When I first arrived in Cameroon, I came with no expectations. It's better this way, when you are doing research, or development work, because when you create expectations, you're bound to be disappointed. Of course you should have goals, but those can be achieved in a variety of ways, so you don't box yourself in.
When I first arrived at Tassah Academy, I was immediately expected to present myself, my reason for being there, and what I hoped to do. I almost felt like a salesperson, selling an idea. In fact, every time I have to approach ISSP in a different way (for more information, visit my work blog: http://internationalschooltoschoolpartnerships.org/category/laura/ ) Every presentation was completely different - some were easy sells - a "yes, you have me already, sign me up!" those were the local ngos, or the younger, up to date teachers, who were excited to have more internet access and technology.
Others were a little harder though. The first round of teachers, as they stared at the screen (you know that 4 PM glaze teachers, when you've just finished a day of teaching). As they watched my powerpoint, some stares were just stares. Others were more concerned: "I don't get it, we already have a computer, why do we need tablets?" or "How are we going to use this in our classroom?" The parents were the same: "Why?" Well, normally I would say this is a perfect example of a program NOT to implement, because the community doesn't see value in it, right? Wrong.
Then came the parents who all signed up to learn more, or the father who showed up in the office, sat down, and said, "I would like to buy one of those tablets." Ok, or the teachers that showed up at the house at 8 PM to skype with teachers from California, and talked with us until 10:30, discussing how to move forward. Or the students who eagerly signed up for the classes offered their first week of summer break. Sure, there are many challenges, but we have faith that this is worth it. The next generation is a new generation of technology users, and the more advantages we give them, the better prepared they will be for the work force.
So excited to see what happens next.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Football and Tradition
I will probably never forget the final to the Europe Cup of Athletics vs real. Not because it was a horrible game and real only won through unfair advantages. No, I will remember the game because instead of sitting at a bar, having a beer, I was sitting on a couch with two elderly ladies sat across from me, laughing and chattering away in the local Bamenda dialect, while we ate "achoo" and some sort of soup while the kids sat by, trying to stay awake.
In other words, I had crashed a party in Cameroon, and not just any party. A month after a child is born, it is custom for the aunts and female cousins to come visit and spend the night, celebrating and welcoming a new child to the family. Not expecting it, I was surprised when my host's brother allowed us to join the festivities, last minute. More surprising was when the eldest woman and head of ceremony made a huge speech welcoming me and inviting me to eat first. This was after I was hug attacked at the door by a mob of delightful grandmas.
As we danced and sang praising Michael's adorable new daughter, Athletics scored its one and only goal of the night, which turned Cousin Ben's dance into a cheer. As we ate, the aunties commented on the game to ours and their amusement. They even demonstrated how to cheer, which they thought was silly. I was pleased when I was able to drink a little whiskey on the rocks in the company of one of my new lady friends.
Being part of a tradition like that may seem routine to some, but for me it was an honor I can and will never forget. When you watch a family rejoice like that, and see the happiness it brings, it is hard not to be humbled and awed. As I looked into the infant's eyes I could only see my hopes for her reflected in my own. I gave her my own blessing, hoping that she will live to have better opportunities and choices than any of us, that she may take on the burden on her shoulders to make her world just a little better.
In other words, I had crashed a party in Cameroon, and not just any party. A month after a child is born, it is custom for the aunts and female cousins to come visit and spend the night, celebrating and welcoming a new child to the family. Not expecting it, I was surprised when my host's brother allowed us to join the festivities, last minute. More surprising was when the eldest woman and head of ceremony made a huge speech welcoming me and inviting me to eat first. This was after I was hug attacked at the door by a mob of delightful grandmas.
As we danced and sang praising Michael's adorable new daughter, Athletics scored its one and only goal of the night, which turned Cousin Ben's dance into a cheer. As we ate, the aunties commented on the game to ours and their amusement. They even demonstrated how to cheer, which they thought was silly. I was pleased when I was able to drink a little whiskey on the rocks in the company of one of my new lady friends.
Being part of a tradition like that may seem routine to some, but for me it was an honor I can and will never forget. When you watch a family rejoice like that, and see the happiness it brings, it is hard not to be humbled and awed. As I looked into the infant's eyes I could only see my hopes for her reflected in my own. I gave her my own blessing, hoping that she will live to have better opportunities and choices than any of us, that she may take on the burden on her shoulders to make her world just a little better.
Friday, February 7, 2014
New Set of Firsts
All of us have our firsts. Our first day of kindergarten, our first time in high school. The first time we drive a car, the first date. The first time we move away from home, the first time we live overseas. It seems like so many firsts can happen in life, and it just makes everything all the more exciting. But as we get older, it seems that there seem to be less and less firsts, because we have already done so many things. I hate that "never have I ever" game because it is so easy to lose. But before I start fearing that life is over at 26 (heheheh) I am in luck, because there are more firsts. If you aren't interested in my personal life, by the way, stop reading now, if you haven't already gotten bored.
This month has been a lot of firsts that I somehow missed in life. Some were not so great, like my car's first water pump failure, or my first time putting a utility bill in my name, but there have been some great firsts too: My first time finding a house to rent with friends, my first time buying lights for my new bike...my first time driving my car through a car wash. All of these things really seem normal to some people, but for me, I feel like a little kid again, trying to figure out how the world works.Oh yeah, and it's my first time in grad school.
So I guess this blog will have to adjust a little bit, because although I may travel, most of the adventures will be happening in the classroom, relating to things that may or may not interest you. But hey, there might be some fun along the way. Welcome to Monterey, California.
This month has been a lot of firsts that I somehow missed in life. Some were not so great, like my car's first water pump failure, or my first time putting a utility bill in my name, but there have been some great firsts too: My first time finding a house to rent with friends, my first time buying lights for my new bike...my first time driving my car through a car wash. All of these things really seem normal to some people, but for me, I feel like a little kid again, trying to figure out how the world works.Oh yeah, and it's my first time in grad school.
So I guess this blog will have to adjust a little bit, because although I may travel, most of the adventures will be happening in the classroom, relating to things that may or may not interest you. But hey, there might be some fun along the way. Welcome to Monterey, California.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Going Home part 3.5
Well, I finally made it home, after a brief hurrah in Cape Town (if you have ever even considered going to this city....go. I was pleasantly surprised, and maybe someday I will actually write a blog entry about it). Little jaunt to London, Switzerland, and then finally, back to the U.S. of A. Normally I have a very basic plan of attack: eat lots of food, visit as many people as possible, eat more food, and then collapse in bed in my cozy room in Castro Valley. Oh, and attempt to be lazy. But this time was different, this time I wasn't coming home alone. Instead, I let an entourage of at first 4 Swiss invade my home. And you thought they were neutral. What was fascinating to me was to watch some of them see America for the first time. At some points it was looks of pure joy on their faces, at some points looks of pure horror and disgust. We had a few talks about my country and I gained some valuble insights on the pros and cons of my country from two Swiss experts who have spent many months here, have best friends who are American, and one who even is dating an American as we speak (or a wanna be, since apparently my accent doesn't quite sound right to the locals...) Here are some of the pros. Let the overgeneralization begin, and a note to Americans, this is mainly from a Swiss slant, comparing the U.S. to Switzerland in a way:
Pro #1: EVERYONE is very friendly. It is entirely possible that you can be waiting in line at the post office or sitting on a bus, and the person next to you will start talking to you. At some times this could be annoying, but for Swiss people, this is so unusual and strange that most of the time they appreciate it, and love talking it up with different people. In the end, people tend to be more helpful and will help you find your way, or even take you there themselves.
Flipside: As my friend Christoph noted, "Americans ask you lots of questions about yourself, your life, where you are from and what you do....but they don't really listen to your answer. They don't seem to care." This probably comes from our attempt to be chatty, but it can be true. People may talk a lot, and ask questions, but sometimes, they're just asking for the sake of asking, and tend to forgo the details later.
Pro #2: Food is cheap in America, and often times really delicious! There are so many options, and the restaurants are all very unique and stylish in their own way. It's fun taking a Swiss person especially to a place like College Avenue, where it would take you millenia to eat at every good restaurant that is there, and to admire the different interiors, some cozy, some traditional, some hip. The thought of getting mouthwatering ethnic food for less than 20 dollars a plate is something of a novelty, and quite exciting. Plus you get free water and refills! Bonus!
Flipside: A lot of our food options are not.....super healthy. The portions are huge, the refills a bit much. When we had our first meal in Seattle at a Mexican restaurant, it almost stressed out Ramona and Adrian to have the waiter constantly attempting to refill their cokes. The fact that In 'N Out is still a major staple for everyone (myself included) does not bode well for a healthy lifestyle, especially if you add in our inability to get around without cars. Most Swiss anyways usually eat at home, because going out, even at Mc Donald's can be hugely expensive: a dinner for 2 adults and 2 kids at fast food can easily cost up to 45 dollars!!!
Pro #3: The roads are huge, and take you wherever you need to go, more directly. Driving is easier, and even traffic seems to be ok, because with so many lanes the cars usually move, even if very slowly, as opposed to stopping completely. Parking is a piece of cake!
Flipside: Where's the public transportation??? Especially in Switzerland, where train is king (even though it's super pricey), people enjoy taking the bus or the train more freely, because it's easy and frequent. You can get anywhere readily, even to places high up in the mountains. Heck, they even have cable cars that take you straight to the top of almost any major mountain peak! So how come buses and trains are always late here, and don't run very frequently? Well, most of our cities aren't medieval like theirs, and were built around the car, so instead of a more circular pattern, with the center in the middle, easy to get to from any angle, we have grids, where walking will take time. But hey, it sure is easier to find places, with all those number streets and perfectly mapped out streets.
This list could go on infinitely, but you get the idea. It always makes it fun to watch foreigners in your own country, exploring, sometimes fumbling their way through new experiences, just like I have a million times before when traveling. To see their frustrations, (not having a valid ID to get into a bar) or their moments of utter amazement (the savings you get having a Safeway Club card!) constantly remind me just how interesting and new traveling in a new country can be, especially one so far from home. How did America become a country so different and unique from the old world, I will never really know. How everything became so big, and consumer driven I guess is the American dream. But when you look back from an outsider perspective, is it everything we hoped and dreamed to acheive?
Pro #1: EVERYONE is very friendly. It is entirely possible that you can be waiting in line at the post office or sitting on a bus, and the person next to you will start talking to you. At some times this could be annoying, but for Swiss people, this is so unusual and strange that most of the time they appreciate it, and love talking it up with different people. In the end, people tend to be more helpful and will help you find your way, or even take you there themselves.
Flipside: As my friend Christoph noted, "Americans ask you lots of questions about yourself, your life, where you are from and what you do....but they don't really listen to your answer. They don't seem to care." This probably comes from our attempt to be chatty, but it can be true. People may talk a lot, and ask questions, but sometimes, they're just asking for the sake of asking, and tend to forgo the details later.
Pro #2: Food is cheap in America, and often times really delicious! There are so many options, and the restaurants are all very unique and stylish in their own way. It's fun taking a Swiss person especially to a place like College Avenue, where it would take you millenia to eat at every good restaurant that is there, and to admire the different interiors, some cozy, some traditional, some hip. The thought of getting mouthwatering ethnic food for less than 20 dollars a plate is something of a novelty, and quite exciting. Plus you get free water and refills! Bonus!
Flipside: A lot of our food options are not.....super healthy. The portions are huge, the refills a bit much. When we had our first meal in Seattle at a Mexican restaurant, it almost stressed out Ramona and Adrian to have the waiter constantly attempting to refill their cokes. The fact that In 'N Out is still a major staple for everyone (myself included) does not bode well for a healthy lifestyle, especially if you add in our inability to get around without cars. Most Swiss anyways usually eat at home, because going out, even at Mc Donald's can be hugely expensive: a dinner for 2 adults and 2 kids at fast food can easily cost up to 45 dollars!!!
Pro #3: The roads are huge, and take you wherever you need to go, more directly. Driving is easier, and even traffic seems to be ok, because with so many lanes the cars usually move, even if very slowly, as opposed to stopping completely. Parking is a piece of cake!
Flipside: Where's the public transportation??? Especially in Switzerland, where train is king (even though it's super pricey), people enjoy taking the bus or the train more freely, because it's easy and frequent. You can get anywhere readily, even to places high up in the mountains. Heck, they even have cable cars that take you straight to the top of almost any major mountain peak! So how come buses and trains are always late here, and don't run very frequently? Well, most of our cities aren't medieval like theirs, and were built around the car, so instead of a more circular pattern, with the center in the middle, easy to get to from any angle, we have grids, where walking will take time. But hey, it sure is easier to find places, with all those number streets and perfectly mapped out streets.
This list could go on infinitely, but you get the idea. It always makes it fun to watch foreigners in your own country, exploring, sometimes fumbling their way through new experiences, just like I have a million times before when traveling. To see their frustrations, (not having a valid ID to get into a bar) or their moments of utter amazement (the savings you get having a Safeway Club card!) constantly remind me just how interesting and new traveling in a new country can be, especially one so far from home. How did America become a country so different and unique from the old world, I will never really know. How everything became so big, and consumer driven I guess is the American dream. But when you look back from an outsider perspective, is it everything we hoped and dreamed to acheive?
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Relearning music
Have you ever heard someone say "Music says a lot about a culture"? Or that you can learn so much about a place just by looking at its music? I used to say "Yeah, sure," and nod and smile, thinking to myself, "whatever...." But that was before I landed here. That was before I met Julius Zawose, and before I bought my first mbira, or finger piano (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mbira). Ever since, I've started to realize that there might be some importance to those words...
I got introduced to the Zawose family by an American couchsurfer, who had come to Bagamoyo for the sole reason of meeting this infamous Tanzanian family, known throughout the country for their traditional music. The most well known is Julius Zawose, one of the patriarchs of the family, who despite his limp makes up for whatever physical awkwardness with his graceful and musical fingers and voice. I only went to watch him play, but ended up getting a mbira (they call it "malimba" around here) shoved into my hand, and low and behold, the addiction started. I started coming back for my fix every week.
The thing I like best about malimba is it reminds me a little of my first instrument, the piano, but in a completely different situation. Instead of sitting in front of a giant machine, my new instrument is the size of a super thick paperback book, so I take it with me all the time, to hide on the beach and practice. It's got a really interesting sound, and the feel of it under your fingers is enticing....The most striking difference of all though, was the actual initiation into playing. When I learned piano, the structure was simple: you learned how to read notes, and then you could play songs, from start to finish. Malimba, if taught by Julius Zawose, doesn't work that way at all. The first few days he taught me the basic notes to a song, the chorus line if you will, and then for months after, it was a method of learning combinations of notes. With each combination, you could play it virtually anywhere in the song, and combine it with even more combinations of tunes to add to the base line. If you wanted to, the song could go on forever, almost circular, repeating and recycling the sounds you just learned. It sounds crazy, but it actually made sense, and the more you learn, the cooler the song sounds. I technically moved on to a second song, but Julius and I revisited and added even more to the first song.....
So what does this say about Tanzania? It says a lot about how they learn things here. People learn a lot by doing, as I did. It's not a matter of reading the instructions and following through, it's a matter of feeling, and doing and acting to learn. And when you do learn something, it can constantly change, or be changed by you or others. Nothing really begins with you, and nothing truly finishes. The more I write about this, the more I realize this could be what we call "tradition," which is universal, especially in music and dance. Not something you come across very often these days, or perhaps the practice of learning said traditions is a little less...well, traditional. All I know is, when I'm playing my malimba, I don't think about this. I can be in a trancelike state, focused completely on making the music, realizing that the possibilities are endless, and that there are no rules. Maybe that's Tanzanian after all.
I got introduced to the Zawose family by an American couchsurfer, who had come to Bagamoyo for the sole reason of meeting this infamous Tanzanian family, known throughout the country for their traditional music. The most well known is Julius Zawose, one of the patriarchs of the family, who despite his limp makes up for whatever physical awkwardness with his graceful and musical fingers and voice. I only went to watch him play, but ended up getting a mbira (they call it "malimba" around here) shoved into my hand, and low and behold, the addiction started. I started coming back for my fix every week.
The thing I like best about malimba is it reminds me a little of my first instrument, the piano, but in a completely different situation. Instead of sitting in front of a giant machine, my new instrument is the size of a super thick paperback book, so I take it with me all the time, to hide on the beach and practice. It's got a really interesting sound, and the feel of it under your fingers is enticing....The most striking difference of all though, was the actual initiation into playing. When I learned piano, the structure was simple: you learned how to read notes, and then you could play songs, from start to finish. Malimba, if taught by Julius Zawose, doesn't work that way at all. The first few days he taught me the basic notes to a song, the chorus line if you will, and then for months after, it was a method of learning combinations of notes. With each combination, you could play it virtually anywhere in the song, and combine it with even more combinations of tunes to add to the base line. If you wanted to, the song could go on forever, almost circular, repeating and recycling the sounds you just learned. It sounds crazy, but it actually made sense, and the more you learn, the cooler the song sounds. I technically moved on to a second song, but Julius and I revisited and added even more to the first song.....
So what does this say about Tanzania? It says a lot about how they learn things here. People learn a lot by doing, as I did. It's not a matter of reading the instructions and following through, it's a matter of feeling, and doing and acting to learn. And when you do learn something, it can constantly change, or be changed by you or others. Nothing really begins with you, and nothing truly finishes. The more I write about this, the more I realize this could be what we call "tradition," which is universal, especially in music and dance. Not something you come across very often these days, or perhaps the practice of learning said traditions is a little less...well, traditional. All I know is, when I'm playing my malimba, I don't think about this. I can be in a trancelike state, focused completely on making the music, realizing that the possibilities are endless, and that there are no rules. Maybe that's Tanzanian after all.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Hatari!!! Wizards....
It's funny how you can start a very normal conversation with a Tanzanian friend, only to somehow end up at, "Well, you know, you have to be careful of the wizards." At first you ask them to repeat, convinced you must have heard wrong, from your relatively educated, informed friend. But no, you didn't. Actually, he meant to say spirit.....even better.
The first time this happened Fredi and I were eating dinner at the Country Club, a very nice hotel where we stayed for the first 3 weeks I was here. We of course know all of the staff really well, and they all work hard, but nobody works harder than "Freddy," a waiter at the restaurant who always looks busy, and actually usually is. We were talking to him about the beach when somehow he mentioned "Ah, but I don't go in the water." At first we thought he meant, "I don't go in the water at night," or "I haven't been in a few weeks." But actually, for once, his grammar was spot on. He doesn't go in the water. Ever. "Why?" I had to ask. "It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes, a water.....spirit (we found the word later, after plenty of explaining) can drag you into the water and drown you. I don't want to risk it!!!" As he walked away to work, he must have missed our jaws which were down slightly lower than they should have been. After all of those years of working right at the beach, he has never once ventured even a toe into the water. Amazing.
There are more stories that I could retell, but I think you get the idea. What is mystical about it all is that you meet people who are so connected to the "modern world" and have met people from around the world, and yet are so completely convinced of the demons and spirits in their backyards. This has never bothered me in the past, I mean, I know a few Icelanders who are firmly rooted in their belief in fairies and elves, which makes me want to believe. Who doesn't wish for a little magic in their life?? The only problem is when it becomes harmful to your health. Despite new knowledge in medicine, health, illness, and more, people here in Tanzania have a real huge problem letting go of their demons and spirits. I can't tell you how many of my medical friends see case after case of people arriving at the hospital, too late....only because their belief in their witch doctor was so compelling, they would rather go to him or her first, before seeing medical help. It is a cultural difference to be sure, but a very strange one. As our guide explained to us, there is a witch doctor for every family in some regions, and usually a grandfather or someone elderly who you look up to. I guess it's hard to deny help from those you trust, only to go to people you don't know. Maybe only the spirits have the answer.
The first time this happened Fredi and I were eating dinner at the Country Club, a very nice hotel where we stayed for the first 3 weeks I was here. We of course know all of the staff really well, and they all work hard, but nobody works harder than "Freddy," a waiter at the restaurant who always looks busy, and actually usually is. We were talking to him about the beach when somehow he mentioned "Ah, but I don't go in the water." At first we thought he meant, "I don't go in the water at night," or "I haven't been in a few weeks." But actually, for once, his grammar was spot on. He doesn't go in the water. Ever. "Why?" I had to ask. "It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes, a water.....spirit (we found the word later, after plenty of explaining) can drag you into the water and drown you. I don't want to risk it!!!" As he walked away to work, he must have missed our jaws which were down slightly lower than they should have been. After all of those years of working right at the beach, he has never once ventured even a toe into the water. Amazing.
There are more stories that I could retell, but I think you get the idea. What is mystical about it all is that you meet people who are so connected to the "modern world" and have met people from around the world, and yet are so completely convinced of the demons and spirits in their backyards. This has never bothered me in the past, I mean, I know a few Icelanders who are firmly rooted in their belief in fairies and elves, which makes me want to believe. Who doesn't wish for a little magic in their life?? The only problem is when it becomes harmful to your health. Despite new knowledge in medicine, health, illness, and more, people here in Tanzania have a real huge problem letting go of their demons and spirits. I can't tell you how many of my medical friends see case after case of people arriving at the hospital, too late....only because their belief in their witch doctor was so compelling, they would rather go to him or her first, before seeing medical help. It is a cultural difference to be sure, but a very strange one. As our guide explained to us, there is a witch doctor for every family in some regions, and usually a grandfather or someone elderly who you look up to. I guess it's hard to deny help from those you trust, only to go to people you don't know. Maybe only the spirits have the answer.
Monday, April 1, 2013
A Day in the Life of a Fisherman's Wife
As I sat there kneeling on the ground, sweat streaking down my face, oil and flour all over me I thought....how on earth did I get here?
It all started a few days ago, when I ran into my friend Marianne who was on her way into town to buy "chapatis," a local fried flatbread. But she wasn't going to get just ordinary chapatis. Oh no, these were the "best chapatis in Bagamoyo." That sealed the deal, I was determined to go with her, and see where I could get the best in town. Never did I think I would get invited in by two delightful women, who were still cooking the last few batches of the morning, while the kids played in the hallway. Never did I think it would decide to pour down rain at that moment, trapping us in their house for an hour or so...to my amazement, our new friend took us into her room and served us warm milk, fried fish (caught by her husband himself) and of course, warm chapatis, fresh from the stove. As we sat there on the floor, Marianne asking her questions in Swahili while I tried to follow along, I couldn't help but feel very humbled by her generosity in letting her invade her home. "Nina furaha." She said overwhelmed, hands clenched to her body. "I'm happy." You and me both sister, and Marianne added in a "Sisi pia" (so are we). We asked if we could come back and learn how to make chapatis ourselves, and she laughed surprised that we wanted to learn about her work, but happy that we had asked. We agreed to come the next few days.
The next day we came and watched, and played with the children. It was quite a few hours of sitting, but nobody seemed to mind us, just hanging out watching. I thought of how early the women had woken up, and how the children had been sent to do their various jobs. I thought I had understood quite well how it felt to be our friend, working all day, making chapatis. Geeze, no wonder they stop cooking at 1 in the afternoon. That seems like a lot of work. Of course, I had no idea.
Until today. We finally went back for our last lesson. This time, it was our turn. They sat us down with flour, water, salt, and oil, and had us mix mini batches ourselves. The next 20 minutes were a tough mix of kneading, mixing, and cutting dough. My arms were already pretty tired, but I guessed it was the hardest part. We added all the oil, and rolled them into the nice little balls and waited for the stoves to be ready, feeling rather accomplished. Aha, we can do this, I thought.
Never would I have expected that the hardest part was yet to come. As we rolled, baked, fried, turned, flipped, and burnt our fingers on the simple coal stoves, I realized my work was nonstop, and that no breaks were to come. All the kids stood around, laughing, as we burnt our bread and ourselves, attempting clumsily to flip and move our chapatis. The women smiled, encouraging us to finish our work. Finally, after a few hours, we had success in the form of 22 chapatis. Our friends could make 60 in the same amount of time. I know, I watched them do it myself. I learned something that moment. Even though I had watched it myself, doing it was a completely different story. You never know how a person lives until you truly walk in their shoes. And even then, I only tried them on for a day. I will go back to visit those friends of ours, and drink tea with them, and play with their children.
But I will never know what it really is to be the wife of a fisherman, cooking chapatis all morning long, every morning, for the rest of my life. Nor will they ever know what it is to be me, a young woman younger than themselves, who has seen so much more than what is in their hallway. But who's to say what's out there is better without having lived that life themselves? When you wake up tomorrow morning, do us all a favor and ask yourself: "What is special about my life? What makes it so great and so important to the world?" Even if you aren't providing nourishment for your community, if you can find one good thing you do for others, than that's all that matters.
The next day we came and watched, and played with the children. It was quite a few hours of sitting, but nobody seemed to mind us, just hanging out watching. I thought of how early the women had woken up, and how the children had been sent to do their various jobs. I thought I had understood quite well how it felt to be our friend, working all day, making chapatis. Geeze, no wonder they stop cooking at 1 in the afternoon. That seems like a lot of work. Of course, I had no idea.
Until today. We finally went back for our last lesson. This time, it was our turn. They sat us down with flour, water, salt, and oil, and had us mix mini batches ourselves. The next 20 minutes were a tough mix of kneading, mixing, and cutting dough. My arms were already pretty tired, but I guessed it was the hardest part. We added all the oil, and rolled them into the nice little balls and waited for the stoves to be ready, feeling rather accomplished. Aha, we can do this, I thought.
Never would I have expected that the hardest part was yet to come. As we rolled, baked, fried, turned, flipped, and burnt our fingers on the simple coal stoves, I realized my work was nonstop, and that no breaks were to come. All the kids stood around, laughing, as we burnt our bread and ourselves, attempting clumsily to flip and move our chapatis. The women smiled, encouraging us to finish our work. Finally, after a few hours, we had success in the form of 22 chapatis. Our friends could make 60 in the same amount of time. I know, I watched them do it myself. I learned something that moment. Even though I had watched it myself, doing it was a completely different story. You never know how a person lives until you truly walk in their shoes. And even then, I only tried them on for a day. I will go back to visit those friends of ours, and drink tea with them, and play with their children.
But I will never know what it really is to be the wife of a fisherman, cooking chapatis all morning long, every morning, for the rest of my life. Nor will they ever know what it is to be me, a young woman younger than themselves, who has seen so much more than what is in their hallway. But who's to say what's out there is better without having lived that life themselves? When you wake up tomorrow morning, do us all a favor and ask yourself: "What is special about my life? What makes it so great and so important to the world?" Even if you aren't providing nourishment for your community, if you can find one good thing you do for others, than that's all that matters.
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