I'm only 24, fresh out of college, but my friends have already become two types of people: those who have settled, and those who have not.
The ones who have settled have accepted their lot. They didn't really aspire that much to begin with, finding value in relationships, wanting children and families more than adventure and travel.
The ones who haven't settled just are not happy yet. They still haven't seen every corner of the world, tried every possible career opportunity available to them, tried writing and reading and learning and teaching at every level. I am one who hasn't settled; I can see the excitement that the unsettled values, can feel it in my bones. God, of anything in my life, I want to see everything.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
I think I'll quit ESL.
I decided, as part of my effort to become a better human being and move forward towards my goal of eventually joining the Peace Corps, that I wanted to start teaching ESL. Teaching ESL looks good on a resume to the Peace Corps (probably has something to do with them wanting you to, like, teach English abroad or something) and volunteering is good for the soul or something stupid like that. Anyway, I found an opportunity and started assisting a teacher at a local community center.
At first the experience was awesome. I've volunteered before, once at a local hospice administrative office (it made me feel like death) and a few times for a campaign (which varied from alright to crappy, depending on the company I kept). This was different; the teacher and the students were engaging and it wasn't too exhausting nor time-consuming. It's two nights awake, two hours a class. In the beginning, I was to assist some of the weaker students with just keeping up in class. The county had apparently run out of room in the "beginners" classes, and just started sticking students in the lower intermediate courses, where English just went over their head. One student in particular, Hakeem, grew so frustrated that when I tried to help him with the computer, he snapped "I no speak English!" which is pretty self-defeating. But I engaged him, forcing him to read aloud during class and dialoguing with him. Within just a couple of weeks, he was more comfortable speaking English and was able to practice on his own.
But now that some of the weaker students are more caught up, Kathy, the instructor, pretty much has nothing for me to do. I sit with one student who's more shy than behind and watch Kathy teach for most of the class. It could be interesting, learning English grammar and why, exactly, we phrase sentences the way we do; but it's not what I'm there for. I am there to help her teach. I am not a student teacher.
Additionally sometimes she flat out teaches the wrong thing. Just the other day she was teaching them about adjectives ("the green book," "the big chair") and started teaching them adverbs instead ("he jumped quickly," "she spoke shyly") which, if it was confusing for me, had to be impossible for most of the students.
"Kathy," I called, "aren't these adverbs?"
She snapped, "I'm just trying not to confuse them!"
That was Tuesday. Thursday, she pulled me aside before class and informed me that she didn't appreciate me scolding her in front of the class like that. I apologized and said that I was confused, and that I wasn't trying to make her look bad in front of her students, that I was looking for clarification more than anything else. But she was still annoyed. And later on, when she was teaching them about sounds and disobeying one of the rules that she had written, I gently pulled her aside during a short break and whispered the rule to her.
Again, "I'm just trying not to confuse them!" I have to tell you here that she's apparently one of the best teachers in the county.
So I decided to quit. I obviously have no further value there, and it's a waste of my nights. I'll tell her Tuesday.
At first the experience was awesome. I've volunteered before, once at a local hospice administrative office (it made me feel like death) and a few times for a campaign (which varied from alright to crappy, depending on the company I kept). This was different; the teacher and the students were engaging and it wasn't too exhausting nor time-consuming. It's two nights awake, two hours a class. In the beginning, I was to assist some of the weaker students with just keeping up in class. The county had apparently run out of room in the "beginners" classes, and just started sticking students in the lower intermediate courses, where English just went over their head. One student in particular, Hakeem, grew so frustrated that when I tried to help him with the computer, he snapped "I no speak English!" which is pretty self-defeating. But I engaged him, forcing him to read aloud during class and dialoguing with him. Within just a couple of weeks, he was more comfortable speaking English and was able to practice on his own.
But now that some of the weaker students are more caught up, Kathy, the instructor, pretty much has nothing for me to do. I sit with one student who's more shy than behind and watch Kathy teach for most of the class. It could be interesting, learning English grammar and why, exactly, we phrase sentences the way we do; but it's not what I'm there for. I am there to help her teach. I am not a student teacher.
Additionally sometimes she flat out teaches the wrong thing. Just the other day she was teaching them about adjectives ("the green book," "the big chair") and started teaching them adverbs instead ("he jumped quickly," "she spoke shyly") which, if it was confusing for me, had to be impossible for most of the students.
"Kathy," I called, "aren't these adverbs?"
She snapped, "I'm just trying not to confuse them!"
That was Tuesday. Thursday, she pulled me aside before class and informed me that she didn't appreciate me scolding her in front of the class like that. I apologized and said that I was confused, and that I wasn't trying to make her look bad in front of her students, that I was looking for clarification more than anything else. But she was still annoyed. And later on, when she was teaching them about sounds and disobeying one of the rules that she had written, I gently pulled her aside during a short break and whispered the rule to her.
Again, "I'm just trying not to confuse them!" I have to tell you here that she's apparently one of the best teachers in the county.
So I decided to quit. I obviously have no further value there, and it's a waste of my nights. I'll tell her Tuesday.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
A Day Without a Facebook: Day One
I gave up Facebook and Twitter for Lent. There, I said it out loud. And so desperately, in a hopeless attempt to communicate with the outside world, I am blogging. Is this cheating? God I hope so.
I chose to give up Facebook and Twitter for Lent for a few reasons. Number one: I am not actually religious. ("What?" you might say. "Lent is a religious thing!" Is it? I don't care.) So I'm not too concerned with giving up, say, the Seven Deadly Sins, mostly because I am way too awesome to even think about that stuff. (Was that pride? Who cares!) Reason number two: I always look for something that's difficult but not necessary. Like the year I gave up soda, back when I was chugging three bottles a day of that stuff. (My teeth were yellow.) Or the year I gave up red meat, back when I'd have a hamburger every other day. Giving up Facebook and Twitter is going to be difficult for me, but it's not like I need it to function. (Right? R...right?)
So I use Lent as a time to test myself, to try new things, new lifestyles and ideologies, like I'm trying on new clothes in a clothing store. It's safe, because there is a distinct end point- Easter- and hey, everyone else is doing it. When I fail, there's tons of people there to point at me and laugh, which I'll pretend is supposed to be encouraging. Everyone else is going through the same thing that I am going through.
So yesterday was my first day without Facebook and Twitter, without social networking. I prepared for it- I took the Facebook and Twitter app off of my phone and un-bookmarked it on my browser. But within a few minutes I started to twitch. I'd think of a funny comment ("Fat Tuesday and Women's Day are on the same day? Who's brilliant idea was THAT?") and want to post it. Or I'd be reading a really good news article (like anything by Joan Walsh) and by GOD, who was I supposed to share it with? It's not enough that I spend my days aimlessly clicking through profiles of people I never speak to anymore, judging them on their baby daddys, but what about when I have something to say? Now that I'm not forced to limit my wit to 140-characters, how will I express anything at all? (She says, typing away at 96-words a minute on Blogger.)
I chose to give up Facebook and Twitter for Lent for a few reasons. Number one: I am not actually religious. ("What?" you might say. "Lent is a religious thing!" Is it? I don't care.) So I'm not too concerned with giving up, say, the Seven Deadly Sins, mostly because I am way too awesome to even think about that stuff. (Was that pride? Who cares!) Reason number two: I always look for something that's difficult but not necessary. Like the year I gave up soda, back when I was chugging three bottles a day of that stuff. (My teeth were yellow.) Or the year I gave up red meat, back when I'd have a hamburger every other day. Giving up Facebook and Twitter is going to be difficult for me, but it's not like I need it to function. (Right? R...right?)
So I use Lent as a time to test myself, to try new things, new lifestyles and ideologies, like I'm trying on new clothes in a clothing store. It's safe, because there is a distinct end point- Easter- and hey, everyone else is doing it. When I fail, there's tons of people there to point at me and laugh, which I'll pretend is supposed to be encouraging. Everyone else is going through the same thing that I am going through.
So yesterday was my first day without Facebook and Twitter, without social networking. I prepared for it- I took the Facebook and Twitter app off of my phone and un-bookmarked it on my browser. But within a few minutes I started to twitch. I'd think of a funny comment ("Fat Tuesday and Women's Day are on the same day? Who's brilliant idea was THAT?") and want to post it. Or I'd be reading a really good news article (like anything by Joan Walsh) and by GOD, who was I supposed to share it with? It's not enough that I spend my days aimlessly clicking through profiles of people I never speak to anymore, judging them on their baby daddys, but what about when I have something to say? Now that I'm not forced to limit my wit to 140-characters, how will I express anything at all? (She says, typing away at 96-words a minute on Blogger.)
Sunday, September 12, 2010
EoG: Chapter 6 - From Polytheism to Monolatry
Highlighting this chapter is the law of religious tolerance- colloquially speaking (the best kind) people will only respect other religions when they think they can get something out of it. I find it a little coincidental that I'm typing an article about religious tolerance, or lack their of, in the midst of the rise of Islamophobia, and maybe that is something I will try to highlight. In fact, reading this chapter, I continuously found myself referencing modern day happenings, such as the takeover of America from the Native Americans to the modern day fight with Muslims. So if anything, we will learn that time does not change human nature.
First off, the definition of monolatry- it is the step between polytheism and monotheism, where the society believes not the a pantheon of multiple gods, but rather in one god for their culture; however, they do not believe in one universal god. Other cultures have their own gods as well.
Essentially, around the 8th and 7th centuries BCE, prophets began to teach xenophobic practices. This coincided with Israel being taken over by Assyria and other major power sources. Wright defines two possible reasons for the rise of monolatry- foreign policy and domestic power. As Israel's power shrank with Assyria's takeover, kings and their citizens got angry. They got nationalistic. They believed in the power of Israel. This nationalistic pride would reasonably be reflected in their unifying national religion of the time; claiming allegiance to Israel and Jerusalem is a way of showing national pride, and what better way than to claim allegiance to Jerusalem's god, Yahweh?
Similarly, this was reflected in domestic policies. As Israeli nationalism took root, worshipping foreign gods became totally passe. It was only the rich people that enjoyed being abroad and who had foreign objects because they were the only ones who could afford such nice things; thus, they were cosmopolitan and elitist. So it was a class system that was also xenophobic. Again, we can draw parallels between then and now. Today there is an overwhelming sense of patriotism that may have been present before 9/11, but now can be seen as a reaction to terrorism. Some areas of the country are proud to be 100% American and reject so-called "foreign" influences, such as Islam. Similarly, Israelis hated non-Israeli influences. Other gods in the traditional Israeli pantheon were eliminated for their "foreign" influence, leaving the capital city's god Yahweh as the one true god.
First off, the definition of monolatry- it is the step between polytheism and monotheism, where the society believes not the a pantheon of multiple gods, but rather in one god for their culture; however, they do not believe in one universal god. Other cultures have their own gods as well.
Essentially, around the 8th and 7th centuries BCE, prophets began to teach xenophobic practices. This coincided with Israel being taken over by Assyria and other major power sources. Wright defines two possible reasons for the rise of monolatry- foreign policy and domestic power. As Israel's power shrank with Assyria's takeover, kings and their citizens got angry. They got nationalistic. They believed in the power of Israel. This nationalistic pride would reasonably be reflected in their unifying national religion of the time; claiming allegiance to Israel and Jerusalem is a way of showing national pride, and what better way than to claim allegiance to Jerusalem's god, Yahweh?
Similarly, this was reflected in domestic policies. As Israeli nationalism took root, worshipping foreign gods became totally passe. It was only the rich people that enjoyed being abroad and who had foreign objects because they were the only ones who could afford such nice things; thus, they were cosmopolitan and elitist. So it was a class system that was also xenophobic. Again, we can draw parallels between then and now. Today there is an overwhelming sense of patriotism that may have been present before 9/11, but now can be seen as a reaction to terrorism. Some areas of the country are proud to be 100% American and reject so-called "foreign" influences, such as Islam. Similarly, Israelis hated non-Israeli influences. Other gods in the traditional Israeli pantheon were eliminated for their "foreign" influence, leaving the capital city's god Yahweh as the one true god.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
EoG: Chapter 5- Polytheism, the Religion of Ancient Israel
This chapter is set up as Ba'al versus Yahweh; the ancient king god of the primitive Pagans versus the new, more powerful monotheistic god of the Israelites. It helps that the Bible includes many stories about the battles between Ba'al and Yahweh, which can be taken metaphorically for larger cultural issues. But this era of Western human history has more to do with the evolution than modern monotheism emerging fully-fledged from the minds of the Israelites.
Robert Wright claims that rather than God emerging fully fleshed, announcing himself to the Israelites as their lord and savior, it is far more complicated than that, just like the culture of the time. As implied by modern interpretation of the Bible, the Israelites destroyed and overtook the disgusting pagan Canaanites and replaced themselves and their religion as the dominating force of the land. However, it is more likely that the Israelites and Canaanites peacefully coexisted, trading culture and goods, until the gradual peaceful takeover of the Canaanites.
Wright's reasonings for this:
Ultimately we can see where the origins of Yahweh, of the Judeo-Christian God, the original monotheistic god, lie in polytheism. What effect does this have on our interpretation of religion?
I can see that by recognizing the changes of the origin of God, a lot of the mystery and myth is taken away, and with it, a lot of mysticism. God is no longer infallible. He is susceptible to time and the philosophy of the times, just like the rest of us. Personally this appeals to me, a god that I can relate to, but the power of a Christian god lies in his beauty and omnipotence. We (his worshippers) are not worthy to worship him, but with this knowledge, he might not be worthy of us.
Robert Wright claims that rather than God emerging fully fleshed, announcing himself to the Israelites as their lord and savior, it is far more complicated than that, just like the culture of the time. As implied by modern interpretation of the Bible, the Israelites destroyed and overtook the disgusting pagan Canaanites and replaced themselves and their religion as the dominating force of the land. However, it is more likely that the Israelites and Canaanites peacefully coexisted, trading culture and goods, until the gradual peaceful takeover of the Canaanites.
Wright's reasonings for this:
- There is no archaeological evidence for a war between the Israelites and the Canaanites. As evidenced here and also in Wright's book, most of the digs revealed cities without walls or weapons. Walls and weapons are indicators of cities at war; without those, it is far more likely that the two cultures coexisted peacefully, and considering the Israelites used to be a nomadic tribe, they more than likely traded.
- There is evidence in the Bible that the omnipotent God we know today wasn't always that way. Many passages of the Bible allude to a pantheon of gods of which God was only a minor member; Psalm 82:1 says "God has taken his place in the divine council; in the midst of the gods he holds judgement." Most, if not all of the original wording, was probably edited out by the original authors, intent on maintaining Yahweh's divinity in a changing world.
- Many of the mythical narratives proclaiming Yahweh's divinity bear a striking resemblance to the tales of Ba'al and El.
- El is the god of the Canaanites, the original king of the Canaanite gods. The name "Israel" is likely derived from this name; ancient cultures had a habit of naming important things like cities after their gods, and Israel ends in El. The Hebrew word for God is "El," possibly derived from Canaan tradition. There is a school of thought that the El worshippers lived to the north of Judah, and the Yahweh worshippers, to the south, and both are mentioned interchangeably in the Bible, almost seamlessly. In fact, there is one passage, Exodus 6:2-3, that specifically says "I am Yahweh. I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob as El Shaddai, but by my name Yahweh I did not make myself known to them." God himself explains that he started out with a different name. Should the Canaanites and Israelites trade culture and goods (such as explained in the text above) then, like previous Pagan cultures, it would make sense to merge pantheons to create a peaceful cultural connection. The question is how a minor god such as Yahweh ended up absorbing the more powerful god El.
- Ba'al is the enemy of Yahweh. Ultimately, Ba'al came to embody the evil pagan religions and everything that was wrong with them; Yahweh stood for the morally upright monotheistic religion. This epic battle culminated in 1 Kings 18:16-46, in which God burns a sacrificial bull and Ba'al does not. Elijah seizes the followers of Ba'al and slaughters them all. Considering how much Ba'al and Yahweh did not get along, it is a surprise that many stories about Yahweh seem to be rewritten Ba'al stories. This isn't so surprising when you realize that competitors often steal each other's ideas in order to outdo each other; Apple products are getting copied left and right, to get a piece of the action. Ba'al was a storm god, worshipped as a bringer of rain, very important and popular for agricultural communities. It is no wonder that Yahweh, to compete, began developing aspects of a rain god: his voice as thunder, his spear as lightning, a rider of the clouds.
Ultimately we can see where the origins of Yahweh, of the Judeo-Christian God, the original monotheistic god, lie in polytheism. What effect does this have on our interpretation of religion?
I can see that by recognizing the changes of the origin of God, a lot of the mystery and myth is taken away, and with it, a lot of mysticism. God is no longer infallible. He is susceptible to time and the philosophy of the times, just like the rest of us. Personally this appeals to me, a god that I can relate to, but the power of a Christian god lies in his beauty and omnipotence. We (his worshippers) are not worthy to worship him, but with this knowledge, he might not be worthy of us.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Church
So for some reason I am up abominably early this morning, which leaves me with a dilemma. For the past week, I've been debating whether or not I am going to church today. Earlier this week I was torn between "Well, it's not like I ever go to church, I don't want to start a church-going trend for myself" and my dad basically hounding me to go to church. "Go to the 9:15," my dad said, "I think you like that one better. You don't have to go to the same one as your mom and I."
So the reasons I don't want to go to church are as follows: one, I've never really enjoyed or believed in church and the worship service. Robert Wright's Evolution of God brings up the whole theory that worship was used in the ancient times basically to appease your god so that s/he doesn't explode you with fire. Also the Christians believe that service is used to show your devotion and love of God, and to say that you are not worthy to be loved by God. Also probably so they don't explode in fire either (the Apocalypse). I have not accepted God, either "into my life" or even as a fully fledged concept yet, so whenever I do visit church, I felt like I was visiting a cult and feel really uncomfortable. And two, church is really early on a Sunday, when I just want to be sleeping. I also don't really know anyone at church, except for the one girl that keeps smiling at me and saying "Hi" even though I don't know who she is. So essentially, I'd show up and just sit there by myself, really uncomfortable, while everyone is clapping and singing, until the thing was over, and then my parents would show up for the the later service and I'd have to awkwardly explain myself to Jair about how I am still not a Jesus freak.
Contrarily, I do feel like going to church today. Number one, I am awake at 7AM for some stupid reason, which gives me time to not only update this blog, but also to actually get to church on time. Really, what else am I going to do this morning? (Porn?) Number two, as stated above, my dad has been bugging me to go. Although if I give him the satisfaction this week, I will not hear the end of it, ever. Thirdly, ever since the mission's trip to Haiti, I've sort of felt obligated to go, as if I would be taking advantage of the church if I just used them for Haiti and then left them in the dust, laughing, which would be like the worst six-night stand ever. Especially because I didn't use them, I worked hard, and other people that went on the trip don't go to St. Matthew's (or St. Matt's, which is what the cool kids call it, which you and I are not). So finally I have also felt like I should go. One of the missionaries I met in Haiti, a team leader named Hannah, talked all the time (nonstop) about how she always "felt called" to God and to follow his wills, and she always had to look for his will. All of the times God "called her" sounded like huge coincidences to me, like when God called her to India and and she could tell because for some reason everyone she talked to for like a week kept talking about India. So I guess maybe there is some non-cynical part of me that feels like going to church and seeing if God is calling me to church.
I asked Twitter what to do and my good friend Carlo just replied: "Just go." Fine. But I get to look super cute doing it. I mean, what else am I going to do today?
So the reasons I don't want to go to church are as follows: one, I've never really enjoyed or believed in church and the worship service. Robert Wright's Evolution of God brings up the whole theory that worship was used in the ancient times basically to appease your god so that s/he doesn't explode you with fire. Also the Christians believe that service is used to show your devotion and love of God, and to say that you are not worthy to be loved by God. Also probably so they don't explode in fire either (the Apocalypse). I have not accepted God, either "into my life" or even as a fully fledged concept yet, so whenever I do visit church, I felt like I was visiting a cult and feel really uncomfortable. And two, church is really early on a Sunday, when I just want to be sleeping. I also don't really know anyone at church, except for the one girl that keeps smiling at me and saying "Hi" even though I don't know who she is. So essentially, I'd show up and just sit there by myself, really uncomfortable, while everyone is clapping and singing, until the thing was over, and then my parents would show up for the the later service and I'd have to awkwardly explain myself to Jair about how I am still not a Jesus freak.
Contrarily, I do feel like going to church today. Number one, I am awake at 7AM for some stupid reason, which gives me time to not only update this blog, but also to actually get to church on time. Really, what else am I going to do this morning? (Porn?) Number two, as stated above, my dad has been bugging me to go. Although if I give him the satisfaction this week, I will not hear the end of it, ever. Thirdly, ever since the mission's trip to Haiti, I've sort of felt obligated to go, as if I would be taking advantage of the church if I just used them for Haiti and then left them in the dust, laughing, which would be like the worst six-night stand ever. Especially because I didn't use them, I worked hard, and other people that went on the trip don't go to St. Matthew's (or St. Matt's, which is what the cool kids call it, which you and I are not). So finally I have also felt like I should go. One of the missionaries I met in Haiti, a team leader named Hannah, talked all the time (nonstop) about how she always "felt called" to God and to follow his wills, and she always had to look for his will. All of the times God "called her" sounded like huge coincidences to me, like when God called her to India and and she could tell because for some reason everyone she talked to for like a week kept talking about India. So I guess maybe there is some non-cynical part of me that feels like going to church and seeing if God is calling me to church.
I asked Twitter what to do and my good friend Carlo just replied: "Just go." Fine. But I get to look super cute doing it. I mean, what else am I going to do today?
Friday, August 20, 2010
Love & Haiti
While I'm going to get more in-depth on my trip to Haiti (I plan on trying to sell an article about it, I think) I just want to highlight one really, really stupid part of my trip.
While the fine ladies and gents over at Praying Pelican did a wonderful job of keeping my fellow missionaries and I safe from hostile locals and illness-inducing food (sort of) they failed to warn us ladies about handing out our actual contact information to the local construction workers we would be working with. I know, I know; whenever I hear warnings about "Don't give your actual number out to strangers," I always think "Who does that? Who is that stupid?" Apparently, I am.
My main mission in Haiti was to help rebuild schools and houses, buildings that people would actually need. Three out of the five days that we were there we actually did that; Monday through Wednesday we spent sifting rocks out of sand, mixing cement, shoveling pieces of cinderblock out of rooms, bailing water from the nightly rainstorms, and throwing cement on the walls. We worked with a local Haitian construction crew of about a dozen young men, between the ages of about twelve to 35. (I don't actually know about the 12-year-old part, Fiddler Cherie may or may not have actually been a hired member, maybe he was just doing it for fun.) It was exhausting, strenuous work, made harder by the boiling hot sun. Our first night there Praying Pelican also encouraged us to "build relationships" with the local people. So in addition to building infrastructure, our second mission was to develop God in their lives, by talking to them, or something, I don't know. I talk to people anyway, I figured I wouldn't have a problem with that, language barrier or no.
The local construction crew absolutely loved my friend Deanne and I. We're both cute girls, in our mid-20's, friendly and chatty. We threw ourselves into the dirty work and actively engaged the construction workers in conversation, fulfilling both missions pretty well.
One thing that they (the proverbial "they") tell you is that Haiti is a poverty-stricken, destitute place, where infrastructure is non-existent, people bathe in standing water in the streets, children run around naked for lack of a better option, and trash stands in heaps for months until they burn it, because there is literally no other option. It is a dirty, smelly country that needs help. People will do almost anything to get out of there. (Unless you're Wyclef Jean, apparently.) Almost anything, including marrying an American to get to America and a better life.
You see where I'm going with this? Three men in particular loved chatting with Deanne and I. There was John, Lucien and Pierre Louis. John was the biggest offender- on the same day, he wrote "love letters" to both Deanne and I, declaring a passionate romantic love for Deanne and saying something "wet" to me, which I refuse to try to understand. He tried to write these letters in English, but his grasp of English is challenged, to say the least. Both of us got marriage proposals throughout the week. They would call us over to where they were working, saying "You my frien?" After we nodded- yes, I your frien- they would tell us, in broken English, using French, Haitian-Creole, and hand gestures, that they wanted to visit us in America, asking us where did we live, could we buy them laptops? After struggling to understand them for about ten minutes, either we would nod and say "Yes, ok my friend!" and walk away, or the big boss would walk by and they would scatter. He spent the better part of Tuesday and Wednesday chasing them back to their posts. And then they would come back, asking us to please, give us our numbers, our addresses, our emails, so they they can contact us after the trip.
It sounds harmless, it does. And I thought it did at the time, so I wrote down my email and phone number one time, giving it to John. I wasn't too sure if I should- I'd seen the Digicel guys walking around the main streets of Haiti with their red aprons, so I knew they had cell phones, and I'd spied a few Internet cafes. But Deanne assured me that they couldn't contact us anyway, so I thought of no reason why I shouldn't. One other woman on the group, Vicki, said we should've given the church number, but it was after the fact, and I didn't know the number anyway.
Hindsight! Perfect 20-20 vision, right? Last night I received 20 calls within ten minutes of each other from John. The first night I got back I received dozens of calls from the same number. I added the number under my contact list as "Do Not Answer." Deanne actually picked up the phone when John was calling her to try to talk to him. We don't have the benefit of being actually in the same room with him anymore, so he can't use hand gestures, limiting him to his measly broken English-Creole combination. The only words she got out of him were "I love you" and "You my frien." When I contacted Verizon, they, in their brilliant wisdom, do not make it easy to block a number via cell phone. In order to block a number, you have to go onto their website, go to "Safeguards," and then enter the number, as long as it is a 10-digit American number. Because no one has ever been harassed by a foreigner, ever. It was recommended to me that I write a letter to Verizon, which would be addressed within 24 hours.
So the saga continues. Lesson learned- learn a fake number to give to these people, and fast. I'll keep you all posted.
While the fine ladies and gents over at Praying Pelican did a wonderful job of keeping my fellow missionaries and I safe from hostile locals and illness-inducing food (sort of) they failed to warn us ladies about handing out our actual contact information to the local construction workers we would be working with. I know, I know; whenever I hear warnings about "Don't give your actual number out to strangers," I always think "Who does that? Who is that stupid?" Apparently, I am.
My main mission in Haiti was to help rebuild schools and houses, buildings that people would actually need. Three out of the five days that we were there we actually did that; Monday through Wednesday we spent sifting rocks out of sand, mixing cement, shoveling pieces of cinderblock out of rooms, bailing water from the nightly rainstorms, and throwing cement on the walls. We worked with a local Haitian construction crew of about a dozen young men, between the ages of about twelve to 35. (I don't actually know about the 12-year-old part, Fiddler Cherie may or may not have actually been a hired member, maybe he was just doing it for fun.) It was exhausting, strenuous work, made harder by the boiling hot sun. Our first night there Praying Pelican also encouraged us to "build relationships" with the local people. So in addition to building infrastructure, our second mission was to develop God in their lives, by talking to them, or something, I don't know. I talk to people anyway, I figured I wouldn't have a problem with that, language barrier or no.
The local construction crew absolutely loved my friend Deanne and I. We're both cute girls, in our mid-20's, friendly and chatty. We threw ourselves into the dirty work and actively engaged the construction workers in conversation, fulfilling both missions pretty well.
One thing that they (the proverbial "they") tell you is that Haiti is a poverty-stricken, destitute place, where infrastructure is non-existent, people bathe in standing water in the streets, children run around naked for lack of a better option, and trash stands in heaps for months until they burn it, because there is literally no other option. It is a dirty, smelly country that needs help. People will do almost anything to get out of there. (Unless you're Wyclef Jean, apparently.) Almost anything, including marrying an American to get to America and a better life.
You see where I'm going with this? Three men in particular loved chatting with Deanne and I. There was John, Lucien and Pierre Louis. John was the biggest offender- on the same day, he wrote "love letters" to both Deanne and I, declaring a passionate romantic love for Deanne and saying something "wet" to me, which I refuse to try to understand. He tried to write these letters in English, but his grasp of English is challenged, to say the least. Both of us got marriage proposals throughout the week. They would call us over to where they were working, saying "You my frien?" After we nodded- yes, I your frien- they would tell us, in broken English, using French, Haitian-Creole, and hand gestures, that they wanted to visit us in America, asking us where did we live, could we buy them laptops? After struggling to understand them for about ten minutes, either we would nod and say "Yes, ok my friend!" and walk away, or the big boss would walk by and they would scatter. He spent the better part of Tuesday and Wednesday chasing them back to their posts. And then they would come back, asking us to please, give us our numbers, our addresses, our emails, so they they can contact us after the trip.
It sounds harmless, it does. And I thought it did at the time, so I wrote down my email and phone number one time, giving it to John. I wasn't too sure if I should- I'd seen the Digicel guys walking around the main streets of Haiti with their red aprons, so I knew they had cell phones, and I'd spied a few Internet cafes. But Deanne assured me that they couldn't contact us anyway, so I thought of no reason why I shouldn't. One other woman on the group, Vicki, said we should've given the church number, but it was after the fact, and I didn't know the number anyway.
Hindsight! Perfect 20-20 vision, right? Last night I received 20 calls within ten minutes of each other from John. The first night I got back I received dozens of calls from the same number. I added the number under my contact list as "Do Not Answer." Deanne actually picked up the phone when John was calling her to try to talk to him. We don't have the benefit of being actually in the same room with him anymore, so he can't use hand gestures, limiting him to his measly broken English-Creole combination. The only words she got out of him were "I love you" and "You my frien." When I contacted Verizon, they, in their brilliant wisdom, do not make it easy to block a number via cell phone. In order to block a number, you have to go onto their website, go to "Safeguards," and then enter the number, as long as it is a 10-digit American number. Because no one has ever been harassed by a foreigner, ever. It was recommended to me that I write a letter to Verizon, which would be addressed within 24 hours.
So the saga continues. Lesson learned- learn a fake number to give to these people, and fast. I'll keep you all posted.
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