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Month: October 2014

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By clairemac93

In skyping with my parents tonight, I finally put to words something that has been building within me since I arrived in South Africa last January. It was under the context of, with less than two months to go here, what will potentially give me reverse culture shock when I return to the United States. Though there are expected potential culture shocks such as the proportion of black people to white, the presence of interracial couples, or lack of intimate daily contact with extreme poverty, the biggest issue I can see myself facing is the idea of consumption and the idea of deserved consumption.

I dealt with this in Germany to an extent too. You walk in a grocery store, and whereas in America there might be 20 cereal brands to choose from (this is a conservative guess) in Germany there would be 2-3. This was not thought of as abnormal, as “how complicated can cereal get?” Additionally, Germans just really like musli, so there’s that. Here in South Africa it is something similar. Though South Africa is certainly much more developed than I think the Western world gives them credit for, the average yearly income being $1,164 (as opposed to $60,526 in the States) does not inspire consumerism for the sake of consumerism. As such, at the grocery store there are a couple options for each item. Nothing deprivational, just food. You can find things in season, and you can suck it up when they aren’t. The most purchased good food-wise is a loaf of white bread, as for many that alone serves as nutrition for the coming day.

So in evaluating what might shock me in coming home, I realized that pure consumption- much of it for consumptions sake- will be the hardest to witness coming home. The idea in the United States that every product must be exactly personalized to every preference and need- gluten free, low fat, low sugar, high fiber- is slightly ridiculous after spending time here. We have grown up to believe that these products which we like, these things that we regularly buy, are parts of our very character- as if without these items we, as a person, will cease to be 100% us. We tie our personality to our product choices, and feel deprived when those products are no longer offered. We import for year-round fruits and vegetables, as to prevent ever being “deprived” of these foods we love. We buy that new product simply because we’ve never seen it on the shelf before. We pack our kids lunches with the snacks that have been branded to them or serve them Spongebob Mac n’ Cheese because they believe it tastes better when its shaped like him—I myself am guilty of this specifically!

But the problem I have is not in our desire to consume, but in our feelings of deprivation. We, in reality, require very little to survive. We do not specifically need those avocados. If that store went out of business, I would find other clothes. If my favorite cereal went off the shelves, I will find something else to eat. However I know many who get truly upset at the thought of these products disappearing. We are taught to believe that lack of choice is against human expression, but much of the difference in products we consume are small and inconsequential- only to the benefit of the producer/marketer for the product.

In thinking of home I can already see the long lines of items on shelves at grocery stores, and I can feel a sense of confusion of why its all necessary. If more choices were the key to happiness or health, America would be the happiest healthiest place on earth. But it’s not. So why do we think all the hoopla is necessary? Is it a distraction? Are our lives, down to every product we eat, meant to be so personalized? And what does this constant personalization teach our citizens about what they deserve and what is necessary for living? Does it make any difference?

I don’t know. What I know is that in comparing myself to the average South African here I am happy to eat what is provided, and having not been exposed to the choices that are provided in the U.S., many here are happy with a smaller amount of choices and never stop to ask why there aren’t more. Though a couple of years ago there was a phenomenon of youth burning money and cars to show they “didn’t need it” as to indicate wealth, on the whole I find South Africans much less apt to shamelessly display wealth and much less apt to ask for more. This is humbling. However, my stepmom once asked me, “If America is perfectly capable of providing these products and importing goods in season, why shouldn’t they?” And aside from the environmental ramifications of the transportation of these goods, I still don’t have an answer. In this way, my culture shock will be more of confusion, than anything, about how I feel about the contrast between the two countries and how they define what they need.

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By kcampbell94

Every day here is a challenge,” said Lauren, my friend in my program. We were discussing how we had all been catapulted out of our comfort zones, and what she said couldn’t be more true, because here in Kigali, I really don’t think my comfort zone exists. Every minute is a new obstacle: how will I cross this road without getting hit due to nonexistent traffic laws? How will I find my way home on this riddle of a bus system? When will I stop being called Muzungu (never)? How will I tell my host family without eternally offending them that I don’t want a fourth bowl of oatmeal? Those are the minute-by-minute uncomfortable situations, but there comes a steep drop off in finding the balance between light-hearted issues to an issue that will change who I am to my very core forever: The Genocide.

There’s subtle evidence of it everywhere, but it can be easy to forget that the entire scaffolding of Rwandan society is built upon the ashes of this tragedy. It is easy to forget it when I am building card castles with my host brothers. It is easy to forget when I am seeking a chocolate bar in stores nearby the SIT office with my classmates. But today, there was no forgetting. Today, we went to the Rwandan Memorial, a museum in Kigali, and two churches on the countryside that were also memorials. In the attempt to describe what I felt and what I saw, words are trite, but I will continue the attempt. The museum was somewhat similar to the Holocaust Museum in DC, but there is something about being in the very place the museum remembers. It was chilling to say the least. We listened to videos about survivors who described their families’ deaths, rapes, beatings. We watched videos of people crying, silent videos of victims with scares marring their head, hand, anywhere. We read blurbs about the international community’s inaction. The silence and crackling of a video reels changing laid upon us thickly, and remained for the rest of the day, especially in a room that was decorated wall-to-wall with pictures of missing people. What came to mind, (among many things) was an earlier conversation with Bebe. She had told me she loves horror movies and I had laughed and told her I didn’t watch them because then I would be up ALLLL night, fearing whatever villain in the movie was in my bedroom. I had been thinking, however, that Rwanda had been a horror movie. One of the scariest the world has ever seen, and suddenly the idea of watching something imitating any kind of horror felt unnatural. Wrong. I had remembered when I had taken a dean’s seminar on Holocaust and Genocide Studies, after watching so many films of people barely alive in Auschwitz, the image of the skull seemed gruesome, crude. It suddenly had taken me aback to see it on clothing. Well, last night, Ganza was wearing a pirate hat with a skull and crossbones on it. The skull design was half peeled off the hat and when I asked him about it, he told me his mother didn’t like it and tried to remove it. Though my family hasn’t said anything about the genocide, there it was: subtle evidence. And I understood.

Here, I will get into more detail and as a warning, it is extremely disturbing. In the museum, I was becoming sick to my stomach, feeling nauseous and knew it had nothing to do with adjusting to the food here. We then got lunch and took the bus to the country-side. During some time, that heavy silence, the disturbed reflecting eased a bit, and on the bus we were talking and laughing, telling crazy stories as we do. We were driving through rural Rwanda, what I had originally pictured for my time abroad. After about an hour, we reached the memorial site. It was a church where Tutsis had sought refuge during the genocide. Our tour guide showed us how the interwhame (one of the main militia groups who were exterminating the Tutsis) used grenades and bullets to break in. The interwhame were intent upon not only killing Tutsis, but also humiliating them and torturing them in the worst ways fathomable. When I stepped inside the church, I saw benches and upon them, piles and piles of old, withering clothes that had belonged to the victims. People had been hacked to death, shot, beaten by clubs, and some bashed against the walls. The blood stains were still there. The guide then took us to a mass grave. He led us downstairs and as soon as I was half way down the stairs, my every instinct urged me to go back up. I found myself in a tight basement, either side with shelves containing rows upon rows of skulls and heaps of bones. There was no barrier. There was no glass. I couldn’t remove myself. I was inches away from hundreds of human bones. Bones that were once covered in muscle and skin, belonging to a person, a human being, who had every bit of life in them that I did in that moment. Taken away. Snatched by atrocities too heinous to imagine. It felt wrong and unnatural and like I was intruding on the most personal, the most intimate of situations. Why was I in Rwanda? I had nothing to give. Only knowledge, only tragedy and stories of survival to take. Why was I impeding on this story of restoration after the rest of the world turned away when the machetes were hacking? These were the things that were going through my mind. We walked away heavy. Everything else shrunk away. Miniscule matters. Microscopic worries so insignificant.

We were taken to another church, and from how I described the first, I think you can imagine what we saw there as well. After, we went back to the office to reflect, which was much needed. Trying to wrap our heads around this is like trying to button pants much too small. Every time I feel like I am coming to an answer, some thread of rationality, something in the logic rips, tears at the seams. However, as quickly as possible, gears shift. Suddenly, I am trying to find my way home from school and due to a fire (which actually burned half the store my host parents own), my bus stop is closed, and I was lost in town with Kelsey, panicked and emotionally exhausted. And it began again, another challenge. Constant challenges, never ending, so disproportionate their varying weights.

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By marisalgado94

Two weeks down in Salvador and I have had to learn a lot of new things about the city that is my home for the next 14 weeks.  Salvador is a city full of interesting neighborhoods, music, and people.  In order to be able to check out all the wonderful beaches, historic sites, and oh ya... get to school, taking the bus is an absolute must! While some students on my program are close enough to walk to UFBA (Universidade Federal de Bahia), I'm a bit farther out in the wonderful neighborhood of Alto de Ondina.  Buses in Salvador are great, you just need to know how and when to use them.  A little context to the transportation situation: Salvador is a city of roughly 3 million people and its population is growing, pedestrians don't stick to the sidewalk, cars take up two lanes at a time, and buses swerve in and out of traffic like its nobody's business.  Getting around can seem a bit intimidating, but I promise that if you follow these tips, public transportation in Salvador can actually be really great!

1. Know which bus you need to take and at the bus stop, flag it down!- Each bus has a specific route that it goes and certain stops it passes by.  Because multiple buses pass by the same stop, they won't actually stop unless someone is getting off there or you flag it down.  Its like hailing a cab, step out on the sidewalk, stick your hand out, and get ready to hop on!

2.  Get on the back of the bus- That could sound weird, but that's how most buses work: Get on at the back and pay the cobrador (guy who collects bus fare) and then get off at the front.  Buses can get pretty crowded, especially during rush hour, so it helps keep the flow of traffic on and off the bus moving somewhat smoothly!

3. Have small bills on you for bus fare- Buses around Salvador cost 2.80 reais and if you pay with anything more than 10 reais, the cobrador will probably not be very happy about you taking a lot of his change. I keep a small coin purse on me and anytime I break a bill or get change, I stick the 2 reai bills in it to make sure that I always have some bus money.

4. Know key landmarks around your destination- if you get lost and ask for directions, most people aren't going to give you street names.  They'll tell you to go straight towards the soccer stadium, turn left at the big statue, and right at the market where Maria sells acaraje.  If you can learn some easy landmarks, finding your destination once you get off the bus will be much simpler!

5.  Most importantly, don't be afraid to ask people if you are confused!- Bahianos are typically very friendly and if you ask them which bus you should take or when you should get off, they are happy to help you out.  I have only been here for two weeks and I have definitely already gotten lost, missed my stop, or been on the complete wrong bus.  Stay calm, ask for help, and you will get to your destination just fine.

Good phrases to know:

Este ônibus vai para __________? Does this bus go towards ____________?

Que ponto de ônibus está mais próximo a ___________? Which bus stop is closest to ____________?

Muito obrigado/a por sua ajuda! Thank you very much for your help!

Hope these tips are helpful if you are ever taking the bus in Salvador!

Tchau!

Marissa

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Thoughts on my classes here at my university in São Paulo:

  • No electives, only your designated course path! I'm taking classes from three separate departments, which is shocking to some here.
  • The student-professor relationship is much more casual than anything I've experienced before. In one of my classes, we talked about the idea of considering a professor as part of your extended family or of using familial idioms in your conception of a professor, and whether or not it was problematic to call a professor "tia," for example. All of this went under the assumption that if not "tia," your professor was called by their first name. The idea of calling your professor by their last name was, as discussed in the class, shocking and counterproductive to the pursuit of collective learning.
  • Some of the Brazilian students straight up read magazines or talk on the phone in one of my classes. In the other two, if you don't do the readings beforehand, you will be singled out and probably mocked. (Kidding. Just shunned.)
  • Brasil speaks (very) frankly about its colonial history and about the fact that it was a colonizing power/a colonized country, and that the ruling class or powerful group remains rooted in this "colonizador," as it's called here. I can honestly not imagine any university course in the States speaking so frankly about the United States as a colonized space; obviously, the colonial history is different here than in the U.S., especially in the fact that the US was colonized by families seeking a new home and Brasil by single men seeking to exploit resources, but both were--and remain--countries that were built from colonized areas.
  • Brazilian students have a nice system set up in which a few people are assigned the reading each week and they are the ones who present or participate in discussions, leaving me and the rest of the class to nod along in implicit agreement.
  • People do not, in general, like the U.S.'s economic or political strategies, except for the odd neoliberal thrown in there, but they very genuinely view the U.S. as the pinnacle of social and economic development and liberty. For example, during Ferguson--which was widely publicized here, as well as globally, for a few days--two of my three professor and my host mom said to me, "I saw a black person died in the United States. Black people die here all the time." That is, verbatim, what my anthropology professor said. I was unsure of how to respond, or of how to address that depth of a misconception. Issues like racism can be compared between here and there, because certainly racism exists in both places, but, equally certainly, it takes a different form; racism in these two locations cannot, however, be stacked against each other or measured on a scale. It just won't work.
  • A smoke break is taken quite literally. The professor and the students go into the hallway to smoke a cigarette, then go downstairs for a coffee, then back up to smoke another one. I repeat, in the hallway.

Overall, my university here is an incredibly liberal and progressive space, and I am learning so much about how Brazilians view themselves, the global sphere and community, and the United States. I am also learning exactly how much time it takes my sociology professor to smoke two cigarettes. I'm hoping that what I take back with me from these classes (including this aforementioned tidbit) is relevant to what I continue to study, but even if not? Everything I'm learning here is awesome.

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By Jess Yacovelle

The Thames River, for those who don't know, cuts straight through the center of London and divides the city into two: the main city and the southbank. I spend a lot of time walking between the two because I live on the southbank, but my classes are all on the other side of the river.

In fact, many people make the daily commute across the river; there are five different subway lines that run from the southbank into the city, an overground line, countless buses, and a bridge every half mile or so.

A fair few years ago, the Thames River was one of the busiest in the world because they didn't have these transportation lines. People had to take ferries and boats across the river in order to go to work or have a night out. In addition, the river was a bustling place filled with various vessels involved in the shipping industry; the river wasn't just a place of commute, it was a place of commerce as well.

Yet in present day, it isn't any of that. The water is brown and murky, and it looks as though it will kill you if you were to fall in. There is no animal or sea life visible to the human eye within the water. Remnants of tourist trash float down after the "City Cruiser" tour guide boats. Most unsettling, algae coats the piers and bridge pillars throughout the river, completely overrunning the vast expanse.

And yet I will maintain that being on the river Thames is still the most beautiful part about visiting London.

Why? Because the city is laid out to be seen from the river. Hundreds of years ago, when they were first building London, the river was more than an annoyance that needed to be crossed; it was a lifeline. People needed its water to drink and for irrigation and for trade. It was an integral part of London, and because of this, some of the most beautiful parts of the city are visible from the Thames.

I took a boat down the river yesterday, and from the vessel we could see the Parliament building. We passed by the restructured version of the original bridge built over the Thames. We sailed next to the Globe theatre and made our way past the Tower of London and Tower Hill. So much history can be seen from the river; so many lives were changed by its presence. Even now, when use of the Thames has been greatly limited, it's still a part of London's rich history. When I rode that boat on the Thames yesterday, it was like I wasn't simply sightseeing; I was seeing and experiencing reflections of past London life.

The river may now be a soiled and smaller reflection of its former self, dominated by tourists and river guides, but not so long ago, it was a symbol of London; it was a symbol of life.

 

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By rbhargava

With only a few more weeks left in Stellenbosch, I’m quickly becoming aware of my limited time here. Having passed the midway point two weeks ago, time is flying faster than ever before. Nonetheless, I continue to try to do as much as possible. This weekend was no exception as I went to the famous Newlands Rugby Stadium in Cape Town for a rubgy game between South Africa and Australia. A definite highlight of my time here, I’ll make sure to discuss it in this blog post as well as what I did during National Heritage Day on Wednesday.

This past Wednesday was a national holiday – Heritage Day, which was established in the mid 1990s to celebrate the many heritages that exist in South Africa. However, in the past few years, Heritage Day has informally become known as Braai Day. For those of you who have never heard of braaing, it is the South African equivalent of a barbeque. Anyway, for Heritage Day, our program director and his wife took us to the River Festival in Stellenbosch, where we were able to listen to some live music, check out some very cool local vendors, eat great food, and even make our own bread over a braai. Following this, we headed to Cape Town and enjoyed some great food at the Eastern Bazaar – a popular area with many vendors selling all kinds of Indian, Chinese, and Middle Eastern food. We then went to the National Gallery to see some amazing exhibits of South African art. After that, we went to the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, my second time there now, and enjoyed the beautiful gardens there. I was reminded of how much I like Kirstenbosch, and I hope I’ll have a chance to go again before leaving. The highlight of the day was in the evening, when we went to a friend of the program director’s house in a suburb of Cape Town and had a traditional meal with our course convener and her husband, our program director and his wife, and the couple that invited us over. It was a very enjoyable evening, and one that we got to truly feel home and welcome in South Africa.

Moving on, on Saturday after a great hike in the rain with our program director at the Joenkershook Nature Reseve (my second time there as well), I joined 9 other friends to go to Cape Town for the Springbocks Wallabies game. The stadium was packed for the game, as both teams are very competitive and two of the best in the world. We had bought standing tickets, and were lucky enough to find standing room only 3 rows back from one corner of the field. The packed stadium had an electric feel to it and after one intense half the Springbocks were down 10-5. The second half was another story though, and in the last 5 minutes the Springbocks scored several times – two tries were actually directly in front of us in our corner. The Springbocks ended up winning with an impressive 28-10 score, and we all left with an appreciation for the sport and now a longing to watch more. Although I regularly follow the NFL back at home, I think I find rugby now more interesting and fun to watch!

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By bevvy2212

On Saturday, I took the SNCF (the French national railway) to Rouen so this week I’m going to talk about how to take the public transports here in Paris.

Paris has an extensive web of metros and railways to take and it is super easy once you get it all figured out. The intertwined web of lines might appear daunting at first but I found this app called “Paris Metro” in the iphone app store and it’s like, God’s gift to those who are lost in Paris. Basically you just need to enter the start and end stations and the app will give you a detailed itinerary, including where you should change lines and how much time approximately it will take for you to get to your destination.

A lot of people buy the “Navigo” pass for the metro. They are kinda like smart trip cards except that you pay it monthly. It’s around 68 euros per month I think but you can take the metro however you want; there is no limit on how many times you can enter the metro. Since I live very close to campus, I don’t have a Navigo because it is just cheaper to purchase tickets at the machine. There are ticket-vending machines at the entrance of every metro station. Unlike DC metro where the price of the fare depends on where you go, there is a set price of 1.7 euro for a one-way ticket in Paris. I usually buy the “carnet”. It’s a set of ten tickets and the price is 13.70 euros, a bit cheaper if you do the math. You can also use the same type of ticket to take the bus, but usually people opt for the metro because it’s easier and faster.

Like DC, there are public bikes to rent here in Paris. Apparently it’s easier to ride than in DC and a lot of people use them to go to school/work. The only problem is that usually during rush hours, either there are no bikes at the bike stands around you because people have taken them out already or you can’t find a place to return your bike once you’re at your destination.

I went to Rouen by SNCF this saturday. SNCF is the French national railway system and it basically operates all the trains within France, including the TGV (the high speed rail). The SNCF station in Paris is at the metro station Saint-Lazarre. You go up the escalators once you’re out of the metro and there’s the SNCF station. There are ticket vending machines around the station so you can just pay at the machines. HOWEVER! They only take cards that have a sim chip. I don’t even know how to explain it because I’ve never seen it before, but apparently here in France, the credit/debit cards here have a visible sim chip on the card, whereas in the US or in China, most cards (at least the ones I have) only have the magnetic slide thingy on the back. So I was unable to purchase my ticket via the machine and had to go in-line at the counter. I got a “carte de jeune”. It’s a discount card for people between 12 to 26 and a lot of the times it cuts the price of the ticket in half. The card itself costs 50 euros and is effective for one year. But if you are planning on traveling around France then it’s definitely a good way to save money because my trip to Rouen was originally gonna cost around 46 euros round trip. With the “carte de jeune”, I paid 23. So that’s 23 euros I made up with the cost of the carte de jeune already. You will need your passport and an ID photo of yourself when you go purchase the the carte de jeune.

I was shocked by the amount of people that were on the train… Life lesson here: so I was walking and I saw various seats on the train through the window and I was like hmm… maybe there are better seats ahead so I kept on walking but I ended up sitting on the stairs because the doors were about to close and I had to jump in a random coach. I had a seat on the train in India… INDIA!! So if you see something in life that you like, take it, don’t wait around to see if anything better comes up. (so philosophical these days.)

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By mcbitter

With Paris being a major European city, not to mention the capital of France, there are plenty of issues to talk about in the news. One that's been affecting us (by "us" I mean the Americans in my program) is the recent Air France strike. Two weeks ago on September 15th, the union representing 75% of Air France pilots began picketing because they didn't want their paychecks to decrease or positions to be affected as a result of the airline investing more money into Transavia, its budget-friendly subsidiary. Overall, the strike - which was the longest in Air France's history - resulted in many canceled flights and a daily loss of 20 million euros, or about $25.4 million USD. Thankfully, the strike ended today (Sunday, September 28th), a couple days before many of my friends will be leaving for Amsterdam or Berlin on Thursday. (As for me, I'm taking the train north to Lille, France for the weekend, so I didn't have to worry much!)

It seems that competitors like RyanAir and EasyJet (which have rock-bottom prices - seriously, it can be as low as 25 euros for a flight!) are really throwing the airline industry for a loop. I haven't flown either of these airlines personally, but plenty of people I know have and would do so again. With such cheap tickets, they make money on pretty much any other service (like printing out your boarding pass, extra bags, etc.), but as long as you plan everything out, you can avoid these fees. So, overall, it makes sense that Air France would want to toughen up their own economical line of flights, but needs to avoid doing so at the expense of existing pilots.

Air France Ad
Air France Ad

Lastly - the timing of this event is rather interesting, because just last week - while the strike was still going on - I went to the Air France Expo at the Grand Palais downtown. It showcased Air France's new marketing campaign, especially all of the technological improvements they're installing. (For example, in first class, your seat - which is closed off from other passengers - actually folds down into a bed!) I wonder what the flight attendants working the expo must have been thinking at the time...

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By makenadingwell

Javier, my Spanish oral communication professor, is the king of trivia. Over 6 ft tall and with a well-kept dark beard, he towers over the four of us in class. Like most of my Spanish professors, he's inexplicably enthusiastic and passionate about everything he talks about. After every class, even on a Monday morning, we walk out cheerful and with a handful of facts.
The week before our program headed to Barcelona for an excursion, Javier took a detour in class to explain some occasional Spanish superstitions and quirks.

  1. First off, Mondays, not Fridays, that were the 13th of the month were unlucky. One is advised not to board a ship, get married, or start a job on the 13th. (Martes 13 - Ni te cases, ni the embarques.)
  2. Some people think it's bad luck for a woman to put her purse on the floor. "Money will fly away on the floor."
  3. A black cat crossing in front of you is unlucky if it is from right to left.
  4. If you feel like you are having a bad day, you say you, "woke up on the left foot."
  5. To be left-handed is called zurdo or siniestro, which is like "sinister," because "the devil is in the left hand."
  6. In extreme cases, yellow can represent the devil. So don't buy yellow clothes for a gift for a newborn baby.
  7. Salt shakers should not be passed hand to hand at the table. One should put it down for the other to pick up. According to Javier, centuries ago some people were paid in salt so it was very precious.
  8. While sweeping the floor, if the broom hits someone's foot, they will never get married.

We all immediately picked up our bags from the floor and I took off my yellow bracelet. As if we didn't already feel lucky enough to be in Spain, but one step closer to being Madrileñas

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By kendallpaynenewmedia

Community can be defined in many different ways. Over the years the definition has changed and grown for me personally. I have come to find that the people and places that support me and help me to grow in different aspects of my life make up my communities.  Here in Australia I have found communities in likely and unlikely places.

Burwood Student Village

The first community, who I have grown to know and love, is my house and the people that I live with. I live on campus in what is known as the Burwood Student Village. I live with nine different people, but luckily we each have our own room! Of the nine people, five are Australian, one is from New Zealand, one is from Hong Kong, one is from Malaysia, and the last one is from New York. We have what we call ‘family dinners’ once a week (as shown in the photo above) and it is a great time to catch up and hang out. I have learned so much from these people about life and culture in their hometowns and I love them all very much. They can be crazy and sometimes even annoying (as anyone that you spend a lot of your time with can be), but this is the community that I can come home to after a long day and I know that at the end of the day (no pun intended) they will always be there for me. ...continue reading "The Communities I’ve Found Half Way Across the World"

Unless otherwise indicated, the content and opinions expressed on this web site are those of the author(s). They are not endorsed by and do not necessarily reflect the views of the George Washington University.
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