sure it's gone by now.

Later in the day, my younger brother came in for several hours to do laundry and hang out for a bit. He drove me to Albany to drop me off at the train station. We took in some dinner before that - a great sushi place with some decent sake, chatted some more. Before we left, my brother went to the bathroom - he returned, marveled at the hair gel and body spray stash in there. I checked the ladies room. Tampons. That's all.

The train ride was uneventful and I arrived back to the city to pack for the 2nd part of my vacation - to LA. The clothes I packed was barely warm enough - LA for the WHOLE week was in 60s and 70s. God. I was pissed off about it but hey, I got over it.

I took a direct flight to Burbank (good ol' jetBlue) and I was too jet-lagged to figure out the bus and train system to LA from the airport. Even Ireland with many villages in the sticks had better transport! But then, LA is mobile by car. That's me in the picture waiting for the Metrolink train by the airport until I found the schedule - the next train into LA wasn't due for another two or three hours. Fuck that shit. I had already changed my clothes, already hot from walking with my rucksack on my back. I sucked it in and took a cab to Culver City where Deafwest's "Sleeping Beauty Awakes" was showing on stage.

After a scenic ride in the cab on one of LA's freeways (don't ask me which one), some food at a Thai place across from the theatre, I was finally able to do one of the major things I flew to LA for: see Alexa as Beauty in the play. The production featured Deaf talents other than Alexa, Deanne Bray (as the sleep disorder clinic director/the Bad Fairy - very delicious!), Troy Kostur as the accidentprone sleepwalker/Prince Charming - performed with his usual flavor of antics and overbearing charm, and Russell Havard who's currently the It actor, a very versatile performer - the gardener's son/orderly. The play, a modern twist to Sleeping Beauty happening in two different time period - Beauty going back and forth to her castle and a sleeping disorder clinic. Very charming play and I'm a sucker for fairy-tales-with-a-twist.

The next morning I was able to catch up a bit with Alexa on her day off once we'd gotten some sleep. Actually I got up earlier due to the time difference and since her boarder has a small patio in the courtyard, I fancied a cereal outside with a book to read. I found myself locked out but fortunately it wasn't too chilly and I had my pager. I paged Alexa letting her know where I was. Half hour later she let me in with a grin on her face.

We had some lunch at the Grove nearby and wandered in the World Market store - so many fun and quality stuff at cheap prices. We then met up with my high school friend's husband who entertained us while she was at work. Dave is something of a local historian - he drove us around parts of the city - Sunset Bvld, West Hollywood, Century City, Beverly Hills, Wilshire Drive, a street name I forget an equivalent to NYC's 5th Avenue. His knowledge is so vast that I even quizzed him about a mansion that Ed Murphy made himself home in in "Beverly Hills Cop" as Axel Foley. I did it out of jest and boy was I surprised when Dave replied in detail about what happened to the house after the filming wrapped (for inquiring minds, some guy bought it , painted it in such gaudy colors that neighbors complained. He ended up selling it some time later. Recently it was torn down and a new school or something is being built in its place) and he EVEN DROVE ME to where the house was at. We stopped at the Chinese Kodak Theatre and saw the cement hand and footprints, a cigar print (George Burns) and a partial face print (Jimmy Stewart, I think). I saw my birthplace celebrity - Kirk Douglas from Amsterdam, NY - his prints. Too bad that I didn't bring my camera - I must've been so relaxed, not thinking to take my camera anyplace. I think Dave took a few of me and Alexa wandering around on the cement. We felt like we were desecrating it by walking on sacred ground. I think Bette Davis hand print size matched my hands. I had tried it when Alexa and Dave remarked how small prints Bette had. Either she's tall with small hands or feet or is small in proportion like me. We walked part of the famed Hollywood Walk with stars stretching for blocks and blocks. We even found a new star for Forrest Whitaker (who won an Oscar for his portrayal as Idi Amin in "King of Scotland") but someone misspelled his name as "forest". eegads.

Alexa went home to rest up for the performance that was to happen the next morning, so Dave and I met up with his wife Tiffany, an old classmate of mine. I'd only seen her once since we graduated in 1999. She works as a lawyer now, we compared our profession working with deaf clients of varying background and education. We did plenty of catching up and she is her same old feisty-eye rolling self.

The next day, Alexa went back to work and I vegged out in front of the TV. I momentarily lost interest in the book I was reading and watched CNN for 2 or 3 hours. It's the first time I watched it with full attention for more than 15 minutes in a year or so. I try to read about the real world in magazines such as "In Touch" and "the Economist" but I guess images sums up more. Alexa returned and we bummed about, more catching up before I was handed over to Ty for the next two days. Before we went to his apartment in the valley, he drove up Mulholland drive and Laurel Canyon. He particularly enjoyed driving up and down the drive with quite a few hairpin turns in quick successions. Ty showed me the view of LA from mulholland drive ( i think?) . The vast expanse of LA at night from our viewpoint - he explained that's only the 1/4 of LA we looked at. Golly!

Ty works at CSUN so I explored the campus while he taught a class. The trip to LA consisted a lot of Firsts for me - seeing the city, and later I would see the pacific beach side of the States. Nice and expansive campus with tall palm trees swaying around. I found a small building that hosted National Center on Deafness. I spoke to a couple folks there who explained to me about services they offer to deaf students and those with hearing loss.

Ty and I met up with Alexa and Allen, another old face for me in Santa Monica. Very lovely beach and we hit a pizza joint and later, a bar. We did a lot of catching up since I hadn't seen Allen in years - only once since our theatre camp in '97, Allen hadn't seen Alexa and Ty in quite a while, same for Alexa and Ty together, as you can imagine a happy little reunion and toasting we made. On the way to the pizza place, we visited the beach, rolled up our pant legs and waded in. I saw my first ocean sunset (after years of watching sunrises over eastern beaches). Once the sun sunk in behind the mountains up the beach (Allen told me that was NOT a proper beach sunset since it didn't go into the water - ok, allen - still good enough for me!).

Before I caught my flight back to New York, Ty and I went to Whole Food Market for some grub and I was floored. Compared to New York's huge and sleek whole food market with people specially hired to control the long lines to cash registers - the Whole Food Market appeared as a small and ordinary health food grocery store. Another culture shock to contend with. Ty pointed out that WFM originated in Hollywood years ago.

Ty dropped me off at the airport with plenty of time to spare - I checked in my rucksack and took my time finishing my breakfast. From the outside, the airport appeared to be on a small side and I'd been long accustomed to terminal gates arranged in small clusters. Well that terminal appeared to be miles long and my flight was due to leave at 10:40 am. I arrived to the gate at 10:35 and they'd already closed up the plane for take off. Damn. Fortunately, the next flight to New York would be in several hours and some seats available.

However, the next flight left late (why didn't it happen to my original flight?!) and an hour later or so, I felt the plane beginning to descend. I found out from a passenger that we were stopping at Salt Lake City to refuel (huh?) for about 30-40 minutes. He assured me that we will continue our flight to New York.

I was blessed with a good window and I was able to see the foothills of the Rockies and the Great Salt Lake - another first for me and very lovely. Eventually we continued the flight to NYC. The longer we travelled, the more I became convinced I'd never see the end of the flight off this cramped coach seat. I lost interest in my reading materials and flipped through 36 channels on my small direct tv. No captions. something to address the airline with no matter how small the caption text would be.

I finally got home at 1am - I don't take cabs into city from JFK and I'd forgotten that the E train goes on local track instead of express after midnight. I didn't mind all these transport woes as I was still on vacation mode, squeezing out every last moment.

Next - Madrid in July!

The Collective

2007-02-13T20:25:00.000-05:00

"Not Deaf Enough" eclipsed JFK's actual [poor] qualities as a leader. I'm a bit biased, being a MSSD alum myself, watching her take apart the MSSD Performing Arts program my freshman year at Gallaudet. The other actors and I did the democratic way, sending letters and petitions to her office stating why the program shouldn't be shut down (performing arts brings schools together in festivals, and the Road Show travelled around the country and overseas, exposing the school to potential students. I found out about MSSD on "The Mickey Mouse Show" when it featured Alex Jones, a youthful talent to tap into).

JKF is one of the many individuals contributing to the diversity of the deaf community. She's a deaf lady with an Oral upbringing, a professional who works at a University, is married to a retired college professor who is hearing although more adept in ASL than her (I had him for Communication Arts - I got a C-plus but I didn't appreciate the art of giving presentation as I do now. Despite my poor participation in class, I liked him and he was one of the few hearing professors on campus who didn't use sim-com, used ASL all the way) . Who knows the true character of JFK? She might be as misunderstood as Al Gore who was very wooden and came off as awkward. I remember some time after 2000 elections, Gore, not involved in politics for first time in many years let it all loose when he hosted "Saturday Night Live". He was fucking hilarious. I recently saw his documentary, "The Inconvenient Truth" - he was wonderful and in tune.

I'm not saying JKF would be like Al Gore, but there are people who were working in wrong places, thrust into the spotlight at wrong times. I remember and know a number of deaf and Deaf folks taken down by their peers for their intelligence and and approach to ideas. Many cultures and minorities have their own people, but we're often put under the microscope and patronized by the hearing media. It's often over the old, tired, and ongoing debate of oralism versus manual, ASL and SEE/English, the best way to educate deaf children.

What I'm rambling at.. there have been countless blogs and vlogs and essays popping all over the place analyzing, dissecting, deconstructing, and put back into rather messy places what it means to be d/Deaf, audiologically, culturally... I didn't read many blogs because I was overwhelmed where to start so I only limited myself to my old friend Ridor, deafdc.com, and some others..I recently discovered DeafRead.com and it's great, linking to even more blogs.. I think the current topic is vlogs, what is ASL to English translation/transcribing... Poor Paddy Ladd's British based Deafhood got dragged into the Who/what's Deaf fight. Much as I'd love to brag about my stunted abnormal intelligence to read his academic book... it's all about the British school systems and I'd be totally lost and end up focusing on deciphering what the Brits schools are and lose sight of what he's getting at about his Deafhood theory. THEN I'd have to read the book all over again to get the grasp where the British Deafhood derives from. Whew!

At one of the recent DPHH outings, I had a conversation with a young woman.. somehow it went to our identity as deaf woman working as professional in mainly dominant hearing workplaces. I identified myself as a small case "d" deaf because my SEE upbringing was pounded into my head that I allowed it, believing that ASL was a form of "broken english", that my ASL is accented with SEE. I still sign "Ly" for suddenly, and reverse "Ing" for coming. I still have a habit of using some voice when I'm around some hearing colleagues. She then asked me something (I'd had a few drinks already) like "what is your actual deafness according to your audiogram"? I don't remember the last time I thought about my audiogram results.

If I apply my audiogram results to right now, I'd be wearing hearing aids in both ears and limited to speaking with people from Albany area because I'm trained to understand their accents and they can understand me, cos I'm trained to speak like them. So with those capacities, I'd have to limit myself living and working in Albany. I'm not interested in taking speech therapy in other cities to acquire an accent and learn to understand theirs. When I lived in Limerick a bog city of Ireland, their Irish brogue put me at loss, so I spent 9 months communicating with my hearing classmates via paper and pen. Once or twice a month I met up with the Irish deaf using my limited ISL to have a semblance of deaf life.

Washington DC, a Southern city, the hearing folks couldn't understand me yet strangely the Irish (I tested them through and through, then decided they weren't bullshitting me) understood me well enough for me to give presentations in class. Go figure.

Every few years, less more than I was in my early 20s I agonize less over myself, in terms of the hearing world, being deaf living and working in the mainstream hearing society. I'm definitely functional in deaf world and spend little time in hearing world not including my family. My parents, sister and brother are something are different, not relevant, where I come from, so I am not including nor excluding them.

I'm an educated deaf woman from an educated hearing family. I've been mainstreamed in public schools, finished out high school at MSSD, got a BA from Gallaudet, and a MA from an Irish university. Both deaf and hearing Irish thought I was mad to pursue a MA there. I participate in and contribute to the Deaf Community here in New York.

I like the idea of collectivism, almost Utopian. I don't know about deaf/Deaf culture in other places but we are still splintered as a deaf community, being picked apart and in most cases true intentions misconstrued or patronized. Wer'e Americans, insisting on being heard and at the same time, putting others down. Many of us aren't taught in critical thinking skills.

There's so much more to say.. but it's already a long post and more time to blog later on.

polar bears and shrinking ice bases

2007-02-04T22:27:00.000-05:00

In recent months, when Bush II conceded to the loss of Republican hold in both houses of Congress.. the government finally paid notice to the environment woes. Bush bowed to pressure and started supporting proposals alternative energy sources, especially ethanol. When the Bush administration refused to recognize the Kyoto agreements, many U.S. states began taking it in their hands.. the northeast states agreed to sell off their emission caps to other states or industries (something I don't know too much of. Some European countries let go of them altogether). California with the Governator decided to sue the industries that ruined their air quality.

New York Times did an article about the shrinking Greenland. I think the last 15-20 years, Greenland's been re-mapped practically every year. With the ice shelves retreating and melting, there are new streams and some land to map in. The Democrats did an investigation as promised by House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, and the scientific panel supported evidence that we're basically in deep shit with the green house gases trapped in our atmosphere.

It's probably because I'm tuning into them now.. I recently saw Al Gore's documentary "The Inconvenient Truth" and a movie, "Children of Men". It's eerie about timing and materials you choose to look at. Some people were talking about the "truth" saying how good it was and I'm like, "ok that's nice, whatever"... til Meri said, "it scared the shit out of me". I know her input based on some convos we've had about the environment. So, I moved the movie top of my Netflix list, watched it and was actually creeped out. The first half spoke about the hard and raw data supporting natural disasters and using current data made some projections for the near future. I'm not going to say much about it for those who haven't seen it. Joe said it isn't dramatic enough and many say it's neutral but I have to say it's *slightly* biased.

Last Wednesday, a friend and I saw "Children of Men" a movie with Clive Owen, a yummy Brit import with Julianne Moore. The book by PD James was written in the mid 80s about the world in 2030's. The environment sucks, the sky has a tint of yellow and grey, and the ground looks parched. The movie added our current elements; terrorism, immigration, and a police state. The main focus of the movie is, the women have gone infertile evidently as a result of environment pollutants (think DDT and laptops that's sitting right on top of my hips) . The youngest person who is 16 or something has died and people are in mourning about it. The movie was totally bizarre to take in but once you chew on it with your companion it makes sense.

I'm not sure how to conclude this... food shopping at Trader Joe's and Whole Food Market may not send a political and economic message since organic farming does take up more energy and land (The Economist from December I think). Maybe some lessons in growing plants and how to skin a bear might help.

Harry Potter (again)

2007-02-04T20:53:00.000-05:00

This summer ought to be exciting: Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix film released on July 13; and the last last book, number 7 of the series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on July 21.

You hear and read all the crazy rumors of what will happen in Book Seven, but this one is quite a whopper. According to JK Rowling's official website, her family friend's theory got warped and she sought out to correct it. I don't recall the original theory, but the version of theory that's out there is: Harry Potter and Voldemort (oops I said his name - soon there'll be a Dark Mark hanging over my apartment building) will become one, into an entity, command both good and evil forces. JK said Harry will NOT be willing to command Dementors, the Inferi, and the Death Eaters. Remember, Harry told Grimegour (can't remember how to spell it) who became the new Prime Minister of Magic in the Sixth Book, that he's "Dumbledore's man through and through". Let's see about it.

This is an exercise before I do another post shortly... I'm fighting fatigue and sinus infection. My mind's still going at 101 miles per hour while my body is going one mile per day. Watching "Rome" now. ta

Representative Ellison from Minnesota

2007-01-20T15:36:00.000-05:00

African American and Muslim is sworn in using a Qur'an.. very good article via Al Jazeera.

hmmm....

2007-01-15T17:33:00.000-05:00

new title of HP7!

2006-12-21T18:58:00.000-05:00

"Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows"

Brilliant Traces

2006-12-21T12:46:00.000-05:00

Raimound did a very extensive review of the play, so that doesn't leave much room to say much. My observations on top of this:

Anne Tomasetti and Aaron Kubey did an amazing job portraying their characters in the play. Frank Dattalo is a very efficient director, allowing Anne and Aaron's training and experience shine through while keeping them reined in his vision of how the play is presented on stage. Voice actors on stage are very difficult to integrate with ASL actors, and Frank did it by having them wear neutral colored clothes often standing in the shadows, flitting here and there or in one place for periods of time.

It is so refreshing seeing two characters interact with each other, not a larger scale theatre production with a dozen actors. There is chemistry between Anne and Aaron, and their energy melds or bounce off one another. Their conversations are very redundant but if not for character's varying responses to other (a full fight, making out, any emotion two people stuck in a room would have, pushing the envelope to drive a point home) it would be one boring play.

One thing that totally blew me away is: clarity of sign language use. No sloppy or slippery signs. Signing slow or fast, they're always clear and it was weird to be able to follow the whole way through. I've known Aaron and Anne over the years and they use their signs well and working together on this production, that is a great collaboration. One factor may be that it's only two people and their signing styles to grow accustomed to very quickly, not a larger group with individual ASL uses.

It makes sense that it's a one act play, not two (though the play is 90 minutes long) and as a sometimes actor myself you need that one act to maintain the intense energy. If it was broken down into two acts, I can't imagine trying to hold on to it after a 15 minute breather.

One last thing I'd like to mention is, two people are dealing with internal issues. Nice.

Bravo to Frank, Anne, and Aaron!!

human beings in penguin tuxedos

2006-12-03T22:21:00.000-05:00

I saw "Happy Feet" today, and circumstances I was in - I did not see it with captions. I spent an hour and 45 minutes, figuring out my own storyline. The CGI is pretty wild an they cleverly used live action cast (i.e. aquarium).

What spooked me out the most, is the penguins, especially females (hollywood, people hollywood) had very very human traits, when it came to dance and hip hop. Some of their body structures are very human like - the leading females were very slender and had prominent bosoms and one overweight male penguin had man boobs. I'm content with penguins in Mary Poppins movie. The ones that danced with Dick Van Dyke.

In animal themed movies - the villains are usually predators such as a wolf, bear, big cats, or big snakes. In "Happy Feet" all the animals are marine ones. This time around instead of a shark, the villains were the leopard seal, a certain type of sea gull, and killer whales. It took a while getting used to the brand of villains; the leopard seal, their movements and teeth looked really menacing. The animators try to impress viewers with how real mottling penguin fur looks, the scars on killer whales (obviously from being hit by ships or boats) that's cool but one part where I totally drew the line: Elephant seals - an old one with very rheumy and leaky eyes and nose, he or she was sucking its trunk in its mouth. I guess my knowledge related to marine animals is limited. I actually recoiled from disgust.

Oh, oh. Saw a brief trailer of......... Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix *squeal*. Helena Bonham Carter looked cool as Bellatrix LeStrange and Imelda Saunton as Umbridge. *simpers*

dreaming in rural

2006-11-28T19:58:00.000-05:00

the other night, I had a dream that I somehow got stuck working at some stick in South Carolina. Don't ask me how, just one of those dreams that your friends are in different bodies and we are assigned to do some americorps style work. the place is a real time warp where people wear clothes and have hairstyles that are at least 20-25 years old. I'm not talking about trends that inspired the current H&M clothing, but people who aren't exposed to change.

I find myself that I'd committed to some project and I would have to live there for at least four years. At first I think, this won't be so bad. Then a friend tells me that stimulating cities or places are 4-5 hours drive. Then I settle for broadband internet and VP. One is needed to be set up. There's no public transportation and I don't have access to a car. Then I think I'm in rural hell with meager intellectual resources, I wake up. Living in New York City these last 4 years, I've become quite spoiled.

frost in the rural

2006-11-25T19:21:00.000-05:00

in the city with surfaces constantly warmed by the subway and cars... it's mind blowing when you see frost on windows, cars, grass... and I'd forgotten what a warm sun and cold shadows does to frost on the grass... this is the back of the house.

warm november

2006-11-12T23:27:00.000-05:00

it's been like spring here the last couple weeks. Only one night (that was DPHH night I remember) the temps dropped to 33 degrees. It's NOVEMBER for chrissakes!

Flies are driving me insane. Roommates and I've killed 5 pr 6 so far. When we think we've killed the lot, the next wave comes in. WTF? I felt better when I visited two other apartments (in two different neigbhorhoods) and found they have the same housefly problem. Hell, in the summer time when we were melting, we didn't have flies in the apartment to begin with.

Or.. maybe the houseflies are the messengers of an impending global warming climate change.. there's too many messengers to kill.

one more thing..

2006-11-08T09:32:00.000-05:00

I sent an email to Sci-Fi. The closed-captions on Battlestar Galactica's been wonky the last two episodes. I did my part, so there.

Battlestar is very very post 9/11 but it got better after the insurgent activities on New Caprica. Everyone's back on the battleship - Starbuck cut off her hair and Lee Adama has his lovely body back. Tigh and Starbuck are understandably angry that they were stuck on New Caprica (actually they made the choice to move there) being part of the insurgent movement against their Cylon rulers while the others on Battlestar lingered around and used a Cylon sleeper Sharon to rescue them.

The "skinjobs" do have flaws. tsk.

note from a passive voter

2006-11-08T09:10:00.000-05:00

I didn't vote yesterday - a first in a few years. I had faith that other voters would come out and do the right stuff. that they did - see, I'm relying on news reports instead of actual research cos I have no effing time. Hillary's still our Junior Senator and Spitzer the Corporate Basher is now our Governor. South Dakota, Oregon, and California voted not to restrict abortion laws that would've banned it altogether. Very close margins, whew.

Nancy Pelosi from California is the majority speaker of House of Representatives I believe. A few years back when she was briefly majority leader, she was just, well, strange. I'll follow up with her.

12 years after Newt's Revolution, the House is back in balance. See-see about Senate. This time around, the democrats better grow a backbone and stand up to Bush II. Russ Feingold from Wisconsin is probably the only politician to stick to the principles and not waver to popular wave. I like Hillary but she got to stop using her husband's tactics to go centre-right. Everyone is doing it nowadays. The more you muddle the more confused the others are.

Virginia and Montana, hurry up with the vote count.

It's nice - after four years, things on the political horizon look hopeful and not so... depressingly narrow minded.

One comment on international news: Saddam is sentenced to hang. Yes, he was one cruel leader who did terrible things to his people and enemies but would the death sentence improve the sectarian strife in Iraq? He'd be a martyr - better let him wear black and white striped outfit and break rocks the rest of his life.

fernie s out.

2006-10-30T08:48:00.000-05:00

I nominate.. Dr Glenn Anderson

The MSSD gate, the ninth in hell for JKF and IKJ?

2006-10-27T23:16:00.000-04:00

This is really spiraling out of control, the IJK/JKF handle on working with the protestors; authorising the Physical Plant Department to dump stuff and bulldoze tents. What next - fire hoses, german sherpard dogs with their sharp teeth, or rubber bullets even? I try to be rational, thinking this cannot be possibly be worse. I hope not, because high school students witnessed this and as Ben put it at his post (DeafDC) the credibility of JKF and now, IJK are shot to hell and back.

Ridorlive.com reported students being injured - I was incredulous, doubting the news. But Ridor would not make something up like this. He would seize facts and let others know. RT would rectify if he was mistaken. He didn't and is not. Joseph Rainmound also got some collaborating stories from those at MSSD.

I'm in management and much as I despise JKF from her work with Kendall and MSSD; and Provost (after Roz as VP of Academics left with her head held high), I initially disagreed but accepted the idea that JKF will (or would?) be the ninth President. Gallaudet was already deteriorating. Let it burn into the ground and a Deaf Phoenix will rise out of the ashes. JKF is still bent on her destiny to be President because the First Deaf President Chose Her.

Being an alumni, '95 (MSSD) and '99 undergraduate, an intern and an employee; I observed some crumbling of the institution on Kendall Green, the 99 acre campus in Northeast Washington DC. The system was at work - enrollment and resources were down. Starring in 1996, the PEP and Preparatory programs, a jumpboard for those to improve/polish math and English skills to a collegiate level, were shut down. The demands were transferred to Gallaudet English and Mathematic departments. With foreign resources to work with, their priorities were turned upside down. Remedial classes increased in a collegiate environment and students, most of them bright, couldn't go on to classes with their undergraduate peers. Because they were stuck in classes that Gallaudet were not prepared for. Some gave up, or went to a local community college to catch up. It's demeaning to study in the environment because your English sucks.

Every other person were apathetic about it, preferring to keep their heads down to study or leave altogether. Some students stopped returning from LOAs because their VRs were stretched to limits and maybe no other means to return except if their credit card isn't maxed out.

As every other civilization, race, creed, walk of life, we are humans. The University was and is rife with nepotism and meritocracy. That's life and it's how the world turns and churns. But, we are not expendable. A minority within a minority. There's always different degrees of preferred communication methods but people should unite with ASL as their official language and use their preferred language (be it SimCom, pidign, SEE, Cued) as their dialects. That is the beauty of Deaf Culture. There's not enough of us to go around - in a modern age where technology opened more doors of information and opportunities for deaf people to be considered more functional in society than dependents. The current generation of hearing people overall are slightly more educated and knowledgeable about deaf culture and ASL. The American society became more mainstream after the civil rights movement in the 60s and 70s. NAD worked with Congress to pass laws to ensure deaf children, and others with mental retardation and disabilities received special education in public schools with state and federal money. In 1990, ADA was passed increasing access to higher education, giving deaf students/academic choices where they could pursue their studies.

Gallaudet is a dying Mecca of the Deaf World - the priorities are different now. States are closing or integrating schools for the deaf into other institutions. ASL is recognized as an official foreign language to be taught in schools but for political and social reasons, ASL is not thought to be a primary language for educational purposes. There's no ASL 101 - that's like no English 101 for a hearing school.

Congress has several offices and there are independent offices to investigate institutions that are federally funded, to ensure they are meeting performance levels. Instead of being creative to keep enrollment levels up, the IJK administration especially with JKF on board for pre-college programs (now known as Laurent Clerc center) and Provost, and now president-designate, they choose to face hard reality and dumb down the quality and resources to keep the federal money running. They should be accountable for their actions and decisions they made.

ASL must be recognized as a official language for deaf and hard of hearing Americans to be taught in educational settings as English is for hearing Americans. The hearing folks have their own regional dialects and vocabulary varying from state to state. We are the same, de facto. The avoidance to recognize ASL continue to stew divisions across generations. Risks must be made. Stokoe said "eureka" when he recognized language patterns in sign language deaf people used in 1950s and 60s. The hearing people and those in administrations had around 50 years to get used to the idea. Move on with the times, people.

Students and academics are way ahead in times of research and owning their rights than the people in the administration. IKJ and JKF need to go. They are the relics of the past.

The Pendulum Pit

2006-10-20T17:52:00.000-04:00

That is it. After months of hemming and hawing about the protest and JKF since springtime I've made my stance. I was recently swayed with the arrests last week and the growing momentum... Writers on Deaf DC blog made excellent points on both sides (or multifaceted sides) of this whole shebang. Then College Hall was occupied by students and supporters for an hour the other day.

I'm very loath to put JKF in the same category as Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Bill Clinton among a number of leaders who made unpopular decisions only to pay off at the end, and praised by history for actions they took. And I will not haste to put her on the same level as George Bush.

If JKF stays on and takes the post as President and her actions is similar to Bush's track (as governor in Texas and intimidation and embracing stupidity as prez) then we can make her accountable for decisions she made as President.

See you in five years.

Additional note: after reading Joseph Raimound (http://www.surdus.blogspot.com) whose input I highly value, I now sway back again and say she must go. What happened to Umbridge in the Forbidden Forest that made her shut up? Need to find our equivalent....

2006-10-14T16:29:00.000-04:00

I took the rambling thoughts off. All this is going the wrong way, how the media is handling this. More to come later.

Tim Rarus to IKJ

2006-10-14T12:27:00.000-04:00

Et tu, Brutus?

Not a perfect scene to compare to Shakespeare, but the statement definitely fits.

props from "the science of sleep"

2006-09-23T18:30:00.000-04:00

I can't begin to explain it. Friend and I discussed about seeing "The Science of Sleep", a film starring Gael Garcia Bemal that is being released this weekend. However, the languages spoken are Spanish, French, and English. Not sure how big portion of the movie is spoken in English. We decide to wait for DVD release until friend discovers this mind-blowing exhibition about props used in the film. We are going to go see the film just because it looks really trippy. The man who wrote the screenplay "A Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" Michael Gondry created another movie blurring the line between reality and dream (I think). Click on the title of post for more information on the exhibition that is currently on display at the Deitch Gallery in Soho (runs til Sept 30).

should i steal something to be in the system?

2006-09-21T11:02:00.001-04:00

I'm at a state office waiting for my fingerprinting appointment. My sixth appointment in nine months. Working in a direct care environment entails fingerprinting to protect consumers. I'm fortunate to be hired right before the merger occured with a bigger agency. The particular agency requires fingerprinting which is fine with me. Albany isn't accepting my fingerprinting results, citing "not clear prints". All staff I work with and hired have been cleared to work. Nine months in the job, there s a joke that I should rob a bank so I can get into the system so least Albany would see my fingerprints. Oy.

Erfo and I were doing a small art project few weeks ago. We swapped tales and battles to perfect a coloring technique. One thing in common is our use of fingers to blend colors with pastel chalks. We would burn our fingertips to achieve a desired effect of color/shading. Mom thinks old artists like me are a threat to security after 9/11. Far as I can tell appointments run maybe 15 mins. I run maybe 45 to 90 minutes depending on policemen s patience with the fingerprinting software. On my third appointment the policeman recognized me and said "you again?". When the software failed to approve my fingerprints - "fuck this shit" he got out the ink pad and two sheets of paper. Few weeks later I hear from human resources. Albany isn't satisfied. The fifth appointment: the same policeman nearly cried from expasteration. After two failed attempts - he was on the phone with Albany arguing my case saying "she s been here five times, man. Give her a break".. Seemingly, I was in the clear all summer thinking all is finished. Mustve been a summer hiatus for Albany - I received an email from human resources about another appointment. I gave a resigned affirmation to confirm a sixth appointment.

New policeman is staring at me with a worried face - office gossip mustve caught up with him. "It s her. She s been here five times - she must be a freak, willing her fingerprinting to shift shapes."

bon voyage, ann richards

2006-09-14T09:45:00.000-04:00

Probably the most decent politican from Texas. Adieu

few more Chihuly...

2006-09-10T19:56:00.000-04:00

Chihuly at NY Botanical Gardens

2006-09-10T19:52:00.000-04:00

2006-08-20T12:50:00.000-04:00

Happy Birthday, old friend. Hope you're having fun with Charlie.

ADA stuff for deaf folks, anybody with a hearing loss in workplaces....

2006-08-20T00:28:00.000-04:00

Bin Laden's Minions Strikes Again

2006-08-11T08:26:00.000-04:00

Or maybe they aren't his boys. In a typical terrorist organization oftentimes there's dissenting opinions of how things should be done and the dissenters and their supporters would leave and form a splinter cell or organization (think the IRA, Provisional IRA, the Real IRA) to carry out their objectives. Sod 'em all!

Living in New York City you're very aware of reactions from the police department. The conversation about the 21 men arrested in London in connection to a possible terrorist act on planes en route to New York from London filtered in and out at work and play times. It was brought up at Jen's birthday dinner last night and after hearing my staff and consumers' reactions to news all day I was sick of it. A couple hours into dinner, a friend mentioned "hey no one's mentioned what happened this morning" - naturally we knew what it was all about, not assume and reply something else. We talked about it a while and I stated generally that based on NYPD's reactions to heightened threats in other international cities the police would increase their presence in the city especially the trains, it's becoming quite commonplace. Last month or so something happened - I have to admit it's becoming quite routine that one don't bother keeping track nowadays - and Bloomsberg said any threat to a city is a threat to NYC and nothing wrong with taking precautions.

I've been living in post-9/11 New York since 2002. I got a taste of it in Ireland, the UK, and Switzerland where I was a registered Alien living in Ireland, and travelling between September 2001 and June 2002. I know someone who refused to take the train for nearly two years after 9/11. It eventually began to crimp her convenience in transportation plans so she gave up. She chose convenience over living in fear. I think it's healthy. You can always be aware, but go on with things. Things happen. The British, the Spanish, Israelis for example are accustomed to being wary of terrorist activities by the IRA, the Basque separatists and suicide bombers.

Israel is famous for superhigh security measures at airports- zero hijacking for long as anyone can remember (even in the 70s and 80s). They're used to long and slow lines, having their luggages x-rayed, taken apart and put back together, taking shoes off. They don't complain because they are in comfort knowing that precautions are being done. I feel the same way whenever there's an increased presence of NYPD and security measures in the city.

Winding Down at Night

2006-07-27T08:05:00.000-04:00

After one long and difficult day I stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of wine. Saw one that fit the mood.

"Vampire" (with a blood drop on the V) 2003, an import from Transylvania and bottled in Romania. I've had a cupful each night before bed and it definitely helps. I like to think of it reclaiming my blood lost from battles of the day. Onward!

Going Dutch with the Puritans

2006-07-24T08:34:00.000-04:00

I've finished reading "the Island". In 1664 as you all know the English wrested control of New Amsterdam, naming it New York in honor of King Charles II's brother Duke of York. Fort Orange, a successful trading post at the corner of Hudson and Mohawk Rivers is renamed Albany. New Netherlands, a formerly company town that attracted people of all trades and from parts of Europe, Africa and South America became a 'melting pot' thriving under West India Company Rule. Amsterdam was considering granting New Netherlands the actual city status with the same Dutch laws.

As a result of Anglo-Dutch trade wars (two out of three trade war between the two countries, actually), the English took over the city and renamed it New York, of course the city cannot be like the other English (and Puritan) like Hartford and Boston in areas then and now known as New England. The city's population was already active in government, people actually having impact on legislation and their invaluable skills (trading, cooking, servicing people, etc) couldn't be ignored. The English basically left the city running as it had before.

Few interesting tidbits

Cookies - derived from a Dutch word meaning shortbread was 'invented' during a grain shortage. The Director (good ol Stuy) imposed a ban on making grain so bakeries improvised and made short breads - cookies.

Boss from baas. From Europe coming out of feudalism, vassals and lords, merchantilism - social class didn't apply. You work, you work. A genuine American thing. People been bitching about their bosses since late 17th century.

District Attorney - a lawyer prosecuting on behalf of the city is as Dutch as it comes. The English liked it and continued it.

Bill of Rights - when the US Constitution were being ratified in the 13 colonies in 1780s, the legislators though English speaking, were mostly descended from the Dutch insisted that they would ratify on the condition that Bill of Rights were attached. Nice.

It's a great read though some spots were a bit dry. It's pleasing to see explanations making you react "oh so that's why". For example Wall Street originated because there was a wall fortifying the lower island from the Puritans (and yes, the Native American tribes - but the faraway ones mostly). The documents found in moldy state library in Albany is still being translated from 17th century Dutch (few scholars are proficient and modern Dutch speakers can't decipher it). Since 1970s, the rediscovery of Dutch history is slowly transforming American Colonial studies that it didn't start with the Mayflower.

Unfortunately, and not surprisingly the Puritan stamp remains - our legislative (federal) government is still deeply rooted in theocracy. The Dutch fostered tolerance of different religions and the English colonies were picky about Baptists and Lutherans. New York City is the only surviving semblance of some kind of Dutch tolerance. For example much as I'm not a fan of Bloomsberg but I have to admit he has a point about gay marriage. Though he's tolerant about same-sex marriages and if the state legislation makes gay marriage legit, he's all for it. So it's up to the state legislature and assembly to meet in Albany to hash it out. Some time ago, the court decision on gay marriage basically booted the decision back to Albany because nothing in the state constitution sanctioned same sex marriage.

And there's a Hustler club few blocks from my home on West End Highway. Lots of middle aged white men with big bellies, big cars and disposable incomes to spend. Not that much different when the first prostitute set foot in the city (her name is Griet Reyniers).

Some notes

2006-07-19T08:58:00.000-04:00

I goofed on couple things from the previous post about New Netherlands.

Dutch West Indies Company - not East.

South River became later known as Susequanna (will edit spelling later) River in PA/MD. The first director of New Netherlands who was outsed by some disagreements with some people in the city, and fled to Sweden. Years later, he headed a fleet from Sweden to found a colony - New Sweden I think in area now known as Maryland.

I feel like Cap'n Jack Sparrow.. My work hours have been long and sleep schedule bit skewed. And to factor in this heat wave. I wake up in the morning and once I get out of bed, my legs wobble independently of each other and I spew nonsense for next several hours.

Speaking of Jack Sparrow - I caught the new installment of Pirates the other night. Fan fucking tasitc.. More character indepth and lots of inane and zany stuff. 3/4 of the movie you're going like "WTF?" and giggle, and so on. I look forward to the next and last Pirates movie coming out later in the fall. Ending was great - Ooooo!

Will catch Superman at the end of this month, finally at Lincoln Center.. been ages since I was there last and would be a great rare opportunity to socialize with deafies before and after. You can count on running into old faces.

Dutch East Indies is portrayed in the movie (Pirates) as evil. Kind of like the Nazis and the Ark in the first Indy Jones movie. So I'm very interested in what they have to say in the upcoming movie.

Some Nieuw Netherlands tidbits

2006-07-08T22:22:00.000-04:00

now known as New York City.

Been alternating between two books: "The Island at the Center of the World" by Russell Shorto and "Brick Lane" by Monica Ali.

"The Island" can be bit dry in some parts but so far so good. In 1609, Henry Hudson claimed the lands around North River (now Hudson) surrounding Fort Orange and Renassaelerwyck (Albany and Renasslaer) and Manhattan. Manhattan was a company town of Dutch East Indies - people worked, lived, drank, whored.. not that much different from today, or in 1980s in fact. Lots of farming tracts and tobacco plantations in Manhattan, Long Island and Staten Island.

Interesting trivia:

Broadway - the general knowledge in NYC is that it's paved over an Indian trail.. The Custom House that currently stands on the very near south east bottom of Manhattan sits on the beginning of Broadway. It's a long meandering street from south east of the island going north-northwest direction into Washington Heights on West 190s I think. The Custom House is built over Fort Amsterdam where people hid in safety from extreme weather, the annoying upright English from New England, and some dissenting Indian tribes. National Museum of American Indian is housed in Custom House. A couple paragraphs and a foot notes describes the original Indian trail from south east:

"...the Europeans could likewise follow it north - through stands of pin oak, chestnut, poplar, and pine, part open fields strewn with wild strawberries ('the ground in the flat land near the river is covered with strawberries' one of them noted, 'which would grow so plentifully in the fields, that one can lie down and eat them'), crossing the fast brook that flowed southeast from the highlands in the area of Fifty Ninth Street and Fifth Avenue, more or less where the Plaza Hotel stands, to empty into a small bay on the East River - to hunt in the thick forest at the island's center and to fish the inlets that penetrated the eastern coast......... the Dutch widened the path that they referred to it as the Gentleman's Street, or High Street, or simply the Highway. The English, of course, called it Broadway." (pp 60)

An asterdisk for footnote indicated that "Broadway does not follow the precise course of the Indian trail, as some histories would have it. To follow the Wickquasgeck trail today, one would take Broadway north from the Customs House, jog eastward along Park Row, then follow the Bowery to Twenty Third Street from there the trail snaked up the east side of the island. It crossed westward through the top of Central Park; the paths of Broadway and the Wickquasgeck trail converge again at the top of the island. The trail continued into the Bronx; Route 9 follows it northward." (60)

Turtle Hill - the midtown east into upper east side - 50s into 70s I think, was originally named Turtle Bay due to a turtle like shape of the bay in East River. It's been long since filled in.

the Bowery, where the famous punk rock club CGBG will be closed down soon, derived from Dutch word, Bouwerie for "farm".

The Bronx, named after Jonas Bronck who owned a plantation in 1639.

Adriaen van der Donck, the first "lawman" came to the city fresh out from legal training in Amsterdam. He studied under Groitus (who is now known as "Father of International Law" many of us students in International Relations love to curse his name) and applied his legal training and his keen observation of people living in New Netherlands and Renassaelerwyck. He also lived among Mohawk and Machican communities. Because of English neglect of history of Netherlands New York, van der Donck's writings were either forgotten until unearthed recently and some portions of his work badly mistranslated in 19th century. He wrote of types of plants, soil, how white people lived and worked, their relations with all Native American tribes in the area.

Some of van der Donck's writings on Mohawk system of Representation revealed some things that Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson conveniently left out (Franklin and Jefferson were said to base the American representative government on Iroquois confederacy that Mohawk are members of) :

"(van der Donck) seemed to admire that the Indians' government was "of the popular kind," but found that it had its problems. While a whole village would gather to debate matters of importance, and a chief would work like a politician to sway the people to his preferred course of action, the democracy had an abrupt ending point. If an opponent remained obstinate eventually 'one of the younger chiefs would will jump up and in one fell swoop smash the man's skull with an axe in full view of everyone.' Van der Donck was forced to conclude that this species of popular government was 'defective' and 'lame'."

It's not all that different today using power to find scandal or shut down the government to "fell" the opponent.

Anyways on a last note of my rambling summation - I showed some of van der Donck's writings to Surdus today. Van der Donck's writing and analysis of Mohawk has a very strong anthropological theme. Kind of like an educated and observant Hearing academic ignorant of Deaf culture would write on deaf community he or she has lived in for few years, acquiring their languages.

Now I'm on the part where Amsterdam, in their desperate effort to control New Netherlands, would dispatch Peter Stuyvestant, a one pegged man who would be known to American history as a dictator of New Netherlands before the English control.

Editor's note: I mixed in with my observation from my training in government, international studies, and history with Shorto's writings. Shorto's writings are quoted. - kb

New country - 192nd Member of UN

2006-07-01T14:09:00.000-04:00

Just after my college years, I interned at National Democratic Institute for International Affairs for three months. The specialty area I worked in was Albania and Serbia for Central and Eastern Europe. I occasionally did work for Macedonia, Bosnia, Slovenia, and Romania programs.

Serbia, the remnants of Yugoslavia, grappled with autonomy wishes of Albanian speaking Kosovo region and Montenegro. I started working in the team just after the former Yugoslavian strongman Slobodan Milosevic was outsed by peaceful means in October 2000. An overwhelming number of people basically flushed Milosevic and his cronies out when he didn't honor the election results (if memory serves me). Parties and their coalitions began work in the Parliament and presidency.

Milosevic's minions harassed people at road checks, mostly expatriates working with democratic parties to attain more democratic means of local and national government. Especially going into Kosovo region and Montenegro. After I completed internship in January 2001 I continued to pay passing attention of progress made by people and governments of the former Yugoslavia.

Yugoslavia, especially Albania was part of the Turkish Ottoman empire for several hundred years just prior to the First World War. Montenegro, independent since the Middle Ages was forcibly made part of Serbia in 1919 and eventually into Yugoslavia. There was much progress in recent years and people of Montenegro elected to secede from the federation last month. United Nations welcomed its 192nd member of General Assembly - Montenegro.

I know I say the name frequently - it literally translates from "black mountains".. I'm an admirer of mountains and valleys myself.

here's a link from National Geographical site and the picture look just lovely. I wouldn't mind vacationing there for a month!

http://plasma.nationalgeographic.com/places/countries/country_montenegro.html

Oh, before I forget - World Federation of the Deaf did some work in Kosovo recently.

http://www.wfdeaf.org/news.aspx#17

Water Reservoir for New York City

2006-06-29T06:56:00.000-04:00

http://gilboadaminfo.com/

I'm from Schoharie County and I often feel comfort here in New York knowing that most of the water I drink and shower in is water from home.

If the dam busts, no fresh drinking water for NYC!!

Report from Mom in Beleaguered Upstate

2006-06-29T06:46:00.000-04:00

Gilboa Dam held yesterday and flooding has been minor, but Cobleskill Creek flooded closing to of the three roads into Cobleskill. It took me 45 minutes yesterday to get from the house to the Cobleskill office. Richmondville is flooded and had a mudslide. They were rescuing people by pontoon boat.

The Mohawk has flooded - Fonda and Canajoharie have a couple of feet of water in the streets, 170 miles of the Thruway from Schenectady to Syracuse have been closed since noon yesterday and are still closed, and I-88 is closed because of heavy water and debris on the road. Down towards Binghamton an I-88 bridge collapsed sending two tractor trailers and their drivers into the river. Schoharie and Montgomery have "no unnecessary travel" restrictions - I need to go to Amsterdam and Albany today. I can get to Albany on Route 20, but I'm not sure I can get across the Mohawk to Amsterdam. Crazy, huh? And we're getting more rain today!

Warming up

2006-06-10T23:17:00.000-04:00

wrote this on June 10.

Surdus mentioned interpreting issues in one of his recent posts including that we might as well go on the dole as we're meant to. We're too burdensome on society so would it be cheaper to live in subsidized housing and if unmarried with kids, living on $400 a month including Medicaid and Medicare benefits? Crappy and fast food are cheaper, and with health woes building up from shitty food and lack of exercise by standing around in front of building chatting... Under the thumb and stringent brackets of where you can break from welfare rolls into a proper job earning minimum wage.. OK I need to stop.

In one the posts I wrote early in 2006, I purchased the last copy of "Deaf People in Hitler's Europe" from Amazon. I've read it a little by little. It is no easy feat and not easy on the eyes. Since middle school the teachers drummed in the pros and cons of World War Two and how "history must not be repeated"... During Cold War and in recent years whatever horrible deed a government does to their people would entice cries and warnings that we must not forget! Yet we let them do it. Wheels of history continues to spin. It's easier said than done. Always. I took the course in '99 and the current edition isn't much different.. A few recent additions to the impacts on the German and Jewish Deaf communities since then. At the time of research, the Deaf survivors were few and memories even less intact. Those with efficient memories were reluctant to share.

I still haven't finished the book - like I said, not easy on the eyes. And I'm not in school and there's no classmates to have a discussion with. It'd be a year before friends and I could digest it, our busy schedule to get together. So I gave it a skim and you get the gist:

The information is pretty much the same from the course in '99. Overview of the Nazi rise to power taking advantage of German disillusionment from the first World War and feeling screwed over by Versailles treaty. Scapegoats and those impeding the path to German (or Aryan) greatness needed to be found and pointed at. The Jews, the Romas, homosexuals and the handicapped were the obvious choices. Those considered as afflictions and genetically unfit were deemed to be listed as follows: schizophrenia, manic-depressive (bipolar) disorder, epilepsy, Huntington's, and "hereditary feeblemindness. In addition, the unacceptable physical conditions and diseases were blindness, deafness, physical deformity and alcoholism. Sterilization procedures followed and eventually T-4 programs. The gas chambers from T-4 centers were moved to concentration camps in Poland and elsewhere for quicker and efficient killings.

The Nazi policies were based on US policies on sterilization of mentally retarded, for example. The Nazis took it more to the extreme than the US government did. Many scientists and doctors were willing to participate in work of sterilization, experimentations, gassing, and so on. A mass production. There are reprints of letters translated into English from German from teachers for the deaf to the Third Reich giving the student stats, and doctors reporting sterilization results of deaf teenage girls to parents.

It is now July 6 and I can't find the damn book. Hopefully I'll complete this or make a better summation some time soon.

Brain exercise

2006-06-10T22:54:00.000-04:00

Since I completed my graduate education in 2002, my brain has atrophied from lack of academic discipline. Over the years, I had an on line class here and there and doing MET lectures since 2004 keeps me on my toes. But in the long run, the MET happens every several months and due to my 60-100 work hours a week, I'm too exhausted to research. I'd be watching TV (since roomie ordered HBO I'm hooked on TV again! ack ack) or sleeping. And if I'm lucky, reading. One or two days before my MET tour, I cram on research materials I'd collected over time. I give a semi brilliant tour depending on the audience. My last lecture in May, I was so tired that I wanted to get it over with. I ended up giving one of the best tours in the last two years. Go figure.

Shopping became one of my stress relievers (again) so I'm looking fabulous and broke (including $200 I've spent on Urban Outfitters in the last two months), this is the time to use my brain and broadband that I'm paying for. I guess the kicker was on Friday I spent $50 at American Apparel a very 80s triangle bikini set that can fall apart if you pull one of the strings. So this summer will be a combo of brains and beauty in a way. In addition - I 'bumped' into someone on line. Apparently my IM screen name ended up on his buddy list so he was wondering who I was. We spent an hour and half discussing Latin American politics and US immigration. All this stuff that's been lying dormant in my head poured out. I'm like Rogue from X-Men who thrives on others intelligence when I'm all atrophied. I need exercise! I will start with getting an audit at the MET. Onward!

thunderstorm

2006-06-02T11:51:00.000-04:00

Last night's storm was the most intense I've ever seen (and been in!) here in New York. I escaped the beginning of fat drops of rain as I stepped into the train.

When I proceeded to exit the subway station some time later, I saw few very soaked people coming in. I looked up at the stairs leading outside. Good lord - the rain water was cascading down the steps like a waterfall!!! very surreal. So much for my hope of a short and freak storm.

I used my blazer as a shield but it quickly proved to be ineffective. I found shelter under a large awning attached to Time and Life Inc building and decided to wait it out. Lightning was flashing against the fog and the reflection hurt my eyes. Imagine turning your car lights into a fog on high. Out in the country I can normally hear the rolling and crashing of thunder but here in NYC it was LOUD. Normally the city would be a buffer and you don't really hear it, but damn - it was like standing next to an express train roaring past by. The rain became lighter but lightning and thunder remained intense. As I walked on west 50 I happened to look up in the sky and saw a long and gorgeous lightning bolt flash down from top to bottom. Perhaps it hit the river? The rain downpour increased and my stylish sandals from urban outfitters was soaked and hurting my feet. Now the dye is seeped into my feet and I look like I have brown bruises.

When I got off the bus ( I chased a bus, slipping in my soaked sandals) nearby home, the reflections off the fog was much worse, probably because I was very close to the river. A couple of times I thought someone was flashing a flashlight directly into my eyes but it was actually from lightning. jeez.

It's fun when you're out in the country because you know the fuse would blow and you'd enjoy the oil lamps and candles with lightning occasionally brightening the rooms.. But it's not fun in the city with all the obstacles.

Union Station

2006-05-29T10:44:00.000-04:00

When I lived in DC, I used to like to wander through Union Station in the middle of the night or around dawn when it is almost empty of tourists and some commuters. Took the pics in the day time, sorry :(

I did look for a certain homeless woman - she was large, had a bleached face with striped tattoos on her cheeks, wore dark sunglasses and a turban. She hung around the front of US and resided in one of the bathrooms. Anyone remember her? Last time I saw her was in 2001 - I think the first time I noticed her was maybe mid 90s. I didn't look very long so I either missed her or she's moved to a different place.

Capitol and the Mall

2006-05-27T22:58:00.000-04:00

There's the good ol monument. Take your interpretation :)

some new additions - the Museum of American Indian (not right name I can't recall). I planned to go, but time was short - the line was too long. Ppft. Some other time. There's also the WWII memorial - it's not as monstrous as I thought it would be but I thought it was okay.

Both my grandfathers fought in the Pacific (as every other person in my generation whose grandparent went). So bit of respect from my end. I think one of my great uncles flew a bomber over Germany.

The supreme court in the bottom: if you open the picture and read the inscription it's easy to chortle. I've read somewhere that in the past 200 odd years the courts always have been ideological siding or going against the executive branch. Nixon (or was it LBJ) and how he sneered at Warren's Court.

DeeCee

2006-05-27T22:47:00.000-04:00

I've visited DC sporadically since I left in summer of 2001. Maybe once or twice a year - usually straight into Gallaudet and out. The weather was great and I had no set agenda so I decided to "backpack" around the Capitol and into the Mall for the afternoon. My rucksack was maybe 30-40 pounds so it was quite a workout. I have an abrasion on my left hip - note to self: do not wear low rider pants and hip length shirt. The belt strap from my rucksack rubbing against my hip for almost two miles in three hours.

Since it's a pain uploading pictures with text - I'm uploading the pics in the next post..

upstate

2006-05-27T22:33:00.000-04:00

spent a few days at my childhood home. it rained the whole time and it was chilly so I spent most of the time sleeping, eating, watching TV and minding the dogs. I couldn't enjoy the backyard being it too wet. Took pictures of some of my favorite parts of the backyard: the rear view of the house, the crab apple tree (how I could spend hours as a kid throwing apples at the barn wall), the lilac trees are in bloom, the view of the backyard from the kitchen window. And there's my dad grilling the steak in the rain. It was a locally grown beef so the grill must come out. And it was delicious!

leaving greater new york

2006-05-27T22:23:00.000-04:00

at the beginning of my vacation - I met up with my parents who flew into JFK from their vacation and we were stuck on the LIE for an hour or so. When we crossed Whitestone Bridge into the Bronx, the traffic improved vastly. Took some pictures and there was rain in NYC skyline. Very cool.

Pictures of creative and thoughtful gifts

2006-05-13T22:00:00.000-04:00

My grandmother is so cool. She couldn't find something fitting for 30, so she got a card for a three year old and scribbled in the '0'. I love it!

Surdus illustrated this lovely card and the envelope that came with it "knob". I'm all verklempt!

Debra and I share a favorite author, Caleb Carr, who wrote "Alienist" and its sequel, "Angel of Darkness". He has a new one out now about Sherlock Holmes and Watson. "The Italian Secretary".
Can't wait to read it!

There are still more to come. I'm curious about Deafening Chameleon who made a picket board for BPN with a picture of us.

Thanks to all who were part of my becoming 30 - I'm truly touched!!

My 30!

2006-05-13T21:47:00.000-04:00

Had a good and hard week, professionally and personally. In the late hours of my birthday I spent it in the psych ER with a consumer. The next day, the work day calmed down considerably but plenty to wrap up before the week's end. I had a lovely dinner with some friends at a Cajun place called Delta Grill near home. Some folks backed out near the end which I didn't mind as dinner became more smaller and intimate. And I'll see those folks thus extending my birthday :). I started fading when we headed out to the bar, Perdition on 10th Avenue. More people showed up and it was a very mellow evening. The events of this week took a toll on my poor psyche and I became more preoccupied about my tour at the MET on the following day (it ended up a rousing success as I was too tired to be nervous and self-conscious.

I'm fortunate to have friends and family who are thoughtful and creative with their gifts and there are more still to come.

I got locked out *again* so the morning was pretty grim as I was so NOT dressed for work and I didn't have anything on me but laundry stuff and pager. After meeting up a roommate several blocks away, I quickly got ready for work. I noticed my roommate's dog was acting strangely and I told him to shush. He also wanted to leave when I was trying to leave for work. I was backing out the door and nearly fell on my ass on something. It was a lovely bouquet from my sister and her family. It really put a smile on my face. Thanks, Trace!

DPN - not

2006-05-05T09:00:00.000-04:00

I've been a bad alumnus - haven't really followed Gallaudet events since I graduated and eventually left DC.

IJK cruised into presidency in 1988 by good ol' fashioned civil rights and students speaking out. All expected a new era of Deaf rights. ADA was mitigated by not only the actions from DPN but from Deaf Way. IJK thanked us by giving JKF the presidency post by flawed means.

It's more of ideological culture wars as opposed to one by principle. Unfortunately with the media it appears to be more of culture wars.. I don't even know WHY JKF got this post because she has nada charmisa and her perception of how an education institution should be run is way off.

protests continue... *waiting with baited breath*

few cents here

2006-04-26T22:20:00.000-04:00

proposed immigration laws against illegals.

Haven't really kept up much in detail as of late but the good ol' WASPy white boys on the hill have it wrong again. Out of touch with the current and so far into their comforts that they've no idea what's out there or forgotten where they came from. It's astounding how folks have turned out and the march in LA a while back - someone reckoned that it's the biggest civil rights march seen since the King days in 1960s. Good for them.

History repeats itself.. "Those Who Forget the Past Are Condemned to Repeat It" by Santaya (sp)... A tempting piece of arable land with clean water and raw materials aplenty. People move in and adjust to way of life by depending on the local resources and climate. Several centuries later, give or take, a next wave of people come in and flush out the original inhabitants if neither group adapt to the other. One way or other assimilation occurs. Course, there's few pockets of resistance or preservation. Some people mix in and intermarry or keep their respective distances. US of A is long trumpeted as land of opportunity. My family's been in New York State six generations now and my parents tell me how our ancestors came here for a better life from the Irish faminine to lacking opportunties in Central Europe.

The Native Americans, Anglo Saxon Judeo-Christians, Catholics, free blacks, the Irish.. then the swarthy folks from southern Europe (Italy and Greece).. more waves of people have darker or yellowish skin color, slanty eyes, wearing ponchos.. The 'natives' dismiss them because they take worse paying jobs in poorer conditions. Immigration always always provide cheap labor that the previous wave no longer touch.

I heard about this indie film that came out few years ago.. can't recall the name but I think it's part of Tribeca film festival that's now happening in town. If one day all immigrants left or stopped in California.. 20 percent of the population, gone affecting significant number of teachers and all fruit pickers.

land and people change, fool.

Additional note: protest in Union Square today (4/29). Good for them! I'm not going because I have laundry to do and my apartment especially my bedroom begs a lot of cleaning. I work in social services with many deaf immigrants. that's my contribution to society and I need to maintain a balance for myself.

Locked out

2006-04-13T09:20:00.000-04:00

Was locked out of my apartment last night from 8p-10:35pm. I didn't realize that I forgot my keys until I was at the door digging through my Mary poppins bag. I paged and texted my roommates - they're not home til 10 30pm. I'm not going to ruin their plans. I saw it as an omen that I needed a medium between work and home. In recent nights I've been coming straight home and flop self in front of TV or go on-line. Thankfully I live in Midtown West so there are things to occupy myself with.

Went to a Mexican place - Ariba!Ariba! and had their sangria and vegetable tamales. Not bad. The place was full of yippies and folks of all ages both straight and gay, flirting, eating and drinking. I read an old issue of Economist magazine that appeared out of nowhere in my Mary poppins bag (darn no In Touch), vee-veed the scene at intervals and my waiter was cute. No complaints.

Having enough of the scene at Ariba! I hoofed it to Border's book store at Columbus Circle and browsed a bit. I haven't splurged in quite a while (maybe it's because I found out I'll get some tax money back because I paid union fees) so I settled on the last of Dune Houses sagas - House Corrino. I read House Harkonnen last month. And I also purchased "The Island at the Center of the World: the Epic Story of Dutch Manhattan and The Forgotten Colony That Shaped America". I'd been eyeing that book for months and now forced myself to get it. And Premiere Magazine with X-Men 3 on the cover. A must! I was happy to see two of the *original* X-Men brought to the screen - Archangel and the Beast. Kelsey Grammer (Fraiser?!) is the Beast. Nice surprise.

I haven't gotten around to reading Deaf People in Hitler's Europe as I knew most of the materials in the book from '99. And it's not exactly easy on the eye.

About the "Island" I've always been intrigued by the history of Dutch colony and the city. We all know about the sale of Manhattan in $24 beads and trinkets and the autocratic Governor Peter Stuyvesant. I was born in Amsterdam (upstate NY not the Netherlands), have gone to nearby cities such as Rotterdam and Rensselaer among quite a few. A region full of towns and villages named by Mohawks, German Paletines, the English and Dutch. Whenever I take the Amtrak from NYC to Albany (formerly named Fort Orange before the English takeover in 1664) alongside Hudson River I would sometimes imagine what it is like for Henry Hudson to sail up thinking he's found the NorthWest Passage to the Orient.

The writer wrote the book based on research and translation of 12,000 pages of 17th century Dutch papers that was sitting in some obscure and musty area at New York State Library in Albany.

I'll read Deaf in Hitler's Europe as Sano has been patiently waiting all these months for a review and it's a quicker read than the Island. I'm off for laundry and pedicure before the Seder.. Happy Easter and Passover. May all Chocolate Bunnies and Peeps live in fear!!!

a hopeful peek at warmer weather..

2006-03-25T15:37:00.000-05:00

Waiting for Battlestar

2006-03-21T19:47:00.000-05:00

the second season ended two weeks ago.. the third season will begin in OCTOBER later this year! 7 long months. seven long months. typically, shows at the end of the season would leave a cliffhanger, right?

no. It flashed a YEAR LATER. the last 20 minutes of the episode jumped to one year later and adding insult to the injury the cliffhanger has toasters returning after some time of peace. More on this later when I'm not feeling so despondent.

How will I fill this void? Big Love? Bones? Medium?

*sighing*

Attack of Tiny Phlegms

2006-03-21T16:54:00.000-05:00

Not getting much better. Probably all the NYC dust that's accumulated into my respiratory system is blocking the healing process. Ever since I moved here in late 2002 I don't get sick as often. In DC and Limerick, colds (and so rarely a flu) are commonplace yet in most times I'm able to function daily. Here it just knocks me off my ass when I do get sick. Especially in the environment you work in is poorly ventilated and someone getting sick is not something you can shrug off.

The weekend before the last I was struck by a stomach bug. After couple days I was able to eat real food. I may have celebrated too early. I had a lovely dinner at a French bistro in ABC city and got properly hammered several hours later in the spirit of Saint Patrick's. Then there was the hangover delay which was very strange for me. Usually I'd feel like crap soon as 20 minutes after I woke up.. Then it didn't become this bad several hours later right at the beginning of the brunch with a friend. It was kinda embarrassing shuttling between the table and toilet during first half of the meal especially when it took over a year to actually get together. Had a good day regardless, though exhausted I anticipated a good night's sleep and a good work day the next day.

But no. I woke up with a full blown sore throat. Thinking it'd pass into a mere dryness during the work day, I had racking coughs.. I crawled home, defeated and into bed Sunday at 2pm. I've been making trips between my bedroom, the couch and tv, and the bathroom. And the kitchen in between.

Two whole days and a half of self imposed exile in my apartment. It's not fun anymore. I still have coughs and occasional temperature fluctuations but nothing else.

I actually watched "Little House on the Prairie: The Continuing Years" on Hallmark channel out of boredom. As a kid I was addicted to the original show, had my hair in pig tails like Laura's. The lovable characters like Nels, that wife of his are reduced to window dressing. We witness the debut of Shannen Doughtery as Almanzo's ("manly" nicknamed by Laura - *gag*) niece.

Caught few of M*A*S*H shows with the original TV cast - before Potter, Hunnicut and Winchester III joined. These guys had their laughs but the last few seasons sucked when Alan Alda took over and changed the show from a into your face war into something moral about the evils of the war.

I'm trying to watch a classic X-Files but my attention span wanders after 20 minutes. I should be up and about cleaning my room but I'm more content being a slug on the couch at the moment.. *cough*hack*