tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31056798075889369292024-03-05T08:26:12.107-08:00The Art of TogethernessMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-30880569997644028892014-07-01T04:08:00.003-07:002014-07-01T04:13:38.089-07:00Lost in Translation<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">For those of us who have grown up in one-language households and communities, the motivation to learn other languages can sometimes be difficult to find. For most of my life, English was my sole medium of thought, self-awareness and expression, education, friendship, understanding, work, play… in fact, nearly every aspect of my life that required reflection or interaction was possible only through expression in English. I learned some French in school but it was always a subject to study, a sort of theoretical knowledge base, and not really a tool I ever had much occasion to use. English was really good enough to communicate effectively with my family, friends, co-workers, and most everyone else I encountered in day-to-day life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">This changed when I moved to Chad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">There are more than a hundred local languages and distinct ethnic groups in Chad, and at least three of these languages are often used to find common ground in N’Djamena (Chadian Arabic from the North, N’Gumbay from the South, and French from the colonizers). Knowing any one of these languages will get you pretty far but in general it is not guaranteed that two people meeting on the street will necessarily have the same ‘go-to’ language. While the cultural and linguistic diversity in N’Djamena is certainly a beautiful and ornate feature in the patchwork of human anthropology, it can also be a practical challenge in the day-to-day. Admittedly I have only mastered a modest handful of useful phrases in various Chadian languages; however, I have thoroughly enjoyed the adventure of learning and the lessons go far beyond phonetics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">I have found many people in N’Djamena to be fiercely proud of their mother tongue, and I believe this is because each language carries with it a particular way of understanding, interpreting, and expressing someone’s experience in the world. Languages are intricately intertwined with identity, values, culture, and tradition… In this way, when I try and learn some basic phrases in somebody’s mother tongue I’m able to break the barrier of being a strange foreigner, and sometimes the set the foundations for a great relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Unfortunately the language which allows me to do most of my communicating in Chad is also sometimes the source of this initial relationship barrier. In Chad, French is the mother tongue of hardly anybody. It’s a practical language. It’s a business and a social language that doesn't seem to be too deeply entrenched in anyone’s identity. French is still alive and well in N’Djamena largely because it works to provide a common denominator for various distinct ethnic communities (particularly across the south). It allows Chadians (and visiting Canadians) to have meaningful friendships among different ethnic groups. Through French, I am able to participate in the activities of my organization at work, express myself, get to know others, discuss interesting topics, and pass the evenings joking and laughing with my host family under the stars. French opens a world of expression, but it also carries the strong weight of a colonial history… perhaps especially coming from the mouth of a Nassara. In this way, sometimes my words come out tasting bitter sweet. For example, when I’m walking down the street I’m greeted with a lot of stares; often it’s a look of curiosity or confusion (that makes me feel a little like a strange and foreign animal in the zoo). I usually take advantage of this attention to pass on a pleasant greeting. A simple smile and “bonjour” can sometime crack a smile in return and make me a little more human in the eyes of the passer-by. But other times, despite a pleasant greeting, I receive a look that spells distrust and even disdain. It’s a burden I carry on behalf of the privileged who walked these streets before me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Other times I choose to greet people in the local Arabic. Even for the southerners who may or may not speak Arabic, these basic greetings seem to be an integral part of Chadian culture. In such moments I greet my staring neighbours with “salam alekum” and the responses vary in a different sort of way. Some people are surprised to be greeted in a local language; some people are clearly amused; some people don’t even seem to register my words and simply respond in French; and some people really run with it, testing how far into an Arabic conversation I can get before I have to laugh and admit “Arab, shuia shuia!” …‘I only speak a tiny bit of Arabic!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Arabic is also interesting because it’s a great example of how each language carries with it a particular worldview. For example, the basic greeting “Salam alekum” literally means “Peace be with you.” What a beautiful spirit to express to friends and strangers each time you meet. Then when you’re asked “Kikeif?” (how are you?) among the appropriate responses is “Al hamdoulilai!” or “Praise be to God!” which carries an implied, “I’m well.” And so it is that through the very structure of our language we engage in ancient cultural and religious traditions of how we see the world and how we ought to treat one another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">If I’m not the walking the streets, navigating the markets or riding in a taxi, I don’t have a lot of opportunities to learn or practice Arabic. However, with my host family I've been learning another local tongue. Generally my experience of language in a Moundang household has been a lesson in patience, discernment and true listening: patience because often the most appropriate time to ask for a translation is when all is said and done; discernment because there is a lot of conversation that happens that doesn't need to be translated at all; and true listening is about paying attention to all the levels of communication that happen in and around language, apart from the spoken word. Mostly I listen to the music of a conversation and the drama of expression and reaction. Mama, for example, is a particularly animated story teller when she’s speaking Moundang. She adds all sorts of sound effects and gestures, losing herself in the rich details and emotion of her story in a way that gets lost when she puts it into French. Rather than needing the details, I prefer to just sit back and listen as she tells her tale. At the end of it all, I may have no idea what happened in her day but I understand things that are more important. I understand about how she is feeling and I've been gifted with an expression of her charm and good-humour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">This is just one example of how I've adapted to life in Chad by learning to read contexts rather than listen to conversations. In every-day life this gets me pretty far, but it’s not foolproof. It’s easy to make the wrong assumption and respond in clear confusion. For example, one day I was with a friend in a crowded market surrounded by identical looking taxi-buses trying to find one going to a slightly obscure area of town. There are lots of predictable things about the unmarked taxi/bus system if you know what to look for, but we were admittedly a little lost. As we stood around taking in our options, a man (who by the way was busy attaching a second story of grain sacks to a precariously positioned roof rack on the top of the nearest taxi-bus) yelled something down at me. This is what I heard: “Eh! Chinois!” This may strike the average reader as a little bizarre but the oil industry has brought an influx of Chinese workers to Chad and I’m becoming pretty accustomed to my pasty complexion being mistaken for that of my Asian expat friends. In general when people greet me with a teasing “Ni Hao!” I tend to reply in good humour. This particular time I looked up at my new friend and hollered “Pas Chinois!” (I’m not Chinese!) At this point my Chadian friend laughed and explained that the bus attendant had actually spoken to me in Arabic, asking “Machi wa?” a sort of slang for “are you coming?” … at which point I realized how ridiculous my response must have sounded!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Whenever I get caught blindly unaware, I try to remember to laugh rather than be embarrassed. Last week for example, I went to my normal taxi stop. This is the beginning of the route and there are usually half a dozen cars parked at any given time. Someone has the job of standing watch of the cars, flagging down potential clients and directing riders to fill up the taxis one at a time. When a car is full, the driver is notified that his break is over and away we go. This particular day there was only one lonely taxi waiting so I thought I’d just hop in. The usual attendant greeted me and said something in Arabic that had the word “coffee” in it, pointing over to a small street vendor. I smiled, shook my head, and got in the taxi – supposing that he was joking with me that we should share a morning coffee together (which in all fairness <i>does </i>happen to me occasionally… likely as a consequence of a culture of hospitality and people’s curiosity at the young, single, Nassara girl… but I digress). As it turned out, my attendant friend was trying to tell me not to get in that taxi altogether because the driver was off having <i>his</i> morning coffee. Only when another taxi showed up and people started filling it up did I realize what had happened. My friend the attendant had been watching me all along to see when I’d clue in… We shared a little laugh, I switched taxis, and I still got to work :)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">It happens quite often that Arabic speakers go out of their way to try and help me out, but I’m often unable to accept their good will and apologetically tell them that their advice is wasted on me because “Arab shuia shuia…” before going on my ignorant way to figure out whatever they were trying to tell me the hard way. Sometimes people are trying to tell me how much I should actually be paying for the taxi on a given route; sometimes they’re telling me I’ve missed my stop (which is sometimes the case); sometimes they’re telling me that the roads have been barricaded for a presidential convoy and I won’t be able to find a taxi at all; sometimes they’re trying to tell me where I can find this or that thing when their own little shop is out of stock; and sometimes they’re just trying to be friendly and ask me how I’m coping with the heat, how my family is, or whether I’m feeling healthy and well. Most of the time I leave these situations with a pretty clear understanding of their kindness and hospitality, a little bit indifferent about my lack of information, and regretting only that I’m helpless to express my gratitude or reciprocate their kindness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">When I get to work there are even more language challenges. A good deal of my tasks with MCC revolve around translation work between French and English. With the vocab I picked up from my Chadian hosts along with my high school French and a couple undergrad grammar courses buried deep in my back pocket, I've found myself in sink or swim situations time and again. A Chadian partner would be sitting across the table from my American supervisors… both understanding bits and pieces of the others language and myself in charge of filling in the gaps. In the beginning the partners were very patient with me, stopping to explain vocabulary that I was missing, and waiting for me to paraphrase my understanding to ensure we were on the same page. Now these meetings go much more smoothly as my language skills have improved, but our habits of pausing to clarify, check or explain things continue in each meeting. This is because when I’m translating, </span><span lang="EN-CA">I am not just substituting words like an online translation algorithm. Even though I understand French, I’m still using all the listening skills from the rest of my day in order to really understand what the partner is telling me in light of cultural and religious contexts. Then my challenge is to articulate the same idea in my own words while maintaining (as much as possible) the integrity of the original speaker’s intended tone and connotation. It requires empathy to see the world through their eyes, and a deep respect for the speaker such that I can give voice to their thoughts even if I disagree with the idea that I am translating. It is absolutely my favourite job that I have taken on in my time with MCC. These meetings often go on for hours and at the end of it all, when there seems to be a sense of understanding and direction for the next phase of the project, I feel energized (despite translation fatigue) by the positive relationships and hope for change that comes with each project.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">After nearly a year in N’Djamena, I’m no longer content to be a one language person. The different ways of understanding and expressing the world that I've learned here have inspired me to continue seeking new perspectives and creative outlets. It is hard to believe that I have only a few short weeks left in N’Djamena... Through friendship, culture, work and play, the lessons I have learned here are diverse, life-changing, subtle, and sometimes lost in translation. Stay tuned in the coming weeks as I start unpacking more of my experiences and prepare to transition back into Canadian life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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À bien tot! </div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-54176560495881674982014-02-26T04:25:00.000-08:002014-02-26T04:25:03.271-08:00A Tale of Three Cities.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A gunshot rings out. One crisp, clear, haunting snap. Sound waves like
bullet shells ricochet off the walls of surrounding buildings. These walls
still hold the memory of a different soundscape – of laughter and handshakes
that end in affectionate finger snaps. Now the neighbourhood is empty and the
remaining voices are hushed in fear as the gunshots fire again. Most families
have already fled north to the unhappy welcome of Chadian villagers. Unhappy
because political boundaries don’t separate the traditional ties between the two
nations and the Chadian southerners may assume the worst about the arriving
refugees – “You killed my brother!” they’ll shout in accusation. Unwelcomed and
unarmed, the persecuted ones become visitors and squatters in the Chadian
wilderness just as a visitor crouches unwelcomed and unarmed in the doorway of
their abandoned brick home. Her bulletproof vest sports a badge of neutrality –
PRESS – while the French flag on her shoulder carries an inherited power
dynamic, like a messy divorce after an abusive marriage. Normally a visitor in
this village would be received with honour, long handshakes, warm greetings,
and more food and drink than she could handle. But the visitor understands that
this is no time for lingering moments and social graces. Despite the
pre-written colonial prologue she’s determined to help write a peaceful ending
to this story. From the base of the brick-framed doorway she watches some small
children run across the courtyard, instinctively ducking as the deadly clatter
strikes again somewhere in the much too near distance. Two young girls race
across a no-mans-land that used to be home, dragging a bewildered toddler in
tow, together seeking the cover of bricks and the comfort of an adult.
Instinctively, the visitor raises her voice in encouragement and raises her
camera to capture the moment.*</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">An alarm sounds. One long, sustained, annoying tone. Supper is ready,
and your friends will be here any minute. There are no night classes today and
there’s a concert in the student life center. It’s true you don’t know much
about it but one of your friends is in the show and you could use something fun
to get your mind off all the midterm stress. An hour or so later you find
yourself approaching the front of a ticket line. You’re looking for some
indication of the student price when your eyes meet the two dimensional stare
of a small girl, holding her sister in one hand and a tattered blanket in the
other, running towards you in desperate search for security. You see so many
wars on the news that images like this one hardly surprise you anymore… but for
some reason this time you can’t look away. The girls remind you of your own
little sisters and for a brief moment, you’re the one holding the camera,
shouting encouragement to the vulnerable children, heart aching for their
safety. Just for a moment. Then an enthusiastic voice jolts you back into your
own pair of clean, comfortable shoes. “Suggested $5 donation please! Proceeds
go to peace and development work in Central Africa!” You pull a 10 out of your
wallet and pause for a second… taking your change would mean a Starbucks in the
morning, but on second thought… “Thank you very much! Enjoy the show! …Hi
there! Suggested $5 donation please! Proceeds go to…” The volunteer’s speech
fades into the bustle of the foyer as you enter the auditorium. You relax into
a discussion with your friends about the recent Olympics and the vibrant energy
of the growing audience keeps you firmly planted in your shoes. It’s nice when
Friday evening entertainment supports a good cause.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A song rings out. A rhythmic, catchy, repetitive melody.
Under the shade of a modest sun shelter, a choir sways together in matching, vibrantly
coloured, patterned dresses and head scarves, characteristic of Chadian
Christian attire. Behind them, another choir of Muslim high-school aged girls
await their turn to serenade the President of the Republic. Thousands are
gathered, filling in every available inch of shade underneath a single row of
colourful mats that have been propped up along the edge of one of the few well
paved roads in the capitol. Shaded by a larger-than-life Chadian flag, the president
is seated in the center of the National Square on an extravagant throne, his
hand-picked dignitaries enjoy cushy theatre seating behind him and the three
heads of the Muslim, Catholic, and Protestant faiths sit side by side at his right
hand. This is the day when the religious leaders of the nation gather with
their followers to commemorate a time of ‘Peaceful Living-Together and National
Unity’. The mood is festive and the proceedings are formal. Security is showy –
soldiers and tanks (recently retired from civil war) are standing guard while
the choir sings:</span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We want, we want
Peace! <br />
We want, we want Joy!<br />
We want, we want Love! <br />
…for all Chadians!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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healing… or so it appears from the comfortable chairs under the Chadian big
top. Meanwhile the eyes on the street take in the scene with seasoned
skepticism for the fanfare of the authorities.
The words sound sweet… <i>“All
religions carry as part of their faith a message of peace… We must come to
appreciate one another</i>”** …and the image is charming – <i>look now as the leaders of the three faiths and the president himself
release four peace doves into the sky… watch as they fly away in glorious hope!</i>
…but these personalities in their comfortable chairs and clean shoes have yet
to earn the trust of the people. In the morning the newspaper will read: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“To speak the truth, this day of prayer is
purely a formula… [of] fallacious discourse.</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span><i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Peace
is not something that you can decree. Peace is not imposed by political dialogue...
Peace is another precept, more serious that is found at the foundation of the
human heart and that manifests itself in human actions, coming from our inner
strength. Do the incantations of these religious men… really come from the
heart? …In short, it is not sufficient to pray [for peace], but it is also
necessary to put in the personal efforts to instil… justice [in our country].”***</span></i><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The rich and the poor, the Muslims and Christians, the
influential and the ordinary. There are so many walls in a labyrinth of
conflict.</span></div>
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written this way?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The three stories in this blog post represent two ‘historical
fictions’ based on the current atrocities in Central African Republic (CAR) and
from my life as a university student in Waterloo. The third is a true to life
description of an event that I attended last month in N’Djamena. I framed my
reflections this way because all three of these realities feel very close to me
at the moment and I’ve been thinking about the connections between them. How
does my life in Waterloo connect with the stories of CAR refugees arriving in
my current neighbourhood? And what does our peace work in N’Djamena have to do
with someone in Canada reading this blog? These questions are bigger than a
blog post, but perhaps you are already seeing your own connections. To
highlight just one of my own connections, I invite you to think for a moment
about the term “global community.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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community to heart. A healthy community is diverse, accepting, vibrant, safe, fun,
supportive, nurturing… and creating a healthy community takes people who are
willing to invest meaningfully in one another’s lives. That is hard enough in
our own families, so what does it mean to be part of a global community? This post
tells three stories but it could easily tell three thousand. It’s impossible
for us to separate our stories from the history that’s unfolding around the
world, so who will we take time to connect with? Which stories will you weave
together, and which ones will you write yourself?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">*Inspired by the second image in this article: </span><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-26210193"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-26210193</span></a><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">**Archbishop of Moundou. In a public speech at <i>La Place de la Nation</i>, January 25, 2014. Translated to English.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">***Moussaye. </span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">(February 10,
2014). “Sacrement de l’hypocrisie.” Published in the <i>Abba Garde</i>, N’Djamena, Chad. Translated to English. </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-9353601730796282842014-01-30T06:04:00.001-08:002014-01-30T06:22:42.659-08:00La Seminaire Interreligieux, Doba 2013<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry,</div>
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but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die,</div>
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it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other,</div>
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we may even become friends"</div>
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-Maya Angelou-</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRV9X8Od3mz2O0Hlv77A3rj1VC4PNiebRIqhzxz-qRW6F0vKzP3UylhT_wlV7YUqCF6W1UyfWPuhan7OC2rvD5mbbRtdvE7Zhjd0RBI4vssppIeeQwPgIsTzxM-LjzOJZ0GVbLuP9TyMH/s1600/Doba+Workshop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRV9X8Od3mz2O0Hlv77A3rj1VC4PNiebRIqhzxz-qRW6F0vKzP3UylhT_wlV7YUqCF6W1UyfWPuhan7OC2rvD5mbbRtdvE7Zhjd0RBI4vssppIeeQwPgIsTzxM-LjzOJZ0GVbLuP9TyMH/s1600/Doba+Workshop.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
La Seminaire Interreligieux</div>
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Doba, Tchad</div>
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December, 2013</div>
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<br /></div>
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(Photo and quote re-posted grace à Jonathan Austin)</div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-19256779922372636542014-01-30T05:48:00.000-08:002014-01-30T05:49:33.903-08:00War and Peace<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;">What do you see when you watch or read stories about Africa in the news?*
Recently you may have been following the stories of political turmoil and
deadly violence in South Sudan and Central African Republic (CAR), or perhaps
your attention was captured by last month’s tribute to the life and peace
advancements of Nelson Mandela. The contrast of these events in particular has
made very real to me the importance of the work happening in our Peace
department at EPJ. For a nation like Chad, with a long history of civil war and
a fairly recent history of peace, there is a great deal of healing,
relationship-building, and education needed to ensure that a new generation of
Chadians can leave past conflicts in the oral history books. Today, Chadian Muslims
and Christians seem to share a relatively peaceful coexistence, but the
barriers of ignorance, prejudice and intolerance are clearly present and
accounted for, always carrying the potential to rekindle past conflict. Despite
such a complex challenge, EPJ’s peace building strategy is remarkably simple.
Find the people from various camps who are likely to be the most influential
(religious leaders, women, and youth), bring them together to learn non-violent,
conflict resolution skills, and provide a context for them to get to know one
another as people. And so it happened that even while deadly Muslim/Christian
clashes were escalating in the CAR and the songs dedicated to Madiba’s peace
achievements were resonating around the world, I found myself in rural,
southern Chad – roughly 100km on the peaceful side of the CAR boarder – hanging
out with thirty or so influential priests, imams, and pastors from across Chad.
Our goal? Simply to help dissipate the kinds of political/religious tensions
that divide our Centrafricaine neighbours, and continue building the culture of
peace to which Nelson Mandela devoted his life.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">This week-long workshop began with a healthy dose of Chadian pomp and
ceremony, and a presentation by Souina Potiphar (Secretary General of
Protestant Churches in Chad), who had some pretty clear ground-rules for our religious
authorities: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">“We are not here to discuss theology,” exclaimed Potiphar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">“We are not here to call one another to the other’s religion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">We are not here to combine our doctrines together to create something
new. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">No! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">We are here to learn how to share life together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">We have to live together, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">so what kinds of relationships will we develop? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">…In working for peace, if this week we can form friendships between
priests, pastors, and imams, that is already a strength.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">As Potiphar spoke these words, I looked around the room and wondered
about the reality of the religious divide. I am a far cry from a religious
scholar, but it didn’t take one to noticed that the religious leaders were even
divided physically, sitting in three relatively distinct groups. At meal times they
generally clumped together with the friends they had come with… but, they had
all come. Perhaps just sitting in the same room and sleeping in the same guest
house was an important first step. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">The first day of the workshop continued to set the context and elicit
buy-in from our participants. We wanted them to understand that despite
differences in tradition, doctrine, and lifestyle, the need for peace is
something that we all share. What’s more, working for peace is a task that
requires everyone’s collaboration. “Without peace, no project of development
can happen. In times of war, nothing functions – no markets, no schools, no
industry, no livelihoods, we can’t even eat. There is nothing but war” (Victor
Dogos, head of EPJ Peace). In his presentation, Victor spoke at length about the
reality of living in a war zone and in this crowd of elders and religious
leaders, what a vivid and well-known image that must be. Having highlighted the
numerous consequences of war, Victor concluded his talk with a reminder to the
attendees of the immense level of collective influence they have in Chadian society.
“Peace is not an option, but an obligation for inter-religious leaders.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">There was significant time for the participants to engage with one
another. Some early discussions included the naming of stereotypes and stigmas
that each group held regarding the other groups’ customs and beliefs. The conversations
were surprisingly blunt! These people were not at all preoccupied with being
politically correct towards other groups, nor did they seem at all surprised or
offended by the accusations on their own faith. Instead they patiently took
turns explaining the truth and intentions behind their own rules and customs.
There was a clear emphasis on the need to understand one another. “We’re afraid
of what we don’t know” said Victor at the end of one such discussion. “There
are no verses in either of our sacred texts that encourage us to take part in
violence and war. It’s only the extremists from one side or the other who
interpret our texts in this way…. we must accept our differences and work
together for peace.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">The next morning, having enjoyed the modest and generous hospitality of the
village’s guest house, the religious leaders settled in for another day’s
lessons (in exactly the same seats they had chosen the day before). For day
two, the emphasis was on teaching about the nature of conflict. Religious
leaders in Chad are extremely influential; they set the moral ground rules for
what is acceptable behaviour in Chadian society, and their advice is taken
seriously. If these leaders can better understand the nature of the disputes in
their villages and neighbourhoods, they will be better equipped to mediate these
situations. To this end, lesson number one went as follows: Conflict is a
normal and neutral part of every-day life, and any positive or negative effects
arise from the choices that we each make in response to situations of conflict.
Boniface Tchingweubé (head of advocacy at EPJ) facilitated an engaging presentation
including roll-plays and discussions, but at the end of the day there is only
so much that can be taught. Some things need to be learned by doing. At the
climax of his talk, Boniface suddenly broke from his energetic style of
lecturing and settled into a chair at the front of the room. “You cannot choose
what conflicts arrive, but you can always choose how you respond,” he said. “If
you want to make peace in your communities, you must change your position.” Then
he sat there, looking out at the Muslim/Christian divide in our own seating
arrangement… Religious authorities looked at him. He looked at them. “Look at <i>yourselves</i>,” he exclaimed! “There is
conflict among you right now!” He paused for dramatic effect, taking on a calm,
authoritative tone. “…I’ll wait for you.” Like a soccer mom on the side of the
road, refusing to budge until all mischievous little passengers start to behave,
Boniface sat in the driver’s seat of the lecture and with a brilliant display
of teacherly charisma he waited for the religious authorities of Chad to mix it
up. He crossed his legs and settled conspicuously deeper into his chair. The
religious authorities looked at each other… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">Cautiously, one brave imam rose to his feet and crossed the room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">At this point, whatever force was holding the groups in isolation was broken
and the natural laws of chaos took over. In a very literal sense, Christians
and Muslims found new positions and new neighbours, creating model for
relationships upon which Boniface would elaborate for the remainder of the
workshop. In every-day life, in our neighbourhoods and communities, “when the leaders
[of different faiths] connect and visit one another, that gives an example for
all the others in the community to follow,” he explained. “If we learn to share
everything in our lives, we will live together in peace and be true friends.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">Throughout the week, people began to change how they interacted with one
another and with me. For example, because of my status as a young woman I was
not surprised at the beginning of the week that several devout imams would not
shake my hand. I <i>was</i> surprised
however, when several days into the workshop these same imams greeted me with a
warm and friendly handshake! By the end of the week, we were all eating
together, washing our hands in the same sinks, chatting about the day, trading
English, French, and Arabic lessons, and sharing lively stories and laughter. And
these results were not just limited to the inner courtyard of the village guest
house. Several leaders from each confession have called us since the workshop
to tell about the meetings they held when they went home. They wasted no time
spreading the ideas of acceptance, tolerance, and understanding within their
communities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">I could end the blog there. But there’s something a little too perfect
about the end of this story. Doesn’t it seem a little odd to be so proud of simple
acts such as eating and washing hands together…? If I’m totally honest,
sometimes this work is so basic it’s frustrating… why is it even necessary to go
to such great lengths just so that people will see one another as worthy of a
little respect and acceptance? I wrestled with this question throughout the
workshops, and in the end, I don’t know why. But when I see Africa in the news,
I know that this work is necessary, urgent even. In current civil wars, in the
history of Apartheid, and even in my own N’Djamena neighbourhood it’s clear
that the roots of prejudice and mistrust run deep in the generational identity
and psyche of peoples who have lived through violent conflict. Reversing this
trend is the untold story of African development, the story that takes place
when international reporters have gone home, or perhaps before they arrive. It’s
the epilogue of war and the prologue to peace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-CA">*<span style="font-size: x-small;">This is not exactly a rhetorical question – I
would really love to hear your responses! What </span><i style="font-size: small;">do </i><span style="font-size: x-small;">you see when Africa is in the news (or any other media)? Please
post your comments here or email me at </span></span><a href="mailto:michellemetzger@mcc.org" style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-CA">michellemetzger@mcc.org</span></a><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: x-small;"> with the subject line “I see
Africa.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-8539681178821716242013-12-31T08:47:00.007-08:002013-12-31T08:47:45.345-08:00My Chadian Social Life (Part 2): On verra…<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">To me being flexible has always meant the willingness to change plans
with changing circumstances… that is to say, even flexible people have plans to
start with. This year, however, I’m discovering a whole new dimension to what
it means to be flexible which often involves a good deal of going with the flow.
This December, my ability to live in the moment has been ultimately put to the
test. From weddings to Christmas gatherings, ‘on verra’ or ‘we’ll see’ has been
the hallmark phrase of each celebration.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Take for example, the wedding of my friend Clémence earlier this month.
As it turned out, the wedding was the scheduled for the last day of a large workshop
on conflict transformation that Ethics Peace and Justice was running in the
south of Chad (about a 8 hour journey from N’Djamena). This was a problem. I
had already told Clémence that I would attend her ceremony and she had even
asked me to wear a matching dress with many of her other friends and family…
and yet, would I make it to the ceremony? On verra… with permission to leave
the workshop early, I caught the early morning bus to N’Djamena the day of the
ceremony. If everything went normalement (according to plan), I’d arrive in the
city at 1:30pm for a 2pm wedding. I of course had no plan for how I would get
to the ceremony; it was way too early to think about those details… Despite
potholes and animals running between our wheels, herds of cattle and a few traditional
‘bathroom’ stops, we arrived precisely and remarkably on time in N’Djamena.
Similar luck proceeded to guide each step of my speedy transition from
traveller to wedding-goer until I found myself standing in front of Church 6,
dressed in my freshly tailored Chadian outfit, only about 20 minutes late, and
one of the first guests to arrive…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And because I was one of the first to arrive, I had no idea where my
friends and colleagues were, nor did I know where amongst the groups of
matching outfits might be an appropriate place for me to sit... apparently my
colour hadn’t arrived yet. I managed to find a young usher (who looked like she’d
much rather be enjoying the ceremony with her friends than showing older guests
to their seats). Without a word and assuming I must be a very special guest,
she showed me to some chairs that were set up at the very front of the church
and on a bit of an angle to the rest. I had a sneaking suspicion I was in the
wrong place, but a bit helpless to make a better choice. As the rest of the
angled chairs filled up with middle-aged, important-looking men, I grew
increasingly certain of the awkwardness of my situation. Eventually my friends
showed up, clearly a little surprised to find me seated with the pastors and
elders. By this time the church was full of dancing guests and the choir (backed
up with a small keyboard, solo guitar and drum kit) was in full swing behind
me. There was no room to move so I stayed where I was. I gave up on fitting in
a long time ago, so I just sat back and enjoyed the music!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The wedding ceremony itself took several hours and was full of song and
dance, and of course a long sermon. Since all of the legal marriage rituals are
done in a separate ceremony in the morning, this is a strictly community-focused
event. A friend of the couple presented a comedic monologue and various groups of
family and friends gifted the couple with a prepared song (accompanied by a
traditional stringed drum). Many of the traditions were surprisingly similar to
how weddings are done back home – the vows, the rings, the cake, and even the
attire of the bride and groom were not at all unlike what I’ve seen at my
friends weddings in Canada. When it comes to presenting the gifts, however,
there was no mistaking the distinctly Chadian flavour of this wedding. After a
brief announcement the music began again and people began dancing up the isles,
all manner of household items held high above their heads. People cheered and
clapped and danced their gifts up to the front to create a large pile in front
of the couple. This more or less marked the end of the ceremony, but the
dancing continued; we were offered plates of sweets and eventually filtered out
into the night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">All through events like this, if people are worried about how things
will turn out they certainly don’t show it. From an outsiders perspective the ‘Chadian
way’ can easily be seen as simply putting off planning as long as possible, or occasionally
altogether. Or it might be seen as a lack of foresight or organization. In
practice, however, I’ve found it to be more of a preference that often just
makes sense given the context in which we are living. Instead of a schedule where
each task is allotted a certain time, tasks are prioritized and generally
carried out in that order regardless of how long they take to accomplish. In
this context, leaving plans ambiguous is actually an extremely practical way of
‘organizing’ one’s day, accounting for all the likely yet unforeseeable happenings
of day to day life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">At the end of the day, acceptance for the unexpected is the prominent attitude,
and I’ve found that the more comfortable I become with this way of scheduling,
the easier it becomes to settle into the flow of Chadian life. Even as I write
this, it is 5:30pm on New Year’s Eve and I still don’t know how I will
celebrate. I might drop in on my host family’s church where people will be
singing and dancing until dawn tomorrow. I might be invited to attend a formal
new year’s party with my host dad and many of his colleagues. I might spend the
evening with some expat friends (who have clearly picked up the Chadian
tendency of last minute planning), or I might have a quiet night in with my
host mom and sister… What is certain is that 2014 is going to begin in the
company of good friends, looking back on a full and fruitful year, thinking of
loved ones around the world, and looking forward to certain and unpredictable
adventures in the year ahead… On verra. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-89198508334844671012013-11-18T07:58:00.001-08:002013-11-18T07:58:00.416-08:00My Chadian Social Life (Part 1): Are You Married Yet…?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Amusingly, the
marriage question seems to come from all directions in my life, whether my
grandma is kindly reminding me that I could bring a special someone to our
reunions anytime I like, or here in Chad where complete strangers are known to
propose on the spot hoping for free immigration status. In general the topic of
marriage is inevitable when getting to know Chadians and they always seem a
little surprised to find out that a young women such as myself is both
unattached and unafraid of the future. While it may be perfectly normal for a
young Canadian women to be traveling or focusing on education, finding a
husband is of paramount social importance for Chadian women and all the single
ladies are watching the clock to make sure they don’t get too close to 25
without securing a dowry. This time of year, with the rains long gone and the
heat subdued, there’s plenty of events going on. So even while I play the role
of long-distance maid-of-honour for my best friend in Canada, I’m taking note
of how things are done Chadian style. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">And do Chadians
ever have style! Last Friday my friend Charlee came into work with her hands
and feet covered in beautiful henna art. She was going to have a part in her
cousin’s dowry celebration the next day and invited me to come along. We
arrived early in the morning to find that dozens of friends and relatives had
already begun filling the small courtyard of the bride’s home. There was a DJ
and a sound system playing upbeat African and International favourites, and
chairs were being lined up for some sort of ceremony. As I took in the scene,
Charlee took me by the hand and led me to a separate room just off the
courtyard where the bride was seated on a pile of floor pillows. This is where
she enjoys the party, surrounded by aunts, sisters, cousins, and friends. It’s
not considered proper for her to view the ceremony. The mood in the room was
lively and fun as the women greeted, laughed, teased, and laughed some more. Before
long the groom’s family arrived (the groom doesn't attend the ceremony either).
They filed in carrying large platters of useful and beautiful items – soaps,
boxes of sugar, stacks of cloth, piles of shoes, seeds, oil, and crates of
fizzy drinks. The chairs quickly filled up so people crowded together on the
porch of the house like they were posing for a large family photo around the
pile of gifts. Then the proceedings began. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">One family
member stood and greeted the crowd with charisma. After a flourish of
introductions, a mat was ceremonially brought and rolled out in the small bit
of open courtyard left between chairs and fizzy drinks. Members of the two
families came and sat on either side of the mat. Greetings were exchanged, and
then the ‘negotiating’ began. I should add that even through the complete
language barrier, it was clear that the entire event was staged for the
enjoyment of the two families. Any real decision making was done long before
the ceremony, and both families were clearly thrilled at the prospect of the
marriage. But on the day of the dowry it’s one for the money, two for the show…
The father of the groom pulled 200 000 francs ($400) from his pocket, and the
banter began. The family of the bride was clearly unimpressed at the insufficient
sum. After some time, the grandfather pulled out the extra 50 000 ($100) to
help his grandson’s cause, and still more banter and laughter from the crowd.
Eventually the grandfather sheepishly pulled out a single 1000 franc note ($2)
as if to say “really, this is all we've got” and everyone laughed, agreements
were made, hands were shaken, and the dancing began (yes, for me too!) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">On the way
back to my house I had lots of questions for Charlee. Why doesn't the couple
attend the ceremony? What does a dowry of 250 000 francs mean socially? What
exactly was being said between the families? …There is still much that I don’t
understand, but I’ll share a few notes. Compared with our western traditions, it
may seem strange at first that the couple doesn't attend the ceremony. Back
home, the couple is absolutely the center of attention for all events
associated with their wedding. However, I would say that this tradition is not so
much diminishing the couple’s role, but rather it highlights that the families
play a much more central role than in my own culture. Perhaps this is
representative of the ways that family plays a more central role in the lives
of Chadians in general. I also learned that the amount of this dowry was pretty
much average (at least for someone in this socio-economic bracket). If the price
were much higher it would reflect badly on the father of the bride, as he would
be seen to be ‘selling’ his daughter. Similarly, a less than average gift would
suggest that the bride was not worth a proper dowry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Overall, I
think I see more similarities between our traditions than I expected to find. I
think at the end of the day, it’s really about the community coming together to
support the future of the couple. Back home we function in a society where a
bride and groom are starting an independent life together, and all financial
support tends to go directly to the couple. In Chad, as in many African
cultures, financial inter-dependency within families is the fiscal norm. The
couple may be starting a new chapter in life but they’re not necessarily
becoming any less dependent on family connections and support. In this way,
perhaps trading money between the families is as much a sign of unity as the marriage
ceremony itself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">And
speaking of ceremonies, the next big celebration will be the wedding of another
co-worker in early December. It’s a Chadian tradition that the bride arranges
for friends and family to tailor outfits from the same cloth for the wedding
day, and my custom dress is in the works. I’m honoured to be included and
curious what this next celebration will have in store! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-1446381282567820852013-10-25T05:41:00.003-07:002013-10-25T05:41:40.682-07:00Road Trip! (Pictures)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This is the home of our host, Martin, in Gounougaya. The homes were pretty similar in all the villages - small brick rooms, usually round, with thatched roves, and woven grass sheets for courtyard walls. </div>
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Also at Martin's house, when I explained to these women that I was taking photos so that my friends and family in Canada could better understand life in Chad, they smiled and insisted that I also photograph them with their cooking charcoal. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Pkvu8Dj-Jxgur3atUZhyVSEFmyAJixv5zZ3ake7K7tUSFqqf_hyxZfWQjvFHZZjdWnVIpPgbUm79MkXei74nNn-Ld81PxzFBKtbo96nlDogtyXaOR7iaa2zUL9yP34ZPW5Ik9GCxf6xG/s1600/DSCI0096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Pkvu8Dj-Jxgur3atUZhyVSEFmyAJixv5zZ3ake7K7tUSFqqf_hyxZfWQjvFHZZjdWnVIpPgbUm79MkXei74nNn-Ld81PxzFBKtbo96nlDogtyXaOR7iaa2zUL9yP34ZPW5Ik9GCxf6xG/s320/DSCI0096.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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This is our second flat tire of the trip.</div>
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And don't forget our meetings. This is a group of children in Doba ready to receive their new school supplies. </div>
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There is a herd of cattle in the road. Classic.</div>
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On the way home, we stopped to buy all sorts of foodstuffs that are cheaper to buy in the villages than in the city. At this stop we loaded up with fresh sugarcane. </div>
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Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-40595070111707301422013-10-25T03:29:00.001-07:002013-10-25T03:29:13.792-07:00Road Trip!<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s about
time I explained more about the work I’m involved with here in Chad. I should say
that discovering the projects of my organization is an ongoing process. There
isn’t a tidy file (at least not that I’ve seen yet) that I can read and get up
to speed on the history of the organization or even the current peace and development efforts, but I invite you to learn
along with me – petit à petit. In this post, I’m going to take you along on my
most intense week of learning so far – an unexpected opportunity to join the
HIV/AIDS program team on a 6 day road trip to visit five rural villages in the
South of Chad. We were meeting with partners to discuss the progress and future
of a school sponsorship and a microfinance project. But before launching into
stories from the trip, it’s worth taking a minute here to explain a little more
about the organization I work for.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Ethics
Peace and Justice (EPJ) is a division of a larger Chadian organization which
has several projects sponsored by MCC. In my department at EPJ there are three
full time staff: Boniface works on advocacy projects; Victor is in charge of
peaceful conflict resolution training; and Adka oversees the HIV/AIDS support
programs. I will be helping out with projects in all three areas throughout the
year, but it was Adka’s HIV/AIDS programs that took me south. In these five
villages, MCC and EPJ have arranged for children orphaned by HIV/AIDS to attend
school and be provided with a uniform and school supplies. The sponsorship is
part of a three year program, which has included raising awareness within local
churches for how to continue this support program into the future. In some of
the villages, there was also a microfinance operation for women living with
AIDS. In Chad, as in many African societies, AIDS is considered a shameful
disease such that those infected often hide their illness to avoid
discrimination. The microfinance project is intended to help such marginalized
women organize to support themselves and one another, both financially and
socially. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">My first journey
to the villages began bright and early on a Monday morning. The team picked me
up in an antique Toyota pickup; the canvas covered bed was full of school
supplies and clothes for children in the villages. We bought some baguettes for
the road and began a full day’s drive south. Despite the remnants of the rainy
season in N’Djamena, things become greener as we left the city and the dusty
Sahel region behind. The roads became gradually less populated, except for the occasional
line of women carrying large plastic tubs of produce on their heads to sell in
the market, and the odd bus (like a larger version of the van from Little Miss
Sunshine) with all manner of things piled high on the roof: baggage, sugar
cane, even a live ram! Gradually the population of potholes began to grow until
we were weaving back and forth across the entire road to avoid the particularly
treacherous parts. Even so, after several hours we found ourselves stuck on the
side of the road with a flat tire and a faulty spare. Thus began a bumpy race
against time – could we get to the next village on what little air was left?
With no small amount of luck, when we pulled over beside a small roadside market
we were nearly riding on rim, but there was no damage. We paid a young teen to
patch our inner tube and on we went. All along the way, the truck was filled
with cheerful banter in French or Ngumbay, as we traded stories and discussed the
work ahead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">In the
first village, the local language was unknown to our team so everything was
translated into French, allowing me to follow almost everything as it happened.
First thing in the morning we met with the children and caregivers regarding
school sponsorship. Adka started by asking the villagers to recall what they
had talked about in the very first meeting when they launched this project.
After a long silence, people started speaking up, recalling many important
details of the project and sponsorship. Adka reminded them that this is the
third and final year of the project, and we then proceeded to check in on the
children. Most of the children stood with pride to announce their passing
grades and receive their new backpack. Some of the children were sick. Several
of the girls had been married and were no longer attending school. Other
children were singled out for having failed their studies – the public shame of
the announcement intended to encourage them to study harder next year. After
all the supplies had been given out and a few pictures taken, the meeting was
over and the students dismissed. In the other villages, the meetings didn’t
always happen in French but with the odd translated summary I was pretty sure
that a similar scenario was playing out in each. In the evenings over sweet tea
and boule with fish sauce, we debriefed our meetings and this is what I
learned:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">The biggest
problem facing this project is the dilemma of passing the torch to local
churches. In theory there is no reason why churches couldn’t serve as a
sustainable institution of social security. Yet, in this village the churches
were not likely to continue the program as originally intended. In some cases
there was resistance from pastors, not giving Adka and her team the authority to
raise awareness about the project. But perhaps a more systemic challenge is
that churches in rural Chad don’t collect offerings like churches do in the
city. In N’Djamena I’m told, money is donated by the congregation each week to
support the pastor and other projects like providing food at church events or
giving to charity. In contrast, pastors in the villages struggle just to get
by, I’ve been told on as little as 500CFA ($1.00CDN) per <i>month</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">In this
context, more than one Chadian has told me that “people in the villages believe
they have no money…” Every time I hear that I have to wonder, why is that word
“believe” in there? Surely for many of the rural poor, it’s true. They really
don’t have money. But for others, one Chadian friend explained, they have
assets such as animals and crops but they believe they can’t give to others
because their assets are not in cash... To be totally honest, I’m not sure what
to do with opinions like this. Rural Chad is not an easy place to make a
living, and it’s only getting more difficult as climate change brings more
frequent and more severe drought. The growing season in southern Chad is
significantly shorter than previous generations have seen and this trend is not
likely to reverse. Can we really expect our model of collecting offering in
support of social welfare programs to work in rural Chad?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">In some
villages we also met with microfinance groups. Again in our first village, after
meeting with the school children, a small group of 6-8 women gathered their
benches in a circle under a large tree and the meeting began. This time it
wasn’t all in French, so I didn’t get to hear all of the stories they shared,
but it wasn’t hard to follow the tone of the meeting. The women in turn gave
voice to their struggles and suffering, explaining the many challenges with
their illness and entrepreneurship. Even through the language barrier, I
started to feel awkward sitting there in that circle – what exactly gave me
permission to plop myself down in such an intimate time of sharing and support,
in a circle where there was already bonds of trust and friendship and I was so
clearly an outsider? How did the women feel about my presence? I didn’t want to
play the role of a distant observer, invading their meeting, swiping their
stories and pictures without offering any gesture of friendship in return… No, I
had to find some way of contributing empathy to this circle. After a while, I
could tell that Adka had left business matters behind and was counselling the
women about how to support one another, to live with hope, and embrace life
despite illness. From my seat of privilege, what could I possibly say to these
women that would be genuine and meaningful…? The circle reminded me of another
cross-cultural experience I had in Canada, a guest in a different circle in a
First Nations community. In that circle, we had traded songs in reciprocity and
friendship… suddenly my heart knew exactly what I could share, just as Adka
turned to me. “Michelle, isn’t there anything you’d like to say…?” So I
borrowed a cultural tradition to bridge a culture, language, and life
experience gap thousands of kilometers away. This is what I sang: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-CA">Peace before you<br />
Peace behind you<br />
Peace under your feet<br />
Peace within you<br />
Peace over you<br />
Let all around you be peace.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">I couldn’t
remember the other verses so I made up my own that seemed appropriate… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-CA">Strength before you… <br />
…Love under your feet… <br />
…Hope within you…<br />
…Let all around you be…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">…<i>Peace, strength, love, hope</i>. Could these
gifts of the human heart overcome, just for a moment, barriers of race and
privilege? I sang the simple melody slowly, repeating each verse and letting
the phrases hang in the air. The song was simple to translate and the women
asked me to write down the lyrics for them. I can only hope that it leaves them
with some small amount of peace, strength, love and hope. I’ve grown accustomed
to lengthy handshakes, but after that meeting did the women hold on just a
little bit longer? All my words felt inadequate so I just held on, hoping that
a moment of lingering eye contact would carry a little more peace, strength,
love, and hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Those were
our first meetings in Gounougaya, and there were many more insightful and touching
moments to come throughout the week. One woman in the village of Doba told
about how she had just about given up on life in her battle with AIDS when this
program started. She was bedridden in the hospital when she got word that her
children were being sponsored to go to school and she would have the chance to
start her own small business. She sat tall and proud and thankful as she told
us this story. Another elderly woman in Bebidja simply expressed that she would
never have had the means to send her grandchildren to school if not for the
sponsorship. She wanted to give us something to say thank you, but had nothing
to give. She said she hoped that God would bless us for this work. I think the
blessing was in her words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">And so,
after a week of putting faces to the recipients of our aid programs and
pondering with the team the sustainability of the efforts, I was left with a
pretty mixed bag of emotions. More than ever, “I have been impressed with the
urgency of doing…” (Leonardo Da Vinci) and more than ever, I am aware that we
have yet to figure out what exactly ought to be done. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-71895601349681690732013-10-01T05:58:00.000-07:002013-10-01T06:18:47.610-07:00Powerless? <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I write this post in the
dark (under my mosquito net, sweat absorbing into my bed sheets…) on a laptop I
charged with the generator at work. We haven’t had electricity for 2 weeks and
counting. This length of outage is apparently uncommon, though certainly not
unheard of here in N’Djamena. Water is also cut frequently for large portions
of the day, at which times we (and several of our neighbours) depend on the
well beside our home. That’s just how it is with services in Chad. For most
people, even in the capital city, money can’t buy internet fast enough for
Skype, taxis come when taxis come, and there is no way of knowing when basics like
power or water will come back. It’s true, you could trace a general pattern
that richer neighbourhoods will have more reliable power than poorer
neighbourhoods; as well there seems to be a greater likelihood to be without
power during the day and more chance of power at night… but beyond that, it’s
almost impossible to predict. There is no news expected about whether anyone is
making an effort to restore the situation. Life just carries on with what’s
available. While we can always hope for the lights to come on, it seems nobody
is holding their breath.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">This attitude that
Chadians take towards power outages is just one example of an interesting cultural
difference that’s come to my attention recently (through my experiences and a
book I've been reading).* African cultures tend to utilize resources in the
moment to meet the immediate needs of themselves, friends and family. Then,
they are prepared to do without until more becomes available. In managing
personal finances, there is good reason why the culture has evolved this way.
Personal relationships are the backbone of society, providing a social safety net to
people who have seen more than their share of hardships throughout history. It
is simply expected that those with excess resources will share the wealth with
friends and family. Someone who keeps excess money to themselves is not seen as
investing in a secure future, but rather selfishly failing to fulfill his/her
relational obligations – the very relationships which would provide in the
event of future needs. And so, Africans tend to spend their resources fairly
quickly (either to meet their own needs, the needs of others, or to ensure
that the funds are spent before any kin has the chance to ask for it) and as a
result, they are accustomed to inconsistencies in the availability of
resources. They're willing to wait in half-hearted annoyance about the inconvenience until the resource becomes available again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">While this note-culturelle helps me understand the attitudes I encounter, all these black evenings
leave me wondering - why is it exactly that there couldn't be enough </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">power in this city to avoid cuts all together? People expect and tolerate shortages, but they would certainly prefer not to lose power. What is keeping this country from obtaining enough supply? Chad is an oil-producing nation. Surely there is a solution to be found in the wealth of black exports. Maybe it's a problem of politics... or what about solar? Surely if panels could be installed throughout a city like N'Djamena you could build a self sufficient grid right into the infrastructure of the city! So maybe it's an engineering problem... Or maybe... suddenly I'm reminded of a recent conversation with a Chadian friend, and I have mixed feelings about my brainstorming... 'Development in Africa,' he told me, 'needs to come from Africans.' </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I couldn't agree more. Real, viable solutions to development challenges in Chad are going to have to line up with cultural realities that I am still reading about in books. Perhaps the most promising solutions are those that will defy western business models and baffle development scholars. Much like how the willingness to sit in the dark for weeks on end and the preference to use rather than budget resources is baffling to a Canadian like me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Despite the inconvenience and inequality, I must say that I’m rather fond of evenings without power. It makes everyday life
feel a little bit like camping, and I’ll do my best to paint the picture for you.
Nights are cooler at this time of year, dropping to around 30°C. It is
extremely hot in the house, so I put on some bug-spray and join the family
sitting outside. The moon is bright and the breeze is refreshing. We sit in
comfortable silence for a while – silent that is, except for the soundtrack of
tonight’s feature film blaring from the cinema next door. Someone tells a story
in French or Moundang (my host family’s language – pronounced “moon-dung”). I
ask how to say a simple phrase in Moundang, get a lesson in pronunciation for
the sounds that English and French simply don’t use, and sit for a while
silently memorizing the new words so that I can greet my host dad (Papa) when
he gets home. The mood seems relaxed and content, even though I know all the
children (whether 6 or 24 years old) would rather be watching TV. Papa arrives, parks his work SUV in the back of our compound, and teases me about why I’m just sitting around when I could have gone
back to Canada to find some electricity. We eat leftovers from lunch – reheated
rice or corn-flour paste with a runny, flavorful tomato or peanut sauce. We
watch the stars, slap a few mosquitoes and trade stories about our days in
between long bouts of comfortable silence. Mama is dozing on a wooden bench, only after having checked several times that everyone had enough to eat
(especially me). Olga is texting friends; Junior is asleep on a plastic
woven mat on the front porch, and aunt Odette is singing softly to herself a
hymn from the family’s Lutheran song book. Deli, however, is bored and he's been eyeing his mother's cellphone, carefully </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">nestled</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">in the crook of her arm.
He stealthily gets up and creeps behind his mother’s bench. Much to the amusement of everyone, he reaches
over his mother to swipe his prize… but she senses something and reaches out to
swat the mosquito – back jumps Deli! Mama hasn't noticed him, but the rest of
us can’t keep our laughter in and his secret is out! …Back to our comfortable
silence, and the night goes on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Even across cultures and language barriers it’s amazing how
powerful it is to just be with people. We’re taking in a shared experience – tranquil evenings,
family time, more than a few stars and more than a few mosquitoes. Big questions on life and development will just have to wait until tomorrow. </span></div>
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*David Maranz (2001). <i>African
Friends and Money Matters.</i> Dallas: SIL <span lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-25195410689905390582013-09-11T05:04:00.002-07:002013-09-19T05:36:57.457-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It's a good internet day! I've finally been able to upload pictures! </div>
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(Hopefully more photos to follow *fingers crossed*)</div>
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Here is a typical picture of what it's like driving around N'Djamena. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHWy8YCo2WLPQSdkeKNjSkFo8LPgQBRRzkLRoF-18PFs8m-unplqGoG4D-wZK1VwTT1FpI47svRyvVKV7-UFAxxpize44qHXZQCSlN0fm77nfhkRoH4aZ9_VfeFct0E3ejDPZeqYuKRLf/s1600/Roundabout.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHWy8YCo2WLPQSdkeKNjSkFo8LPgQBRRzkLRoF-18PFs8m-unplqGoG4D-wZK1VwTT1FpI47svRyvVKV7-UFAxxpize44qHXZQCSlN0fm77nfhkRoH4aZ9_VfeFct0E3ejDPZeqYuKRLf/s320/Roundabout.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Believe it or not, this is a typical load for a bicycle!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_suG5Vcb9Wc-cjSexLTyCTDNW_VeStifh1SvPd151jKgLmTYPSjSp1HoXaDx0snBz7ZniJwMUnOSCEKus76PM5CPhdy2H-1RyPkg_JkLjMZhjyDiK3XhcivTaoiVQWLSIc5zd-eN1we4S/s1600/Transport+Bike.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_suG5Vcb9Wc-cjSexLTyCTDNW_VeStifh1SvPd151jKgLmTYPSjSp1HoXaDx0snBz7ZniJwMUnOSCEKus76PM5CPhdy2H-1RyPkg_JkLjMZhjyDiK3XhcivTaoiVQWLSIc5zd-eN1we4S/s320/Transport+Bike.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is my neighbourhood, currently flooded from the rainy season. </div>
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This picture was taken outside the front door of a friends house, and our house is just across the pond.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszoBw3IjkTRqH4hZCS8GAKaUN0B4E0fEe6HfuFD6EGlpgjsgATVgQEGp2_jJY31WabuipowdOrP22onjUI8skgv_8rddOaqN0sPFhjMjpp8q2PJhHN3d0wNM5Kqm1bVfzNG_3i64qB4LX/s1600/DSCI0026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszoBw3IjkTRqH4hZCS8GAKaUN0B4E0fEe6HfuFD6EGlpgjsgATVgQEGp2_jJY31WabuipowdOrP22onjUI8skgv_8rddOaqN0sPFhjMjpp8q2PJhHN3d0wNM5Kqm1bVfzNG_3i64qB4LX/s320/DSCI0026.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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And here's a shot of my courtyard at home :)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNAFgDIAlfOdAuiYf-HcLRFB0LXTWHbtWD-ZEpHr33KVhoKd4m6yHMPUlwQIsYVTQfAz5UCX4_kqiLzNedjhs4f2-OnD7jfDTsx94FEceI_UnYkHC9-oLIkh-nCwsHdT1nrspex-FNZ6s/s1600/Courtyard+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNAFgDIAlfOdAuiYf-HcLRFB0LXTWHbtWD-ZEpHr33KVhoKd4m6yHMPUlwQIsYVTQfAz5UCX4_kqiLzNedjhs4f2-OnD7jfDTsx94FEceI_UnYkHC9-oLIkh-nCwsHdT1nrspex-FNZ6s/s320/Courtyard+2.JPG" width="288" /></a></div>
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The same courtyard from another angle. This is our outdoor kitchen where we do most of the cooking. And yes, that is a turkey running around the kitchen! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRjdF2866FVqsGhlx5FaU6oSV64VBWn48K4X5E9i5n9uBPM60QKFqQKA8i0pssaOvRUfZSYwdxFPeH2vvet4KPtaem35X6nth4cNAq3dQ02nlYP4ZsFb5ay6k2vFI_XGO6JJrZs3K1o7s2/s1600/Courtyard+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRjdF2866FVqsGhlx5FaU6oSV64VBWn48K4X5E9i5n9uBPM60QKFqQKA8i0pssaOvRUfZSYwdxFPeH2vvet4KPtaem35X6nth4cNAq3dQ02nlYP4ZsFb5ay6k2vFI_XGO6JJrZs3K1o7s2/s320/Courtyard+1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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This is the main room of my house - a cozy shared living/dining space.</div>
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Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-40471292871795622592013-09-11T03:30:00.004-07:002013-09-11T03:30:46.465-07:00Yellow Sky Through a Child's Eyes<div class="MsoNormal">
Throughout our orientation to MCC and to Chad, our country
reps tried to prepare us as best they could by sharing stories about their own
times of transition. One such story was about the first time they moved their
family to Africa – the realization of a long term dream. Upon arrival, however,
the reality of the situation was not quite the dream come true they were
expecting. They found their front yard littered with broken glass and other
dangers for their young children. What exactly where they doing? ...they
wondered this aloud to one another, sitting on the front porch on their first
day. Then as if on cue, their young daughter burst through the front door with
a huge grin on her face and proclaimed, “I… LOVE it here!!” It was just the
encouragement they needed, and if you read their current blogs about life in
Chad, you’ll find it’s just this spirit of acceptance and joy that makes Chad
feel like home for their family today.</div>
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It would be dishonest of me to write this reflection as if I
have not had my own trying and emotionally exhausting experiences during these
first few weeks. I have indeed had several
sitting-on-the-front-porch-wondering-what-I'm-doing kinds of moments. But
today, I felt my inner child bursting out the front door of my heart to exclaim
“I… LOVE it here!” It’s hard to say exactly what inspired this sudden and
profound explosion of love for this place. Perhaps it’s the atmosphere in the
office where every little accomplishment is worthy of celebration. Perhaps it’s
the conversations about things that matter and the sincerity with which I’m
being embraced for who I am. Perhaps it’s that every time I see a new area of
this crazy city, I’m baffled and intrigued and delighted and curious and aghast
at the extraordinary, everyday lives people lead. Perhaps it’s the adventure of
every meal, of eating an entire fried fish with my fingers or trying to guess
at the seemingly strange ingredients in the sauces from their French names.
Perhaps it's the feeling of a cool shower (dfn: fetching a bucket of cold well
water and using a small plastic bowl to pour the water over one's self) – pure
bliss, even for someone who has always had an aversion to cold water! Perhaps
it’s the enormity of realizing (just by stepping around a bend in the road by
my house) just how tremendously the torrential rains change the lives of people
in Dembe every year and the resilience with which they take the damage and
inconvenience in stride. Perhaps it’s the tropical vegetation, colourful
lizards that scurry up and down compound walls, or the ever-present heat that
envelops you like a familiar blanket everywhere you go... <o:p></o:p></div>
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Or perhaps it’s the yellow sky. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was told about the yellow sky when I arrived in N'Djamena,
and I wasn't really sure how to imagine it. I imagined a sunset - but a sunset
looms over the horizon and casts its rays in a pattern across sky and clouds.
This was more like a warm glow that appeared suddenly throughout the whole sky and
changed the lighting of the entire courtyard, like someone suddenly adjusted
the colour on some grand, celestial set of stage lights. My senses responded
instinctively, ready for the next scene to emerge, for the plot to take its
turn… but my African family took no notice. In fact, they seemed to be as
fascinated with my studying of the sky as I was with the celestial event
itself. Within minutes the yellow shifted across the hazy city, adjusting its
tone slightly from a greenish to golden palate as it settled in the west,
seamlessly shifting once more to fill the sky with a cheerful, red glow as
darkness swept in. I've never experienced a sunset quite like it. </div>
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From within
our compound walls, you cannot experience much of the great expanse of sky and so I took in the final reddening glow from my bedroom window. It was here that my adult self started reflecting on the response of my inner child. Context: my window stands about two feet from the tall,
cinder-block wall of our compound, above which the sky is further obstructed by
the pleated metal roof of the neighbour’s home. Essentially I was staring past a rather ugly
facade at a small sliver of what seemed to be the most beautiful and
mesmerizing performance-art I’d ever seen... This struck me as profound. Our experiences are shaped by what we choose to see, and I was so awestruck by the beauty in that sliver of sky that I hardly minded if this great ugly wall stood in my way. Through the eyes of my inner child, I had hardly noticed its presence at all. Now let me be clear: while I may have a natural bias towards optimism, I am not setting up this metaphor to propose that we should be blind to the uncomfortable situations in life. I know well the importance of observing dangers and dilemmas to build street smarts and gain insight towards creating solutions. But that said, what would happen if we also practiced viewing the world with a bias towards beauty, as
though we’d never learned to judge, cast stereotypes or feel entitled? What if
we reacted with the boldness and acceptance of a child when confronted with new
experiences? With those dirty, uncomfortable, challenging, unnecessary, humbling, unfair, desperate, dysfunctional, underdeveloped realities of our world? Today I wonder if a moment of golden light might just be the strength of heart needed to face these realities, and the hope that may inspire everyday designers like us to make this world a little more beautiful. </div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-33519486843691190672013-09-03T05:58:00.000-07:002013-09-03T05:58:10.603-07:00Home sweet homeOne week ago I moved into my new home in Dembe market, N'Djamena,
and began my work at Ethics Peace and Justice. This first week has
been a time of ups and downs and many changes, from the excitement of
arriving in my bustling neighbourhood, to food poisoning, to new
customs and norms, and trying to get my bearings in a new part of the
city (remember, no street addresses or road names to be found! I have
a rough, hand-sketched map of key landmarks that I'm adding to all
the time). Through it all, my host parents have taken me under their
wing as their 7<sup>th</sup> child, encouraging me to make myself at
home as another sister in the house, teaching me everything (when to take my shoes off or cover my head or close the windows or greet people), and
encouraging me that “petit a petit” I will get the hang of life
here. My host father wishes that I call him “Papa Tchouadang” and
has since introduced me to his friends and congregation as Michelle
Tchouadang :) I could not have hoped for a warmer welcome into
Chadian life. Four of the family's children are grown up and moved
out, but 24 year old Olga and 13 year old Deli are still living at
home. There are also many others who come and go from the house and
so every day I am meeting more family and friends. Our home is in
another walled and gated compound set back from the road. There are
other buildings in our compound and I haven't figured out yet who
lives there. The walls and all the buildings in our compound are
concrete. Entering the house, there is a spacious living/dining area
with several couches, a TV (with about 5 French and African
channels), a large dining table and a china cabinet. Behind this
living area there are three bedrooms (one of which I have to myself),
a small indoor kitchen with a gas stove and sink, an outdoor kitchen (for wood and charcoal) where most of the cooking is done, and two western bathrooms with
running water, toilet and shower (for which I am extremely grateful). The electricity cuts out often and
apparently the water is also cut occasionally, at which point we'll
depend on the well in our shared courtyard.<br />
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Hopefully I'll be posting pictures soon, but for now I'll try to
describe my neighbourhood. In the Dembe area there are a couple of
paved main roads, but the side roads throughout the neighbourhood are
all dirt... actually right now they're more like swamps. Until the
rainy season ends we'll do a lot of driving (even for short
distances) in the family's 4x4 to avoid trekking through the mud. When driving through
the streets of N'Djamena, nothing is really surprising... or at least
the strange and surprising seem to be totally normalized. Over there
is a man attaching at least half a dozen chickens to the handlebars of his
bike, and there is cart carrying the leaning tower of assorted
plastic containers, and up in that tree there is... no, no, not the
tree with all the dangling backpacks and handbags for sale, that
other tree with the man perched 2 or 3 stories up... is he a city
worker? landowner? Either way, he seems to be doing maintenance on
that tree in front of his home or shop by hacking away at the
branches with an ax, the normal hustle and bustle of street life
carrying on below... No problem. This is Chad. All the while the
streets are FULL of people walking, women in colourful dresses and
head scarves, children running around, people pushing two-wheeled
carts full of every imaginable commodity, women in orange
construction vests sweeping and shoveling piles of dust off the road,
dogs laying by the curb trying to conserve energy, motos, bicycles
piled high with cargo, cars, trucks, and the odd donkey cart all
dodging in and out of one another's space like masters of some hidden
level of Mario Kart! It's crazy; it's overwhelming; it's fun; it's unbelievable; it's home.<br />
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Over the past week many people have asked me what differences I
see between Chad and Canada, and I've been trying to sort not only
what is the most appropriate way to answer that question in the
moment, but also how to answer the question in a broader sense for my
own reflections. There is so much going on here that I think a lot of
the time, you see what you're looking for. It's easy to look at the
markets or streets of Dembe and see largely underdevelopment and
poverty. Let's face it, as Westerners, it's an easy first
impression that we are more or less conditioned to look for in Africa
– mud or tin shacks, run-down looking storefronts, lack of
electricity, children and people with disabilities begging in the
street, trash kneaded thoroughly into every sand pile, and pools of
still water breeding mosquitoes and flies and green muck that can't
be healthy. This stuff is all here. It's real and it's problematic, and there are times when I haven't
the foggiest idea what to make of it, let alone how to feel at home in the midst of it all.
However, with a slight change in perspective it might be just as easy
to see a very different reality. When we set out with the assumption that we have lots in common, we see a world full of people trying to make life and the world a little bit better, whether in Canada or Chad. With this lens I see ingenuity as people build
businesses from limited assets, resilience as people rebuild homes
destroyed by heavy rain, communities of people who take time for one
another, take pride in their heritage, and dedicate themselves to building the
best life possible for themselves and their communities. In all these
ways, perhaps life in Chad is not all that different from life back
home. We see what we're looking for, and here in N'Djamena I am looking for
strength and possibility, and maybe a new feeling of home for this year. Petit a petit.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-2013389408181250932013-08-25T02:17:00.000-07:002013-08-25T02:17:14.527-07:00So this is culture shock...We arrived in Chad on Thursday morning after a delay in Ethiopia
and a bumpy landing at N'Djamena international airport. The heat and
humidity hit us like a wall as we got off the plane. In my light
sweatshirt, I was sweating before I even made it to the tarmac.
Inside the airport we made it through customs and ventured on into
luggage collection. The room holding the luggage roundabout was
crowded and chaotic. Men in airport uniforms were competing for our
attention, hoping to make a few hundred Francs to carry our bags. I
did a lot of looking around in bewilderment until two men approached
us carrying our flight itinerary, clearly sent by MCC to help us
through the chaos. On the other side we were met by Angela, one of
our country reps. We've spent the last couple days staying in her
home and slowly easing ourselves into the Chadian way of life. We've
met some of MCC's Chadian partners, including Victor who will be my
supervisor at Ethics, Peace and Justice. The biggest adventure by far
has been exploring the Central Market.<br />
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For the first market trip we went with Jeanne, Angela's
housekeeper, as our guide. Jeanne is a gentle and caring woman with a
great deal of patience for my less-than-fluent french. I and the
other women covered our hair and we all left the gate of John and
Angela's walled compound to explore the rest of the city. We walked
down dirt streets, full of deep holes from the rainy season, past
many low rise concrete buildings and groups of people sitting outside
on the curbs, staring at us like the foreigners we are. Traffic has
no rules – at least none I recognize. Motos (motorcycles) and cars
drive together in a nebulous space of unclear lanes, and
intersections seem to operate on a “watch out – everyone for
themselves” sort of system. Into this traffic environment Jeanne
waved down a bus (a 15ish seat van). We paid a thousand Francs (~ $0.50
each) and piled into the back seats through the trunk. Once in the
market we navigated the crowds by sticking to Jeanne like a brood of
goslings – literally, we formed a single file line and wandered
around like poor lost geese! There was a lot take in: rows upon rows
of vegetables on the ground, raw meat being prepared before our eyes
with large machetes, beads, bags, clothing, people hanging out in
every available corner, vendors trying to get our attention in Arabic
and French, navigating rough ground dotted with potholes and
mud-puddles, cars and motos plowing through the crowded alleys, horns
honking, people bartering, and all the while hearing “Nasara,
Nasara” at our backs wherever we went - “white person, white
person...”<br />
<br />
<br />
The next day we went back to the market but this time without a
guide. Slightly apprehensive but eager to make our way we set out –
three young Nasara's – trying to mimic everything Jeanne had done
the day before. We made our way down sandy roads, dodged motos and
cars, found a bus, confirmed it was indeed headed for the market, got
off at the right place, made it past the clothing and beads and meat
to the vegetable alley and bartered our produce to a reasonable
price! Feeling fully victorious at the success of our adventure we
headed back to the main road to get the return bus, finding one in
just the same place as the day before. A simple conversation with the
driver informed us that his rout was different than we needed so we
turned back to wait for another bus. All of a sudden we hear voices
calling us back - “we'll change our route” the driver told us in
French. “Do you know Hotel Shanghai?” we asked about the landmark
nearest Angela's home. He replied that he knew it well and would take
us there for the usual fare. So we hopped in. From the first turn I
knew we were not headed back the way we came. My attempts to
communicate this were ignored, so we decided to roll with it for a
little and see if they new another way... T.I.A. after all. It soon
became clear that these people had no idea where to find Hotel
Shanhai. Not a clue. And we had no idea where in the city we were.
Lost in N'Djamena on day two! Our driver asked a passing taxi for
directions; he asked other passengers; one passenger even called a
friend (first going through the whole Chadian ritual of “how are
you? How are your children? How are your children's children?” and
still didn't find out where to find Hotel Shanghai). Eventually the
bus stopped and out the window I saw some Chinese script on the adjacent building, but I had no idea where we were. He'd taken us to the other Chinese hotel in town. It was time to enact the emergency plan B. We looked around – United Nations office on one corner with guards
out front, major European hotel chain on another – and decided this
was likely a relatively safe area of town to hop out of the bus and
wait to be rescued. We called Angela who knew the place and came and
picked us up.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I wish I had some great insight about Chadian culture to glean
from this experience, but I think for now I'll let the story speak
for itself. Leaning to find my way in this new place will be a
process, but for now I'm thankful for the chances to get out there
and explore, and for excellent country reps who swoop in and save the
day when we get lost!Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-27042884003976944632013-08-18T16:39:00.000-07:002013-08-18T16:39:07.130-07:00Listen FirstMy adventure began as so many do, with an early morning, the
anxiety of “surely I am forgetting something…” the tetris game
of loading a van full of bags, and a long drive. At the other end we
were greeted by warm and friendly MCC staff, wearing names around
their necks that I recognized from many emails and phone calls.
<br />
<br />
The first activity of the evening was supper and I quickly
discovered why mealtimes would be a highlight of orientation (and not
only for the joy of eating delicious food). While SALT is a program
that sends young adults from North America to volunteer in countries
around the world, we are also sharing this orientation experience
with incoming IVEP participants (International Volunteer Exchange
Program), a program in which volunteers come from all over the world
to help out in the US and Canada. The resulting cross-cultural
experience is rich and engaging, and the sharing often comes most
naturally while sharing meals together. We've connected with
participants from the opposite program who come from the places
closest to our own destinations, sharing stories and cultural tips
with one another. Conversations begin to occur in many different
languages whenever possible – French, Spanish, Indonesian, Lao,
Korean, and Tonga (to name a few). Warmth, interest, courtesy,
laughter, respect, openness, and did I mention laughter? These are
simply some of the characteristics of this exceptional group. In just
a few short days, I have seen people reach out to one another across
cultural and language barriers, embracing the lives and stories of
strangers and extending care and friendship.
<br />
<br />
<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a>One thing I've heard over and over again
during these orientation presentations is that the key to
cross-cultural relationships is to listen, listen, and listen again.
In this respect, I brought a surprise secret weapon with me to
orientation. I woke up the day before my departure with laryngitis...
While certainly not ideal (I’m sure those who met me on Wednesday
evening believed that I have a shy, reserved and quiet nature), the
seemingly unfortunate loss of my voice actually turned out to be
incredibly valuable as I prepare to jump into Chadian culture. What
better way to force me to practice listening than by physically
removing my capacity for speech!? By holding my tongue a little more
than usual this week, I’ve become a more attentive participant in
this temporary community of travelers. Now as my voice returns, I’m
trying to remember this lesson. I’ll practice being curious, and
patient. I’ll practice asking questions first and pausing to
consider my contributions more carefully than I might have before.
Stay tuned to see how well I remember this lesson in the future!<br />
<br />
Orientation has given me a fabulous community of support that will
soon be scattered all over the world. I will be keeping each traveler
in my heart as I board my own flight, and wish well for everyone,
whether they end up in Philadelphia, Vancouver, Durban, or Beirut.
Travel well, my friends! Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3105679807588936929.post-33140728379618377972013-08-18T16:38:00.001-07:002013-08-18T16:38:28.058-07:00About this blog<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">From August, 2013 until July 2014 I am working as a Peace and Justice Assistant for Mennonite Central Committee, in N'Djamena Chad. During the application process, many people asked me "Why Chad?" and the best way I could find to answer them was by telling this story:</span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">In 2009 I found myself in South Africa, staying in the home of a Coloured family near Cape Town. Every night we would sit at their kitchen table before bed, drinking Rooibos tea and talking about Apartheid, peace, development, and life in Africa. They shared from a lifetime of experience. I shared my modest reflections from a 3 month journey. One night my host said to me: "Michelle, it's great that you came to South Africa to learn about life here; but this is the Europe of Africa. Until you travel further north, you still do not understand Africa." Those were sharp words for a curious soul, and they stayed with me.</span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">In many ways, my privilege prevents me from truly understanding the Africa of my host family, but my hope was that in signing up for a year of peace and development work in another African country, I would get a little closer. I knew almost nothing about Chad when the placement came up, and perhaps that was my first clue that N'Djamena was the perfect choice. My hope is that through sharing stories and reflections from my time in Chad, we may come one step closer to understanding the vision of Africa held by my friend from the Cape.</span>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02663925423608183941noreply@blogger.com0