tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-167874552024-03-19T00:02:16.504-04:00Required ReidingBaldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.comBlogger331125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-71552739728625640662015-06-21T23:23:00.002-04:002015-06-21T23:23:38.770-04:00Take it Down, Pt 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzpzTk-RiEOFYbzPeUIca_GKeAl7eIriIWQ16iKJ2uIjqQ4PBWButvXpztsG0lHjx85bC56fwecnPBe3xNdTXbUn3l70Y6m8wxi6WfmaurDkToKMqOzqWwrQCSwHeXU981jvQc/s1600/TakeItDown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzpzTk-RiEOFYbzPeUIca_GKeAl7eIriIWQ16iKJ2uIjqQ4PBWButvXpztsG0lHjx85bC56fwecnPBe3xNdTXbUn3l70Y6m8wxi6WfmaurDkToKMqOzqWwrQCSwHeXU981jvQc/s320/TakeItDown.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Yesterday,
on my Facebook page, we had a spirited debate about the proper place for the
Confederate flag. I support the removal of the flag from all SC government
buildings. It is not a flag that should still be displayed on government
property; its proper place is in a museum.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The issue
of slavery was, of course, broached in the debate. It is really impossible to
discuss the Civil War without discussing the topic of slavery, the white (supremacist)
elephant in the room. The discussion led to the oft-repeated line that the
Civil War was not fought over slavery at all, but rather over states’ rights
and the federal government’s interference with states’ sovereignty. I think many of the folks that make this claim counter that saying the Civil War WAS fought over slavery are simply race-baiting in a discussion that should not involve race at all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">So I did some research. I saw a tweet that linked to the text of the <a href="http://www.civilwar.org/education/history/primarysources/declarationofcauses.html#South_Carolina">Cause of Secession drafted by the State of South Carolina</a> to justify the state’s
decision to secede from the Union, adopted December 24, 1860. I went and read it. You should, too. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">It is both
interesting and enlightening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">South Carolina, the first state to secede,
denounces the Union’s inability and unwillingness to maintain its end of the
compact agreed upon at the creation of the United States of America and the
enacting of its Constitution. South Carolina decries the Union’s interference
in SC’s internal affairs and states that the US government has become hostile
to its right of sovereignty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Te very
first sentence of the statement reads as follows:</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“The people
of the State of South Carolina, in Convention assembled, on the 26th day of
April, A.D., 1852, declared that the frequent violations of the Constitution of
the United States, by the Federal Government, and its encroachments upon the
reserved rights of the States, fully justified this State in then withdrawing
from the Federal Union…”</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">So there
you have it. FIRST LINE. <b>The Civil War was implicitly and explicitly fought over States’s
rights, NOT slavery.</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"> The rest of the document continually refers back to the Union's repeated breaches of contract. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Pretty clear cut sentiments about SC's right to leave if the contract (in this case, the Constitution) has been violated.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><i><b>Except</b></i>…the
authors of the text then immediately said <b><i>THIS</i></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"> in the second half of the first paragraph:</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“…but in
deference to the opinions and wishes of the other <b>slaveholding States</b>, she
forbore at that time to exercise this right. Since that time, these
encroachments have continued to increase, and further forbearance ceases to be
a virtue.” </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">[</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Emphasis mine.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">]</span><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Slavery
mentioned in the <b>FIRST</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"> paragraph. Maybe that's just mentioned for the point of clarity?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Nope. Throughout the entire statement, the authors don’t hold back in talking about their right to
own slaves, which is odd since the war is not supposed to be about slavery. <i>Only the race-baiters bring up slavery in regards to the Civil War, right?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Here's a few choice selections for you to peruse (edited for this post, but the full text is
available <a href="http://www.civilwar.org/education/history/primarysources/declarationofcauses.html#South_Carolina">HERE</a>):</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“…The
Constitution of the United States, in its fourth Article, provides as follows:
"No person held to service or labor in one State, under the laws thereof,
escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation therein,
be discharged from such service or labor, but shall be delivered up, on claim
of the party to whom such service or labor may be due…This stipulation was so
material to the compact, that without it that compact would not have been made…</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">…But an
increasing hostility on the part of the non-slaveholding States to the
institution of slavery, has led to a disregard of their obligations, and the
laws of the General Government have ceased to effect the objects of the
Constitution…</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">…In many of
these States the fugitive is discharged from service or labor claimed, and in
none of them has the State Government complied with the stipulation made in the
Constitution…</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Thus the
constituted compact has been deliberately broken and disregarded by the
non-slaveholding States, and the consequence follows that South Carolina is
released from her obligation…”</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">And here’s
where the point is driven home most clearly [<b>bold emphasis mine</b>]:</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“…We affirm
that these ends for which this Government was instituted have been defeated,
and the Government itself has been made destructive of them by the action of
the non-slaveholding States. Those States have assume the right of deciding
upon the propriety of our domestic institutions; and have <b>denied the rights
of property</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
established in fifteen of the States and recognized by the Constitution; <b>they
have denounced as sinful the institution of slavery</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">; they have permitted open
establishment among them of societies, whose avowed object is to disturb the
peace and to eloign the property of the citizens of other States. They have
encouraged and assisted thousands of our slaves to leave their homes; and those
who remain, have been incited by emissaries, books and pictures to servile
insurrection…</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">…A
geographical line has been drawn across the Union, and all the States north of
that line have united in the election of a man to the high office of President
of the United States, whose opinions and purposes are hostile to slavery. He is
to be entrusted with the administration of the common Government, because he
has declared that that "Government cannot endure permanently half slave,
half free," and that the public mind must rest in the belief that slavery
is in the course of ultimate extinction. <br />
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This sectional combination for the submersion of the Constitution, has been
aided in some of the States by <b>elevating to citizenship, persons who, by the
supreme law of the land, are incapable of becoming citizens</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">; and their votes have been used to
inaugurate a new policy, hostile to the South, and destructive of its beliefs
and safety…</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">…The
guaranties of the Constitution will then no longer exist; the equal rights of
the States will be lost. The slaveholding States will no longer have the power
of self-government, or self-protection, and the Federal Government will have
become their enemy. <br />
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<b>Sectional interest and animosity will deepen the irritation, and all hope of
remedy is rendered vain, by the fact that public opinion at the North has
invested a great political error with the sanction of more erroneous religious
belief</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">…”</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">That’s a
lot of ink spilt about protecting slavery for a war that evidently had nothing
to do with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">We can
dress our debates up in legalese, we can talk in broad strokes about sovereignty and state’s
rights and so forth, but <b>we cannot decouple the Civil War from slavery</b>. South Carolina
seceded from the Union and fought a treasonous war because their ability to own other humans as slaves was
threatened, and they were pissed that other states were no longer willing to
tolerate the existence of such a system in the Union. These are not my words.
The words are <i><b>THEIRS</b></i>. If we <i>truly </i>want to honor history, stop revising their
rationale for the war and recognize it for what it was. Yes, the South fought
because their way of life was threatened and was becoming untenable in the
Union. But not because the North suddenly became the villain; <b>their way of life
was threatened because it was based upon evil</b>, and their enemy was not the
North, but rather truth and the harsh light of justice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I'm not trying to demonize our Southern forefathers. You must judge those who came before us in their own context to understand history. But that doesn't validate injustices or excuse actions committed in the past in support of terrible deeds. The Confederate flag that was carried into battle to defend this system has no place of honor anywhere in our society other than in a museum. Take down this flag. Remember our past, but let's move forward and not be beholden to the mistakes of our ancestors.</span></div>
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Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-44624181485999066262015-06-21T22:24:00.001-04:002015-06-22T17:39:52.269-04:00Take It Down, Pt 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpZhHJ1knm5TNC_4UPfoMw4cQZcMsfEQtWcw3fgRJOQ1nI9T_AuN2BSyz-nusCyUNpI_CnpE4IIx5wXwmKwA_PtcZ8hOKsY-pXrEWQXVU73bHskmBrnVYfmF8iDdLvdh9K_8-M/s1600/TakeItDown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpZhHJ1knm5TNC_4UPfoMw4cQZcMsfEQtWcw3fgRJOQ1nI9T_AuN2BSyz-nusCyUNpI_CnpE4IIx5wXwmKwA_PtcZ8hOKsY-pXrEWQXVU73bHskmBrnVYfmF8iDdLvdh9K_8-M/s320/TakeItDown.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">This last Saturday evening, June 20th, I attended a rally on the South Carolina Statehouse grounds demanding that the Confederate flag be removed from the SC statehouse grounds. It used to fly prominently on the dome of the Statehouse before a <a href="http://partners.nytimes.com/library/national/race/041300race-ra.html">compromise in the year 2000 removed it from the Statehouse</a> and placed it in its present spot, displayed by a larger Confederate memorial monument in front of the Statehouse. This has always been and continues to be a very polarizing issue for SC. This current push is in reaction to the gunman who killed 9 members of Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/21/us/dylann-storm-roof-photos-website-charleston-church-shooting.html?_r=0">Images of the gunman waving the Confederate flag</a> have appeared in the media and prompted renewed calls for the flag to removed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">When I got home that evening, I signed an online petition in support of removing the flag, and subsequently posted the link to the petition on my Facebook page. Soon after, I received a comment asking a legitimate question:</span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Why take it down? When has a flag ever harmed anyone?”</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">This question kicked off a long, passionate debate, one that reflected all sides of the issue and one that thankfully remained civil. I am not going post the content of the debate here, but I do want to share a paraphrased summary of my personal comments and opinions in regards to this issue.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">So, let’s again revisit the question:
“<i><b>Why take it down? When has a flag ever harmed anyone?</b></i>”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I don't believe a flag itself has ever hurt anyone. But a flag by its very nature is symbolic, representing the values of those that fly its colors. This particular flag flew over an especially troubling era in our nation's history and more recently has been repurposed in other troubling ways by certain segments of our population. The flag and what it represented has a rightful place in our country's history, but it should not be celebrated on the SC statehouse grounds or any other government building. It should be in museums, the very institutions created to celebrate and record our heritage and history.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">It should be noted that the US flag has ALSO flown over a plethora of very troubling events in our history. That said, the Confederacy lost. The USA is still our country, a work in progress, and not a lost cause. Unsavory history and all, the US is our country so we honor our flag as we make our way forward as a nation. The Confederacy is an also-ran, one for the history books. Its flags and other symbols should be a part of our past, not our present or our future.
It should not fly on government buildings.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">This flag upsets lots of people for very legitimate reasons. Honestly, the sight of the flag <i><b>doesn't </b></i>personally upset me; I've seen it my whole life and barely even register it when I see it. However, I choose to listen to the voices of my friends, neighbors, and colleagues who feel that it legitimizes systemic discrimination. When a sizable chunk of our population feels not just <i>uncomfortable</i> but <b>scared</b> when they see it, we should respect that and take it down. People are still free to fly it on their personal property or their businesses. I just feel it has no place still representing our state. I certainly don't need it to represent any values I may hold.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">You cannot separate the Confederacy and state's rights from the fact that the Secessionist states who flew this particular flag were fighting to protect the existing of a slave regime. I'm born and bred in Mississippi and live in South Carolina right now. I've lived almost my whole life in the South, and I love the South. I get that the Civil War was more nuanced than "pro-slave, anti-slave." But you just can't separate slavery from the cause. The South tried to protect its way of life which was fundamentally based on the most severely unjust system possible. And thank God the South lost. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Removing the flag is the easy part of the much larger task of addressing all the social ills we face. But if the flag is still held up by many as an important symbol of Southern heritage, then certainly it must be recognized equally maintain power as a negative image as well. Surely the removal of the flag from government buildings can also be a very meaningful symbolic act in and of itself. Removing the flag won't necessarily change a thing, but it’s a hell of a nice gesture with which to start.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">[<i>At this point in the conversation, someone stated that to disavow the Confederate flag was disrespectful to the memory of many people’s Confederate ancestors that fought under its colors. The individual stated that the Civil War was not about slavery, but rather was about states’ rights and individuals defending their lands and families.</i>]</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I think most Southern folks with deep roots in the South have confederate ancestors. I am related to Confederate soldiers and had relatives that were indeed slave owners. We have handwritten letters in our family from Confederate camps, as well as copies of legal documents that show the names and genders of the slaves my relatives owned, listed on the same list as furniture and other property. I think this stuff is super cool to look at and I'm glad we have it. It's a fascinating glimpse at the history of the South and my own family history. I didn't know my relatives, but I like to think these were noble men.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">That said, I'm glad they lost the war.
They may have been noble but their cause was based around supporting an unjust system. As a born and bred Southerner, I feel no reason honor this cause. We must understand the actions of our ancestors from their contextual framework, but that doesn't mean I must excuse a belief system that is fundamentally against what I believe to be true. You cannot deny that the South was protecting a way of life built upon slave ownership. It was an unjust system and if they had won the war, slavery would have continued and possible expanded. And that is why I say thank God the South lost the war. It doesn't matter what values were being defended, the alternative scenario would have been untenable from a human rights perspective.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">That said, at Saturday’s rally to have the flag removed from the SC Statehouse grounds, the flag itself was never demonized. There was actually an earnest and heartfelt call to honor the flag for what it was: a symbol that many of our ancestors fought under in support of their cause, which they believed was noble. (And it should be noted that likely 80% of the crowd was White, so the rally was really speaking to majority that would have had Confederate ancestors). But the flag has been repurposed too many times by people resisting change and clinging to an outdated and false memory of a glorious Old South.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The flag causes pain for many people, and for that reason we need to listen to our fellow Americans and we need to remove the flag from our government buildings. Let’s honor our heritage and move forward together- all race, creeds, and colors. As one of the speakers at the rally stated, let’s reclaim the idea of “Southern Pride” as being pride in what we can accomplish together as a vibrant and diverse people, looking forward, learning from our past. Let’s move forward together for a better future for our state. We certainly don’t need to drag along a contentious symbol of oppression along with us.
</span>
Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-82107511747699943722015-03-23T11:15:00.002-04:002015-03-23T11:15:54.492-04:00BLINK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-40392391185407654002015-03-13T09:16:00.000-04:002015-03-13T09:16:51.635-04:00Christopher Peter Aluah: A Tribute<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8e82FC16qX7kkUGaySXWGA4xy54_Eti40Th6Q_BFYR5jpsYC4Q4JrKiYGLdnyoS6V2hb_BkkBjk6yPZaa0dLs9h7ASvarQPgYlJMOjhPKhOCxllHSAgjmRV6NcNEFHDQsHcII/s1600/25341_1367661584016_3346230_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8e82FC16qX7kkUGaySXWGA4xy54_Eti40Th6Q_BFYR5jpsYC4Q4JrKiYGLdnyoS6V2hb_BkkBjk6yPZaa0dLs9h7ASvarQPgYlJMOjhPKhOCxllHSAgjmRV6NcNEFHDQsHcII/s1600/25341_1367661584016_3346230_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Yesterday, I received word that a friend of mine, Chris Aluah, has passed away this week. Chris had been fighting an illness for a while now, and sadly his condition deteriorated quickly and he passed away. I had not spoken to him very much for the last few years, but </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I had hoped to be able to visit him when we returned to the States.</span> I'm very grateful I exchanged emails with him just a few weeks ago to send him some moral support. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I want to pay tribute to this man.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Chris was from Ghana (<i>he can be seen in the picture below demonstrating a traditional Ghanaian dance at a meeting of the International Students Association back in 2010</i>). He has been studying for several years at the University of South Carolina, which is where I met him while I was serving as an International Student Advisor. Chris earned dual masters degrees in Social Work and Public Health and most recently was working toward his PhD in Public Health. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.iss.sc.edu/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=73:christopher-peter-aluah&catid=31:previous-student-spotlight&Itemid=382">(Here's a Student Spotlight about Chris</a> from a few years ago.) </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibIfEIfajVtzthcblW9A-45uf43B2XdWlfn03XszgIg1dcsZlYB_9FhjansgMUNUIaYfYDf7PzTsQy_aQsQIAYQ_kgOI66HTS7UmsOC5IQJfJKjRv8f9QdAmnLz8gwQGVwcpQH/s1600/76936_10150314829585133_3594249_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibIfEIfajVtzthcblW9A-45uf43B2XdWlfn03XszgIg1dcsZlYB_9FhjansgMUNUIaYfYDf7PzTsQy_aQsQIAYQ_kgOI66HTS7UmsOC5IQJfJKjRv8f9QdAmnLz8gwQGVwcpQH/s1600/76936_10150314829585133_3594249_n.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Chris sacrificed a lot to be here. As many foreign students do, he left behind a family to come and earn his degrees. He has a wife and three kids back in Ghana; for various reasons, he couldn’t bring them over to join him in the States. To be so far away from family and so far away from home is a difficult thing, but Chris committed himself to his education to provide a better life not only for his family but also for those around him. He studied Social Work and Public Health; clearly this was a man who wanted to make a better world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Chris was a fixture of my time at USC, but I am most indebted to him for his assistance in getting a simple idea off the ground, an idea that has grown into one of the most vibrant student organization on campus. Back in 2009, there was a clear need for supporting African students studying at USC. I had an idea </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">to start an African student organization on campus</span>; </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">ideally, it would be a group where students from across the African continent could meet, socialize, and support one another.</span> However, I wanted an authentic African voice to bring this organization to life, the voice of someone who would be speaking not just to African students, but <i><b>as</b></i><b><i></i></b> an African student; I immediately thought of Chris. We shared a Social Work background, and he had already demonstrated a commitment to working to improve circumstances for other African students through various avenues on campus.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I outlined my idea for an organization to Chris and explained that I could logistically pull it together, but I felt the call to create a Pan-African student group really needed to come from an African student. I asked if he would be willing to be the voice of the invitation, and he readily agreed. We decided that he would draft up a letter of invitation to invite any African students to join us for a meeting to hammer out the details and formally draft a constitution for this new group. He would write this letter, and I would send it to all the African students on campus through the channels at my disposal as a International Student Advisor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Within mere hours, Chris had emailed me a draft of his letter of invitation, and let me tell you, <i>it was beautiful.</i> I wish I had a copy of the eloquent text to share with you here, but I’m afraid it’s lost to time. But it was heartfelt, engaging, and a beautiful call for unity and cooperation. <b>It was the spirit of Africa at its finest. </b>The core idea may have been mine,<b> </b>but the<b> <i>soul</i> </b>of the group<b>, <i>that came from Chris</i>. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">A small group of dedicated students from across Africa responded and subsequently gathered for several nights of back-and-forth discussions, brainstorming, and debates. In the end, the group hashed out a constitution, I was selected as the organization’s Advisor, and Chris was elected the group’s first President. The <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/USCPANASA/">Pan-African Student Association (PANASA)</a> was born.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial;">The founding members of the Pan-African Student Association.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial;">Chris is standing in the center wearing his ubiquitous Ghana shirt.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">PANASA is now in its 6th year and is going strong, a vibrant and active campus organization helping to support students from Africa and spread the word with the larger USC community about the beauty and talent that Africa has to offer. In the end, this group rallied to help fund raise and garner support to help cover Chris’s medical expenses; the group Chris helped found in order to support African students ended up supporting him in his time of need. There’s a tragic beauty to that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">With the news of Chris’s death, it’s easy to shake my head and think “<i>What a waste. All that hard-work, all that time and effort, for <b>nothing</b></i>.” He never finished the PhD and was never able to go back home to Ghana to use his education to better his beloved Ghana. But his death is <b>NOT</b> a waste; it’s a <i><b>loss</b></i>. <b>The world is a poorer place without him</b>. Chris was a role model to many and a friend to everyone. And his influence stretched far and wide, directly and indirectly: For every African student that felt they had a home away from home in PANASA, Chris has touched their life. Every student that learned a little more about Africa by attending one of PANASA’s Africa Nights, they ultimately have Chris to thank for that. And for all of us that knew the man, who laughed with him, who learned from him, we are all better people because of what Chris Aluah brought into our lives.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">His untimely death is a damn shame, but his life was certainly a life well-lived. </span><br />
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Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-76532018251273552402015-02-09T16:06:00.003-05:002015-02-09T16:09:13.535-05:00One Safari, Two Idiots, and a Lot of Baboons<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
<b>The Setting:</b> The Karatu Gate into the Ngorongoro Conservation Area, Tanzania <br /><br />
<b>The Players:</b>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgO0Dh4jrUK6Nvfv1i3-cLUpwMJJPm27444d49wW1eU33yK4Is1BqZHMLm1suNxkQRNDzvOONrxE3PGp9nfsrRjDYOD4hFO5vufjDqaKgQE3soJ95bqbdvIoRAJ5aPK4xdz_V/s1600/Jeremy+picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgO0Dh4jrUK6Nvfv1i3-cLUpwMJJPm27444d49wW1eU33yK4Is1BqZHMLm1suNxkQRNDzvOONrxE3PGp9nfsrRjDYOD4hFO5vufjDqaKgQE3soJ95bqbdvIoRAJ5aPK4xdz_V/s1600/Jeremy+picture.jpg" height="320" width="253" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhasvVB8O2Uqi2lIOPpCByMjuCorVU9NOOpfT2LNYI7t3sk-JNg2kgRpIJ98q2BC1habf3qsByO7uf1YnZBVx9j9HnP8T-oupd7_ZkbUemfCJOE4FMS7yxfkd-GNgtOrYIod40E/s1600/IMG_0016-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhasvVB8O2Uqi2lIOPpCByMjuCorVU9NOOpfT2LNYI7t3sk-JNg2kgRpIJ98q2BC1habf3qsByO7uf1YnZBVx9j9HnP8T-oupd7_ZkbUemfCJOE4FMS7yxfkd-GNgtOrYIod40E/s1600/IMG_0016-2.JPG" height="320" width="258" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>L-R: An Idiot, Another Idiot </i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSwSJMoafIDsttmeBAx5XgpbQodihDiyb4QS4wCWRX-utaeMQhhDt1VWtm9svI4jrTfcBRAd4BHjR9MSIg2NfcT6H7m_UXulv96iAsqedKgObf8AuG7ey7gQKPcSKCEj74Mr4/s1600/IMG_0034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSwSJMoafIDsttmeBAx5XgpbQodihDiyb4QS4wCWRX-utaeMQhhDt1VWtm9svI4jrTfcBRAd4BHjR9MSIg2NfcT6H7m_UXulv96iAsqedKgObf8AuG7ey7gQKPcSKCEj74Mr4/s1600/IMG_0034.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a>So this January, one of my oldest, dearest friends, <a href="https://twitter.com/hardqore">Jeremy Mucha’</a> (<i>AKA Cap’n Hardqore, AKA Homeskillet</i>) came to visit Katie and I in Mwanza. As per usual, taking a safari through several of Tanzania’s national parks was on the agenda. So Jeremy and I scheduled a 4-day safari through <a href="http://www.serengeti.org/">the Serengeti</a>, the <a href="http://www.ngorongorocrater.org/">Ngorongoro Crater</a>, and <a href="http://www.tanzaniaparks.com/manyara.html">Lake Manyara National Park</a>. <br />
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Day One was great but uneventful (<i>except for the lion thing and that hyena encounter, but that's a story for another day</i>).<br />
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On the afternoon of the second day, as we are heading back from Lake Manyara, we stopped at the entrance gate into the Ngorongoro Conservation Area. Each vehicle and all passengers must register at the gate, so our driver, Mashaka, was to handle the registration. As we pulled up, we saw several other tourists standing in a crowd taking photos. As we park, we see a large crowd of baboons lounging at the edge of the parking lot, just about 15-20 feet from where we have now parked.<br />
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Mashaka sighs and says, “Those things are a pain, and they will grab anything they can get their hands on. So if you get out of the vehicle, make sure you roll up the windows and shut the doors.”<br />
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Now, I’ve lived in Tanzania for three years now, and baboons’ propensity for climbing onto and into cars looking for food is notorious. So I said, “Oh, yeah, no problem. Absolutely.” And nonchalantly start to checking my email on my phone.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjku-xr2ooIp_ty8tOXl3wd06KwC4FkRCTUVT8FyOdbpfAIR_C7kr3PIP8NVKFAuHFKblimpIGTHfStx3pO6GbPi9zKYOh3Bsy-WGDX8jeqLfh1ilX4jS238_OYYI4zEQeAhXYp/s1600/IMG_0954.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjku-xr2ooIp_ty8tOXl3wd06KwC4FkRCTUVT8FyOdbpfAIR_C7kr3PIP8NVKFAuHFKblimpIGTHfStx3pO6GbPi9zKYOh3Bsy-WGDX8jeqLfh1ilX4jS238_OYYI4zEQeAhXYp/s1600/IMG_0954.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a>So we’re sitting there, and Jeremy is looking out the window at the baboons. I wasn’t paying much attention because I’ve seen <b>TONS</b> of baboons, but these guys were hamming it up and putting on a show. They weren’t amateurs at this gig. The biggest male was holding his feet and rolling around on his back grinning for photos. Jeremy was watching and watching…<i>and the siren song of the baboon won out.</i><br />
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Jeremy says, “I’m gonna get out and snap a few pictures of these baboons.”<br />
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“No problem,” I say, as I continue to read my emails.<br />
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What I failed to notice was…<i><b>assuming that since I was still in the vehicle there would be no issues, Jeremy has left his door open</b></i>.<br />
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So Jeremy joins the crowd of other tourists ogling and taking pictures of the baboons. I glance out my window and see these baboons have moved really close to the car. They are very docile and obviously used to people, because people were standing just feet away from them.<br />
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So Jeremy comes to my window with his camera and says, “Hey, can you get a picture of me with these guys? I wanna get pretty close for the picture.” <br />
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He tries to hand me the camera through my window, but it’s a little awkward to grab the camera, so I say, “Hold on, let me just open the door and get the camera.”<br />
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And that’s when Jeremy looks over my shoulder into the car and says “<i><b>OH SHIT</b>!</i>”<br />
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Because <b>THIS</b> is what he sees:<br />
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<b>Two baboons. In the car. Sitting in Jeremy’s empty seat.<i> </i>Next to me.</b><br />
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Evidently, as I was unaware that the door was open and was totally distracted by the good internet signal, I missed the crucial fact that two large, wild animals climbed into the car with me. So I do what any normal person would do: <i>I scream, jump out of the car, and slam the door.</i><br />
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So, to recap: <b>Jeremy and I are outside of the car, and two wild baboons are inside the car.</b> It should be noted that with me now outside of the car, the baboons promptly set forth to ransacking the vehicle looking for lunchboxes and other food. Clearly, these guys had done this before.<br />
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So Jeremy and I are laughing and panicking and I’m saying some variation of “<i>ohshitohshitohshitohshit!</i>” The other tourists are all laughing and taking <i><b>our</b></i> pictures now. And other tour guides are driving by, shaking their heads, and giving us the stink-eye.<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"> "<i>These wazungu are idiots</i>," they think. </span>"<i>They didn't listen to the driver</i>." <i><b>BUT WE DID! </b></i><br />
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Panic aside, we quickly assess the situation and realize we’ve got to get the baboons out of the car. So we run to the other side of the car and I just open the front door (where one of the baboons was sitting) and just point my finger at him, motion outside the car, and sternly yell “<b>OUT!</b>” And shockingly, he looks at me…<i>and gets out</i>. Jeremy, emboldened by this, opens the back door and jumps in next to the other baboon and yells “<b>GET OUT!</b>”, at which point it promptly does.<br />
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So, in less than one minute, the baboons are out. But they took our plastic lunch boxes (belonging to the safari company) and ran off to see what goodies they got. They walk about 15 feet away, pop the lids of the containers and immediately start shredding all the scraps and leftovers, as seen below:</div>
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<i>Just look at these bastards...</i></div>
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So now we start commiserating on our next steps. Do we charge them? Should we wait for our driver? Will they gang up and charge us? Are they aggressive? There are fifteen of them, but only two of us.<br /><br />
Well, make that <i><b>three </b></i>of us, because we realize out driver, Mashaka, has come back out and is standing behind us alternating between looking at the baboons and looking at us. Looking very annoyed, by the way. <br /><br />
He says, “I <i><b>told</b></i> you to shut the windows if you get out of the car!” To which I reply, “<b><i>I NEVER GOT OUT OF THE CAR!</i></b>” These damn baboons are making me look like an idiot! <i>I CAN DO THAT MYSELF, THANK YOU VERY MUCH</i>.<br /><br />
At this point, Mashaka wings a rock at the biggest baboon and scares it off a bit. So we all just charge the crowd of baboons, yelling, clapping our hands, and whipping the ground with a switch</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Now, this is the part where I could most likely have died…but actually, all the baboons ran away. So we swoop in and grab the lunch boxes and clean all the trash scraps up from the mess they made, and…that’s it.<br /><br />
We all laughed, got in the car, and drove away.<br /><br />
But somewhere out there, in the dark of the wilds of Tanzania, sits a solitary baboon, remembering what he had gained and what he has now lost, and plotting his revenge…</span><br />
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Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-86453106727167390192015-02-08T08:03:00.000-05:002015-02-08T08:07:47.927-05:00Kids Draw the Darndest Things, Part II: Sister Genie's Birthday Edition<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
Welcome to the second installment of Kids Draw the Darndest Things, wherein I post a lot of earnest, genuine artwork created by children and then make fun of it.<br />
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This edition is dedicated to my friend Sr. Genie Natividad. This is Genie:</span>
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Sr. Genie is a Maryknoll Sister who lives here in Mwanza. Today, February 8th, is her birthday. Yesterday, we had a gathering of our Chanua children's group, with whom both Genie and I work. In honor of her birthday, I asked the kids to draw pictures of Sr. Genie.<br />
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I would be lying if I didn't admit to thinking "<i>Oh, these will be HILARIOUS.</i>"<br />
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At first, I thought I was gonna be a little disappointed. Because the first few I saw were actually pretty straight-forward, pretty good drawings, lacking the wild, wonky quality of kid's artwork that I love so much.<br />
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But these kids...<b>they did NOT disappoint</b>.<br />
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Now, I should say once again before we commence that <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I <b>LOVE</b> these drawings. I love the way kids draw. <b><i>I love everything about these drawings and I am super proud of them. I make sure to tell every kid what a good job they did with the drawing.</i></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But I'm still gonna make fun of them. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you:</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><i>Happy Birthday, Sr. Genie: A Rogue's Gallery</i></b></span></span></span></div>
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OMG!!!! LOL!!!! ROFL!!!! IHAHLA!!!<br />
(IHAHLA= I Have A Huge Left Arm)</div>
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A RED guitar?! Really? (That's all i could come up with. This one is pretty dang good.) </div>
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Remember the end of Beetlejuice? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.</div>
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Sr. Genie, the Elephant Man. </div>
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Badonkadonk! Sir Mix-a-Lot<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span>would like a word with you.</div>
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Simplistic, but pretty much gets the basics right. </div>
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Eraserhead Baby, Business Casual. </div>
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Sr. Genie: Sister by day, Sinner by Night. </div>
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"It's Raining...On Prom Night...!!" </div>
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Futurama! </div>
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"<i>Never in my 42 year as a school principal have I seen such behavior. I'll see you in my office.</i>" </div>
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"<i>A Sister and a Saint: The Sr. Genie Story</i>" starring James Gandolfini. (It was his last role.)</div>
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Pretty sure Genie is throwing gang signs here. </div>
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DAMN YOU, THALIDOMIDE! </div>
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Sisita Genenie.</div>
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<span class="st">Tip<i> </i>Toe Wing In My Jawwdinz.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYxpOqk6_pIc1l6uS71-yKKnhdcH65G6e-annu4y-rCFL2k45X_1W9kVg0Sm9g3Mj8ou4pcoW-wfWdDF7-ay9F-jAOYZ0IhVpGCJemzX2VZKfLHKcalSiTlT3zExpbAPH3gt4/s1600/IMG_1537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYxpOqk6_pIc1l6uS71-yKKnhdcH65G6e-annu4y-rCFL2k45X_1W9kVg0Sm9g3Mj8ou4pcoW-wfWdDF7-ay9F-jAOYZ0IhVpGCJemzX2VZKfLHKcalSiTlT3zExpbAPH3gt4/s1600/IMG_1537.JPG" height="400" width="313" /></a></div>
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She DOES love purple. </div>
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Sisit Gniee.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvNuzGL6ETa7zp9kJnofneXiQCODpYJZ6pnM7gIN6OVaEkjYfNJV6sZE78aZYYIV2Hl3gDvWeaJ3axd-5Dn5LrireQ_tT6gOAvFMxvY3JWvJb4mvo5WXj8xrO0rUWj6eidegS/s1600/IMG_1539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvNuzGL6ETa7zp9kJnofneXiQCODpYJZ6pnM7gIN6OVaEkjYfNJV6sZE78aZYYIV2Hl3gDvWeaJ3axd-5Dn5LrireQ_tT6gOAvFMxvY3JWvJb4mvo5WXj8xrO0rUWj6eidegS/s1600/IMG_1539.JPG" height="640" width="435" /></a></div>
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I was into Sr. Genie's music before it was cool. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
"<i>It's a sharp pain right...here...and in my left arm.</i>"</div>
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BWAH-HA-HA-HAAAA!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2jFe9LWbdjTPkr-07JTjj4wktCWmLd-G5OMNBB2JMGOubGiPHSdPbLm2sRQx7Y8vU2adNQpkcxeDNU6an0rMeionAtI99F_HvhjTqv_CES7l3i45mZ9GtttDEiP8wr2Xtbnq/s1600/IMG_1543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2jFe9LWbdjTPkr-07JTjj4wktCWmLd-G5OMNBB2JMGOubGiPHSdPbLm2sRQx7Y8vU2adNQpkcxeDNU6an0rMeionAtI99F_HvhjTqv_CES7l3i45mZ9GtttDEiP8wr2Xtbnq/s1600/IMG_1543.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Honey, dinner's on the table, and our 2.5 children are all cleaned up!"</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_02fmii4d-NldfaqC3CZNydBwFBGm-Q3rlPhjUW4s_fSCWMIKigiPO3aQ6X9pc2R4UPDuj1egz57ZyiXkNC04XnGAajd0lM403hYY4xntuoI7nn1oO4QB8DlOghgSQr3q__9r/s1600/IMG_1545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_02fmii4d-NldfaqC3CZNydBwFBGm-Q3rlPhjUW4s_fSCWMIKigiPO3aQ6X9pc2R4UPDuj1egz57ZyiXkNC04XnGAajd0lM403hYY4xntuoI7nn1oO4QB8DlOghgSQr3q__9r/s1600/IMG_1545.JPG" height="320" width="291" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Channeling Grace Jones.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFy9lW2_qH8sTiquUxkF_-aRAW3V_-gSIyNF4meDuQtj7q3dEjNkcLGOSuyBJ7dDaSrSeor9p4aijNipcnD9zmgcyNOXwW6YnCuMRVzrcJmveaAJpZ55XttmwD9ti4Pbp7aZW3/s1600/IMG_1546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFy9lW2_qH8sTiquUxkF_-aRAW3V_-gSIyNF4meDuQtj7q3dEjNkcLGOSuyBJ7dDaSrSeor9p4aijNipcnD9zmgcyNOXwW6YnCuMRVzrcJmveaAJpZ55XttmwD9ti4Pbp7aZW3/s1600/IMG_1546.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
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Something's off about the proportions here. I can't put my finger on it. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHlH_o-XlFU49v87mvJPHkvoB6g30x4p8jKtvP6RNV6oV8qJiH1MpUPuwTkDiF5L4QTRr13hQSIjdthqkZ9sT9W1wTVZraIQk4vq6Mwkr02Os1xrmDbNyFJWPeSozcdKFo1Md/s1600/IMG_1547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHlH_o-XlFU49v87mvJPHkvoB6g30x4p8jKtvP6RNV6oV8qJiH1MpUPuwTkDiF5L4QTRr13hQSIjdthqkZ9sT9W1wTVZraIQk4vq6Mwkr02Os1xrmDbNyFJWPeSozcdKFo1Md/s1600/IMG_1547.JPG" height="400" width="322" /></a></div>
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CLIMB EVERY MOUNTAIN!!! (which is pretty hard without feet). </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
This one just freaks me out. Let's move on.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjVEADydtNWaQQs7w-DWyq9tvZjjB8rqzVZICh2FVw5Yj17S3325DTcOkUDzBDmwcrKVsC9zPYo2q7awobMxVq3Q4mEeNV97NOgsncvI8b4hGyw6LhJC7B1Ytbce0qjUjfb33/s1600/IMG_1549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjVEADydtNWaQQs7w-DWyq9tvZjjB8rqzVZICh2FVw5Yj17S3325DTcOkUDzBDmwcrKVsC9zPYo2q7awobMxVq3Q4mEeNV97NOgsncvI8b4hGyw6LhJC7B1Ytbce0qjUjfb33/s1600/IMG_1549.JPG" height="400" width="297" /></a></div>
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CLIMB EVERY MOUNTAIN!! (Simpsons style)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIrK2wqbz-00XK7oBmuUGS-4_Dh-fhNgIisaMJnyeaOcFsgwD1PemHb88P9FgfO_0Fy5QF0vj24_y7OL4bn4CzN4JE3dL-j2UadIKlS23TBdYLIVcKNK2cvFQRUlso-A7UTWv/s1600/IMG_1550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIrK2wqbz-00XK7oBmuUGS-4_Dh-fhNgIisaMJnyeaOcFsgwD1PemHb88P9FgfO_0Fy5QF0vj24_y7OL4bn4CzN4JE3dL-j2UadIKlS23TBdYLIVcKNK2cvFQRUlso-A7UTWv/s1600/IMG_1550.JPG" height="400" width="295" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Don't cry, Little Monkey. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Is that her hair or is her brain exposed? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWyKm3JO3wVyXwt9J43cD7YXMUJtmu_wsXd5ERo9XKfG9fxoWOGTVlVBVOwbPC_qEc3U0szGmGnLzE6-MhVWFngp0ldmLRXFs4cIkTysIOmlBv1jghpi7N8TXXwnSRQJ_EIh7P/s1600/IMG_1553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWyKm3JO3wVyXwt9J43cD7YXMUJtmu_wsXd5ERo9XKfG9fxoWOGTVlVBVOwbPC_qEc3U0szGmGnLzE6-MhVWFngp0ldmLRXFs4cIkTysIOmlBv1jghpi7N8TXXwnSRQJ_EIh7P/s1600/IMG_1553.JPG" height="400" width="297" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Kathleen Turner as a Buffy vampire. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
HUH? WHA-? ME?</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
</span>
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<br />
And a BONUS CHRISTOPHER: <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Heisenberg.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
</span>
</div>
Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-47532409897283308062014-12-02T15:13:00.003-05:002014-12-02T15:14:37.197-05:00Seven Years<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
So, today is the seven year anniversary of my father's death from cancer. That's really hard to wrap my head around; sometimes it seems that it was just the blink of an eye, but today it's the opposite. I can't believe it's <b>ONLY</b> been seven years. I've done a lot of livin' in these last few years, and that time- the stress, the sadness, the laughter, and tears- it just seems like a lifetime ago.<br /> <br /> For several days now, I've been mulling over what I was going to write on this anniversary. This is <b>THE</b> day. It's a day to remember a life-changing event in the life of the Reid family. I tried to think of something profound to say.<br /> <br /> But I got nuthin.' No profound wisdom to impart or wise words to share. But you know what I <b>DO</b> have?<br /> <br /> A ton of dirty dishes to wash.<br /> <br /> Mundane? Yep. Boring? Yes, indeed. Necessary? Sadly, yes. I must do the dishes. Life goes on. As it should. As it must.<br /> <br /> Sometimes life is amazing, like when I visited with Watatulu people up in the rock hills around Lake Eyasi in Tanzania. Sometime life is miserable, like when I struggled with anger and depression last year. It's fun when I watch Guardians of the Galaxy with friends. And it's plain old boring when I have to do the dishes.<br /> <br /> I miss my dad. I would love to talk to him about all of the above (<i>though maybe not the dishes</i>). I think of him <b>every single day</b>. And I hope I always will. I wish he were here with us, yet he is not; but his example still lives on with me, guiding me.<br /> <br /> Life goes on, and I think he'd be very happy to hear it. <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
</span><br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEAcOzEjlhakogUt6D_niCQ9ESQmobNKqcOZpHsmX-T-0x9gvrI9ctBH9iJd9HOvCu1S21aPxS1lEW59KajzxL0dxhqtoDlC7PD8sr-QaWrIJMDbneo1fb7VkN54AWmWN1juf/s1600/2084353464_eb953985bf_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEAcOzEjlhakogUt6D_niCQ9ESQmobNKqcOZpHsmX-T-0x9gvrI9ctBH9iJd9HOvCu1S21aPxS1lEW59KajzxL0dxhqtoDlC7PD8sr-QaWrIJMDbneo1fb7VkN54AWmWN1juf/s320/2084353464_eb953985bf_o.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span>
</span>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-76857462878471538842014-11-12T15:55:00.000-05:002014-11-12T15:55:47.106-05:00Small Talk, Tanzania Style<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdwq2DMvSb8UpEn_7OFytR5ey1bg_-rTzmPJc1ctQUSUjlJUAFGTfW9v4KDqB2AWjkladdbY6k1ymD_VN7Lz-SgshtKWaerZLuFIIyewSHkda5AmTdE8X-QPYGqBUVe_grUduX/s1600/Me+Gusta.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdwq2DMvSb8UpEn_7OFytR5ey1bg_-rTzmPJc1ctQUSUjlJUAFGTfW9v4KDqB2AWjkladdbY6k1ymD_VN7Lz-SgshtKWaerZLuFIIyewSHkda5AmTdE8X-QPYGqBUVe_grUduX/s200/Me+Gusta.png" width="193" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">So I have written in the
past about language issues here in Tanzania. Indeed, the struggle to
communicate is one of the most salient issue here for an ex-pat. Deeper issues of cultural
understanding manifest themselves in conversations, but you can’t even approach
that level of communication if you’re standing there looking like an idiot
trying to remember the word for “<i>pineapple</i>.” Katie can actually have
conversations in Swahili. I can sound like a relatively functional 4-year-old.</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Beyond simply learning,
remembering, and using new vocabulary and then understanding the nuance that
may be underneath the words themselves, you also must deal with the fact that
people talk differently, </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">and I don't mean accents or simple grammar. I mean the way they <b>think</b> and <b>form sentences</b> is different. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">In your own culture, you have
a basic assumption of how people will speak to you. But here, someone may say
something to you that makes sense to them and everyone around you but makes no
sense at all to you. What I mean is, beyond idioms, beyond new words, the
things that people choose to say and choose NOT to say are often just as
baffling, if not moreso.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Let’s take simple small
talk, for example.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Small talk here often makes
no sense to an American ear. It’s confusing. Even after almost 3 years here,
its confusing. But maybe "<i>confusing</i>" isn't the right word...maybe "<i>pointless</i>" is better. It circles around
and around and makes no sense. Now, I know there’s very little depth to “<i>Hot today, huh?</i>”
or “<i>How ‘bout them Mets?</i>” but you at least know you’re talking about the
weather of a football team. (Ha HA just kidding, people).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Small talk here- at least small talk with a Westerner- tends to
consist of just stating some random comment about something remotely related to
you, but with the crucial point of not clearly stating what that thing may be.
Here’s a typical example. Keep in mind that this is often in a mix of English
and Swahili.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Me: Habari za leo? (How are
you?)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Them: Nzuri. Habari za
kwako? (How’s your home?)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Me: Good.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Them: AMERICA.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Me: …What?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Them: How is it?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Me: How is what? America?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Them: YES...UGALI. (a local
food staple)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Me: …What?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Them: UGALI. Have you tried
it?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Me: …Yes. Why?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Them: Sema? (Verb for “say”)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Me: Say what?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Them: MABATINI. (Our
neighborhood)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Me:…What about Mabatini?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Them: How is it?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Me: Mabatini? It’s good.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Them: HA HA HA. Yes.
AMERICA.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This can pretty much go on
ad infinitum until I just smile and walk away (or look very confused and walk
away). There will often be thumbs up, high fives, and laughter on their part. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So there’s no real moral to
this story. It’s just fascinating (and honestly, often annoying) to see this
happen. I feel that a certain amount of their local interaction is on this
surface level with minimal information. But I also think this is particular relevant to when locals interact with Westerners. I know that most people here know
a little bit of English- often just a few random words they’ve picked up- but
in the same way that I felt good when I had my first simple exchanges in
Swahili, they are likely proud of themselves for engaging the mzungu in
English. Even if it made no sense to the English-speaker. And I can’t really
judge them on that, because I see that same confused look staring at me when I
open my mouth and use Swahili.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">AMERICA. YES. HA HA HA!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</span>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-25419979076207542852014-08-18T10:25:00.002-04:002014-08-18T10:34:48.644-04:00Am I Missing Something?...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"> ...or is the <i><b>massage therapist</b></i> missing something in this picture?<br /><br />
Recently, several of us here were going through books to donate, and I
flipped open a book on massage and found the following pictures.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh88Mrr-owddQqvS3OSPaJEMIbV1ulgV6A7MwG1QWglcTHW3Ko-5GLSkJKi0x0W5mGG6gD5apbtc9203GSiPbeNjVBkNCr97dinPaFL-Zu0-7jpdzFMEbO8cLnYbN3NJA4d9DZm/s1600/IMG_0758.JPG" width="400" /> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuuZC2nXAz_2FVO8FadPR0lEbf0oq3Ues405rPueX-r4MOYN8sZs8fbWCu8LyI2MArd1lN06i5PZ6-buG27G0MRuTYN_k0z5cpBpKrctxu2p1zzPH8cAw5-SGkVu7KrKv1RWtJ/s1600/IMG_0759.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuuZC2nXAz_2FVO8FadPR0lEbf0oq3Ues405rPueX-r4MOYN8sZs8fbWCu8LyI2MArd1lN06i5PZ6-buG27G0MRuTYN_k0z5cpBpKrctxu2p1zzPH8cAw5-SGkVu7KrKv1RWtJ/s1600/IMG_0759.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
<br />There were many more like these two.<br /><br />Look, I've had some <a href="http://requiredreiding.blogspot.com/2014/05/big-pain-one-two-three-adventures-in.html">really strange massages</a> before, but only ONE of us stripped down for the session.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">...and that "Darndest Thing" is ME.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This last Saturday, the kids of our Chanua group met for their regular Saturday morning meeting. We vary on what we do at these meetings. Sometimes we teach them lessons to help with their school work, sometimes we sing and/or draw pictures, and sometimes we just have game days. This last Saturday, because we were also handing out items of clothing for the kids, we decided it was a good day to draw.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now, these kids tend to draw the same things over and over, which is fine. It goes like this:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Girls:</b> <i>flowers, princesses, houses, their school teachers</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Boys:</b> <i>soccer players, airplanes, cars, the Tanzanian flag</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In light of the repetitive nature of their pictures, we often give them a topic to draw to inspire them to think outside the box a little more. And this week I told them that they should draw either ME or my coworker Mary.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My friends, you are in for a treat. Before we delve into these drawings, I want to say one thing: I <b>LOVE</b> these drawings. I love the way kids draw. <b><i>I love everything about these drawings and I am super proud of them.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now, with that said, I'm gonna kinda make fun of these drawings because they are of ME and I look INSANE in all of them. <b>They are wonderful</b>.</span><br />
<br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4HkJF73RMXWJKOJRbq9SxT2leNtmB18mKSBLa7_axsqgXjDTY1klIk1oDt66oSF-6zQsqEzyF4HYo-IFSJdrZPctQD1eBtsactcgoiPvoPjRVKYEOoVpxwirgHjCqKDCkF9u/s1600/IMG_0718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4HkJF73RMXWJKOJRbq9SxT2leNtmB18mKSBLa7_axsqgXjDTY1klIk1oDt66oSF-6zQsqEzyF4HYo-IFSJdrZPctQD1eBtsactcgoiPvoPjRVKYEOoVpxwirgHjCqKDCkF9u/s1600/IMG_0718.JPG" height="640" width="440" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
I think I look pretty burly here. Like a lumberjack or someone who's ready for</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
some blue collar work. I'll see you mofos down at the DOCKS.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7xt2vPDAMDOZZe2q_GCTctP2winztVmuNdnFed0mdpjL2Gxc0on8ftohKJVTZRQX44h7t9dGiNaXp8cjZpWGQJGMsCZUN683fwSY8E9wwaLfjxKUTqwTH8nlvJrk1SggokYfE/s1600/IMG_0719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7xt2vPDAMDOZZe2q_GCTctP2winztVmuNdnFed0mdpjL2Gxc0on8ftohKJVTZRQX44h7t9dGiNaXp8cjZpWGQJGMsCZUN683fwSY8E9wwaLfjxKUTqwTH8nlvJrk1SggokYfE/s1600/IMG_0719.JPG" height="640" width="362" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Looks like I'm wearing clown shoes. Symbolism, perhaps? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Trying to make a statement about my soul. I like the artistic license.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixPWytipBzLcrLf4Yp2sShJKmunQxQeL4Xn4teg6XF0CXRvKZ3gyrgsHh5YBD1BPSPXticIF68Iw-q3yGQ9OY-x8V2JleJuSdC18yKTlMNHI4o-PMZx1YIOQtKu8j-9rwTon7x/s1600/IMG_0720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixPWytipBzLcrLf4Yp2sShJKmunQxQeL4Xn4teg6XF0CXRvKZ3gyrgsHh5YBD1BPSPXticIF68Iw-q3yGQ9OY-x8V2JleJuSdC18yKTlMNHI4o-PMZx1YIOQtKu8j-9rwTon7x/s1600/IMG_0720.JPG" height="640" width="378" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In this one, I'm clearly angry about my botched plastic surgery. Which is TRUE.<br />
I'm STILL pissed about it. Also, I'm angry about my clubfeet.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNUYzO4Khf8laIycKuDg7VyU0RkguZLWPz8pKECsGg-cW95pnZwS57uDY2xSTepB653w_froao19EJSkwUYBAojfLTIn16Nmxj-uaSTYVnPJJRUM0GGeJxIaKLVfHigkrlmPAW/s1600/IMG_0721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNUYzO4Khf8laIycKuDg7VyU0RkguZLWPz8pKECsGg-cW95pnZwS57uDY2xSTepB653w_froao19EJSkwUYBAojfLTIn16Nmxj-uaSTYVnPJJRUM0GGeJxIaKLVfHigkrlmPAW/s1600/IMG_0721.JPG" height="640" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This one just works. I think I have a grill in this one.</div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjig-Omj39J8po3spwuV2old047lNGyxjQzdgMaNdKm82Due1ytmnzdq6QNMdWwpbuiaEoCmN6vbjAae9H3Imss6JGNZf7KiPKE_4bP9f8hJa-5p5ARsejX_EqXAyLznGAPmI5n/s1600/IMG_0722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjig-Omj39J8po3spwuV2old047lNGyxjQzdgMaNdKm82Due1ytmnzdq6QNMdWwpbuiaEoCmN6vbjAae9H3Imss6JGNZf7KiPKE_4bP9f8hJa-5p5ARsejX_EqXAyLznGAPmI5n/s1600/IMG_0722.JPG" height="640" width="396" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The slightly stunned, vacant look? LIKE A PHOTOGRAPH, this one.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiv-GVknNT_3NRcU1UWQoJJRUZpjzUIbuRRSf9knUR9nE7NVTqFRUIprdP5sUgiOrqwMNt-hSRQmWnEQv2XFY0SHYA3zlu8gEbprJYKMX1NiKJSzNJf4ntqFVDcot1P2qlyVDw/s1600/IMG_0723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiv-GVknNT_3NRcU1UWQoJJRUZpjzUIbuRRSf9knUR9nE7NVTqFRUIprdP5sUgiOrqwMNt-hSRQmWnEQv2XFY0SHYA3zlu8gEbprJYKMX1NiKJSzNJf4ntqFVDcot1P2qlyVDw/s1600/IMG_0723.JPG" height="640" width="412" /></a></div>
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This one clearly got the proportions correct. Also, I need some red pants.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nC6WcIm9UevIEgu7ypOFuQkreV8A9LQzXK5FaWbzrQ5cwoRTEGWOHo3KIZCINBODpvkEGP1tNjtNua0R0N35zZzSYcF4CcLOQLJymBFDVBG272_wi8AH9eCZc2vSMJ3c2QOK/s1600/IMG_0724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nC6WcIm9UevIEgu7ypOFuQkreV8A9LQzXK5FaWbzrQ5cwoRTEGWOHo3KIZCINBODpvkEGP1tNjtNua0R0N35zZzSYcF4CcLOQLJymBFDVBG272_wi8AH9eCZc2vSMJ3c2QOK/s1600/IMG_0724.JPG" height="640" width="421" /></a></div>
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This was a child's take on me if I were a serial killing version of <a href="http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/65/e6/02/65e602a3af9e844dfdf3117182cedf97.jpg">Ed Grimley</a>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCssmXtBRTwfIfYvEqEaL9-HOlm8e-TEjc2LSURnEJVO-Pwf7ySCQw353xYyHwfhwBHvY5HaSDQvJbCW-CNyaNntRYGXGtGtjACn3vtps2lbAqpQVfzzPKGHWlHs7FB7t42tAa/s1600/IMG_0725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCssmXtBRTwfIfYvEqEaL9-HOlm8e-TEjc2LSURnEJVO-Pwf7ySCQw353xYyHwfhwBHvY5HaSDQvJbCW-CNyaNntRYGXGtGtjACn3vtps2lbAqpQVfzzPKGHWlHs7FB7t42tAa/s1600/IMG_0725.JPG" height="640" width="444" /></a></div>
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I do wear a lot of greens and blues.</div>
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Katie and I laughed really hard at the red shoes. Then I remembered I own a pair of red shoes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjmDl_1PJ0UFF4wAb6hMHAEccogRmiSj6qDs2CI6ClzwqTYBmLi4B__MiYj69fnIXGCJXwvzHVf-ZD5jAyunROE6DfsjayoWauFvkab0PokYdg4kgNf3n8DMyfP1EMt1nC1ti/s1600/IMG_0729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjmDl_1PJ0UFF4wAb6hMHAEccogRmiSj6qDs2CI6ClzwqTYBmLi4B__MiYj69fnIXGCJXwvzHVf-ZD5jAyunROE6DfsjayoWauFvkab0PokYdg4kgNf3n8DMyfP1EMt1nC1ti/s1600/IMG_0729.JPG" height="640" width="380" /></a></div>
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BOW BEFORE ZOD!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAoyeMAwOcWuHxspm0NIgFMnZxe69wNgK-WuVsa__oio5KuOkTwClYIyAgF2Fa8CS9bx-PCiiLq5ZaY3CHPnlWvkoLYF8UfOOek0OmfFq0lQTFXYOHbMZn1i792TKXaHujvtjY/s1600/IMG_0730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAoyeMAwOcWuHxspm0NIgFMnZxe69wNgK-WuVsa__oio5KuOkTwClYIyAgF2Fa8CS9bx-PCiiLq5ZaY3CHPnlWvkoLYF8UfOOek0OmfFq0lQTFXYOHbMZn1i792TKXaHujvtjY/s1600/IMG_0730.JPG" height="640" width="372" /></a></div>
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I did not realize my arms were that hairy. YOU LEARN SOMETHING NEW EVERY DAY.</div>
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Excuse me, sir. Have you seen my feet? And the other half of right arm?</div>
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Otherwise, this one is pretty accurate.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJ2pmjqx2iwleumK-y2Znlz95XkxH4dUfwv_MRRG7CppllR4xrwKg4ZNdOX0dpQ4lkGWgFgz3sPVNUkS8qmPz4SUosBeQWES6MxcbQgbqWQ9oCEVhYotTskCm9JBWSSDl-may/s1600/IMG_0732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJ2pmjqx2iwleumK-y2Znlz95XkxH4dUfwv_MRRG7CppllR4xrwKg4ZNdOX0dpQ4lkGWgFgz3sPVNUkS8qmPz4SUosBeQWES6MxcbQgbqWQ9oCEVhYotTskCm9JBWSSDl-may/s1600/IMG_0732.JPG" height="640" width="486" /></a></div>
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"<i>Vacant Eyes and Tiny Slippers: The Story of Chris Reid</i>." Monday, 11pm, Lifetime Network.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVaTX625WVbahVUwEC587SibgP-iMZF0QrZBic_ooZJddxixBGY3HQVgrfCR1LD2bqaRRg1_HdDcQIETFuYUKAlZRUjme4DGS-672afCv6oFsnREbjyqjlI461Lmlk816mOVmw/s1600/IMG_0733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVaTX625WVbahVUwEC587SibgP-iMZF0QrZBic_ooZJddxixBGY3HQVgrfCR1LD2bqaRRg1_HdDcQIETFuYUKAlZRUjme4DGS-672afCv6oFsnREbjyqjlI461Lmlk816mOVmw/s1600/IMG_0733.JPG" height="640" width="436" /></a></div>
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I like the sass in this one. I feel a little like Beyonce.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZmCBseK5HF5ohPUAw3DEKjti6pv6Yglr6VO3NKznh_SvT50sY3TajGjAszX5kgWCaULRvpmH8Vh88PfmZA_v7BYWSvlGTI_JJooogISfxDE889n0WijC53PU8vcvPJON5cUY/s1600/IMG_0742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZmCBseK5HF5ohPUAw3DEKjti6pv6Yglr6VO3NKznh_SvT50sY3TajGjAszX5kgWCaULRvpmH8Vh88PfmZA_v7BYWSvlGTI_JJooogISfxDE889n0WijC53PU8vcvPJON5cUY/s1600/IMG_0742.JPG" height="400" width="396" /></a></div>
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OK, I look like an angry monkey in this one. Which is cool.</div>
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I need to take a minute to talk about spelling. The Sukuma people do not</div>
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differentiate between R's and L's, so they spell my name is many creative</div>
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ways based on how they hear my name. So "Chris" becomes some variant of "Kilis."</div>
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Based on the above drawing, I'm obviously battling for the Iron Throne of Westeros.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSDixc8aA4NkxbrKxhg00P_H0cR-laCDQYAh3n2pTf8PfSUecF6ajWmiIPisPDTl7oma6YAWGD7P9qAhcIrNyGqwmSedDzXu_02_KcDVG8Q542p2hfjMNDEQJISIxsZVBUIuK/s1600/IMG_0734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSDixc8aA4NkxbrKxhg00P_H0cR-laCDQYAh3n2pTf8PfSUecF6ajWmiIPisPDTl7oma6YAWGD7P9qAhcIrNyGqwmSedDzXu_02_KcDVG8Q542p2hfjMNDEQJISIxsZVBUIuK/s1600/IMG_0734.JPG" height="400" width="386" /></a></div>
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<b>I WISH I LOOKED THIS COOL IN REAL LIFE</b>. Seriously. I look like a member of <a href="http://www.theclash.com/">The Clash</a>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9eyfQr8mZaC026BS5NQNJ_K_DlgWvwuqzPPa33XDiMwBdPY6LO4iYfz2HPgFy70isyMpzHoKb6JkRhqlfQ_cgmzaaVz4Hcp-lpcFKPqa8ttgfLhy_qSU2n4aHEsqLAis9mn8/s1600/IMG_0735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9eyfQr8mZaC026BS5NQNJ_K_DlgWvwuqzPPa33XDiMwBdPY6LO4iYfz2HPgFy70isyMpzHoKb6JkRhqlfQ_cgmzaaVz4Hcp-lpcFKPqa8ttgfLhy_qSU2n4aHEsqLAis9mn8/s1600/IMG_0735.JPG" height="640" width="518" /></a></div>
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I look kinda like Ice Cube here. VALID.</div>
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Also, I'm handing out clothing here, hence the shirt in my hand. Or I'm Edward Wardrobehands.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCrXY6ah7SYnKVEu9jZMyUuVlynV1B8iL__jhwfnwx1rbemMqycG-oZWggtkPMQo-ThEXdXEWf56QA4z_XAYDeVKXAhQP0D6OFnAku1G4Nl1O4uG6P-mNcTo9i8fTikSVpkws/s1600/IMG_0736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCrXY6ah7SYnKVEu9jZMyUuVlynV1B8iL__jhwfnwx1rbemMqycG-oZWggtkPMQo-ThEXdXEWf56QA4z_XAYDeVKXAhQP0D6OFnAku1G4Nl1O4uG6P-mNcTo9i8fTikSVpkws/s1600/IMG_0736.JPG" height="400" width="385" /></a></div>
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This one makes me giggle to no end. I adore it. Also, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BahUC3EFWXA">Bruce Willis kills me in Sin City</a>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-hCGAVCGLGcdwyUgjwrp6RSpJ4LqyiyCyD7yQY9yC7wTJqwO8ZEP5J97txU1SlJ3vzGRHu8_1_vrUDjm8tYCVWplWAP8jyuxLKxhQUluC476rzryedTeyu3IaWPAvgHhM1qrw/s1600/IMG_0737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-hCGAVCGLGcdwyUgjwrp6RSpJ4LqyiyCyD7yQY9yC7wTJqwO8ZEP5J97txU1SlJ3vzGRHu8_1_vrUDjm8tYCVWplWAP8jyuxLKxhQUluC476rzryedTeyu3IaWPAvgHhM1qrw/s1600/IMG_0737.JPG" height="640" width="560" /></a></div>
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I shore am glad Aunt Mommy and Uncle Cousin picked me up after I got my lobotomy.</div>
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I think I need to consider going sleeveless more.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDn-xqS3YJpZ_wuopNp-dL9a5vPxSk5CEZxNHmMLTo6Nd0u70HRykvdtEIEPJXCY6GB4Eraz-xqL2rpQEd53Xsql-ZP5WJA6qiJ7U350_voZ7vxvoZ5qrio7NJyIcKvoYwah2f/s1600/IMG_0739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDn-xqS3YJpZ_wuopNp-dL9a5vPxSk5CEZxNHmMLTo6Nd0u70HRykvdtEIEPJXCY6GB4Eraz-xqL2rpQEd53Xsql-ZP5WJA6qiJ7U350_voZ7vxvoZ5qrio7NJyIcKvoYwah2f/s1600/IMG_0739.JPG" height="363" width="400" /></a></div>
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WHERE'S MY DRAGONS??!!!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMilk2JFwfM1bbFBPSV2NG9ja4VgyIfBHQblZhdmgyW-RaTB1pTKtsBWSifsU7Vg-BElXx-g4pJTw8Mmus4TBrTy2B48gxRSPhRPB5FoMzl_65uL98d38JEsEby3u8xw_8isj/s1600/IMG_0740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMilk2JFwfM1bbFBPSV2NG9ja4VgyIfBHQblZhdmgyW-RaTB1pTKtsBWSifsU7Vg-BElXx-g4pJTw8Mmus4TBrTy2B48gxRSPhRPB5FoMzl_65uL98d38JEsEby3u8xw_8isj/s1600/IMG_0740.JPG" height="640" width="452" /></a></div>
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I'm not sure if you have ever seen <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0074486/">Eraserhead</a>, but THIS kid certainly has.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMIzwmJRsCcyQAYOerxxy-CSZfv0sraV94tFJUmQaD1UTGJk8PwRkf0DUyR6OFbkiuY9VCcPNvz_4rzKrCTFqeJmvFGOXL2Bu3fX3VZF50QsIGpr4RyEoz2k0crPvwCtugEznc/s1600/eraserhead.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMIzwmJRsCcyQAYOerxxy-CSZfv0sraV94tFJUmQaD1UTGJk8PwRkf0DUyR6OFbkiuY9VCcPNvz_4rzKrCTFqeJmvFGOXL2Bu3fX3VZF50QsIGpr4RyEoz2k0crPvwCtugEznc/s1600/eraserhead.gif" height="171" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm kinda like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cthulhu">Cthulhu</a>, but with beard tentacles.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEillb46meg7DNvTWwHb53BmKnGJkzqgjYQ9_zjOZGy1Eecaka9i953cK5O9sQs8SawMIG5RxfaDQ0hpyvD4BTSJZJ7t4RDpM79ITG_VsPkIzeNf6yYLbEg_0p0WgC7rHAjnfUZA/s1600/IMG_0743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEillb46meg7DNvTWwHb53BmKnGJkzqgjYQ9_zjOZGy1Eecaka9i953cK5O9sQs8SawMIG5RxfaDQ0hpyvD4BTSJZJ7t4RDpM79ITG_VsPkIzeNf6yYLbEg_0p0WgC7rHAjnfUZA/s1600/IMG_0743.JPG" height="640" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>NAILED IT.</b></div>
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<b>Bonus Drawing:</b> Here's one of Mary, my Coworker.</div>
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</span>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-71052473086058053802014-06-19T15:30:00.000-04:002014-06-19T15:30:02.761-04:00In Memory of Thomas<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
Earlier today, I received a phone call with some bad news. Thomas, a boy I knew up in Musoma, had succumbed to illness and died earlier this morning.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX5yU5PQrr0B6ZkqHqlNu99Qa1PvyLhq4NKJBowkbwZHaelD_o6IJPO5PX_ktYpBUabrcl8XB_laR5SA9tciF6WkyKP9GPvQIwMnOLhV8x0tcEjTusl7UCP1sIqWIXlMkge02z/s1600/IMG_3166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX5yU5PQrr0B6ZkqHqlNu99Qa1PvyLhq4NKJBowkbwZHaelD_o6IJPO5PX_ktYpBUabrcl8XB_laR5SA9tciF6WkyKP9GPvQIwMnOLhV8x0tcEjTusl7UCP1sIqWIXlMkge02z/s1600/IMG_3166.JPG" height="232" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I met Thomas in early 2012, shortly after we arrived in Tanzania. The town of Musoma is where we went to language school, and it’s also the town where <a href="http://www.mklm.org/who-we-are/our-people/missioners/elizabeth-mach/">fellow missioner Liz Mach</a> and <a href="https://www.maryknollsisters.org/sister-marion-hughes">Maryknoll Sister Marion Hughes</a> live. Every two weeks, a group of HIV+ children (called <i><b>Lisa’s Pride</b></i>) gather at Sr. Marion’s house to play games, to do a weigh-in, and to receive basic food stuffs that helps keep their immune systems strong. While we lived in Musoma, we would try to make it out to as many sessions as we could, and that’s where we met Thomas.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">First of all, Thomas was charming. He had a great smile. He was smart and quick to laugh. And he was a <b>little</b> dude. I thought he was 9 or 10 at first, but when you spoke with him, he seemed older. That’s because he <b>was</b>; his health issues had stunted his growth and kept him at a size very small relative to his age. He was a teenager and must have been 15 or 16 by now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">As should be obvious by his membership in Lisa’s Pride, Thomas was HIV+. I don’t know the story of how he was infected. He was also deaf, but he wasn’t born that way. When he was younger, he got malaria and received an overdose of his medication and lost his hearing as a result. Yet, he could still hear a little so he could hold a conversation with you- <i>in Swahili or in English</i>. And he could read lips- <i>in Swahili or in English</i>. I told you, he was smart.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIbySN7oLKkrIeJ8AGsUbqm5MnKCZR_XW_uv2hzq0Zd9aCdBsPl1oy_7ylQev1Ooj6T0FZ4wrJeiD6SJroeNELd5aK2o5QxBue8zEuEmetW_KyMp5PuLnWn1Y85GVCf7tV0aL/s1600/IMG_1517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIbySN7oLKkrIeJ8AGsUbqm5MnKCZR_XW_uv2hzq0Zd9aCdBsPl1oy_7ylQev1Ooj6T0FZ4wrJeiD6SJroeNELd5aK2o5QxBue8zEuEmetW_KyMp5PuLnWn1Y85GVCf7tV0aL/s1600/IMG_1517.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">After 3 months, we moved down to Mwanza, but for our first Christmas in Tanzania, we went back up to Musoma to spend a few days with Liz and Sr. Marion. We also went to assist with a big shopping trip where the kids from Lisa’s Pride got to pick out clothes for themselves. It was a lot of fun, and Thomas was around, of course. The day of the shopping trip was also my 36th birthday, so Katie baked me a cake. Thomas helped her light the candles, and then he brought the cake out to me as everyone sang “<i>Happy Birthday</i>.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Sadly, that was the last time I saw him. We haven’t been up to Musoma in a year and a half. But I always asked about him, and I hear that he would still ask about me from time to time. I know Thomas liked me a lot, but I won’t say I had a particularly special relationship with him, because he liked <i><b>everybody</b></i>. But clearly, Thomas had a special place in <b>my</b> heart.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I’m not sure what happened, but he had evidently been sick for a while and had been in and out of the hospital. He was recently released because he was doing really well…and then he died. That’s what HIV/AIDS does: weakens your immune system until some secondary infection gets you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I feel like I should take this opportunity to rally support for AIDS research and funding for ARVs, but I’m not sure what to say at this moment. We <b>should</b> take a “<i>big picture</i>” approach to tackling the HIV/AIDS epidemic, but today I’m taking the “<i>small view</i>.” I’m just mourning the death of a child…my friend, Thomas. </span><br />
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Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-55967997292383260442014-06-16T15:08:00.001-04:002014-06-16T15:08:21.481-04:00The Day of the African Child<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">
Every year, on June 16th, the world celebrates the <b>Day of the African Child</b>. <br />
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Today, I had a sobering experience to mark the day. I visited the office of <a href="http://focc.or.tz/">Friends of Children with Cancer (FOCC</a>) at <a href="http://www.bugandomedicalcentre.go.tz/">Bugando Medical Centre</a> here in Mwanza, Tanzania. The director, Walter Miya, is a friend of mine. At the end of our two hour meeting, he gave me a tour of the oncology ward. He took me to the bedside of each of the little kids there receiving treatment for cancer. It was a sad experience to be sure, but it's also a blessing that these children are getting treatment and assistance.<br />
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Let's be real: a lot of these kids won't make it. But at least they have the chance to try. And a lot of these kids <b>WILL</b> make it, and that's a reason to celebrate right there.<br />
<br /></span>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-42981310246373825402014-06-14T07:15:00.000-04:002014-06-14T07:17:04.731-04:00A Shout Out to a Friend<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-9LLX5d0rrOKzwFlCec19at9RW1KRilxABR_Vm79N80yYhtfxC4vzscg2H0suMHNFhJMn9O6hcuOnjvQ4MJu2HCZjqpGw9qSjVORJaBm4e17k1NVyeO9V8v84JS0uNAZXwhY/s1600/250760866_00c4aff505_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-9LLX5d0rrOKzwFlCec19at9RW1KRilxABR_Vm79N80yYhtfxC4vzscg2H0suMHNFhJMn9O6hcuOnjvQ4MJu2HCZjqpGw9qSjVORJaBm4e17k1NVyeO9V8v84JS0uNAZXwhY/s1600/250760866_00c4aff505_o.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I want to brag for a minute, but not about myself. I want to take a moment and talk about <b>Aden Mabruk</b>, my Somali Bantu friend from Columbia. <a href="http://requiredreiding.blogspot.com/2007/04/yesterdays-refugee-tomorrows-architect.html">I’ve written about him numerous times over the years</a>, as he was a big part of my years living in Columbia, SC. <br /><br />
I first met him back in 2005 when I volunteered to tutor him once a week while he was a student at Dent Middle School. He was a quiet, intense, kinda surly 14-year-old refugee kid who was so focused on his school work that he would hardly look me in the eye or make any semblance of small talk. Over time, that facade slowly but surely dropped and we began to spend hours together each week discussing school work and any other questions he had on his mind. Eventually, due to numerous factors, <a href="http://requiredreiding.blogspot.com/2007/05/photo-sharing.html">my involvement within the Columbia Somali Bantu community expanded</a> to include some degree of connection to almost every Somali Bantu family in the city. But Aden always remained my core connection, along with his friends <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1392208234385174&set=a.1383175895288408.1073741825.100007880320679&type=1&theater">Hassan</a>, Abdi, Mohammed, and Omar (AKA “<i>Motormouth</i>, <a href="http://www.thestate.com/2012/11/01/2503640/eau-claire-senior-omar-sharif.html">who's done quite well for himself, as well!</a>)</span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Eventually, once Aden and his crew made it to high school, our time spent with each other dwindled. Aden got involved with sports, made a bunch of friends (and got very popular), and got involved with extracurricular activities. By his junior year, he was super busy, and he eventually ended our tutoring sessions. It was bittersweet to me; I was super proud of how far he and his friends had come, but I felt a real loss. He didn’t need me anymore! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><i> </i><br />
But once he graduated high school, he got a car and come over to just hang out at my house, and that was a fun new aspect to our friendship. He and his crew spent many nights sitting around a fire in my backyard chatting up my friends<i> </i>and neighbors (<i>and trying to teach them <b>the most bullshit card game I’ve ever witnessed</b>, a game that I thought was totally made up by the Somalis solely to mess with Americans until <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1193557796279&set=a.1193556476246.2029971.1148444567&type=3&theater">my friend Fiona managed to actually sorta learn it one night</a> and I had to concede there may actually be rules</i>). He also took some ESL classes at USC in the building where I worked and he joined the <a href="http://web.sa.sc.edu/panasa/?page_id=146">PANASA</a> group I helped start, so I would see him around campus.<br /><br />
Anyway, the kid meant a lot to me, and still does, though since we moved to Tanzania our communication has really dropped off. Despite our best efforts,<b> </b>I didn’t even manage to see him when I was in the States this February. I wasn’t really sure what he was up to these days. And then <b>THIS</b> showed up on his facebook wall the other day:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>“To friends in the U.S and outside of U.S I'm really sorry that i have been difficult to reach these few months. I and my brother Tariq Sabreer have been working big project starting our own business. Allhumalallah finally we did it. I'm honored to be a partner with such talent person. We are the owners of the new restaurant in town and its name is Feel Goods Restaurant & Grill, previously know as Nick and Gyro. Yesterday was our first day and we started great. This year has been very successful year indeed. I have been accepted USC Engineering school, its education school and start my our business. I’m happy. I would like Thank my Mother Hawa Haji Mohamed, My bother Hussein Mabruk and my American family (Vickie Westbrook and Spears Westbrook) for their support. So friends come out support us.”</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><i> </i><br />
<i><b>Wha??! He's starting a restaurant while simultaneously starting Engineering school?!!</b></i> I’ll be honest, I have a hard time wrapping my head around this! I’m not <b>SURPRISED</b>, because he’s one of the most driven, motivated people I’ve ever met. <i>But where did that surly little kid who only wanted to do math problems and would never smile go? Where’d this twenty-something entrepreneur come from? <b>And where'd that beard come from?!</b></i><br /><br />
Needless to say that I am <i><b>super</b> </i>proud of this guy, and I’m proud of the role I’ve had in his life. I’m certainly not the only person that played a role in his time in the States; he’s had tremendous support over the years from a variety of people that could all see his potential. I think we can all pat ourselves on the back for what we’ve done<i> for him</i>, but <b>the true accolades go to Aden himself </b>for all his hard work that’s gotten him to where he is today. I wish him the best of luck and<i> </i>look forward to seeing where he’ll end up next.
</span>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-11803639062011068292014-05-18T17:18:00.001-04:002014-05-19T03:07:37.171-04:00Big Pain One Two Three! Adventures in Massage<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">It all
started with a birthday present.</span></b>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Katie’s
birthday is April 1<sup>st</sup>, and this year I purchased Katie a gift
certificate for a 1-hour back and neck massage, which cost $50 at a nice hotel here in Mwanza. Because it is a bit pricy for our missionary incomes,
we’d never been to this spa, but it was her birthday and I wanted her to have a
treat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Well, even
fancy hotels in Tanzania, no matter how nice, still manage to skew the
best-laid plans. Katie found some time when she wasn’t busy with her work, and
called and made an appointment, as per the manager’s instructions. She arrived
at the appointed time, only to be told that they had two walk-ins and that she
should just wait an hour or two until they were done.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><b>Not cool.</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Long story
short: Katie couldn’t wait that long, and she got the manager to agree to give
her <b>ANOTHER</b> $50 massage for her troubles! So yesterday morning, Katie called
and arranged for her to get her massage at 4pm, and that I could get the free
massage at 5pm. <i>Pretty sweet!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">We arrived
at the hotel right on time, and all the appointments were on the books as
scheduled. Katie goes first, I work on my laptop for the hour, looking out over
the lake and watching kingfishers dive into the water. Lovely.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">At 5pm, I
am waiting outside the spa entrance and I see Katie come out with a strange look on her face.
She says “I feel fine, but I’m glad that's over.”</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Great.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Now, we’d
heard that this masseuse used a lot of pressure when she worked. Our friend
Kristle had been there recently and had told us as much. I was prepared for it,
but Katie’s face had me worried a little bit. She said it was good but it hurt.
Also, the masseuse didn’t really know any English.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Well, I
walk in and am greeted by a little Asain lady in REALLY broken English. She is from Thailand and has been in Mwanza a year. She
shows me to the bathroom and tells me to change, basically by pointing to the
rack of towels and yelling “<b>CHANGE</b>.” No problem. I strip down, leaving my underwear
on, wrap a towel around me, and walk out into the room.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The masseuse immediately laughs at me. Not sure why. It’s not cruel, it’s just odd. I smile
and ask if I wasn’t supposed to have take my clothes off. She smiles and points
to the massage table. I climb up, keeping the towel around me as I lay down on
my stomach. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">She immediately rips the towel off, and there we are, staring at each other, her
smiling, me in my underwear. I just laugh. We laugh together, in fact. Then she
puts the towel over me and the massage begins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The massage
is not bad at all. She clearly knows what she is doing. But she gets to my neck
and starts saying “<b>NO GOOD. BAD. BIG PAIN. BIG PAIN</b>.”</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I would
like to point out that I am not making fun of the way Asians speak. But I am
trying to convey how bizarre and nonsensical this lady was sounding to me and she was
talking with me.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“<b>NO GOOD.
BIG PAIN</b>.” I assume she has seen that a week ago I got a very bad sunburn on my
neck because I am dumb and live by the Equator and forget to use sunscreen. My
neck was peeling a bit. She stops massaging me and reaches under the table and
brings up a wooden spoon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“<b>THIS GOOD.
YES? VIY KG K VGV G KGV</b>” because I honestly couldn’t understand what she was
saying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Sure. OK.”
I say, and she starts rubbing my neck with the spoon. HARD. REPEATEDLY. And it
HURT. She is just going to town on my neck. I tell her I need less pressure,
that it was hurting too much (especially on the sunburn!). She says “<b>BIG PAIN
ONE TWO THREE IT GOOD!!! NO BAD! BIG PAIN ONE TWO THREE!!</b>” And then she starts
working down the back. I assume she is just exfoliating the hell out of my
skin. She starts on the other side, first with the neck, then down my back
again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">She
finishes, and says “<b>VERY BAD! VERY BAD. IT’S GOOD! COME COME!</b>” She motions me
to a mirror, but as she walks off, she pulls off the towel, so there I am in my
underwear, walking across the room. She hands me the towel again, I cover
myself up, then she points to my back and says “<b>VERY BAD. BIG PAIN ONE TWO
THREE DAY. THEN GOOD</b>.” And this is what I see:</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAxgSvxSqNswnVjFj4A2gg9JgiVCgblYmhiypMBT5tgJ69ZOPRQyT7IRwvs3_-RvCrePB2mO_bGtZtN2z8ONKWGzlZ__DQ6-xvcVYD6hHYQq4Vqe3L9jDzxQfXLs7x3YIwV4eD/s1600/IMG_0319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAxgSvxSqNswnVjFj4A2gg9JgiVCgblYmhiypMBT5tgJ69ZOPRQyT7IRwvs3_-RvCrePB2mO_bGtZtN2z8ONKWGzlZ__DQ6-xvcVYD6hHYQq4Vqe3L9jDzxQfXLs7x3YIwV4eD/s1600/IMG_0319.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><b>Holy hell!</b>
<b>WTF DID SHE DO TO ME?!</b> All I could do was laugh. <i>Kinda maniacally</i>. And she laughed with me! So there I am I’m all
blistered and bruised standing in my underwear laughing with a little Thai
lady. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I have
since learned that this is a technique called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gua_Sha">Gua Sha</a>, a Chinese traditional
method of alleviating pains and illnesses. And no point was this explained to
me, nor was it listed as part of the deal. I’m not much into these types of
traditional healing methods (I’m skeptical) and I likely would have passed on
it had I known. But you can’t unring a bell, so there it is. Gua Sha.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The rest of
the massage was quite nice, although she was very rough. Lots of pressure on
her part, lots of grinding of teeth and holding of breathe on my part. We made
small talk (VERY small talk) and she kept smacking me and telling me to relax,
then laughing. Honestly, she laughed the whole time, which COULD have been
creepy, but actually kept the mood just light enough to where it was amusing
and not so uncomfortable.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">And then
she laughed at my penis.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">OK, this is
purely speculation, but I’m <i><b>pretty sure</b></i> she laughed at my manhood, like, THREE TIMES. So, the
whole massage was surreal, and I had a bit of a smirk on my face the whole time.
She kept saying “<b>WHY YOU SMILE? SMILE?</b>” and laughing. She was working on my
right arm, when suddenly she pointed to my crotch and said something like “<b>HA HA YOU
HAPPY. SMILE!</b>”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Let me be
clear, there was <i><b>nothing</b></i> to laugh at at that moment, and I wasn’t actually “happy” at all. I just smiled and sort of laughed and then she kept going.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“<i>Did she
just laugh at my penis?</i>” I lay there thinking. “<i>Did she just make a boner comment? Surely she didn’t.</i>”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Then a
few minutes later, she say “<b>YOU SMILE. YOU HAPPY!</b>” and pointed in the general direction of my crotch again,
and then started lifting her arm up, up, up like... well, <i><b>you know</b></i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">At this
point, I thought, “<i>Is she propositioning me?</i>” But nothing in her behavior
indicated this. I think she just thought I was, I don’t know, <i>giving her a
sincere compliment</i>. But I was not. NOTHING DOING DOWN THERE. For real, y’all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Finally, she finished the massage, I get dressed, she serves me tea, I sign her book, and I’m done. I
walked out to find Katie with the same strange look on her face.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“How was
it?” she asks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Strange...wait until
you see my back!” I say.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Oh, I
know. I just didn’t want to scare you off...” And then she showed me hers.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wlMY2Wa92xykpKIYoYfuaRvn8SozJppDFzaz1CBnK2AyYKEF_XaMu7_HTPnPCeOqlE3dpVFJxIx4JBmxJ5MQ3Znj4VwU0qKon25Y86tNWq1XbN7MUomjMCkA2CkovUM8ICPL/s1600/IMG_0320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wlMY2Wa92xykpKIYoYfuaRvn8SozJppDFzaz1CBnK2AyYKEF_XaMu7_HTPnPCeOqlE3dpVFJxIx4JBmxJ5MQ3Znj4VwU0qKon25Y86tNWq1XbN7MUomjMCkA2CkovUM8ICPL/s1600/IMG_0320.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Needless,
to say, we both had an unexpected adventure today. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">But only
one of us had their junk laughed at.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">UPDATE: </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">A friend of mine who works as a massage therapist and specializes in more traditional methods told me that this technique shouldn't have hurt</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">like it did. More importantly, she</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"> confirmed my suspicions that I was indeed being offered the infamous "happy ending." Hence, the crotch pointing and repetition of "Happy?" Needless to say, no special services were received that day, but regardless of her offer, she could have given me no happier ending than when she stopped dragging that damn spoon across my back.</span></div>
Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com131tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-13374303185596483582014-04-27T12:54:00.000-04:002014-04-28T03:41:07.657-04:00Customs vs. Contracts<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25rcjRXdD0qoMapD3vABMQxYWIzBifJbdR04T8Tw-ZgR4PYVprwhJ2bwsTvoQzy9ZJdeSrFEgrSLO9uX-76HBcV5yjZKV-z8IqEUqUIsrk_6ozi53gXlVhmWnn42UQKMcOURY/s1600/contract-with-pen-on-table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25rcjRXdD0qoMapD3vABMQxYWIzBifJbdR04T8Tw-ZgR4PYVprwhJ2bwsTvoQzy9ZJdeSrFEgrSLO9uX-76HBcV5yjZKV-z8IqEUqUIsrk_6ozi53gXlVhmWnn42UQKMcOURY/s320/contract-with-pen-on-table.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">One of the
more interesting (and often frustrating) aspects of living in Mwanza, Tanzania,
is that we are often firsthand witnesses to the clash of cultures between African norms and Western norms. Mwanza
is the second largest city in Tanzania (by population) but in many ways it is
still a big village. The vibe of the city isn’t really “urban” at all. The city
has grown tremendously over the last few years, so you very often see people
interacting in “traditional” ways that are at odds with the more formalized,
often Western-influenced, ways of doing things. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Please note that I am not
breaking this down into “traditional” vs. “modern” because it isn’t that
simple. If there are certain cultural practices happening at this time,
regardless of whether they are new or based on traditions hundreds of years
old, they’re modern, ie, of the present time.</i> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The following is an anecdote
that happened just this last week that perfectly illustrates this issue of
conflicting systems.<i> </i>In
Tanzania, in general, when a Westerner rents a house, they are expected to pay
an entire year’s rent upfront. This likely doesn’t apply to Tanzanians who rent
a single room, but for those who have the means to do it, that is the typical
request. Having property is a way of making money quickly, so folks want to get
as much as they can to pay off debts and finance projects, weddings, funerals,
etc. This is fine, but that means we are expected to pay out a good chunk of
cash in one pop. In general, that means paying the equivalent of around $2000 -
$2500 for the year (which is cheap compare do the US but still a good chunk of
cash for a missionary stipend). </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Here in our
neighborhood of Mabatini, there are three of us that rent adjacent property
from the same landlord. David and Caitlin rent a house, Brother Mark Huntington
rents an office space for a local health clinic, and we rent our house right next door. Brother Mark has
rented for several years, the Rossers have rented for two, and we just finished
a year here. Other than minor issues here and there, there have been no major
issues.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">And then
our landlord died. One month before all of our leases were up for renewal.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">In the mix
with us Maryknollers that rent the property are the three sons of the deceased
landlord. The Rossers live next door to one, we share a duplex with another,
and there’s a third that lives somewhere nearby.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">When the
landlord died, we expressed our condolences, we went to visit the family, we
gave a small financial contribution as is expected in this culture, especially
since the landlord was a well-known figure in the region (he was a former
big-wig in local government). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">After a few
weeks, the brothers showed up at David and Caitlin’s house with a new lease and
asked that he sign it and pay the year’s rent. The lease still had the name of
their deceased father on it, so David, as would anyone familiar with contracts,
politely told them that he was not signing a new contract with a dead man. He
asked them who the new landlord would be. One of the brothers assured him it
would be him so it was OK to give him the money. David politely asked when the
will would be read and when they could get him new documents to verify the new
landlord. They replied “<i>Oh, the will is going to be read in one year</i>.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">ONE. FRICKIN'. YEAR.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRQtacFqnj4wJglmA9u1e3Fq3xlis4dke8333EqTkuBxDnYOTcX-lUTZsYgnImfjO1DqmtTbyS7exfZMr5q0YZKGEs_tkbSwdaXHrQ0LqkGtp2vC3jBiI5sFBfltjY-8wXQaaX/s1600/jwhxle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRQtacFqnj4wJglmA9u1e3Fq3xlis4dke8333EqTkuBxDnYOTcX-lUTZsYgnImfjO1DqmtTbyS7exfZMr5q0YZKGEs_tkbSwdaXHrQ0LqkGtp2vC3jBiI5sFBfltjY-8wXQaaX/s1600/jwhxle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRQtacFqnj4wJglmA9u1e3Fq3xlis4dke8333EqTkuBxDnYOTcX-lUTZsYgnImfjO1DqmtTbyS7exfZMr5q0YZKGEs_tkbSwdaXHrQ0LqkGtp2vC3jBiI5sFBfltjY-8wXQaaX/s1600/jwhxle.jpg" height="200" width="177" /></a></span></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Now, to
interject a little. I have heard two versions of this cultural practice, and I’m
not sure which is correct. The family are not from the Wasukuma people we
generally live amongst; they are Wahaya. There are plenty of them around, but
they are a minority around here. One version said that it’s customary to wait a
year to read the will and divide the property (not sure why, though). The more
detailed version is that the length of time needed to read the will is
designated by the deceased.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Regardless,
we were told there would be no new landlord until early 2015.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><b>We told
them that this could be a real problem</b>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">So the
brothers then went to Bro. Mark and evidently told him that David was refusing
to pay his rent (while still on a lease that was not yet expired). Bro. Mark
promptly set them straight and explained that he, too, wasn’t going to sign a
lease with a dead man.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The
brothers were flummoxed and seemed truly thrown for a loop that we were
reluctant to pay.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Next, the
firstborn son (a son that has done some sketchy things in the past) showed up
with a handwritten document tamped by the local neighborhood leader verifying
that it was OK to pay him the cash and that we should pay up promptly. Seeing
that we had had issues with this son in particular in the past (minor issues,
but shifty nonetheless) we explained that we weren’t willing to pay him based
on a hand-written note when someone could show up in a month with ANOTHER
hand-written note saying THEY were the rightful owners and that we should pay
THEM. We weren’t willing to risk being caught having to pay twice. (If the one
brother spent it all and the new landlord demanded money, we’d almost surely be
expected to pay again; in matters of money, the “wazungu” will always be
expected to come up with more money.) The brothers assured us this would not be
the case.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">A few weeks later, a new hand-written document arrived declaring someone
else the executor of the estate. Exactly as we so wisely anticipated.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">So next the
executor, the three brothers, and David, Bro. Mark, and myself all met to hash
things out. We go around the room explaining our issues and making our demands.
We are willing to pay month-to-month. They won’t hear of it. They want a year’s
lease. We tell them it is out of the question. Round and round it goes for over
two hours.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Now, I want
to say a few things about this meeting. Charles, the executor, is a cousin of
the deceased, and he was really solid. He truly acted as an arbitrator and didn’t
side only with his family. Secondly, I really feel for the brothers who found
themselves in these circumstances. Their father evidently had a tremendous
amount of assets (ie, property, cattle, etc) spread out across the country. Due to the
custom of waiting a year to divide the assets, the assets were basically
frozen. They couldn’t sell anything off to pay of debts, nor could they make
any real changes to the estate. They basically have to keep things going as
they were but without their father’s resources. Two of the three brothers don’t
even have steady jobs. So they were honest when they said they wanted us to
sign a year lease because they needed to get their hands on as much cash as
possible. They were scrambling to find money.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">All in all,
after consulting with a lawyer, we agreed that the Rossers and Reids would sign
six-month leases and Bro. Mark would sign a three-month lease.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">We met at a
lawyer’s office this week to formally sign the new contracts. When we explained
the circumstances to the lawyer, he advised we only sign a month-to-month
lease. This of course, set the brothers’ family off again as they said we gave
our word (only partially true) and that this wasn’t the way estates were
handled in their tribe and that they had a piece of paper signed by the family
elders that showed that the executor could sign these documents etc… The family
was stunned when the lawyer told them that that piece of paper they had was <b><i>good</i></b>, but it wasn’t <i><b>ENOUGH</b></i> and that it wouldn’t hold up in court. Anyway, after
3.5 hours (!) we had reached a good compromise and we had signed leases.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Anyway,
while it was annoying and stressful for all parties involved, it was a
fascinating event to see play out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">My
Tanzanian boss sits on the Land Tribunal for the Mwanza region, meaning any
disputes over inheritance or tenant issues comes before her court. She says
probably 75% of the cases she sees involve a clash between traditional
inheritance customs and legal contracts. She says that very often people with
legitimate rights to land are thrown off the land or challenged by the family
of the deceased (which is generally the family of a husband that has died and
whose family now wants to split the estate between his family with no regard to
her claims). And my boss says 100% of the time the court sides with the
individual with a legal, contractual claim to the land- often to shock of the
family making the traditional claim.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">When I told
my Tanzanian boss the details of the case and that it would take a year, she
promptly said “<i>Well, that custom is ridiculous. How can anyone insist on something
like that these days. Our country doesn’t work like that anymore.</i>” It’s an interesting
conundrum: I assume most of the people making traditional claims are not at all
familiar with the legal statutes of the formal system. They are not <i><b>WRONG</b></i> to
make their claim. But Tanzania <i><b>does</b></i> have a legal framework, so WE were not
wrong in our hesitancy to sign a contract under these circumstances (and the
lawyer backed us up). Clearly more education is needed, even if it is at the
expense of certain aspects of more traditional systems.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Not sure of
the answers here, but the problems are clear enough.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">What are
your thoughts? Sociologists / Anthropologists / Lawyers, I’d welcome your thoughts on a
case like this.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"></span></div>
<br />Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-28602985890379600142014-04-26T06:14:00.002-04:002014-04-26T06:14:54.922-04:00ELEVEN YEARS!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrHM_5931bj3XrxmUsv9gG8BcJwcRmsac1rPuKpgjkLsHpH4cQMcwYvrF5GBzmvfAeB34LkTmmP2cJzidDeOPmGV_zyrCfuYGX4XenuR2Df1OTxTeGRjvL5N8A4AGwP8a3avV8/s1600/11th+anniversary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrHM_5931bj3XrxmUsv9gG8BcJwcRmsac1rPuKpgjkLsHpH4cQMcwYvrF5GBzmvfAeB34LkTmmP2cJzidDeOPmGV_zyrCfuYGX4XenuR2Df1OTxTeGRjvL5N8A4AGwP8a3avV8/s1600/11th+anniversary.jpg" height="380" width="560" /></a></div>
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Happy anniversary to my lovely wife, Katie! She still makes me jump for joy!Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-22740831105081327642014-04-12T15:34:00.000-04:002014-04-12T15:35:25.857-04:00Happy Birthday to My Little Sister!<br />
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<br />Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-31657435861532330142014-04-12T06:56:00.000-04:002014-04-12T06:56:05.472-04:00Reflections On Rwanda<span style="font-size: 11pt;">[<i><b>Trigger warning</b>: there are some horrible things discussed in graphic detail below. If you are inclined to avoid that type of stuff, I suggest you stop reading here.</i>] </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">April 6th, 2014 was the 20th anniversary of the start of the <a href="http://worldwithoutgenocide.org/genocides-and-conflicts/rwandan-genocide">Rwandan genocide</a>, a 100-day campaign that saw the slaughter of 800,000+ people and was only halted when an invading militia successfully stopped the carnage. As anyone who has studied modern African history knows, or even anyone that has just watched <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0395169/"><i>Hotel Rwanda</i></a> knows, the Rwandan genocide was fast, calculated, and unbelievably violent, the culmination of years of <a href="http://www.xklsv.org/viewwiki.php?title=Hutu%2010%20Commandments">hateful vitriol spewed by the Hutu majority at the Tutsi minority</a>. I’m not going to discuss the genocide in great detail in this post; it’s well-documented, and many people have discussed the events with more eloquence that I can. Ive included several links throughout this post for further reading by those with more expertise on the subject at hand. But I do feel compelled to share some thoughts and relate a few personal stories from my visit to the country.<br /> <span id="goog_90322862"></span><span id="goog_90322863"></span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09dii1ZggR0vkhqwrzElgA1Jk5TS9W0qYFY61EGiTpM_6oMy2EyN4bYbuRge6tbIzzGrq167NuVaPPpccu2UG6sdB5Hv35p9qnirYbyXHkEtrdHqeJraiwovfgePjpdzSY8Hi/s1600/IMG_2670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09dii1ZggR0vkhqwrzElgA1Jk5TS9W0qYFY61EGiTpM_6oMy2EyN4bYbuRge6tbIzzGrq167NuVaPPpccu2UG6sdB5Hv35p9qnirYbyXHkEtrdHqeJraiwovfgePjpdzSY8Hi/s1600/IMG_2670.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Katie and I, along with Katie’s dad Garry and stepmother Holly, visited Rwanda in July 2013. </span>Let me say first and foremost: Rwanda is a beautiful, welcoming country. The people are not monsters; they <b>a</b>re just people, albeit people with a terrible history. I loved Rwanda, but it is a country of great paradox: astounding beauty intermixed with this tragic legacy. I posted pictures of the gorillas and the landscapes, but I kept mum on anything that dealt with the genocide. I needed to process it more. I just didn’t know what to say. It was a lot to process.<br /> </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy4_2FbIYv2Y1BGP7xa5B8JpgaH5tIw2W_l1XeTiXebFs3wILf4iyAOIF6mv3CiYJE-vFOiLF0SlDS0ykxNy6qXHG9fSdMRkpXO61EfyCA5325OrvUDdrhPiIhJLaHFPlyg70s/s1600/IMG_2822+color+adjusted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy4_2FbIYv2Y1BGP7xa5B8JpgaH5tIw2W_l1XeTiXebFs3wILf4iyAOIF6mv3CiYJE-vFOiLF0SlDS0ykxNy6qXHG9fSdMRkpXO61EfyCA5325OrvUDdrhPiIhJLaHFPlyg70s/s1600/IMG_2822+color+adjusted.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I have personally done a lot of research on the Rwandan genocide. But reading about the genocide pales in comparison to seeing the bones of the victims in front of you. Or to seeing picture after picture of the victims displayed in exhibits, the photos brought to be part of these memorials by the survivors so that their family members would not be forgotten. Or to hear the wails of a woman pierce the walls of the Genocide memorial in Kigali, full of a grief that two decades had yet to heal. It is hard to imagine, as we walked down the city streets of Kigali, greeted by friendly passersby, that less than two decades before the same streets were filled with the bodies of innocents slaughtered simply because of an ethnic rivalry that wasn’t even a salient difference a few decades before that, created and exacerbated by colonial meddling.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">To Rwanda’s credit, they do not whitewash their painful history. <a href="http://genocidememorials.cga.harvard.edu/home.html">There are genocide memorials in pretty much every town we visited</a>, and these memorials drive home how wide-spread and far-reaching the genocide was. Katie and I were fortunate enough to visit four memorial sites during the week we were there. We visited the the <a href="http://www.genocidearchiverwanda.org.rw/index.php?title=Kigali_Genocide_Memorial">Kigali Genocide Memorial</a> in the capital city, the most formalized museum to address the event. It is one of the most potent and powerful museums I’ve ever seen. As I said earlier, I'm familiar with the events and the atrocities, but holy hell there were some images in that museum I hadn’t seen before, images and stories that I will never forget it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEI9mUGUkOnMBlfyEzq5iFAeyhb2UewjXVVSj1g0nDXpMsDuncXG0ZhVl5AoCQAeDATYHoqLtpPSIMS1wu8c5vrqf2-v-j_hHczinncA_35jHfW6IPTP1jEDc4G8ciwhmD_Dt/s1600/IMG_2628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEI9mUGUkOnMBlfyEzq5iFAeyhb2UewjXVVSj1g0nDXpMsDuncXG0ZhVl5AoCQAeDATYHoqLtpPSIMS1wu8c5vrqf2-v-j_hHczinncA_35jHfW6IPTP1jEDc4G8ciwhmD_Dt/s1600/IMG_2628.JPG" height="225" width="400" /></a>In the days leading up to our being joined by Katie’s dad and step-mother, we had some time to sight-see, so we hopped on a bus and headed out to some memorial sites. We cruised about a half hour out of Kigali, then hopped on motorcycles to visit the two church sites where massacres occurred. These two churches are still filled with the items and belongings of those that were massacred. At the<a href="http://genocidememorials.cga.harvard.edu/nyamata.html"> Nyamata site</a>, a church where people sought refuge from the killings, it was <a href="http://www.genocidearchiverwanda.org.rw/index.php?title=Nyamata">10,000 people killed as they huddled inside</a>; at the<a href="http://genocidememorials.cga.harvard.edu/ntarama.html"> Ntarama site</a>, another church, <a href="http://www.genocidearchiverwanda.org.rw/index.php?title=Ntarama">5000 people were killed</a>. At these sites there are rooms displaying skulls and piles of bones, as well as glasses, old clothing, pots, pans, anything that people brought with them assuming they would return home in a few days time. The walls are full of bullet holes, one wall at one site had holes from grenades, and one site had a big black stain on the wall that we were told was made by brains and blood of children. All these things serve as physical reminders what happened. One day these items will wither up and be gone, but for now, they just sit there, unmoved. Photographs were not allowed in the buildings, but you could photograph the outsides.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UZwt4Ti96YZSY2WP-sKFfzLfjVF6VdmFUGwvyfKHr4P50bgxHNYKqshJmOkEfKtU5qC7KCdVdV6R3qRvAWeDUqW8btVkqYFCj-N_s2qMs0kfKqPQ1ri5fIUjDlzPQOV7UPoe/s1600/IMG_2820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UZwt4Ti96YZSY2WP-sKFfzLfjVF6VdmFUGwvyfKHr4P50bgxHNYKqshJmOkEfKtU5qC7KCdVdV6R3qRvAWeDUqW8btVkqYFCj-N_s2qMs0kfKqPQ1ri5fIUjDlzPQOV7UPoe/s1600/IMG_2820.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">A few days later, Katie and I and her parents visited a site called <a href="http://genocidememorials.cga.harvard.edu/murambi.html">Murambi</a>, a site where approximately <a href="http://www.genocidearchiverwanda.org.rw/index.php?title=Murambi">40,000 people were murdered</a> as they sought refuge on the compound of a technical school. This site is one the country’s most shocking and powerful memorials: 24 rooms full of mummified bodies, preserved and bleached white by lime. There’s no glass case or velvet rope separating you from the dead; the rooms are just full of tables with the bodies spread out on top of them. You can tell what some of them looked like. Some still have hair. Some are babies. I went in 6 rooms and decided that was enough. At this site, our guide was a man who survived the genocide, though his father, mother, and several younger siblings did not. He calmly recounted his memories- I will not repeat them here- and we just listened in stunned silence. Katie’s stepmom, Holly, finally asked if he ever got angry about hat happened to him. He simply replied that his surviving younger brother now had a master’s degree, that he himself was married with children and was living on the land where his parents were murdered. “The best revenge is success,” he told us. “I’m alive and my life is good. There’s no reason to be angry.” Astounding.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I found myself walking the streets in Kigali and the villages around some of the parks we visited and looking at each person I passed and thinking “They’re old enough to remember. I wonder how many loved ones they lost?” These thoughts continued for several days, until suddenly a switch was flipped in my mind and I realized with a chill that these people smiling at me as I passed might not be survivors, but <b>perpetrators</b>. Maybe they didn’t kill someone themselves (<i>but maybe they did?</i>) but perhaps they aided and abetted the “<i>genocidaires</i>” in the rampage. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/05/opinion/following-orders-in-rwanda.html">How do they rationalize what they did</a>? How can they live with themselves? And how can survivors again become neighbors with those that treated them as enemies?<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Well, that’s the big question, and one that is providing remarkable stories of forgiveness. As this is the 20th anniversary, there are a number for stories about how both victims and perpetrators come to terms with their shared histories. Here are a few articles that address the process of reconciliation and the enduring trauma from which many survivors still struggle. Obviously, the aftermath of an event a traumatic as this is difficult and takes time and energy to recover, to heal from wounds both physical and mental, to turn neighbors that became enemies back into neighbors. To even attempt this type of social recovery from trauma is impressive. Time will tell if the process can truly heal old wounds. Twenty years or not, these wounds are still fresh and deep. Below are several articles addressing this issue:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2014/04/06/magazine/06-pieter-hugo-rwanda-portraits.html?src=mv&ref=general&_r=1">Portraits of Reconciliation</a>, by Susan Dominus, New York Times Magazine, April 2014<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2014/04/how-rwandans-cope-with-the-horror-of-1994/360204/">How Rwandans Cope With The Horror of 1994</a>, by Lauren Wolfe, The Atlantic, April 2014<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/foreigners/2014/04/rwandan_genocide_20th_anniversary_how_reconciled_are_rwandans.single.html">Unreconciled Rwanda</a>, by Katie Magiro, for Slate.com, April 2014<br /> </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Pxob41C4Yi_xJm2l6rJTK-aVD8_wWti854kZM5eOgXk47CqMKr6z9HRuzmuXs7h_DHEEZemEYwJK_PXCdoSfgBcYydw73pDavi4LwysPeCQjjHCYgKyarMn9zRL4-O6Exzal/s1600/IMG_2636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Pxob41C4Yi_xJm2l6rJTK-aVD8_wWti854kZM5eOgXk47CqMKr6z9HRuzmuXs7h_DHEEZemEYwJK_PXCdoSfgBcYydw73pDavi4LwysPeCQjjHCYgKyarMn9zRL4-O6Exzal/s1600/IMG_2636.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Regardless of what the future holds, the turnaround of Rwanda is an amazing story. <span id="goog_2095845492"></span>When the genocide ended twenty years ago, <a href="http://worldwithoutgenocide.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/Rwandan-Genocide-World-Without-Genocide.pdf">around one million were dead, and several millions had fled to neighboring countries such as Zaire and Tanzania</a>,<span id="goog_2095845493"></span> meaning almost half the country’s population was either dead or in exile as refugees. The government was non-existent and had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Today, Rwanda has had steady growth in its GDP, Kigali is a safe city with excellent infrastructure, and many people will tell you that the past is behind them and that the future is promising. It’s an amazing reversal of fortune. And a lot of that has to do with the leadership of <a href="http://www.paulkagame.com/">Paul Kagame</a>, the current president. But that leadership is a complicated story.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Kagame has been described as a “benevolent dictator.” Make no mistake: Kagame has a tight grip on his country. And while his accomplishments are impressive, making him one of the West’s most favored African leaders, he is not without his critics who make some pretty serious charges against him ("benevolent" is not a word they would use). Below are two articles that critique his time as President as well as delve into his involvement in other regional conflicts. He’s a complex figure, and these articles are worth a read. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/08/magazine/paul-kagame-rwanda.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0">The Global Elite’s Favorite Strongman</a>, by Jeffrey Gettleman, New York Times Magazine, September 2013 <br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><a href="http://www.newsweek.com/case-against-rwandas-president-paul-kagame-63167">The Case Against Rwanda’s President Paul Kagame</a>, by Howard W. French, Newsweek, January 2013<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">A few final thoughts: One of the major criticisms that is (rightfully) lobbed at the major players on the world’s stage is that the United Nations (and especially the West) did not intervene when there was clear evidence of what was to come. </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><a href="http://www.romeodallaire.com/">Lieutenant-General Romeo Dallaire</a>, the commander of the UN Peacekeepers on the ground in Rwanda in the momths prior to and during the genocide, repeatedly attempted to spur the UN and other nations into action because <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/evil/warning/">he had reliable information about a planned extermination</a>; the United Nations took <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/evil/warning/unresponse.html">no real action based on the information Dallaire provided</a>. (Again, the genocide was a long, calculated undertaking, starting years before the actual killing began with the training of the <a href="http://www.refworld.org/docid/3decf4b24.html">interahamwe</a>, which were essentially murder militias).<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Hindsight is 20/20 and numerous world leaders (from President Clinton to Kofi Annan at the UN) have stated their remorse at their lack of action. (And let’s not talk about <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/09/world/africa/claims-of-french-complicity-in-rwandas-genocide-rekindle-mutual-resentment.html">France’s complicated role in the events</a>; Rwanda has a very bad relationship with France, as France armed and trained the Hutu military prior to the start of the killings). But I’m not really sure that major international intervention would have <i><b>stopped</b></i> the killings. It <i><b>definitely</b></i> could have saved hundreds or thousands of lives- of that I am sure- but I cannot imagine that simply putting peacekeepers on the ground would have erased the level of hatred that had been bred in the country. An intervention years before could have made a difference, but by the time outsiders realized what was happening, the damage was done. When I was visiting the genocide museum in Kigali, I was struck by just how deeply the “rot” had penetrated the entire culture of Rwanda by the early 90’s. It makes me wonder if there was any way to truly reverse the course that the country set for itself without the explosion of violence that happened, or if the only way the country could purge itself of its illness was to tear itself apart and then take a hard look at itself in the mirror and recognize the horror it sees in its reflection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Luckily, with these genocide memorials in
every town across the country, for better or not, there’s quite a lot
of mirrors into which people- both victims and perpetrators, as well as
the rest of us- can gaze. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHAwO7ci8mfJQtO5JiikwgZz02JEOkgXrh02tF7OAAl17dAE5IGUi2nsjOTWiBlpdKskB1rq9qLONpffftNPwnGIgoXDB2HmeNS3WYNJdEH4FpB9qiZq_Nn1Bn7Gs-cXyt2KvJ/s1600/fd60ac20556b4d4d6cdb5d268b6a0149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHAwO7ci8mfJQtO5JiikwgZz02JEOkgXrh02tF7OAAl17dAE5IGUi2nsjOTWiBlpdKskB1rq9qLONpffftNPwnGIgoXDB2HmeNS3WYNJdEH4FpB9qiZq_Nn1Bn7Gs-cXyt2KvJ/s1600/fd60ac20556b4d4d6cdb5d268b6a0149.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">...because tomorrow I'm posting about the Rwandan Genocide. Cheers!</span>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-39496371693875458452014-02-22T11:50:00.000-05:002014-02-22T11:50:01.640-05:00There and Back Again<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOaCcujDkwVEc8hHz4_ellhmKeF9LHIl9Yw7rJxhrugnI9wmk3NAIuvUlFN78dhSbMXdAlikU9UfHn8LovyhB4ibcKFaWDj-lBhnSoeWMQD6xvwGTO09R1j1FRS3Bd1g0Ezdd/s1600/IMG_0100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOaCcujDkwVEc8hHz4_ellhmKeF9LHIl9Yw7rJxhrugnI9wmk3NAIuvUlFN78dhSbMXdAlikU9UfHn8LovyhB4ibcKFaWDj-lBhnSoeWMQD6xvwGTO09R1j1FRS3Bd1g0Ezdd/s320/IMG_0100.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 11pt;">As I write this, I am sitting at Gate 16 of Terminal 8 at JFK International Airport waiting to load up for the flight that will take Katie and I on the first leg of our trip back to Tanzania. We’ve been in the States for the last 5 weeks for a trip that saw us spending time in 8 states and traveling somewhere just shy of 3000 miles. We saw numerous friends and family, ate lots of good food, ate lots of <i><b>bad</b></i> food, played hours of Rock Band, met several new babies, and gave countless hugs and handshakes to those who we had the chance to see.
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This was my first trip “home” to the States since we left on December 27th, 2011. Two years is a long time to be away, and I have a lot of mental unpacking to do about the experience. But I do have a few initial thoughts on the type of expatriate life we’re currently living. Indulge me a moment.
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First of all, the idea of “home” is skewed. Visiting the USA was a “trip home”, but when people asked me if we were ready to return to Tanzania, I commonly said that after a month away I was ready to “go home.” I have 2 homes, but feel slightly out-of-synch in each of them. Not an unusual sentiment for folks living between different cultures.
It did strike me how easy it was to settle back into old rhythms; at times it was hard to believe that we actually ever left. Thoughts of Tanzania felt like a dream.<br />
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My last 2 years have been rough for me. That’s not news to some of you, but maybe it is for others. I have struggled with several issues, and there have had periods where I very much regretted the decision to move to Tanzania. But with moral support of friends and family, reliance on faith, and sheer force of will, I persevered and stuck it out. And I’m glad I did.
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In my humble opinion, for my own mental health I think stayed away from the States too long. I’ve needed this chance to reconnect with where I’m from. Living in a culture that is different, where you cannot communicate well, where you aren’t necessarily operating at a level of any real competency at <b><i>anything</i></b>, where friendships are different, etc- it will wear on you. And it wore on me a lot. And one of the greatest aspects of this trip was to be reminded that I <i><b>do</b></i> have friends and that I’m <i><b>not</b></i> an idiot and that I do have things to offer, etc. Now, I don’t want this to get too much into the “call-the-wambulance” territory, (WAH-wah-WAH-wah) so I won’t belabor this point. But this trip hit the reset button in a very big way, so much so that I am looking forward to getting back to TZ because I know I can do it better this next year. I am feeling like a more complete person better able tackle the challenges of daily life in Mwanza.
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The other interesting thing I have noted is how it has helped me to better observe and analyze both the cultures of the USA and Tanzania. For anyone that knows me, for years leading up to our departure in late 2011, I was obsessed with getting to Africa, some way, somehow. I always felt that I didn’t quite fit in in American culture and that I would really gel with my soon-to-be-adopted new home. But I got to TZ and realized just how utterly American I was, and was shocked to see how ethnocentric I could get. I was so out of sorts that my generally friendly nature would get ANGRY when faced with difference. I was angry at feeling like a moron all the time, angry at feeling anchorless and unnecessary, I was angry at not fitting in. A lot of that is natural culture shock, common to many ex-pats. But my feelings lingered a lot longer than I expected. The feelings passed, but these issues sadly dominated a lot of my first two years.<br />
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Now that I’ve been back in the States, I feel I have a stronger affinity to my fellow Americans. I was always proud to be where I’m from, but now I really grasped the ways that we are unique. I still can cast a critical eye on our own culture and politics, but I definitely appreciate my homeland in a way I did not before.<br />
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The same goes for Tanzania. Now that we’re away, I have had a chance to sit back and think on the place. I’m very analytical and often need time and distance to really process things fully. I was too close to be able to cast an objective eye on the place, because honestly it had pissed me off too much. But I’ve been able to appreciate my adopted home more since we've left and am quite looking forward to getting back. Again, I think I’m going to do better this next year as I approach things with a clearer head.
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But I have loved being back “home” in the States, in a culture that I understand, and one that understands me. I’ll end this with a quote from Victor Hugo, written about his country of France, but applicable to all of us who have approached our homelands with clear eyes and a fresh appreciation.
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<i>"So long as you go and come in your native land, you imagine that those streets are a matter of indifference to you; that those windows, those roofs, and those doors are nothing to you; that those walls are strangers to you; that those trees are merely the first encountered haphazard; that those houses, which you do not enter, are useless to you; that the pavements which you tread are merely stones. Later on, when you are no longer there, you perceive that the streets are dear to you; that you miss those roofs, those doors; and that those walls are necessary to you, those trees are well beloved by you; that you entered those houses which you never entered, every day, and that you have left a part of your heart, of your blood, of your soul, in those pavements. All those places which you no longer behold, which you may never behold again, perchance, and whose memory you have cherished, take on a melancholy charm, recur to your mind with the melancholy of an apparition, make the holy land visible to you, and are, so to speak, the very form of [France], and you love them; and you call them up as they are, as they were, and you persist in this, and you will submit to no change: for you are attached to the figure of your fatherland as to the face of your mother."</i>
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-Victor Hugo, from <i>Les Misérables</i>
</span>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-84854073914514457352014-01-14T14:22:00.001-05:002014-01-14T14:24:01.895-05:00Vikoi, Coming to a Town Near You (IF You Happen to Live in a Town We Are Coming Near)<span style="font-size: 11pt;">
This post is part advertisement and part ministry update.<br />
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Waldie and I will be heading to the States in a few days for a 5 week trip that will have us staying in 7 different states. Along with our smiling faces, we'll be hauling around a few items that will be available for purchase. By doing so, you will directly be supporting a group of women with whom I work.<br />
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In the last year, the focus of my work has really been around one group called Chanua, comprised of both children (<i>watoto</i>) and their caregivers (<i>walezi</i>). We meet twice a month with the children, who are either orphaned or just living in very difficult circumstances. At least once a month, we meet with the caregivers. Additionally, we offer various types of support to members of this group. Several women from this caregiver group joined together to start a cooperative, and they have really gelled together as a group. The group has learned to make several different types of products to sell, but by far the most successful- and beautiful- project has been making vikoi (or kikoi in singular form). Vikoi are basically tie-dyed cloth with tassels on the end, commonly used for shawls, skirts, decorations, carrying babies, etc. Here is a sampling of what we will have available to sell.<br />
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<i>Various patterns and colors of vikoi.</i><br />
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Thanks to the generous donations from our friends, family and supporters, in the middle of 2013 we were able to sponsor the training for the women, which brought a facilitator in to teach them how to dye the fabrics. Here are some shots of that seminar. The women in these pictures come from 4 different women's groups.<br />
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<i>The teacher showing the women how to prepare the fabrics for dyeing.</i><br />
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<i>The women practicing folding the fabrics.</i><br />
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<i>In addition to folding the fabrics, they tie it around bottle caps, which makes a nice pattern once dyed.</i><br />
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<i>Dyeing and setting the fabric. It's very caustic, which is why they are wearing scarves over their mouths. Also, it seriously smells like farts.</i><br />
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<i>Most women were very happy with their final products.</i><br />
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Since then, the women have been working with a few other teachers to learn more, practice their dyeing techniques, learn about quality control, sell some of their inventory, and build up money to increase their stock.<br />
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One of the best things that has happened to them was the bungling of their second batch of vikoi. We we working on producing a batch of vikoi for a craft fair in December, one that largely focused on a ex-pat customer base. Their patterns were slightly off, and the handiwork around the edges was a bit sloppy. I stressed how they needed to pay more attention to the details and that the quality craftmanship could really set them apart in local markets. They agreed and clearly took the advice to heart, because the latest batch is <i><b>beautiful</b></i> and the quality is excellent. I commend these women for really committing to their work.<br />
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We are so pleased to be able to bring some of these fabrics to the US to sell. If anyone is interested in purchasing any of these vikoi, we're selling them for $10 each (or more if you'd like to make a larger donation). All of the money will be given directly back to the women when we return to Mwanza. Seriously, I'll convert it from USD to TZ shillings and literally hand it to the treasurer of the group to be divided up among the women. This is a great way to directly support a disadvantaged group of women who are working hard to better their families and improve their lives.<br />
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We'll also be selling some hand-crafted goods made by Sister Peg Donovan's project in Kalabezo. <a href="https://www.maryknollsisters.org/catholic-mission/index.php/community/missioners/226-sister-margaret-m-donovan">Sister Peg is a Maryknoll Sister</a> who lived in Tanzania for 45 years and just returned to the States. In her time here, she started a pre-school for kids and a craft school for adults in a village, which we were fortunate enough to visit a few months ago when we attended her going away party. The women at Vema (the craft school) make purses, change pouches, computer bags, glasses cases, etc. We are bringing home some materials to ship to Peg but she gave us the go-ahead to sell any if anyone is interested.<br />
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<i>Assortment of purses, coin pouches, glasses cases, computer bags, etc. made my the women at Vema.</i></div>
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<a href="http://waldiesworld.blogspot.com/2014/01/hand-crafted-goods-for-sale.html">Head over to Waldie's blog</a> to see more pictures of Peg's items and some nice photos of Peg's goodbye celebration.<br />
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We have limited quantities of all the items featured above, so let us know if there's something specific you want and we'll do our best to set it aside for you. Let me know either in the comments below or via email at creid(at)mklm.org. Remember, everything is one-of-a-kind, so if you see something you like, it may be the only one like it. Get it while supplies last and support great causes in Tanzania!<br />
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Asante sana! </span>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-60480493792828522642014-01-06T10:18:00.002-05:002014-01-06T10:20:27.177-05:00Victoria Falls, Christmas Day 2013<span style="font-size: 11pt;">
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">As many folks know, Katie and I spent Christmas at <a href="http://www.zambiatourism.com/destinations/waterfalls/victoria-falls/">Victoria Falls in Livingstone, Zambia</a>. We wanted to take advantage of a few leftover vacation days, so we decided that our presents to one another this year would be a trip to see what is arguably one of the most beautiful sites in the world. The trip down there was long (it's around 2500 kilometers from Dar es Salaam, and that doesn't include the flight we took from Mwanza to reach Dar) and we used planes, trains, and automobiles to get there. But the effort was totally worth it. The Falls are <b>magnificent</b>. Here are few selected pictures. They won't do it justice, but they're still <i>purdy</i> nonetheless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Katie had a <a href="http://waldiesworld.blogspot.com/2014/01/zambia-recap.html">good write-up of the whole trip on her blog</a>, so go there and see pictures of the train adventure, walking with rhinos, Christmas Mass, and a lively rendition of a Zambian take on "Happy Birthday."</span></span>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-85089939986136360612013-12-04T15:26:00.003-05:002013-12-04T15:26:55.962-05:00The Rainy Season, IllustratedSo I was talking to one of our soon-to-be-arriving new missioners earlier this week, and she had some questions about the rainy season. After talking with her, I thought I would describe the rainy season to you, my dear readers.<br />
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It does not rain all day during the rainy season, nor is it gray and overcast, like I imagine Seattle to be for long stretches of time. We have very few days that are actually like that. In reality, during the rainy season, it is NOT raining for about 98% of the day. But when it DOES rain, it rains an incredible amount of water in a relatively short time. It is shocking sometimes how much rain comes down in these violent storms that appear out of nowhere and then blow over just as fast. And then it is super hot and sunny and humid again for until the next rain (which is not unlike a lot of summer storms in the southeast USA). It can actually cool down the temperature a bit when the rain comes at night, as it often does, but those storms are just as quick.<br />
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So here's a nice simple illustration of the rainy season.<br />
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<b>NORMAL, DRY SEASON:</b><br />
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<b>RAINY SEASON (AFTER A 45 MINUTE RAIN):</b></div>
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Do note that Mwanza is very hilly, so the amount of water flowing downhill and gathering together causes some pretty gnarly flooding post-storm. About 45 minutes after this was taken, the stream was passable again for those on foot. It's pretty crazy. All this water collects and often floods roads as it flows into Lake Victoria. It can be so much and so strong that cars could be washed off the road. Luckily that hasn't happened in our neighborhood since we've been here. <br />
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<a href="http://waldiesworld.blogspot.com/2013/11/environmental-impact.html">Katie previously wrote about the water flooding due to garbage clogging the drainage passages</a>, but that was nothing compared to the sheer amount that flowed past today.<br />
<br />Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-43844858827788358662013-12-02T09:13:00.000-05:002013-12-02T09:13:17.270-05:00Six Years<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPIBVStx1hNzx82b76O4Pn48UpA2jrv3GkSILroMne0h7MTDoBko4utElWzPrKKydTsKWuHdDtyWSQI269mZZwn6v2qBAAwgSk5m6apUP9gtyi797zFDwfp-6r4AyRwYYyvli/s1600/2084353464_eb953985bf_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPIBVStx1hNzx82b76O4Pn48UpA2jrv3GkSILroMne0h7MTDoBko4utElWzPrKKydTsKWuHdDtyWSQI269mZZwn6v2qBAAwgSk5m6apUP9gtyi797zFDwfp-6r4AyRwYYyvli/s1600/2084353464_eb953985bf_o.jpg" /></a>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16787455.post-12864362375395770582013-11-19T09:27:00.002-05:002013-11-19T09:39:29.519-05:00In the Absence of Justice<span style="font-size: 11pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01YzSXeiPJsHtogAjgGtgbosLKOrN2yhGj8_3fSaqqGdngIjwkOSJ0UVYYZoqzyhtlxta42nNKachmN8ioRDYzNwohKLTiYFegM4sxgCGoQWE9h0uhZwg2ihzy6GytTfon2n_/s1600/3453415389_Knockout_275x275_xlarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span id="goog_1898616144"><span id="goog_1898616148"></span></span><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01YzSXeiPJsHtogAjgGtgbosLKOrN2yhGj8_3fSaqqGdngIjwkOSJ0UVYYZoqzyhtlxta42nNKachmN8ioRDYzNwohKLTiYFegM4sxgCGoQWE9h0uhZwg2ihzy6GytTfon2n_/s1600/3453415389_Knockout_275x275_xlarge.jpg" title="image source: http://images.sodahead.com/polls/003178435/3453415389_Knockout_275x275_xlarge.jpeg" /><span id="goog_1898616149"></span><span id="goog_1898616145"></span></a><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I have always tried to
present a balanced picture of life in mission- the good, the bad, and the ugly.
So in this post I want to share some thoughts on some of the ugly that I witnessed here in Mwanza last week, and then I'll share a few reflections about some "bigger picture" issues that may be at work in the incident.
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">I don’t know how much I have
mentioned it here on the blog, but I assume many of my readers know that we
were the victims of a burglary last July 2012. (Katie discussed in numerous times on her blog, <a href="http://waldiesworld.blogspot.com/2012/07/update-on-burglary.html">here</a>, <a href="http://waldiesworld.blogspot.com/2012/07/weekend-update-on-burglary.html">here</a>, and <a href="http://waldiesworld.blogspot.com/2013/07/court-case-resolved.html">here</a>.) You may remember that it took a full year to resolve the case (and as of
this writing, I don’t even know the outcome, I just know our part was done and
that’s all that mattered to us). It is an understatement to say that the
Tanzanian justice system is dysfunctional. We’ve heard stories of people
languishing in jail for years waiting to simply be formally charged. There are
stories of criminals paying bribes to the police to be released or have charges
dropped.* And the delays in trials are notorious. We had to appear in court <a href="http://waldiesworld.blogspot.com/2013/07/court-case-resolved.html">11 or 12 times</a> before our testimony was taken. “<i>Sorry, no advocate / judge / interpreter
/ etc today. Come back in two weeks.</i>” And if you think WE had it bad or we were
the exception, the trial for last year's murder of the Mwanza Police Commissioner has
been delayed <a href="http://www.thecitizen.co.tz/News/Barlow-murder-trial-postponed-again/-/1840392/2063110/-/6of5nj/-/index.html">29 TIMES</a>.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span></span></span>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">All of this to say, there is
little faith that the justice system will actually deliver justice. So people
simply take justice into their own hands. And that’s what I saw happen on the
street the other day.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When we arrived in Tanzania,
we were warned that there are instances of mob mentality and vigilante actions
when a crime or accident is witnessed. We were told that if we ever
accidentally hit a pedestrian (God forbid), we should ignore our instincts and
leave the scene immediately, because a crowd will form immediately and it can
quickly get out of hand, regardless of who is ultimately to blame. We were told
to drive straight to the nearest police station to report what has happened.
And I’ve been told that you should NEVER yell out “<i>THIEF!!</i>” even if you were
robbed or pick-pocketed, because the reaction to theft is swift and can be
violent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">On the street the other day,
my friend Joanne and I witnessed what we assume was a thief getting caught in
the act. It was about 9:30am, in the middle of downtown, broad daylight, one
block from a police substation. It was swift and it was indeed violent. I’ll
skip the details, but the thief was surrounded and violently beaten by pretty
much anyone who could get a swing in. The thief was crying out for help, trying
to get away, but was repeatedly pulled back into the crowd. I felt like I
<b>SHOULD</b> have done something, but I knew I couldn’t do anything to help with
limited language and my outsider status. Luckily, there WERE a few people that
were trying to calm the situation. As quickly as it started, it ended. I did
not actually see what happened to the thief, but the crowd suddenly dispersed
and everything went back to business as usual, though there was an increased “buzz”
in the area.**</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">What I saw was rough, but it
could have been much, much worse. Later in the day, I was telling my boss what
I saw, and all I said was “<i>Today I saw a thief get caught in town</i>…” and she
interrupted by asking “<i>Did they kill him?</i>” That was her first assumption, and
that says a lot right there. It was a reminder of why it is important to have
functional institutions in place. Where things fall apart, people will find a
way to fill the void and <b>it will not always</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b> be with a better system</b>. Just because a solution is
popular doesn’t make it morally correct. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A moral and compassionate
society should <b>not</b> want this type of justice. We’re talking about a very
violent response in the absence of a functional rule of law. In reflecting on
this incident, I see many ways that this sad state of affairs is a failure on
numerous fronts:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">From a <b>Christian
perspective</b>, I see the entire justice system to be broken. Christians are
called to have compassion for prisoners. “<i>Remember those who are prisoners,
just as if you were imprisoned with them, and those who endure hardships, just
as if you were in their place.</i>” (Hebrews 13:3). The central story of the
Christian faith revolves around an innocent man’s betrayal, torture, and
condemnation to a violent death at the hands of a mob. Violently beating
someone- a person who <i><b>may</b></i> or <i><b>may not</b></i> have even been guilty- to the point of
serious injury or death is neither a proper nor a compassionate response to
injustice. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7_smGxksO2su0KU1-gtdB0ncJL5Q8QQPu3jdHSEozGxi_SsV_avj6RrogjA8gp-PbnR6xiQZR_PRYfVEWcAblSDDvF7pZTxsFZM318Fj4FlWpfVjld17OaHHzvzM88JdoV3l/s1600/families-prisoners-meeting-banned-1375985234-7034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7_smGxksO2su0KU1-gtdB0ncJL5Q8QQPu3jdHSEozGxi_SsV_avj6RrogjA8gp-PbnR6xiQZR_PRYfVEWcAblSDDvF7pZTxsFZM318Fj4FlWpfVjld17OaHHzvzM88JdoV3l/s320/families-prisoners-meeting-banned-1375985234-7034.jpg" title="image source: http://www.nation.com.pk/print_images/670/2013-08-08/families-prisoners-meeting-banned-1375985234-7034.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">As a <b>social worker</b>, my <a href="http://www.socialworkers.org/pubs/code/code.asp">Code of Ethics</a> stresses the inherent dignity and worth of a person, which is applicable even a criminal
who has done a heinous act. Punishing an offender for a criminal act is the
right of any society, and “<i>if you do the crime, you should do the time.</i>” People should not be absolved for crimes they did indeed commit. But
that doesn’t mean that the perpetrators are not human, and as such, they should
be treated with basic human dignity, and the punishment should fit
the crime. Stealing a wallet should not result in a death sentence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And as someone who supports the tenets of the <b><a href="http://www.un.org/en/documents/udhr/">Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR)</a>,</b> the entire system- from
the formal legal system to the mobs on the street- violates many of the rights
enshrined in the Declaration. Holding people indefinitely without formal
charges, inordinate delays in trials, the meting out of street justice- all of
these violate the following Articles of the UDHR:</span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><b>Article 5</b></span>: No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or
degrading treatment or punishment.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"> <b>Article 6</b>: Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person
before the law. <b> </b></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><b>Article 10</b>: Everyone is entitled in full equality to a fair and public hearing
by an independent and impartial tribunal, in the determination of his rights
and obligations and of any criminal charge against him.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><b>Article 11</b>: Everyone charged with a penal offence has the right to be presumed
innocent until proved guilty according to law in a public trial at which he has
had all the guarantees necessary for his defense. </span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As I said earlier, I have
been robbed, and I have seen the smart-ass smirk on the thief’s face when he
was brought in for questioning. I was pissed, and I myself wanted to smack him
in the face. I understand how someone may read my story above and think “<i>Serves
the thief right. He knew what he was doing. He deserved it.” </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But as I stated earlier, a
moral and compassionate society should not want this type of justice. And I’m
sorry that Tanzania is suffering through this, both the dysfunctional system
AND the reality that led the man who probably <b>DID</b> know <i><b>EXACTLY</b></i> what would
happen to him to be so desperate that he took the chance he did and suffered
for it. I’m not absolving the thief of his actions, per se, but most certainly
the ultimate culprit here in the pervasive poverty of the country. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">So there you go. I know my
own country’s justice system is <i><b>far</b></i> from perfect, and I know that I am just a
guest here. It is up to the locals to address this issue and fix these
problems. But I do have hope that they <i><b>WILL</b></i> fix the system. My Tanzanian friends are ashamed of the violent reactions
of the streets. People <b>KNOW</b> the system is broken. So here’s hoping that the
hard work to solve these problems is done sooner than later. The Tanzanian
people- <i><b>both victims and perpetrators</b></i>- deserve better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">* The officer we worked with
was excellent and was truly concerned about getting justice. So certainly not
every police officer or court official is corrupt or lax. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">** Witnessing
something like this incident is <b>NOT</b> an everyday occurrence and I have no increased fears
for my personal safety or anything like that. Tanzanians are very happy and
peaceful people. But obviously there’s a bit more frustration churning below
the surface than what is immediately apparent, and when the opportunity comes
to let it out, the results can be unfortunate.</span></div>
</span>
</span></span>Baldman76http://www.blogger.com/profile/10897350674029436242noreply@blogger.com1