I had a pretty solid weekend in Mosteiros. Several of us PCVs got together more or less informally. I hiked down from Chã. The weekend pretty much epitomized the “Beach Corps” reputation of Cape Verde. As an aside, an RPCV who visited last week convincingly argued against the “Cape Verde isn’t real PC” line, saying that while in many mainland countries surviving for two years is an accomplishment, in Cape Verde, since living’s not too difficult we’re expected to do relatively serious work.
So anyway, we swam, ate delicious lobsters which a neighbor gave us, and in general relaxed. It was pretty much the perfect weekend. Our opinion of Mosteiros definitely improved.
In São Filipe on Friday, standing outside of the Shell, I witnessed a strange occurrence. To my left I heard a car horn blaring, more than normal. A newish, dark blue Audi or Volkswagen SUV came racing down the street. I noticed the driver’s side window was shattered, and disturbingly, the driver’s left arm covered in blood. The story is everywhere now, and it seems pretty clear it was a conflict between rivals in the drug trade. There were reports of several arrests, and last night on the road we saw a police officer with an AK-47 pulling over cars, which may or may not have been related.
Anyway, I guess I don’t really have much to say other than that. Hmmm. Yep.
19 October 2009
19 September 2009
Txuba txobi, txuba bedju
The rainy season (August to October-ish) is in full force. For me it’s not enjoyable, with thousands of flies in the house; everything damp, chilly, molding; not running much, staying in the house. Flies have an affinity for landing on one’s face, particularly the lips. Their cold, wet bodies scampering along every exposed centimeter of flesh never fails to disgust and annoy. Thankfully when the lights (candles) go out, they ascend to the ceiling and stay until morning.
My house like all others is a concrete box, whose benefits are price and ease/speed of construction. They’re cold in winter (it gets below 0º C, or 32 º F for you Americans and Brits ), leak, don’t hold paint well, take long to dry, and use imported cement and sand stolen from CV’s beaches and volcanoes. Doors and shutters (glass windows are a distinct luxury) are normally wooden, swelling in the rainy season making them difficult to open and close. In the dry season they shrink, making it easy for dust, vermin, bugs, and disreputable people to enter. With all that swelling and shrinking they don’t last long either.
Despite the negatives, the rainy season is essential. Whenever I get sick of the rains, I remind myself of the 100,000+ Cape Verdeans who starved to death during droughts during the World Wars. Consider that CV’s population today of around 500,000. The fantastically terrible colonial masters, the Portuguese, let this mass starvation happen. These famines are sometimes referred to as, “the times we ate dogs.” The international community saved Cape Verde from similar disaster several times after independence.
Every colonial power was dastardly, but Portugal ranks up there with the worst. At least the French and British left infrastructure and decent schools. Portugal left nothing but the misery it cultivated during its rule. There’s much underlying animosity for the Portuguese, who come to work and play. They’re described often as “atrevida,” or “cheeky, bold, insolent.” You see it in the way some visitors behave, how they treat the place and people, looking down on it. I’ve been told Americans are highly attuned to these things: we’re extremely politically correct. I have many Portuguese friends and haven’t experienced mistreatment, though a Cape Verdean acquaintance said of course, because America is better off than Portugal, but it’s different for CV and her people. They look up to America and down on CV, Angola, Guinea-Bissau, and Moçambique.
I’d like to visit Portugal. It’s also often called “atrasado,” or “late.” I admit taking pleasure in an international development book from the 70s describing it as part of the Third World. It’s a country with a proud, but ancient history. Younger Portuguese, born after colonialism, who seem well-educated, modern, and fun, must come to terms with this. The days of Portuguese dominance in exploration, naval power, and colonialism are long gone. The youth understand this, but perhaps don’t know how to move forward. Many seem sheepish or apologetic when taking about the past and present, and unconfident or worried about the future.
It never fails to surprise me of CV’s smallness. The last time I went to Praia, some other PCVs and I went to a discoteca, where we hung out with one of CV’s newest and biggest rap stars. He was a student of one of them at UniCV. It’s no wonder recently when there was a Celine Dion video on someone asked if I knew her and the people in the video. I identify my state, Michigan, as where “that white rapper, Eminem,” is from. “Do you know him? Akon? Chris Brown?” Otherwise Kriolu pronunciation leads people to believe I’m Mexican. This breeds more confusion when I tell how cold it is, how much snow we have. “I thought Mexico was hot?”
Anyway that’s about it. Thanks for reading. Stay dry!
My house like all others is a concrete box, whose benefits are price and ease/speed of construction. They’re cold in winter (it gets below 0º C, or 32 º F for you Americans and Brits ), leak, don’t hold paint well, take long to dry, and use imported cement and sand stolen from CV’s beaches and volcanoes. Doors and shutters (glass windows are a distinct luxury) are normally wooden, swelling in the rainy season making them difficult to open and close. In the dry season they shrink, making it easy for dust, vermin, bugs, and disreputable people to enter. With all that swelling and shrinking they don’t last long either.
Despite the negatives, the rainy season is essential. Whenever I get sick of the rains, I remind myself of the 100,000+ Cape Verdeans who starved to death during droughts during the World Wars. Consider that CV’s population today of around 500,000. The fantastically terrible colonial masters, the Portuguese, let this mass starvation happen. These famines are sometimes referred to as, “the times we ate dogs.” The international community saved Cape Verde from similar disaster several times after independence.
Every colonial power was dastardly, but Portugal ranks up there with the worst. At least the French and British left infrastructure and decent schools. Portugal left nothing but the misery it cultivated during its rule. There’s much underlying animosity for the Portuguese, who come to work and play. They’re described often as “atrevida,” or “cheeky, bold, insolent.” You see it in the way some visitors behave, how they treat the place and people, looking down on it. I’ve been told Americans are highly attuned to these things: we’re extremely politically correct. I have many Portuguese friends and haven’t experienced mistreatment, though a Cape Verdean acquaintance said of course, because America is better off than Portugal, but it’s different for CV and her people. They look up to America and down on CV, Angola, Guinea-Bissau, and Moçambique.
I’d like to visit Portugal. It’s also often called “atrasado,” or “late.” I admit taking pleasure in an international development book from the 70s describing it as part of the Third World. It’s a country with a proud, but ancient history. Younger Portuguese, born after colonialism, who seem well-educated, modern, and fun, must come to terms with this. The days of Portuguese dominance in exploration, naval power, and colonialism are long gone. The youth understand this, but perhaps don’t know how to move forward. Many seem sheepish or apologetic when taking about the past and present, and unconfident or worried about the future.
It never fails to surprise me of CV’s smallness. The last time I went to Praia, some other PCVs and I went to a discoteca, where we hung out with one of CV’s newest and biggest rap stars. He was a student of one of them at UniCV. It’s no wonder recently when there was a Celine Dion video on someone asked if I knew her and the people in the video. I identify my state, Michigan, as where “that white rapper, Eminem,” is from. “Do you know him? Akon? Chris Brown?” Otherwise Kriolu pronunciation leads people to believe I’m Mexican. This breeds more confusion when I tell how cold it is, how much snow we have. “I thought Mexico was hot?”
Anyway that’s about it. Thanks for reading. Stay dry!
Chã sta sabi
Things are going well in Chã. I enjoyed helping with Pre-Service Training in Assomada, Santiago, but it was nice to get back to site. Our new group of trainees (soon to be PCVs) is incredibly well-educated, motivated, and excited to get started. I too learned from sitting in on sessions, and gained inspiration from them. I have high hopes for them, especially since the new PCVs in Small Enterprise Development have excellent placements, with strong organizations, in positions to use their expertise to help CV.
Every time I leave Santiago I appreciate it more, sometimes feeling pangs of regret for not staying. It’s so big compared to Fogo, with more diversity, a more African cultural vibe, hikes, beaches, a great group of PCVs, so many resources and advantages. Fogo’s got the volcano, but more or less that’s it.
Santiago is nice because you can live in an entirely rural and isolated village, but in an hour or two get to Praia, the “big” city. Living in such a small country as CV can make a city of 150,000 like Praia seem like a bustling metropolis, with every possible resource. Indeed it bustles, but doesn’t stretch far. That makes it nice, though. It’s manageable. When I was in Ghana it took an hour or two to get across smoky, dusty, crowded, 2 million people Accra. I loved every minute of it, though. When in Praia I can walk anywhere I need to go (during the day).
I’m working on several projects. I’m putting my business degree to work helping determine the cost to make grappa/bagaceira, a liquor from fermented and distilled grape skins. Later I may tackle liqueurs (pomegranate, peach, fig) and wines. Getting one relatively complete costing model will make the other products easier. It’s a strange PC experience, working at a winery. Nothing about this experience has been what I expected. But the winery has made an incredible impact on the community, with just about everyone benefitting from increased grape prices, winery jobs, and tourism.
The second project is improving the school, which I wrote about last time. Since I live in the community and my boss in São Filipe, I’m getting estimates, finding people to volunteer, raising awareness, and writing the proposal. He’ll use his contacts and communications to get financing. If all goes well we can get it done before school begins. We’ll focus on making the bathrooms function, shoring up the rainwater catchment tank, paint, and windows/doors, in that order.
Otherwise there are little things. I hope to get materials to give a training on waitressing/hospitality for a local restaurant. I need to get an English class going, hopefully with materials which require no curriculum development by me. When the park builds its jam factory I’ll surely have work, provided it happens in the next year.
Anyway, I’m starting to bore myself, so it must be 10x worse for you. Thanks for reading.
Every time I leave Santiago I appreciate it more, sometimes feeling pangs of regret for not staying. It’s so big compared to Fogo, with more diversity, a more African cultural vibe, hikes, beaches, a great group of PCVs, so many resources and advantages. Fogo’s got the volcano, but more or less that’s it.
Santiago is nice because you can live in an entirely rural and isolated village, but in an hour or two get to Praia, the “big” city. Living in such a small country as CV can make a city of 150,000 like Praia seem like a bustling metropolis, with every possible resource. Indeed it bustles, but doesn’t stretch far. That makes it nice, though. It’s manageable. When I was in Ghana it took an hour or two to get across smoky, dusty, crowded, 2 million people Accra. I loved every minute of it, though. When in Praia I can walk anywhere I need to go (during the day).
I’m working on several projects. I’m putting my business degree to work helping determine the cost to make grappa/bagaceira, a liquor from fermented and distilled grape skins. Later I may tackle liqueurs (pomegranate, peach, fig) and wines. Getting one relatively complete costing model will make the other products easier. It’s a strange PC experience, working at a winery. Nothing about this experience has been what I expected. But the winery has made an incredible impact on the community, with just about everyone benefitting from increased grape prices, winery jobs, and tourism.
The second project is improving the school, which I wrote about last time. Since I live in the community and my boss in São Filipe, I’m getting estimates, finding people to volunteer, raising awareness, and writing the proposal. He’ll use his contacts and communications to get financing. If all goes well we can get it done before school begins. We’ll focus on making the bathrooms function, shoring up the rainwater catchment tank, paint, and windows/doors, in that order.
Otherwise there are little things. I hope to get materials to give a training on waitressing/hospitality for a local restaurant. I need to get an English class going, hopefully with materials which require no curriculum development by me. When the park builds its jam factory I’ll surely have work, provided it happens in the next year.
Anyway, I’m starting to bore myself, so it must be 10x worse for you. Thanks for reading.
19 August 2009
Back to the Volcano
This is my first blog from Chã das Caldeiras (from São Filipe technically…no internet in Chã). I moved a few weeks ago and am very happy. Much more so than in São Filipe, which was, well, terrible. Our second year PCVs are heading off to whatever awaits them, so it’s sad to see them go. On the other hand, I’m excited to meet the new trainees who most likely are currently struggling with Kriolu, illness, and adjusting to Cape Verdean life and culture, especially for those who’ve not traveled to the developing world before. Cancun isn’t the developing work, either…
As I’ve worked on this blog at various times, I’m continuing from the São Filipe airport, where, our national carrier has generously afforded me three extra hours to use my computer, read, be hungry, nap, before leaving for Praia! I’m going to help train the new trainees in things like Kriolu; Português; learning to love Zouk, Funana, Akon, and Chris Brown; how not to get sick anymore; small business skills; PACA; environmental education; and more.
I’m keeping relatively busy, helping at the winery especially. A friend is an enologist who’s teaching me all there is to know about winemaking. It’s interesting, and the winery is a huge benefit to the community. Who knows, maybe after I’ll try to work at Leelanau cellar for a harvest? South Africa’s got wineries too, Mom! Namibia as well. I’m also going to help with accounting, marketing, and determining production costs.
Other than the winery, I’ve spoken with the primary school director on doing a project to improve the school. New paint, functioning bathrooms, windows. Hopefully he’s getting estimates while I’m in Praia. Vamos a ver, né? The water utility is interested in erecting dry, composting toilets, which make perfect sense in Chã because it’s a mile above sea level, doesn’t have readily available aquifers, and pumping water from sea level would be exorbitantly expensive. Water is almost always the most important issue in any decision here.
Cape Verdean kids are required to attend school through 6th grade, which is free. In Chã that’s how far the school goes. Afterwards, they have to go to Cova Figueira, São Filipe, etc. to continue. They need a place to live, school’s not free anymore, and many are pressured to stay at home and farm. Few go, and hardly any graduate high school. Still, a few trickle out and eventually go to university in Praia, Europe, China, or Brazil.
The other day I noticed the professors had posted grades (no confidentiality!) outside the school. I’d observed the 6th grade class once, so I have an idea of the brighter students, the clowns, the quiet ones. I ran into a boy who’s kind of a punk (what 6th grade boy isn’t?), but clearly intelligent, especially in math. I asked if he passed, would he continue 7th grade outside of Chã. “No, my dad doesn’t want to send me.” Yet he ran off, to see if he achieved the necessary 10.5/20. As he dashed away, getting smaller and smaller, I couldn’t help but wonder what’s the use? Whether he got 100% or 0% in the end didn’t matter. Unless he gets a visa, he’s here for good, or gets drafted at 18 and leaves for a year or so. Anyway, he passed.
També n sta djobi pikenas, klaramenti. Ten um ki ta trabadja ku parki sima mi ki n sta tenta di ranja. N atxa ki n ta konsigi go n ka sabi ainda. Podi ser ael é sima kel otu na Txan ki ta fla txeu mintira. Atxa ki no, go. N ten ki da’l fala ora ki n torna bem di praia. Kati kati, poku poku, é ka simé? La na Txan bu ten ki ten un manta bibo bu ntendi?
As I’ve worked on this blog at various times, I’m continuing from the São Filipe airport, where, our national carrier has generously afforded me three extra hours to use my computer, read, be hungry, nap, before leaving for Praia! I’m going to help train the new trainees in things like Kriolu; Português; learning to love Zouk, Funana, Akon, and Chris Brown; how not to get sick anymore; small business skills; PACA; environmental education; and more.
I’m keeping relatively busy, helping at the winery especially. A friend is an enologist who’s teaching me all there is to know about winemaking. It’s interesting, and the winery is a huge benefit to the community. Who knows, maybe after I’ll try to work at Leelanau cellar for a harvest? South Africa’s got wineries too, Mom! Namibia as well. I’m also going to help with accounting, marketing, and determining production costs.
Other than the winery, I’ve spoken with the primary school director on doing a project to improve the school. New paint, functioning bathrooms, windows. Hopefully he’s getting estimates while I’m in Praia. Vamos a ver, né? The water utility is interested in erecting dry, composting toilets, which make perfect sense in Chã because it’s a mile above sea level, doesn’t have readily available aquifers, and pumping water from sea level would be exorbitantly expensive. Water is almost always the most important issue in any decision here.
Cape Verdean kids are required to attend school through 6th grade, which is free. In Chã that’s how far the school goes. Afterwards, they have to go to Cova Figueira, São Filipe, etc. to continue. They need a place to live, school’s not free anymore, and many are pressured to stay at home and farm. Few go, and hardly any graduate high school. Still, a few trickle out and eventually go to university in Praia, Europe, China, or Brazil.
The other day I noticed the professors had posted grades (no confidentiality!) outside the school. I’d observed the 6th grade class once, so I have an idea of the brighter students, the clowns, the quiet ones. I ran into a boy who’s kind of a punk (what 6th grade boy isn’t?), but clearly intelligent, especially in math. I asked if he passed, would he continue 7th grade outside of Chã. “No, my dad doesn’t want to send me.” Yet he ran off, to see if he achieved the necessary 10.5/20. As he dashed away, getting smaller and smaller, I couldn’t help but wonder what’s the use? Whether he got 100% or 0% in the end didn’t matter. Unless he gets a visa, he’s here for good, or gets drafted at 18 and leaves for a year or so. Anyway, he passed.
També n sta djobi pikenas, klaramenti. Ten um ki ta trabadja ku parki sima mi ki n sta tenta di ranja. N atxa ki n ta konsigi go n ka sabi ainda. Podi ser ael é sima kel otu na Txan ki ta fla txeu mintira. Atxa ki no, go. N ten ki da’l fala ora ki n torna bem di praia. Kati kati, poku poku, é ka simé? La na Txan bu ten ki ten un manta bibo bu ntendi?
02 July 2009
A few bullet points
Lauren said for blogs she sometimes just bullets interesting things. Dave and some of the rest of us spoke about how everyday things here might blow people’s minds in the US. Walking home from the store yesterday I thought about both these things, so here goes. Update: So I didn’t get around to posting this, so I’ve added more stuff that’s strange, interesting, crazy, etc.
• Saw a herd of goats feasting on cardboard and other garbage
• Witnessed a near cow-car collision
• Got scared by the rest of the herd of cows who were crossing the road but hidden from view behind a building
• A man I know who loves Americans stopped me on the street, complaining of the heat though wearing slacks, a suede suit jacket, and a hat, in we’ll say basic English
• Walking down the street I saw a stray dog pawing through a pile of garbage. A young boy snuck up on it, intending to kick or hit it with something. The dog spooked, and ran into the road, in front of a taxi. “Dnnnk.” The dog howled and ran away on three paws, the other held in close to its body, broken or severely injured.
• When the director of a private high school, who lives above us, with his wife, mother-in-law, and three children, heard Jonny and I were moving, he called us upstairs. Not knowing what he wanted, we were rather nervous. But he said he was sad to hear that we’re moving, that he felt safe with us around his children, asked if there was anything he could do, we’re always welcome to stay with them.
• Had to stop my run to allow a goat herd to cross the road
I’m sure there are things I’ve forgotten, but this gives a glimpse into everyday life. Today I’m moving back to Chã das Caldeiras, where I’ll stay until around August 2010. I will continue to blog infrequently and will be difficult to contact. Thanks for reading.
• Saw a herd of goats feasting on cardboard and other garbage
• Witnessed a near cow-car collision
• Got scared by the rest of the herd of cows who were crossing the road but hidden from view behind a building
• A man I know who loves Americans stopped me on the street, complaining of the heat though wearing slacks, a suede suit jacket, and a hat, in we’ll say basic English
• Walking down the street I saw a stray dog pawing through a pile of garbage. A young boy snuck up on it, intending to kick or hit it with something. The dog spooked, and ran into the road, in front of a taxi. “Dnnnk.” The dog howled and ran away on three paws, the other held in close to its body, broken or severely injured.
• When the director of a private high school, who lives above us, with his wife, mother-in-law, and three children, heard Jonny and I were moving, he called us upstairs. Not knowing what he wanted, we were rather nervous. But he said he was sad to hear that we’re moving, that he felt safe with us around his children, asked if there was anything he could do, we’re always welcome to stay with them.
• Had to stop my run to allow a goat herd to cross the road
I’m sure there are things I’ve forgotten, but this gives a glimpse into everyday life. Today I’m moving back to Chã das Caldeiras, where I’ll stay until around August 2010. I will continue to blog infrequently and will be difficult to contact. Thanks for reading.
11 June 2009
Sacrifice
I think the last post raised a few eyebrows. I didn’t mean to generalize, just to say that the woman and the boy really irked me. The vast majority of Cape Verdeans, like any population, are great people. I’ve heard one difference between serving in CV versus other PC posts, is that here people welcome us into their lives and we’re not the outsiders volunteers elsewhere are.
It’s hard for people to see the sacrifice we make as Americans, because in the local context, it’s not a sacrifice at all. For me joining didn’t feel like a sacrifice, and for some it’s even a very intelligent, rational decision. Definitely not for everyone though…It’s very common for Cape Verdeans to leave for Europe or America in search of a better life, while wives, children, parents, and friends stay behind. This population liquidity is evidenced by the fact that there are more Cape Verdeans outside of the country than in it.
We’re supposed to live at the level of the local population, but in reality our stipend makes us solidly upper-middle class. People see us going out for meals, taking vacations to other islands or countries, doing things the average person cannot. During a training in Praia some other PCVs and I spoke to a Cape Verdean familiar with PC. We tried to explain how it’s hard to give up two years, away from home, making much less money than we could in the States, etc. He said he knew how comfortably we live in CV and joked he’d give up his job and join PC, preferably to serve in the US.
One thing that differentiates us, is that we choose to volunteer. It’s not like people here who are forced to leave school to farm, feel there’s no option but to emigrate, or would like to eat at a restaurant but need to buy flip-flops for their kid who’s going to school barefoot. If I wanted, I could quit and be in the US within a week. That’s not possible here.
A point I wanted to make in the previous post is that one negative experience can overshadow several positive ones. I think it’s human nature, not an excuse I’ve created.
Last weekend I was in Chã das Caldeiras talking to a Cape Verdean who’d lived in the States, sharing his views on CV. One funny thing he said was that CV doesn’t have social unrest or anything because people like partying too much. Haha I don’t know, but he said it, not me. He said to remember his name, and next time I’m in his zone, ask for him. He said, “Of course you’d be welcome at my house,” in the same manner you’d say, “Of course goat is delicious.”
A few weeks ago I made the hike to Mosteiros from Chã das Caldeiras. When I got close to Mosteiros I came upon a woman and several of her kids. She had an enormous bundle of firewood balanced on her head and a child under her arm. She mentioned her son studies English and likes to practice with tourists who pass. When we entered Mosteiros she invited me for boiled sweet potatoes and coffee, a popular local snack, to practice with her son. The sacrifice she makes for her son is incredible, bringing strangers into to her home and feeding them, so her son can get better at English and hopefully improve his life.
Her eyes brightly glimmered giving away her relative youth, otherwise masked by dusty work clothes, neglected hair, and leathery skin caused by unending labor just to survive. She lamented that when she was younger she wanted to go to school, but had to leave after fourth grade to work. She bravely climbs that trail daily without regard to herself, with the hope her kids will enjoy the better life she imagined, but couldn’t achieve due to conditions beyond her control.
So that is the average Cape Verdean, not the “Give me” woman or the disrespectful kid. I hope I’ve cleared up that distinction.
It’s hard for people to see the sacrifice we make as Americans, because in the local context, it’s not a sacrifice at all. For me joining didn’t feel like a sacrifice, and for some it’s even a very intelligent, rational decision. Definitely not for everyone though…It’s very common for Cape Verdeans to leave for Europe or America in search of a better life, while wives, children, parents, and friends stay behind. This population liquidity is evidenced by the fact that there are more Cape Verdeans outside of the country than in it.
We’re supposed to live at the level of the local population, but in reality our stipend makes us solidly upper-middle class. People see us going out for meals, taking vacations to other islands or countries, doing things the average person cannot. During a training in Praia some other PCVs and I spoke to a Cape Verdean familiar with PC. We tried to explain how it’s hard to give up two years, away from home, making much less money than we could in the States, etc. He said he knew how comfortably we live in CV and joked he’d give up his job and join PC, preferably to serve in the US.
One thing that differentiates us, is that we choose to volunteer. It’s not like people here who are forced to leave school to farm, feel there’s no option but to emigrate, or would like to eat at a restaurant but need to buy flip-flops for their kid who’s going to school barefoot. If I wanted, I could quit and be in the US within a week. That’s not possible here.
A point I wanted to make in the previous post is that one negative experience can overshadow several positive ones. I think it’s human nature, not an excuse I’ve created.
Last weekend I was in Chã das Caldeiras talking to a Cape Verdean who’d lived in the States, sharing his views on CV. One funny thing he said was that CV doesn’t have social unrest or anything because people like partying too much. Haha I don’t know, but he said it, not me. He said to remember his name, and next time I’m in his zone, ask for him. He said, “Of course you’d be welcome at my house,” in the same manner you’d say, “Of course goat is delicious.”
A few weeks ago I made the hike to Mosteiros from Chã das Caldeiras. When I got close to Mosteiros I came upon a woman and several of her kids. She had an enormous bundle of firewood balanced on her head and a child under her arm. She mentioned her son studies English and likes to practice with tourists who pass. When we entered Mosteiros she invited me for boiled sweet potatoes and coffee, a popular local snack, to practice with her son. The sacrifice she makes for her son is incredible, bringing strangers into to her home and feeding them, so her son can get better at English and hopefully improve his life.
Her eyes brightly glimmered giving away her relative youth, otherwise masked by dusty work clothes, neglected hair, and leathery skin caused by unending labor just to survive. She lamented that when she was younger she wanted to go to school, but had to leave after fourth grade to work. She bravely climbs that trail daily without regard to herself, with the hope her kids will enjoy the better life she imagined, but couldn’t achieve due to conditions beyond her control.
So that is the average Cape Verdean, not the “Give me” woman or the disrespectful kid. I hope I’ve cleared up that distinction.
04 June 2009
Give Me
Some things have the ability to infuriate me, naturally. A lot depends on the situation, not only the trigger but a hundred other things. My brothers left a few weeks ago; things could only deteriorate. I just returned from an excellent training on Santiago, an island I like more every time I visit, and where I had the opportunity to serve in the natural park but instead decided on Fogo. Each time I leave, I want less and less to board the plane to return to Fogo.
Unfortunately it seems human nature to focus on the bad, not the good. Marketing research shows people who’ve had a negative experience will tell more acquaintances about it than those who’ve enjoyed a positive experience.
As I’ve written, I don’t like living in São Filipe. It’s not what wanted when I joined Peace Corps, and that hasn’t changed since the forced move in January. Walking home Monday after an ATM run, thinking about my abhorrence of this situation, I encountered one of my least favorite things. Two women hanging out on their porch greeted me, so I stopped to say hello, expecting a pleasant, though cursory conversation.
Immediately the older of the two, 65 or 70, held out her hand and said “Da-n dinheiro” (Give me money). Huh? Seriously? The other woman laughed, the other unabashedly thrust out her hand repeating the demand. I don’t know if there’s an uglier motion in the world. Dumbfounded, stunned at the boldness, the lack of pride, the younger woman instructed me to tell the woman I didn’t have any.
The older one said all Americans have money. I should give her some. She wants to go to America because there’s so much easy money. Surely it’d be simple for a woman her age to learn English and rise to the ranks of CEO at an MNC. She’s been to France, twice, which apparently wasn’t good enough. She lives in a nice area of the city and though has probably seen difficult times, those days are gone. Also, apparently she knows better than me what America’s like.
We ended up conversing awhile, aided by a much more pleasant neighbor whose husband is a driver for the ministry. I said I was a volunteer but that didn’t impress her neighbors. When I left I was enraged. I’m not quick on my feet verbally, let alone in a different language. I wish I were. I would’ve had some choice words. If I could do it again I would’ve said:
I do have money. I just came from the ATM. But I’m not going to give you a single escudo (unit of Cape Verdean currency, about a cent), and I never will. Don’t ever ask me for money. I’m a volunteer. You think America is so great, but I decided to trade two years of the good life in America to come to Cape Verde. I left my parents, brothers, family, friends. The average salary for my classmates from business school was $60,000. I don’t make 10% of that. You are lucky. Cape Verde is a middle income country. It is poor but it has a lot going for it, including an open and democratic government, a high standard of living, and peace. I’ve been to the next best country in West Africa, Ghana, and every single day I saw people going hungry. That doesn’t happen here. I can’t imagine Nigeria or Sierra Leone. If giving two years of my life to your country isn’t enough, go to hell.
I wish I had said that. And if she ever asks again, I will. I don’t care if that’s not kosher. I’m not going to pretend that some grandma asking every white person who walks by for money is cute. It’s ugly and shameful.
Yesterday, I found myself walking past the same house, and instinctively began rehearsing the diatribe in my head. Walking the other way was a group of three primary school boys. “Da-n 100 escudos,” (Give me 100 escudos) one of them said. With a quiet but serious intensity I responded with the first thing that popped into my head: “Bai pa merda criança,” (literally, “Go to shit child.”). His buddies let loose an emphatic “Whoaaa,” meaning, “You just got served by a white dude in Kriolu!”
Some might say it was too rough, but I don’t feel an ounce of regret.
Unfortunately it seems human nature to focus on the bad, not the good. Marketing research shows people who’ve had a negative experience will tell more acquaintances about it than those who’ve enjoyed a positive experience.
As I’ve written, I don’t like living in São Filipe. It’s not what wanted when I joined Peace Corps, and that hasn’t changed since the forced move in January. Walking home Monday after an ATM run, thinking about my abhorrence of this situation, I encountered one of my least favorite things. Two women hanging out on their porch greeted me, so I stopped to say hello, expecting a pleasant, though cursory conversation.
Immediately the older of the two, 65 or 70, held out her hand and said “Da-n dinheiro” (Give me money). Huh? Seriously? The other woman laughed, the other unabashedly thrust out her hand repeating the demand. I don’t know if there’s an uglier motion in the world. Dumbfounded, stunned at the boldness, the lack of pride, the younger woman instructed me to tell the woman I didn’t have any.
The older one said all Americans have money. I should give her some. She wants to go to America because there’s so much easy money. Surely it’d be simple for a woman her age to learn English and rise to the ranks of CEO at an MNC. She’s been to France, twice, which apparently wasn’t good enough. She lives in a nice area of the city and though has probably seen difficult times, those days are gone. Also, apparently she knows better than me what America’s like.
We ended up conversing awhile, aided by a much more pleasant neighbor whose husband is a driver for the ministry. I said I was a volunteer but that didn’t impress her neighbors. When I left I was enraged. I’m not quick on my feet verbally, let alone in a different language. I wish I were. I would’ve had some choice words. If I could do it again I would’ve said:
I do have money. I just came from the ATM. But I’m not going to give you a single escudo (unit of Cape Verdean currency, about a cent), and I never will. Don’t ever ask me for money. I’m a volunteer. You think America is so great, but I decided to trade two years of the good life in America to come to Cape Verde. I left my parents, brothers, family, friends. The average salary for my classmates from business school was $60,000. I don’t make 10% of that. You are lucky. Cape Verde is a middle income country. It is poor but it has a lot going for it, including an open and democratic government, a high standard of living, and peace. I’ve been to the next best country in West Africa, Ghana, and every single day I saw people going hungry. That doesn’t happen here. I can’t imagine Nigeria or Sierra Leone. If giving two years of my life to your country isn’t enough, go to hell.
I wish I had said that. And if she ever asks again, I will. I don’t care if that’s not kosher. I’m not going to pretend that some grandma asking every white person who walks by for money is cute. It’s ugly and shameful.
Yesterday, I found myself walking past the same house, and instinctively began rehearsing the diatribe in my head. Walking the other way was a group of three primary school boys. “Da-n 100 escudos,” (Give me 100 escudos) one of them said. With a quiet but serious intensity I responded with the first thing that popped into my head: “Bai pa merda criança,” (literally, “Go to shit child.”). His buddies let loose an emphatic “Whoaaa,” meaning, “You just got served by a white dude in Kriolu!”
Some might say it was too rough, but I don’t feel an ounce of regret.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)