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This is the new blogging URL. Along with the masses, I have conformed to wordpress. I'm sorry if I have failed your expectations.
Blue skies,
JT Snitch
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Malaria
Well, according to the responses to the "welcome to Africa" post, I have come to the conclusion that satire does not transcend all cultures. So, I offer to all those that I offended my apology. I will be the bigger man in this misunderstanding. I, JT Snitch, solemnly swear to never make light of the puerile cultural stereotypes that the predominance of the American public has of Africa. My heart is heavy and my hands are numb knowing that I nearly breeched a line of no return. Enough lies, on to the important issue at hand.
It has happened. Much to the dismay of the RN at Passport Health, who administered my immunizations before deployment to Rwanda, I deferred taking the malaria medicine prescribed and ironically enough, it has come back to bite me on the keister, literally. Last Monday, I was snagged on the rump by a malaria infected mosquito. Consequently, I now have malaria. It is awful. If you don't know what malaria is, I really should spare you the details, but because you asked, I'm going to give you the basics behind the symptoms just to mull over. The first symptom of malaria, and in my opinion the most complicating, is the loss of all your teeth. Yes, that's right, I have no teeth. It is a bit frustrating at times, but I'm learning to adjust quite rapidly. I've made up a few different fabrications in attempt to explain my lack teeth to my students, but none have stuck just yet. The loss of teeth symptom is one reason why many malaria infected regions of the world eat a lot of simple starches; this type of food tends to melt in your mouth and which in turn simplifies the mastication process, or lack there of. Speaking of overcoming the odds, I've always looked up to people who have overcome major, life adversity. I think this might be the reason why I am attracted to women with hearing aids.
The second symptom of malaria is the instantaneous growth of chest hair. This is where things got a bit sticky; the symptoms weren't matching up. I checked my mane, but it wasn't growing. Considering my already ample amounts of chest locks, I did not notice a significant growth in chest hair, but, embarrassingly enough, it is possible my chest was already well satiated. Strike that "embarrassingly", my flowing mane is a source of dignity, of manhood, of self-worth. In one event, while sunbathing on the Jersey coast, a chicken's breastbone was thrown onto my chest. I woke up, looked behind me, and shouted to a couple sitting around a table eating dinner.
"What's with the bone, Clifford?"
"Ohh excuse me, I mistook your chest for a majestic dog's coat."
At this point, there were only two options in my head as to why I had no teeth: I figured it was either the altitude change or the nineteen spoons of sugar I put into each cup of African tea. Nevertheless, a toothless me was completely justifiable in my mind. And as far as the chest hair goes, I saw no significant growth, but the idea of maxed out chest hair follicles never crossed my mind. I was in the clear, that was until yesterday. Cravings, cravings, cravings. I have been having the most bizarre cravings of my life. Originally, I thought my cravings were due to cross cultural travel; I have heard that theory from a number of sources, attributing the onslaught of cravings due to a lack of 'normal,' cultural food. I was craving ridiculous things, things like hot dogs with ice cream, cream cheese omelets, and pizza with blackberry spread. It was only after the pizza and blackberry spread craving that I noticed the third and most prolific of all malaria symptoms: pregnancy.
It has happened. Much to the dismay of the RN at Passport Health, who administered my immunizations before deployment to Rwanda, I deferred taking the malaria medicine prescribed and ironically enough, it has come back to bite me on the keister, literally. Last Monday, I was snagged on the rump by a malaria infected mosquito. Consequently, I now have malaria. It is awful. If you don't know what malaria is, I really should spare you the details, but because you asked, I'm going to give you the basics behind the symptoms just to mull over. The first symptom of malaria, and in my opinion the most complicating, is the loss of all your teeth. Yes, that's right, I have no teeth. It is a bit frustrating at times, but I'm learning to adjust quite rapidly. I've made up a few different fabrications in attempt to explain my lack teeth to my students, but none have stuck just yet. The loss of teeth symptom is one reason why many malaria infected regions of the world eat a lot of simple starches; this type of food tends to melt in your mouth and which in turn simplifies the mastication process, or lack there of. Speaking of overcoming the odds, I've always looked up to people who have overcome major, life adversity. I think this might be the reason why I am attracted to women with hearing aids.
The second symptom of malaria is the instantaneous growth of chest hair. This is where things got a bit sticky; the symptoms weren't matching up. I checked my mane, but it wasn't growing. Considering my already ample amounts of chest locks, I did not notice a significant growth in chest hair, but, embarrassingly enough, it is possible my chest was already well satiated. Strike that "embarrassingly", my flowing mane is a source of dignity, of manhood, of self-worth. In one event, while sunbathing on the Jersey coast, a chicken's breastbone was thrown onto my chest. I woke up, looked behind me, and shouted to a couple sitting around a table eating dinner.
"What's with the bone, Clifford?"
"Ohh excuse me, I mistook your chest for a majestic dog's coat."
At this point, there were only two options in my head as to why I had no teeth: I figured it was either the altitude change or the nineteen spoons of sugar I put into each cup of African tea. Nevertheless, a toothless me was completely justifiable in my mind. And as far as the chest hair goes, I saw no significant growth, but the idea of maxed out chest hair follicles never crossed my mind. I was in the clear, that was until yesterday. Cravings, cravings, cravings. I have been having the most bizarre cravings of my life. Originally, I thought my cravings were due to cross cultural travel; I have heard that theory from a number of sources, attributing the onslaught of cravings due to a lack of 'normal,' cultural food. I was craving ridiculous things, things like hot dogs with ice cream, cream cheese omelets, and pizza with blackberry spread. It was only after the pizza and blackberry spread craving that I noticed the third and most prolific of all malaria symptoms: pregnancy.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Welcome to Africa
Some people told me that Africa was a wild place, but I didn't think it would really be like this. Here are a few examples of the chaos that ensues on this continent. Last week, when our connection flight landed in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, we stepped off the airplane only to be greeted by camels to take us to the next terminal. I mean, come on, camels, that was hard to fathom. I do have to say that riding a camel was a bit more complex than horses or mules. Their speed is incredible; they could run the entire runway in under twenty seconds. It is hard to believe Ethiopians do not have cars, busses, or motorcycles. While in the terminal, we were forced to participate in the Muslim call to prayer, otherwise we would have been imprisoned for 60 days. I tried to explain to the police officer about my bum knee and kneeling is a bit of a problem for me. What did he say to me? Nothing at all, but the Ethiopian officer lifted up his pants over his knees and exposed an artificial leg, carved from the femur of a lion. He pushed his pant leg back down and pulled me to the ground. Well, at least I'm not in prision. Oh, the madness didn't stop in Ethiopia.
As we approached our descent to Kigali, Rwanda, I noticed from out the window that there was no runway to be found. Psh, that was sooo Africa. We literally landed the airplane in the middle of a herd of Cape Buffallo. When we stepped out of the plane, come to find out the airplane killed three of the enormous beasts. If you are from Arkansas or Alabama, I know what you're thinking, what happened to the carcasses, that's good meat. Well guys, a couple Rwandans, Ugandans, and Zambians got together and decided to give the new, American teachers of Kigali International Community School a true East African welcome. We built an enormous fire, pulled some bananas and mangos from the trees, picked coffee beans to make coffee, cooked up the Cape Buffalos, and had a huge welcome to East Africa party. It was an incredible experience, but that wasn't the end to the madness. I am about to tell you something that will blow your mind. There was someone famous on our flight, someone very influential to Africa. That's right, Bono! I can't sing enough praise about this guy. We shared and mulled over some ideas and projects and he even sung a few U2 songs with a couple of the native tribes near the Kigali "airport." It was amazing that the tribes knew all of his U2 songs. When I thought the "concert" was over, a Rwandan man yelled out to Bono, "Play 'Sunday, Bloody Sunday!" And you know what, he sung it for the tribes. Man, what a guy.
Kigali, in its own right, is a crazy place. While at the market the other day, I bought two zebras that I will have to use to tout water from the rivers back to my house. I considered buying a camel, but the prices were a bit out of my range. I'm hoping that after a few months here I will be able to sell the zebras for a price equal to a camel. Who knows, sometimes things just aren't meant to be. One of the neatest parts of living in Kigali is the fact that my next door neighbor is a family of gorillas. They are wonderful creatures; a bit eccentric, but delightful none the less. I've invited them for African tea a few times but Anthony, the father, is always busy with the Rwandan gorilla treks. He works for the Department of Tourism by supervising eight different gorilla packs for the government. Anyways, everything you have ever heard about Africa is true. What a place!
Kigali is a wonderful city filled with delightful, but struggling and scarred people. I find myself walking the streets pondering over what anyone over the age of 15 must have saw in this country during 1994. Just the thought of a genocide of 1,000,000 people brings me to my knees. Although we live such jaded lives in terms of violence, that number is still staggering. I was able to visit the Kigali Genocide Memorial last week. The memorial did a wonderful job honoring the fallen Rwandans and, at the same time, educate every visitor about genocide and how it can be prevented in the future. It just amazes me how six billion people on this Earth could turn a blind eye to an overt genocide? The world failed this community fourteen years ago. If you are uneducated on the Rwandan genocide, I suggest you watch the movie "Sometimes in April." Remember though, this film only scratches the surface of some of the events that went on during 1994. Pray for these people; this massacre is still fresh. A tragedy like that is never forgotten.
Africa, specifically Kigali, is a calm, soothing, and wonderful place. The city is welcoming to foreigners and the Rwandans have a kind disposition about them. I wonder if it is the lack of Western influence in their lives, or they are just simply, inherently more genuine, kind, and accepting people then we see Westward. Speaking of a West and African disparity, the stranglehold of the mighty hand of Capitalism does ensue in Rwanda and is very apparent in this town. When I walk around town, it is easy to notice Western culture creeping into the city of Kigali: Bourbon Cafe, a coffeehouse that makes Starbucks look like an aged New Jersey diner, the Western banking system and focus on money, and the accessibility of Western food, hygiene products, and motor vehicles throughout the city. At times, Kigali feels like true, simplified Africa, but other times, I can see Western businessmen sucking the culture out of this place. From an anthropological point of view, Western Capitalistic expansion will be an issue I deal with all year.
On a bright note, school starts next Monday. I have my classroom and it is slowly starting to take shape. We start teacher inservice next Monday where we will be going over logistically stuff as a school and as a team. We have a school open house next Friday then right into it on September 1st. I am looking forward to being in the classroom, specifically such a diversified classroom. Fifty percent of the students are native Rwandans and the other fifty percent represent twenty-seven other countries. It will be a bit of a struggle to plan for four separate classes, but I'll make it. It will be a good year. KICS attendance is up from 90 at the end of the last school year to right around 200 students. My middle school classes are capped at 15 students each. I love the idea of such small classes; it will provide an opportunity for intimacy you can't find in most schools. Life is good my friends. Pray for the Rwandans, my students, and my ability to be a good influence in this country.
Blue Skies, eh.
As we approached our descent to Kigali, Rwanda, I noticed from out the window that there was no runway to be found. Psh, that was sooo Africa. We literally landed the airplane in the middle of a herd of Cape Buffallo. When we stepped out of the plane, come to find out the airplane killed three of the enormous beasts. If you are from Arkansas or Alabama, I know what you're thinking, what happened to the carcasses, that's good meat. Well guys, a couple Rwandans, Ugandans, and Zambians got together and decided to give the new, American teachers of Kigali International Community School a true East African welcome. We built an enormous fire, pulled some bananas and mangos from the trees, picked coffee beans to make coffee, cooked up the Cape Buffalos, and had a huge welcome to East Africa party. It was an incredible experience, but that wasn't the end to the madness. I am about to tell you something that will blow your mind. There was someone famous on our flight, someone very influential to Africa. That's right, Bono! I can't sing enough praise about this guy. We shared and mulled over some ideas and projects and he even sung a few U2 songs with a couple of the native tribes near the Kigali "airport." It was amazing that the tribes knew all of his U2 songs. When I thought the "concert" was over, a Rwandan man yelled out to Bono, "Play 'Sunday, Bloody Sunday!" And you know what, he sung it for the tribes. Man, what a guy.
Kigali, in its own right, is a crazy place. While at the market the other day, I bought two zebras that I will have to use to tout water from the rivers back to my house. I considered buying a camel, but the prices were a bit out of my range. I'm hoping that after a few months here I will be able to sell the zebras for a price equal to a camel. Who knows, sometimes things just aren't meant to be. One of the neatest parts of living in Kigali is the fact that my next door neighbor is a family of gorillas. They are wonderful creatures; a bit eccentric, but delightful none the less. I've invited them for African tea a few times but Anthony, the father, is always busy with the Rwandan gorilla treks. He works for the Department of Tourism by supervising eight different gorilla packs for the government. Anyways, everything you have ever heard about Africa is true. What a place!
Kigali is a wonderful city filled with delightful, but struggling and scarred people. I find myself walking the streets pondering over what anyone over the age of 15 must have saw in this country during 1994. Just the thought of a genocide of 1,000,000 people brings me to my knees. Although we live such jaded lives in terms of violence, that number is still staggering. I was able to visit the Kigali Genocide Memorial last week. The memorial did a wonderful job honoring the fallen Rwandans and, at the same time, educate every visitor about genocide and how it can be prevented in the future. It just amazes me how six billion people on this Earth could turn a blind eye to an overt genocide? The world failed this community fourteen years ago. If you are uneducated on the Rwandan genocide, I suggest you watch the movie "Sometimes in April." Remember though, this film only scratches the surface of some of the events that went on during 1994. Pray for these people; this massacre is still fresh. A tragedy like that is never forgotten.
Africa, specifically Kigali, is a calm, soothing, and wonderful place. The city is welcoming to foreigners and the Rwandans have a kind disposition about them. I wonder if it is the lack of Western influence in their lives, or they are just simply, inherently more genuine, kind, and accepting people then we see Westward. Speaking of a West and African disparity, the stranglehold of the mighty hand of Capitalism does ensue in Rwanda and is very apparent in this town. When I walk around town, it is easy to notice Western culture creeping into the city of Kigali: Bourbon Cafe, a coffeehouse that makes Starbucks look like an aged New Jersey diner, the Western banking system and focus on money, and the accessibility of Western food, hygiene products, and motor vehicles throughout the city. At times, Kigali feels like true, simplified Africa, but other times, I can see Western businessmen sucking the culture out of this place. From an anthropological point of view, Western Capitalistic expansion will be an issue I deal with all year.
On a bright note, school starts next Monday. I have my classroom and it is slowly starting to take shape. We start teacher inservice next Monday where we will be going over logistically stuff as a school and as a team. We have a school open house next Friday then right into it on September 1st. I am looking forward to being in the classroom, specifically such a diversified classroom. Fifty percent of the students are native Rwandans and the other fifty percent represent twenty-seven other countries. It will be a bit of a struggle to plan for four separate classes, but I'll make it. It will be a good year. KICS attendance is up from 90 at the end of the last school year to right around 200 students. My middle school classes are capped at 15 students each. I love the idea of such small classes; it will provide an opportunity for intimacy you can't find in most schools. Life is good my friends. Pray for the Rwandans, my students, and my ability to be a good influence in this country.
Blue Skies, eh.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
"Act, but seek not the fruit of your actions."
One difficult thing about living in a small, fishing village in the Dominican is not having access to good music. I love good music or complete silence, both of those things bring me peace. One thing that I struggle to live with is bad music. The Dominicans are never silent and consistently listen to bad music, thus the eternal, Dominican catch-22. The one thing I miss from the states is the easy access to good music. Ok, two things; music and good oatmeal. Ok, three things; music, good oatmeal, and twizzlers. But seriously, good music and oatmeal, how I miss thee. Well, to appease the family and friends, I guess I miss you guys as well. No seriously, I do. I am looking forward to seeing you all and spending some quality time together. That’s what life is all about, right; service to others and building relationships along the way. Everything else seems trivial in comparison.
I just finished up a book given to me by an old friend called “A Simple Path” by Mother Teresa. If the stories from mamma t and her fellow Missionaries of Charity don’t inspire you to serve the poor of this world, I am convinced you are cold blooded. The Sisterhood did nothing extraordinary but become poor themselves and serve the world through fervent prayer and action. “How can you truly know the poor unless you live like them? If they complain about the food, we can say that we eat the same. The more we have the less we can give. Poverty is a wonderful gift because it gives us freedom--it means we have fewer obstacles to God.” She also said that, “By becoming poor ourselves, by loving until it hurts, we became capable of loving more deeply, more beautifully, more wholly.“ Mother Teresa knows physical poverty because she chose that lifestyle; it was the simple path of and to her savior.
In Western society, we may not always see physical poverty running rapid, but we do see the loneliness and spiritual poverty pandemic spreading like a Californian wildfire. I don’t have the solutions, but I know our reliance on “noise” is not the vaccine we need. I believe we all should have the faith of the Mother Teresa’s of the world, to ignore modern society and step out in faith and serve the poor, but I also understand that Americans have been brainwashed into this lifestyle of comfort and compliancy that goes against every ounce of human nature.
The fruit of silence is
prayer.
The fruit of prayer is
faith.
The fruit of faith is
love.
The fruit of love is
service.
The fruit of service is
peace.
Other than the bout of Dominican poison ivy that is beginning to ravage my entire body, life is good. This summer has been excellent for me. My eyes have been peeled open to the reality of the world outside the United States. On another note, it is a beautiful sight to my blue eyes to see that Coach Beason, I mean "GAC" is still out and about in this world. I sleep better at night knowing that he is there, roaming facebook, myspace, and probably all of cyberspace defending the lowliest of low ones like myself and Lee Kee. God bless you GAC and may hell be easy on your soul Mr. Wright.
I just finished up a book given to me by an old friend called “A Simple Path” by Mother Teresa. If the stories from mamma t and her fellow Missionaries of Charity don’t inspire you to serve the poor of this world, I am convinced you are cold blooded. The Sisterhood did nothing extraordinary but become poor themselves and serve the world through fervent prayer and action. “How can you truly know the poor unless you live like them? If they complain about the food, we can say that we eat the same. The more we have the less we can give. Poverty is a wonderful gift because it gives us freedom--it means we have fewer obstacles to God.” She also said that, “By becoming poor ourselves, by loving until it hurts, we became capable of loving more deeply, more beautifully, more wholly.“ Mother Teresa knows physical poverty because she chose that lifestyle; it was the simple path of and to her savior.
In Western society, we may not always see physical poverty running rapid, but we do see the loneliness and spiritual poverty pandemic spreading like a Californian wildfire. I don’t have the solutions, but I know our reliance on “noise” is not the vaccine we need. I believe we all should have the faith of the Mother Teresa’s of the world, to ignore modern society and step out in faith and serve the poor, but I also understand that Americans have been brainwashed into this lifestyle of comfort and compliancy that goes against every ounce of human nature.
The fruit of silence is
prayer.
The fruit of prayer is
faith.
The fruit of faith is
love.
The fruit of love is
service.
The fruit of service is
peace.
Other than the bout of Dominican poison ivy that is beginning to ravage my entire body, life is good. This summer has been excellent for me. My eyes have been peeled open to the reality of the world outside the United States. On another note, it is a beautiful sight to my blue eyes to see that Coach Beason, I mean "GAC" is still out and about in this world. I sleep better at night knowing that he is there, roaming facebook, myspace, and probably all of cyberspace defending the lowliest of low ones like myself and Lee Kee. God bless you GAC and may hell be easy on your soul Mr. Wright.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Keeping It Simple
Our life is frittered away by detail. An honest man has hardly need to count more than his ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may add his ten toes, and lump the rest. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb-nail. Simplify, simplify. Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one; instead of a hundred dishes, five; and reduce other things in proportion.
"Where I lived, And What I Lived For"
Those are powerful words. We clutter and over complicate everything. "Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity." I respect that and I am learning to love it. Resourcefulness and simplicity are an innate part of Dominican culture and I am quickly falling in love with their simplistic way of life. Nature is our home, nature is our gift, and above all, nature is our sanctuary and connector to the Creator.
"Where I lived, And What I Lived For"
Those are powerful words. We clutter and over complicate everything. "Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity." I respect that and I am learning to love it. Resourcefulness and simplicity are an innate part of Dominican culture and I am quickly falling in love with their simplistic way of life. Nature is our home, nature is our gift, and above all, nature is our sanctuary and connector to the Creator.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
la Republica Dominicana
This place is wild. Out at the camp where I sleep, I wake up to horses, cows, roosters; if it can make a noise, it gets me up at 6:30 AM. I ride my motorcycle down the unpaved roads of Bobita through La Caratacano past the small, electricity-less "homes." Now when I say "homes," think of a big walk in closet and that is about what I'm talking about. The "roads" here are treacherous. They are flooded with motorcycles and the people have no rules in terms of driving. It is unbelievable. It truly is incredible. I think the biggest thing that I have learned here so far has been the fact that I'm rich to the world's standards.
I think every person in America should visit a 3rd world nation. It would scare you into thinking twice about what we(Americans) spend our money on. People live here without running water and electricity, but at the same time, on the whole, seem more at peace with life than 90% of Americans. Money is not the root of happiness. People here develop relationships and value friendships more so than anything else. It is a beautifully rich culture in terms of valuing what is important in life. That is it for now, there is something to chew on. I miss you all, but I'm loving life.
I think every person in America should visit a 3rd world nation. It would scare you into thinking twice about what we(Americans) spend our money on. People live here without running water and electricity, but at the same time, on the whole, seem more at peace with life than 90% of Americans. Money is not the root of happiness. People here develop relationships and value friendships more so than anything else. It is a beautifully rich culture in terms of valuing what is important in life. That is it for now, there is something to chew on. I miss you all, but I'm loving life.
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