I am getting increasingly depressed about my joblessness. OK so I work part-time in a good firm that has offered me a job. But filling-out recruitment paperwork and ordering supplies from Staples really isn’t what I want to do.
This last week I have had a few interviews but people are ehming and ahing about offering me anything concrete. I don’t understand it. I mean, I:
-have shown to be very competent at work
-have work references that only say good things about me
-interview well, am polite but driven when talking to recruiters
-have pretty good hygiene (I wear deodorant, wash my hair, clip my nails and wear tasteful make-up)
-have 3 years work experience, including 2 years abroad
-am bilingual French/English
-graduated with good marks from Hopkins University
-am actively networking to make job connections.
Could it be that I am making people jealous? Is it pure bad luck? Do I have a piece of spinach stuck between my front teeth?
I just don’t know. But Washington DC is kicking my ass. Big time.
February 23, 2007
February 22, 2007
Evocative
Last night, a friend and I were listening to some music from a Malian guy with a little bit of guitar mixed into the usual drums and kora. It instantly transported me back to the Sahel, with its Muslim influences, smiling faces, and warm, orange, sandy breezes. My heart-rate slowed down and I was entranced by the moment.
February 18, 2007
Fair and Balanced (part 2)
If you haven't yet read the first "Fair and Balanced" post, please catch up on the latest Columbia Heights gossip here.
Two days ago, this was posted on our house door:
It reads:
"To Whomever shoveled the steps.
Please be aware that two people live on the ground floor and you shoveled the ice right onto the steps, effectively causing even more of a hazard"
D'oh.
Two days ago, this was posted on our house door:
It reads:
"To Whomever shoveled the steps.
Please be aware that two people live on the ground floor and you shoveled the ice right onto the steps, effectively causing even more of a hazard"
D'oh.
February 17, 2007
It's my Birthday Today
So, I have the dissapointing obligation to tell you that it's my birthday today. And, as in all the years before, I try to forget about it because I always feel depressed on February the 17th (I know it's weird, but then again, one of my friends feels the same way about Christmas).
Unfortunately, I have nice friends and family that call me up and leave me emails of congratulations. Congratulations for having been born 29 years ago. For having successfully passed through the birth canal. Birthday celebrations are so weird.
So thank you all for your phone calls and emails, and I hope you can forgive me if I haven't replied to them yet. I still have to get over the shock of being a year older.
February 15, 2007
Fair and Balanced
So I've talked shit about my neighborhood for a little while now. But I feel I have to counter with positive things that are happening here too. To keep it fair and balanced.
I just came home from an interview (in black suit, winter jacket and tennis shoes) and optimitistically stopped at a hardware store to pick up a shovel and some de-icing salt. Now, I am getting pretty broke so I chose the smallest shovel and a few pounds of salt.
I get home, hoping to de-ice the thick layers that have solidified on our steep stairs (imagine me holding onto the railing with dear life every morning for work). Well, it seems like optimism got the better of me. No sooner had I finished sprinkling the stairs, that I run out of salt and notice that I haven't bought enough after all. I feel like I used table salt because I barely managed to make a dent in the ice.
I start using my trusty shovel but not amount of shoveling will budge that rock-like ice. Then I really start madly hitting the surface with the sharp sides of the shovel and soon enough, ice sprays are flying around my deranged face. I feel like Glen Close with her rabbit in the movie Fatal Attraction. After all that panting, I am ready to cry: very little has been dislodged.
Then some neighborhood kids run up to me and say "Miss, miss, can we do that for you?". A little taken aback, I say "well sure but let me check whether I have cash to give you". They respond "well that's alright, we'll still start shoveling". In a matter of minutes, the kids start discuss the problem, and get the stairs cleared in no time. I really can't afford to be spending any money right now, but they were so efficient and willing to help that I gave them $10. And took a picture too.
I just came home from an interview (in black suit, winter jacket and tennis shoes) and optimitistically stopped at a hardware store to pick up a shovel and some de-icing salt. Now, I am getting pretty broke so I chose the smallest shovel and a few pounds of salt.
I get home, hoping to de-ice the thick layers that have solidified on our steep stairs (imagine me holding onto the railing with dear life every morning for work). Well, it seems like optimism got the better of me. No sooner had I finished sprinkling the stairs, that I run out of salt and notice that I haven't bought enough after all. I feel like I used table salt because I barely managed to make a dent in the ice.
I start using my trusty shovel but not amount of shoveling will budge that rock-like ice. Then I really start madly hitting the surface with the sharp sides of the shovel and soon enough, ice sprays are flying around my deranged face. I feel like Glen Close with her rabbit in the movie Fatal Attraction. After all that panting, I am ready to cry: very little has been dislodged.
Then some neighborhood kids run up to me and say "Miss, miss, can we do that for you?". A little taken aback, I say "well sure but let me check whether I have cash to give you". They respond "well that's alright, we'll still start shoveling". In a matter of minutes, the kids start discuss the problem, and get the stairs cleared in no time. I really can't afford to be spending any money right now, but they were so efficient and willing to help that I gave them $10. And took a picture too.
View from my window. The kids are discussing how to approach the problem
Still, I'm convinced they managed to shovel quickly because I "loosened" the ice.
Mehico
I forgot to mention that I spent last weekend in sunny Mexico for my cousin's wedding. Please remind me to update my blog soon!
And I will try my best not to steal her thunder :)
And I will try my best not to steal her thunder :)
February 14, 2007
Mentally Handicapped
My computer is being retard... is being mentally-handicapped. Ever since our computer guy has decided to "add memory, you'll see it'll go much faster*", it hums and haws and then freezes completely.
I have already stopped and started it three times manually (yes, even the CTRL + ALT + DEL feature does not work). This always happen. From now on, I'm just going to assume that computer guys say the exact opposite then they really mean.
*Real quote
I have already stopped and started it three times manually (yes, even the CTRL + ALT + DEL feature does not work). This always happen. From now on, I'm just going to assume that computer guys say the exact opposite then they really mean.
*Real quote
A Wintery Mix
It's that time of year again the first snow of the season is falling and everyone is freaking out. To give credit to overly scared people, the roads have not been plowed and are very icy and wet, leading to a number of car accident and slips on the sidewalks. I cannot understand how the capital of the wealthiest country in the world is incapable of snowplowing.
Anyways, the news stations are loving the ensuing panick and describing the weather in dramatic terms. Except that you really need to work hard to make the weather an exciting topic of conversation.
So they've decided to throw around a new word: wintery mix. As in: "the weather this morning is treacherous, we are seeing a wintery mix on the highways. Be safe out there folks, it's an accident waiting to happen".
So, for your learning pleasure, here is wintery mix, defined by me: "A mix of snow, ice and slush that generally occur during winter".
Please use it at will, in panicky situation to create mayhem of dismay over normal winter conditions.
February 07, 2007
God Services
I was assisting an employee in filling out recruitment papers for staff on the field.
She went through a long list of people to hire:
-A Secretary in Benin,
-Business Development Officer and Driver in Mali,
-God Services in Senegal,
-Program Officer in Niger.
I dutifully write this down and do a double-take at the “God Services”. Rather idiotically, I reply “God Services? Is that even possible?”. Instinctively, I wonder how much we’ve budgeted for that.
She doesn’t flinch and repeats “Guards services, we need guard services”.
D’uh.
She went through a long list of people to hire:
-A Secretary in Benin,
-Business Development Officer and Driver in Mali,
-God Services in Senegal,
-Program Officer in Niger.
I dutifully write this down and do a double-take at the “God Services”. Rather idiotically, I reply “God Services? Is that even possible?”. Instinctively, I wonder how much we’ve budgeted for that.
She doesn’t flinch and repeats “Guards services, we need guard services”.
D’uh.
February 06, 2007
Trouble in the Heights
While I am in the living room sipping on my tea and checking my emails, a cop car knocks on my neighbor's house. While he is waiting for someone in the house, two more cop cars arrive in the street, followed by a cop van with metallic grates. This is when I decide to put my tea down and unashamedly gawk at the scene unraveling in front of my eyes.
The neighbor's son is being literally carried in shackles by the cops and placed into a cop van (one cop for the legs, the other for the trunk, and the last one for the shoulders and head). Over the sounds of the wailing man, the mom shouts at the remaining cop ladies in Spanish and they answer her calmly in fluent Spanish. Columbia Heights is so multicultural!
A lady passing by, unfazed by the scene (which she's probably witnessed a few times before), picks up one of his dropped Timberland shoes and hands it to one of the cops. He unlaces it and brings it over to the van.
Last night as well, while I was apparently sleeping like the dead, my roommate witnessed a cop chase in the parking lot in front of our house. She says that, in addition to the cops, metro guards were also recruited for the chase.
Man, I knew what I was getting myself into by living in this area, but I'm now realizing that my rent is waaaaay to high. This sure ain't 90210, so why am I paying Beverly Hills prices?
The neighbor's son is being literally carried in shackles by the cops and placed into a cop van (one cop for the legs, the other for the trunk, and the last one for the shoulders and head). Over the sounds of the wailing man, the mom shouts at the remaining cop ladies in Spanish and they answer her calmly in fluent Spanish. Columbia Heights is so multicultural!
A lady passing by, unfazed by the scene (which she's probably witnessed a few times before), picks up one of his dropped Timberland shoes and hands it to one of the cops. He unlaces it and brings it over to the van.
Last night as well, while I was apparently sleeping like the dead, my roommate witnessed a cop chase in the parking lot in front of our house. She says that, in addition to the cops, metro guards were also recruited for the chase.
Man, I knew what I was getting myself into by living in this area, but I'm now realizing that my rent is waaaaay to high. This sure ain't 90210, so why am I paying Beverly Hills prices?
January 25, 2007
Diamonds are Forever
I just opened my email this morning to find this quote in the Global Development Briefinf Newsletter:
"It's either some colossal cluelessness or remarkable indifference to that reality that would somehow try to equate raising one's hand with a diamond on it as a promotional counter-measure to the effect of the film."
-- Edward Zwick, director of Hollywood film Blood Diamond, attacking a campaign to get film stars to display gems at awards events. The US diamond industry is donating USD 10,000 to African charities for each star raising a hand with a ring at events including the Oscars. Zwick, whose Africa-set film highlights the issue of illegal diamond profits funding wars, called the move a "charitable bribe" and "distasteful." The World Diamond Council (WDC) said so-called "blood diamonds" made up less than 1 percent of new diamonds, compared with 4 percent in the late 1990s. Conflict diamonds have been linked to armed struggles in Sierra Leone, Liberia, the DRC (Congo) and the Central African Republic.
"It's either some colossal cluelessness or remarkable indifference to that reality that would somehow try to equate raising one's hand with a diamond on it as a promotional counter-measure to the effect of the film."
-- Edward Zwick, director of Hollywood film Blood Diamond, attacking a campaign to get film stars to display gems at awards events. The US diamond industry is donating USD 10,000 to African charities for each star raising a hand with a ring at events including the Oscars. Zwick, whose Africa-set film highlights the issue of illegal diamond profits funding wars, called the move a "charitable bribe" and "distasteful." The World Diamond Council (WDC) said so-called "blood diamonds" made up less than 1 percent of new diamonds, compared with 4 percent in the late 1990s. Conflict diamonds have been linked to armed struggles in Sierra Leone, Liberia, the DRC (Congo) and the Central African Republic.
January 22, 2007
First Snow
Yesterday, Washington D.C had its first snow of the season. The weather has been incredibly mild and sometimes downright warm (mid 70s in winter). At this point, if George W. Bush even utters the phrase "I don't believe in Global Warming", I think that everybody in the world would laugh. Surely he's joking right?
Anyways, it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn't experienced snow for a good three years! For those readers that haven't seen snow either, there are three things that charaterize this phenomenon:
(1) Snow is white. This is where the expression "its fleece was white as snow" comes from.
(2) Snow is wet. All proper winter footwear should be plasticized. If you choose to be stubborn and walk around with your suede "city shoes", you will soon find that your socks and toes are wet, and your shoes don't look so trendy anymore. D'oh!
(3) But above all, snow is cold. Actually, it's damn cold. People cope with this in different ways. Some women would rather look hot than cover up. And they will walk around with little shirts and short skirts. But people stare at them with disbelief and snickering. Others pull out their most expensive fur coats, fur-lined hat and furry boats. I am more of the bundle-up-in-layers persuasion.
I would recommend the following attire:
-A big puffy coat. If you are a rap star, go ahead and buy the biggest, puffiest, less form fitting coat out there;
-A hat. No matter how you slice it, hats look dorky. Even if you have the half-beret, hat-baseball caps that young, trendy women wear, it's silly looking. But a hat is incredibly useful because it prevents the heat from escaping your body through the top of your head. It works. Trust me: tried, tested and true;
-Good gloves. I would recommend mittens or cashmere gloves. Nice and toasty;
-Sturdy boots and thick socks;
-If you are like me and you happen to have gone out to dinner BEFORE the snow, and suddenly realize that the rapdily falling snow will damage both your large leather bag from India and your computer case, throw your pride out of the door and cover them both with garbage bags. You may look like a homeless person, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do.
When it snows, whatever you do, you are bound to look like a crazy person, a Yeti or the Pillsbury Doe Boy. Ah, snow, the great equalizer.
Anyways, it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn't experienced snow for a good three years! For those readers that haven't seen snow either, there are three things that charaterize this phenomenon:
(1) Snow is white. This is where the expression "its fleece was white as snow" comes from.
(2) Snow is wet. All proper winter footwear should be plasticized. If you choose to be stubborn and walk around with your suede "city shoes", you will soon find that your socks and toes are wet, and your shoes don't look so trendy anymore. D'oh!
(3) But above all, snow is cold. Actually, it's damn cold. People cope with this in different ways. Some women would rather look hot than cover up. And they will walk around with little shirts and short skirts. But people stare at them with disbelief and snickering. Others pull out their most expensive fur coats, fur-lined hat and furry boats. I am more of the bundle-up-in-layers persuasion.
I would recommend the following attire:
-A big puffy coat. If you are a rap star, go ahead and buy the biggest, puffiest, less form fitting coat out there;
-A hat. No matter how you slice it, hats look dorky. Even if you have the half-beret, hat-baseball caps that young, trendy women wear, it's silly looking. But a hat is incredibly useful because it prevents the heat from escaping your body through the top of your head. It works. Trust me: tried, tested and true;
-Good gloves. I would recommend mittens or cashmere gloves. Nice and toasty;
-Sturdy boots and thick socks;
-If you are like me and you happen to have gone out to dinner BEFORE the snow, and suddenly realize that the rapdily falling snow will damage both your large leather bag from India and your computer case, throw your pride out of the door and cover them both with garbage bags. You may look like a homeless person, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do.
When it snows, whatever you do, you are bound to look like a crazy person, a Yeti or the Pillsbury Doe Boy. Ah, snow, the great equalizer.
The Medical School Paradox
You know, being a Public Health graduate, I have had plenty of time to study with pre-med students and contemplate whether being a doctor is the right path for me. I concluded a long time ago, that treating warts and bunions on middle-aged men’s feet was just not for me.
However, I have immense respect for doctors. Mainly because they have to treat bunions and warts on middle-aged people’s feet.
However, I found that there is an inherent flaw to the recruitment of doctors and I am reminded of it as my sister is neurotically trying to finish her medical school applications and competing for interviews with people who have rafted down the Amazon River or spent years working for medical consulting firms.
The paradox is this.
(A) The Hippocratic Oath
The Hippocratic Oath is a vow that physicians take to promise that they will do their utmost to take the best course of action for their patients. Therefore, a doctor is a surrogate parent of sorts.
(B) Technical Skills
There are few things harder than being a doctor. This is because being a doctor takes precise, correct, well-tested, time-sensitive, case-by-case and sometimes innovative approaches to care.
(C) Pre-Med Student Selection
Because these technical skills are so important to becoming a good doctor, you look for students that can retain large amounts of information, take quick decision after long hours of work and are particularly compassionate and driven to see the patient get better. Some students distinguish themselves by working hard, volunteering in local shelters and having good social skills. Other students retain their competitive edge by being unwilling to cooperate with fellow students, ripping articles from academic journals used for school work and convincing other students that they are not driven/smart/connected enough to be in this field.
Which brings me to the following equation.
A + B + C ≠ Good Doctor
Hyppocritic Oath + Technical Skills + Student Selection doesn’t necessarily equal being a Good Doctor.
However, I have immense respect for doctors. Mainly because they have to treat bunions and warts on middle-aged people’s feet.
However, I found that there is an inherent flaw to the recruitment of doctors and I am reminded of it as my sister is neurotically trying to finish her medical school applications and competing for interviews with people who have rafted down the Amazon River or spent years working for medical consulting firms.
The paradox is this.
(A) The Hippocratic Oath
The Hippocratic Oath is a vow that physicians take to promise that they will do their utmost to take the best course of action for their patients. Therefore, a doctor is a surrogate parent of sorts.
(B) Technical Skills
There are few things harder than being a doctor. This is because being a doctor takes precise, correct, well-tested, time-sensitive, case-by-case and sometimes innovative approaches to care.
(C) Pre-Med Student Selection
Because these technical skills are so important to becoming a good doctor, you look for students that can retain large amounts of information, take quick decision after long hours of work and are particularly compassionate and driven to see the patient get better. Some students distinguish themselves by working hard, volunteering in local shelters and having good social skills. Other students retain their competitive edge by being unwilling to cooperate with fellow students, ripping articles from academic journals used for school work and convincing other students that they are not driven/smart/connected enough to be in this field.
Which brings me to the following equation.
A + B + C ≠ Good Doctor
Hyppocritic Oath + Technical Skills + Student Selection doesn’t necessarily equal being a Good Doctor.
January 17, 2007
Nerd-ology
I’m totally obsessed by Dr. Sacks.
I do not like green eggs and ham,
I do not like them Sam-I-Am
I do not like them with a fox,
I do not like them in a box,
I do not like them here or there,
I do not like them anywhere!
No, no, you’re thinking of Dr. Seuss silly. But that’s fun too!
I’m talking about the neurologist Dr. Oliver Sacks. He studies disorders that stem from the nervous system (anything from stuttering, to autism, blindness and Parkinson’s disease). What is particularly interesting about Dr. Sacks is that he always studies a person as a whole instead of as a person suffering from a set of disorders. His books are packed with detailed case studies that also detail talk a patient’s family, social life, and general outlook on things. In addition, he is also very inquisitive and shares this with his reader. When talks about deafness for example, he briefs his reader about the history of deafness and deaf schools, references to the deafness in literature, corrects misconceptions on deafness and explains how the deaf community interacts with hearing individuals.
But the best part of his books is when he talks about those patients for whom there is no cure. Instead, he talks about how the patient has used the disorder as strength and not a limitation.
I do not like green eggs and ham,
I do not like them Sam-I-Am
I do not like them with a fox,
I do not like them in a box,
I do not like them here or there,
I do not like them anywhere!
No, no, you’re thinking of Dr. Seuss silly. But that’s fun too!
I’m talking about the neurologist Dr. Oliver Sacks. He studies disorders that stem from the nervous system (anything from stuttering, to autism, blindness and Parkinson’s disease). What is particularly interesting about Dr. Sacks is that he always studies a person as a whole instead of as a person suffering from a set of disorders. His books are packed with detailed case studies that also detail talk a patient’s family, social life, and general outlook on things. In addition, he is also very inquisitive and shares this with his reader. When talks about deafness for example, he briefs his reader about the history of deafness and deaf schools, references to the deafness in literature, corrects misconceptions on deafness and explains how the deaf community interacts with hearing individuals.
But the best part of his books is when he talks about those patients for whom there is no cure. Instead, he talks about how the patient has used the disorder as strength and not a limitation.
- Take the case of young man whose sense of balance has so deteriorated, that he often fell flat on his face. He decided to add little water-levels in his glasses so he could monitor his angle respective to the ground.
- Or the story of Temple Grandin, a woman born with a mild from of autism (also called Asperger’s syndrome). She finds it incredibly hard to relate to other people and has to carefully study people in order to understand how they feel. She often feels like she’s An Anthropologist on Mars (this is also a book title of Dr. Sacks'). On the other hand, she has a keen sense of how animals feel, has a PhD in animal behavior, and is a well-published author.
- He also talks about a young man who slowly becomes blind due to a tumor growing in his brain. But the strange thing is that he has no idea that he is blind and is convinced that he can still see. He quickly becomes a buddha-like figure to the other hospital patients who appreciate his calm sense of understanding.
- A man has a particularly rare neurological disorder that prevents him from recognizing people's face and objects. He once tries to pick up his wife and place her on his head, temporarly confused by her brown hair matching his brown suede hat (The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat).
- Martha’s Vineyard’s used to have large deaf population. As a result, almost everybody was fluent in signing. The hearing elders can still be heard and seen conversing with each other in both speech and sign language.
Intrigued? Start reading The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat. You won't regret it, I promise!
[Note: this is not a paid advertisment. Though if you wanted to pay me for this, that'd be OK too]
January 12, 2007
I'm so sick
I am getting just so sick of my blog's template. Would anybody have a good idea of a template or simple changes that can be made to 007 in Africa?
In particular, I would love to switch my sidebar from the right to the left, and have the picture of the Red Glass on the bottom posted as this blog's title...
Thanks for the ideas!
Post Note: Thanks to all who emailed me suggestions on where to go for templates. Very useful. I ended up creating (yet another) a new blogger account and using its beta features. The google people are pretty impressive geniuses.
In particular, I would love to switch my sidebar from the right to the left, and have the picture of the Red Glass on the bottom posted as this blog's title...
Thanks for the ideas!
Post Note: Thanks to all who emailed me suggestions on where to go for templates. Very useful. I ended up creating (yet another) a new blogger account and using its beta features. The google people are pretty impressive geniuses.
January 11, 2007
Minimum Wage--The Living Dilemma
You may have heard that the House of Representatives has recently passed a bill to increase the minimum wage. For those readers who may not be Anglophone, the minimum wage is a law that sets a minimum price that an employer has to pay an employee per hour.
The minimum wage is currently set at $5.75 an hour which, will seemingly reasonable, is actually quite low. The bill would require the new minimum wage to be set to $7.25, in incremental steps over the course of 26 months.[A few people will be exempt from earning the minimum wage. For example, restaurant servers earn about $2 per hour, that’s why tipping is so important. But that should be the topic of another post].
As you can imagine, people are already complaining and raising a fuss. Here are a few reasons that have been mentioned:
1. Employer: If I have to pay my employee $1.50 extra per hour, I will not make a good profit. This will force me to cut the working hours of my employees or fire some staff that I can’t afford.
2. Employer: If I raise the lowest employee’s hourly wage, I will have to raise everyone else’s, and then I’m really spending a lot more on wages.
3. Employee: If you raise my wages, I will not be able to qualify for subsidized housing. I will end up homeless or I will have to spend a lot more money on rent.
4. Economist: If you raise wages, the more fragile mom-and-pop store won’t be able to absorb the difference in expenditures. These stores will close or raise the prices on the goods they sell.
I like to think of it this way.
Yearly salary at $5.75 per hour—$11,960
Yearly salary at $7.25 per hour--$15,080
Bare Minimum Yearly Living Expenses
Room Rental-------------------$6,000
Food-----------------------------$3,600
Transport-----------------------$1,080
Clothing--------------------------$360
Medical and Drugs-------------$300
Cleaning/hygiene products---$300
Support to child or parent---$1200
Water and Electricity---------$720
Basic Phone--------------------$360
One Sick Day-------------minus $48
Movie and Entertainment----$240*
Total--------------------------$14,112
Note: The Movie and Entertainment line comes up to about $20 per month which represents going to see two movies, renting 4 videos, buying a few magazines or buying two books. Come on, even poor people need to do interesting things.
If you are interested in getting a better idea of what life is like at the minimum wage, read this great book called Nickle and Dimed—On (not) getting by in America, by Barbara Ehrenreich:
Millions of Americans work full-time, year-round, for poverty-level wages. In 1998, Barbara Ehrenreich decided to join them. She was inspired in part by the rhetoric surrounding welfare reform, which promised that a job -- any job -- could be the ticket to a better life. But how does anyone survive, let alone prosper, on six to seven dollars an hour? To find out, Ehrenreich left her home, took the cheapest lodgings she could find, and accepted whatever jobs she was offered as a woefully inexperienced homemaker returning to the workforce. So began a grueling, hair raising, and darkly funny odyssey through the underside of working America.
Moving from Florida to Maine to Minnesota, Ehrenreich worked as a waitress, a hotel maid, a cleaning woman, a nursing home aide, and a Wal-Mart sales clerk. Very quickly, she discovered that no job is truly "unskilled," that even the lowliest occupations require exhausting mental and muscular effort. She also learned that one job is not enough; you need at least two if you intend to live indoors.
Source: Henry Holt and Company
The minimum wage is currently set at $5.75 an hour which, will seemingly reasonable, is actually quite low. The bill would require the new minimum wage to be set to $7.25, in incremental steps over the course of 26 months.[A few people will be exempt from earning the minimum wage. For example, restaurant servers earn about $2 per hour, that’s why tipping is so important. But that should be the topic of another post].
As you can imagine, people are already complaining and raising a fuss. Here are a few reasons that have been mentioned:
1. Employer: If I have to pay my employee $1.50 extra per hour, I will not make a good profit. This will force me to cut the working hours of my employees or fire some staff that I can’t afford.
2. Employer: If I raise the lowest employee’s hourly wage, I will have to raise everyone else’s, and then I’m really spending a lot more on wages.
3. Employee: If you raise my wages, I will not be able to qualify for subsidized housing. I will end up homeless or I will have to spend a lot more money on rent.
4. Economist: If you raise wages, the more fragile mom-and-pop store won’t be able to absorb the difference in expenditures. These stores will close or raise the prices on the goods they sell.
I like to think of it this way.
Yearly salary at $5.75 per hour—$11,960
Yearly salary at $7.25 per hour--$15,080
Bare Minimum Yearly Living Expenses
Room Rental-------------------$6,000
Food-----------------------------$3,600
Transport-----------------------$1,080
Clothing--------------------------$360
Medical and Drugs-------------$300
Cleaning/hygiene products---$300
Support to child or parent---$1200
Water and Electricity---------$720
Basic Phone--------------------$360
One Sick Day-------------minus $48
Movie and Entertainment----$240*
Total--------------------------$14,112
Note: The Movie and Entertainment line comes up to about $20 per month which represents going to see two movies, renting 4 videos, buying a few magazines or buying two books. Come on, even poor people need to do interesting things.
If you are interested in getting a better idea of what life is like at the minimum wage, read this great book called Nickle and Dimed—On (not) getting by in America, by Barbara Ehrenreich:
Millions of Americans work full-time, year-round, for poverty-level wages. In 1998, Barbara Ehrenreich decided to join them. She was inspired in part by the rhetoric surrounding welfare reform, which promised that a job -- any job -- could be the ticket to a better life. But how does anyone survive, let alone prosper, on six to seven dollars an hour? To find out, Ehrenreich left her home, took the cheapest lodgings she could find, and accepted whatever jobs she was offered as a woefully inexperienced homemaker returning to the workforce. So began a grueling, hair raising, and darkly funny odyssey through the underside of working America.
Moving from Florida to Maine to Minnesota, Ehrenreich worked as a waitress, a hotel maid, a cleaning woman, a nursing home aide, and a Wal-Mart sales clerk. Very quickly, she discovered that no job is truly "unskilled," that even the lowliest occupations require exhausting mental and muscular effort. She also learned that one job is not enough; you need at least two if you intend to live indoors.
Source: Henry Holt and Company
January 08, 2007
Craig's List
One of the perks of being back in the States is being able to use Craig's List. It's a website where people can place advertisements for furniture, classes they teach, cars for sale and meeting groups. In return, you can contact them, agree on a price and pick up your new item.
Of friend of mine is even using the "personal ads" section to find a woman who might be interested in having a casual encounter with him (this is a thinly veiled term for sex with no strings attached).
Occasionally, you'll find great ads. I want to share with you this particularly eloquent ad found on Craig's List (with the owner's permission of course).
"Sliding Scale of Couch Justice" Sage Green couch, big chair, ottoman
Posted on: 2007-01-02
Okay...so I'm moving in a week into a new house. My beautiful bride and I purchased this set for about a grand -- but about 7 years ago. It was great for us at the time...very Pottery Barn/Pier 1-ish.
Well, it's still in good shape....it's got some stains and some wear spots where the cat took a claw to it once or twice...and my 2 year old son scribbled in pen in one of the back cushions...but that's no big deal because you can just flip the cushion...and besides, it adds character.
Oh ya...it's severely urine stained from a night of partying....NAH, I'm just kidding there...no pee, vomit or other bodily fluid stains....that is DEFINITELY a plus for a craigslist couch....and, dare I say, practically unheard of for a matching couch, oversized chair, ottoman combo. Oh ya...we don't smoke either....so, it doesn't smell like an ashtray.
So, anyway...we're moving and bought new stuff. You see, my wife got obsessed with some new paint color for our basement. The $20 paint color, unfortunately, does not match our $1,000 (albeit 7 year old) couch.
The Couch
However, I am a smart man...and I know that "if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy"...so, I gladly sign off on the purchase of said paint color and a new sectional/sleeper thing that, apparently, coordinates perfectly....I don't ask questions...this is her castle and she can decorate as she pleases.
Now my dilemma...I am faced with what to do with my Sage Green "Ashley" Couch with matching oversized chair and ottoman. But, I don't just want to give the thing away...after all, It was one of the first major purchases we made together and it blessed us greatly over the years. I would love for this couch (and, of course, it's matching oversized chair and ottoman) to find it's way into the hands of someone truly thankful for it. Therefore, I propose the following "sliding scale of couch justice" to ward off any evildoers that might otherwise attempt to use this Sage Green beauty for any purposes other than intended.
Therefore, the price of the couch will vary, for example:
(1) Are you a young couple...just starting out...got big dreams of building a future together and conquering the world together...but, don't have the cash right now to make it happen? If so, I feel you...and I've been there...and for you...how about $50. And my prayer for you will be that you look back on your Sage Green Couch Craiglist purchase with great notalgia.
(2) Or, you are a Frat boy, just out of college looking for a sweet couch to bang hot chicks on....for you....$1,500...never, ever disrepect my couch like that....unless, of course, you're willing to pay. Besides...this couch is not a leather ensemble from Haverty's...it's good and all...but, it's not exactly going to make the ladies clothes fall off just by looking at it, you know?
(3) Or, maybe you're single mom...struggling to make ends meet and your piece of crap husband left you for his whore of secretary. And now you're looking for a couch for the basement for your kids...well...I feel your pain as well. If that's the case....$25 for you....come pick her up and she's yours.
The Chair and Ottoman
(4) You're active duty military or retired military. You have fought for and admirably served this wonderful country. You realize that America cannot be the land of the free unless we are also the home of the brave. Though you'd rather not, you are willing to be shot at and shoot back in the name of protecting our freedoms....and you do so for chumps like me who sit firmly entrenched behind our desks in an office w/a view collecting our comparatively over-inflated salaries. That, my friend, is priceless...so for you, the sage green beauty is free of charge...come pick her up.
(5) You're a craigslist troller...looking for something cheap to re-sell on ebay...sorry, charlie....can't let my Sage Green Ashley couch get pimped out like that.....$700 for you.
(6) Or, perhaps, You've got a decent income and Maybe you just bought a house or are renting a new one and need a decent couch to fill some space...but you don't want to spend a bunch of money on something that you know you'll want to replace in a a few years....if so, I respect that...there's something to be said for living within a budget and not worrying about "keeping up w/the Jones's"...in that case...how about $75 for you.
(7) Or, you are a Washington Redskins fan...and you are looking for a couch to put in your sport room that is not all floral and crap and embarassing. You want it to look decent...but you also want to be able to spill your Milwaukee's Best on it when cussing at the TV....I, also feel you...and I WANT you to have this couch. I, too, have done the same on this very same couch as my beloved team has given me season after season of futility. For you, $70.
(8) You are a Giants fan and looking to do the same: $85
(9) Philly fan (the green would definitely complement the team colors)? $100
(10) Cowboys fan? $2,790 -- sorry...I could never allow my much cherished sage green couch to adorn the sports basement of a Cowboys fan. I'm sorry...I just can't...unless of course you want to pay me $1,790 more than I paid for this beauty 7 years ago.
So, what's your story? Do you want the couch? The mathching oversized chair? The ottoman? Tell me your story and tell me your price. It's gotta be out of my house in a week. Hit me with an email.
Of friend of mine is even using the "personal ads" section to find a woman who might be interested in having a casual encounter with him (this is a thinly veiled term for sex with no strings attached).
Occasionally, you'll find great ads. I want to share with you this particularly eloquent ad found on Craig's List (with the owner's permission of course).
"Sliding Scale of Couch Justice" Sage Green couch, big chair, ottoman
Posted on: 2007-01-02
Okay...so I'm moving in a week into a new house. My beautiful bride and I purchased this set for about a grand -- but about 7 years ago. It was great for us at the time...very Pottery Barn/Pier 1-ish.
Well, it's still in good shape....it's got some stains and some wear spots where the cat took a claw to it once or twice...and my 2 year old son scribbled in pen in one of the back cushions...but that's no big deal because you can just flip the cushion...and besides, it adds character.
Oh ya...it's severely urine stained from a night of partying....NAH, I'm just kidding there...no pee, vomit or other bodily fluid stains....that is DEFINITELY a plus for a craigslist couch....and, dare I say, practically unheard of for a matching couch, oversized chair, ottoman combo. Oh ya...we don't smoke either....so, it doesn't smell like an ashtray.
So, anyway...we're moving and bought new stuff. You see, my wife got obsessed with some new paint color for our basement. The $20 paint color, unfortunately, does not match our $1,000 (albeit 7 year old) couch.
The Couch
However, I am a smart man...and I know that "if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy"...so, I gladly sign off on the purchase of said paint color and a new sectional/sleeper thing that, apparently, coordinates perfectly....I don't ask questions...this is her castle and she can decorate as she pleases.
Now my dilemma...I am faced with what to do with my Sage Green "Ashley" Couch with matching oversized chair and ottoman. But, I don't just want to give the thing away...after all, It was one of the first major purchases we made together and it blessed us greatly over the years. I would love for this couch (and, of course, it's matching oversized chair and ottoman) to find it's way into the hands of someone truly thankful for it. Therefore, I propose the following "sliding scale of couch justice" to ward off any evildoers that might otherwise attempt to use this Sage Green beauty for any purposes other than intended.
Therefore, the price of the couch will vary, for example:
(1) Are you a young couple...just starting out...got big dreams of building a future together and conquering the world together...but, don't have the cash right now to make it happen? If so, I feel you...and I've been there...and for you...how about $50. And my prayer for you will be that you look back on your Sage Green Couch Craiglist purchase with great notalgia.
(2) Or, you are a Frat boy, just out of college looking for a sweet couch to bang hot chicks on....for you....$1,500...never, ever disrepect my couch like that....unless, of course, you're willing to pay. Besides...this couch is not a leather ensemble from Haverty's...it's good and all...but, it's not exactly going to make the ladies clothes fall off just by looking at it, you know?
(3) Or, maybe you're single mom...struggling to make ends meet and your piece of crap husband left you for his whore of secretary. And now you're looking for a couch for the basement for your kids...well...I feel your pain as well. If that's the case....$25 for you....come pick her up and she's yours.
The Chair and Ottoman
(4) You're active duty military or retired military. You have fought for and admirably served this wonderful country. You realize that America cannot be the land of the free unless we are also the home of the brave. Though you'd rather not, you are willing to be shot at and shoot back in the name of protecting our freedoms....and you do so for chumps like me who sit firmly entrenched behind our desks in an office w/a view collecting our comparatively over-inflated salaries. That, my friend, is priceless...so for you, the sage green beauty is free of charge...come pick her up.
(5) You're a craigslist troller...looking for something cheap to re-sell on ebay...sorry, charlie....can't let my Sage Green Ashley couch get pimped out like that.....$700 for you.
(6) Or, perhaps, You've got a decent income and Maybe you just bought a house or are renting a new one and need a decent couch to fill some space...but you don't want to spend a bunch of money on something that you know you'll want to replace in a a few years....if so, I respect that...there's something to be said for living within a budget and not worrying about "keeping up w/the Jones's"...in that case...how about $75 for you.
(7) Or, you are a Washington Redskins fan...and you are looking for a couch to put in your sport room that is not all floral and crap and embarassing. You want it to look decent...but you also want to be able to spill your Milwaukee's Best on it when cussing at the TV....I, also feel you...and I WANT you to have this couch. I, too, have done the same on this very same couch as my beloved team has given me season after season of futility. For you, $70.
(8) You are a Giants fan and looking to do the same: $85
(9) Philly fan (the green would definitely complement the team colors)? $100
(10) Cowboys fan? $2,790 -- sorry...I could never allow my much cherished sage green couch to adorn the sports basement of a Cowboys fan. I'm sorry...I just can't...unless of course you want to pay me $1,790 more than I paid for this beauty 7 years ago.
So, what's your story? Do you want the couch? The mathching oversized chair? The ottoman? Tell me your story and tell me your price. It's gotta be out of my house in a week. Hit me with an email.
January 02, 2007
French Fortune
Though I have had a (admittedly) tough time coming back to the United States, I still feel incredibly fortunate to be back.
I live in an "up-and-coming" part of town in Washington D.C. Which basically means that it's a ghetto and there are lots of drug dealers around. But they're nice and they wave hello every morning. And at least they are not Congolese military people.
I have a temporary job but 1/2 the people in my office are contracting too. The electricity is very reliable and I have a cubicle four times the size of the one I left in Kinshasa.
I can walk almost everywhere and no one will bug me. I even forgot my wallet at a counter once and someone ran after me! To give me my wallet back! And didn't ask for a ransom! And no money was missing! Ah. It's nice to be free.
But then again I guess I'm not that free. Because I have to pay my grad school loans, and my electricity bill, my monthly rent, have to get presents for people's birthdays, Valentine's day and any other crappy made-up Holidays.
But wait, I digress. I feel incredibly lucky because I can finally keep in touch with my friends. I've come back to good friends in Washington D.C and the rest of the United States (you know who you are y'all). Plus, PLUS, friends from abroad have transited through my apartment and stayed at my house. They have even slept in my bed which, in my opinion, truly takes a lot of dedication!
Anyways, friends, thanks for being around and being good to me.
At this point, you're probably wondering what the hell the title of the post means. Well, while I was having this thought of being incredibly lucky in 2007 at the same time, my roomate was enjoying some excellent french chocolates called Papillotes. These chocolates are traditional in my hometown of Lyon. They are generally consumed around the Christmas and New Year season. Because the food just isn't fattening enough for the Holiday.
Anyways, you'll be surprised to find out that the Chinese don't have a monopoly on fortunes that come in food. Oh no they don't! When one unraps the shiny papillote paper, one is rewarded by: (1) one sweet chocolate, (2) one cracker that snaps when pulled, and (3) a proverb/saying/fortune. This is true! I swear!
This is the one she got: "Les paresseux ont toujours envie de faire quelque chose-Vauvenargues". Which is loosely translated as: "the lazy ones are always on the verge of doing something"...
I couldn't help but think that the fortune was actually directed at me. I mean, my roomate doesn't even understand French! Is God trying to speak to me through Papillotes?
Thanks for reading through this long post. You are truly admirable.
I live in an "up-and-coming" part of town in Washington D.C. Which basically means that it's a ghetto and there are lots of drug dealers around. But they're nice and they wave hello every morning. And at least they are not Congolese military people.
I have a temporary job but 1/2 the people in my office are contracting too. The electricity is very reliable and I have a cubicle four times the size of the one I left in Kinshasa.
I can walk almost everywhere and no one will bug me. I even forgot my wallet at a counter once and someone ran after me! To give me my wallet back! And didn't ask for a ransom! And no money was missing! Ah. It's nice to be free.
But then again I guess I'm not that free. Because I have to pay my grad school loans, and my electricity bill, my monthly rent, have to get presents for people's birthdays, Valentine's day and any other crappy made-up Holidays.
But wait, I digress. I feel incredibly lucky because I can finally keep in touch with my friends. I've come back to good friends in Washington D.C and the rest of the United States (you know who you are y'all). Plus, PLUS, friends from abroad have transited through my apartment and stayed at my house. They have even slept in my bed which, in my opinion, truly takes a lot of dedication!
Anyways, friends, thanks for being around and being good to me.
At this point, you're probably wondering what the hell the title of the post means. Well, while I was having this thought of being incredibly lucky in 2007 at the same time, my roomate was enjoying some excellent french chocolates called Papillotes. These chocolates are traditional in my hometown of Lyon. They are generally consumed around the Christmas and New Year season. Because the food just isn't fattening enough for the Holiday.
Anyways, you'll be surprised to find out that the Chinese don't have a monopoly on fortunes that come in food. Oh no they don't! When one unraps the shiny papillote paper, one is rewarded by: (1) one sweet chocolate, (2) one cracker that snaps when pulled, and (3) a proverb/saying/fortune. This is true! I swear!
This is the one she got: "Les paresseux ont toujours envie de faire quelque chose-Vauvenargues". Which is loosely translated as: "the lazy ones are always on the verge of doing something"...
I couldn't help but think that the fortune was actually directed at me. I mean, my roomate doesn't even understand French! Is God trying to speak to me through Papillotes?
Thanks for reading through this long post. You are truly admirable.
December 30, 2006
I was going to wish you a Happy New Year's...
...but instead, I am going to wish you a Happy Tabaski.
The last time I thought about this Muslim ceremony was in Senegal in January 2005 (see “Disconnect Thoughts” post). And this year, it happens to fall on December 30th 2006 which almost perfectly coincides with New Year’s Eve.
[Children Washing their Sheep in the Ocean in Dakar, Senegal]
I still receive security messages from my Warden in Senegal. He warns all American citizens to be very careful of Tabaski festivities as Anti-American sentiments are high this holiday season. Why? Because Saddam Hussein just died by hanging.
I had no idea Senegalese people felt so strongly about Mr. Hussein. And oddly enough, I feel sorry for this crazy man who, even at the moment of his death, is seems completely unaware of what was going on (CNN reports “The judge said Hussein appeared "totally oblivious to what was going on around him. I was very surprised. He was not afraid of death.")
It makes me sad to see the pictures (I couldn’t bring my self to watch the video), as he was brought into the room in a well cut suit. His nicely combed hair disheveled, his eyes round with anticipation, staring at faceless men in black ski hats.
Is it wrong to feel sorry for such a man? I really can't help myself.
The last time I thought about this Muslim ceremony was in Senegal in January 2005 (see “Disconnect Thoughts” post). And this year, it happens to fall on December 30th 2006 which almost perfectly coincides with New Year’s Eve.
[Children Washing their Sheep in the Ocean in Dakar, Senegal]
I still receive security messages from my Warden in Senegal. He warns all American citizens to be very careful of Tabaski festivities as Anti-American sentiments are high this holiday season. Why? Because Saddam Hussein just died by hanging.
I had no idea Senegalese people felt so strongly about Mr. Hussein. And oddly enough, I feel sorry for this crazy man who, even at the moment of his death, is seems completely unaware of what was going on (CNN reports “The judge said Hussein appeared "totally oblivious to what was going on around him. I was very surprised. He was not afraid of death.")
It makes me sad to see the pictures (I couldn’t bring my self to watch the video), as he was brought into the room in a well cut suit. His nicely combed hair disheveled, his eyes round with anticipation, staring at faceless men in black ski hats.
Is it wrong to feel sorry for such a man? I really can't help myself.
December 24, 2006
Merry Christmas Y'all
Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!
I'd think of something better, but my sister's nagging me, my brother has smelly feet, my dad is clearing his throat and my mom is asking me to help her reach the dust bunnies behind the fridge (eewww!) and I'm relaxing at home.
Sis has some disparaging things to say about the family, but I'm too good to address these thoughts.
But seriously folks, please enjoy this Holiday season with people you love.
*****************************************************
Thanks Heather Jamison for posting on my GuestMap. I love your blog format, it's beautiful. You must tell me how you do it!
December 16, 2006
Thoughts on Homelessness
Your comments on my recent post “On Being Homeless” made me think long and hard about homelessness. I remember helping a Congolese colleague get a visa for the States to attend a conference. When I asked him what he thought of North America, he professed being shocked at the number of homeless people there. Indeed, the United States is a well-organized country with wealth and social services and the idea of disenfranchised and abandoned people was appalling to him in that setting.
Some thoughts on homelessness...
How many homeless people are there in the United States?
From Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homelessness_in_the_United_States
Total Number
As many as 3.5 million people experience homelessness in a given year (1% of the entire U.S. population or 10% of its poor), and about 842,000 people on any given day.
Familial composition
40% are families with children—the fastest growing segment.
41% are single males.
14% are single females.
5% are minors unaccompanied by adults.
Why are people homeless in the United States?
Well, there are many reasons. Sometimes it boils down to economic factors (people loose their jobs and cannot pay rent), other times it can be mental illness (people prefer living free and unconstrained instead of being forced to take medication).
How did homelessness become such a big issue here?
There are several events that precipitated homelessness to what it is today in the United States.
In the 1960, President Reagan signs the Mental Retardation Facilities and Community Mental Health Centers Construction Act. The main idea behind this act is to take fragmented arrangement of separate, independent, and often noncommunicating, hospitals, clinics and agencies, and organized them into a service network called community mental health centers (CMHCs).
Except, these centers are crushed by the number of newly deinstitutionalized patients (also a Reagan legacy) and people on work-disability: patients that have little or no money to pay for health services. Due to tight budgets, external services are cut, leaving only the more basic services running.
Reagan decides to cut the budget for the Department of Housing and Urban Development by three-quarters, from $32 billion in 1981 to $7.5 billion by 1988. In fact, the department’s role to give subsidized housing (housing of very low cost) for the poor.
Reagan also changes of tax codes. This reduces incentives for private developers to create low-income homes. Under Reagan, the number of people living beneath the federal poverty line rose from 24.5 million in 1978 to 32.5 million in 1988.
Faced with community centers operating basic services and no subsidized or affordable housing, a large number of people found themselves on the street.
What do shelters provide?
From Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homelessness_in_the_United_States
"Homeless shelters are temporary residences for homeless people. Usually located in urban neighborhoods, they are similar to emergency shelters. The primary difference is that homeless shelters are usually open to anyone, without regard to the reason for need. Some shelters limit their clientele by gender or age.
Most homeless shelters expect clients to stay elsewhere during the day, returning only to sleep, or if the shelter also provides meals, to eat; people in emergency shelters are more likely to stay all day, except for work, school, or errands. Some homeless shelters, however, are open 24 hours a day.
There are daytime-only homeless shelters, where the homeless can go when they cannot stay inside at their night-time sleeping shelter during the day. Such an early model of a daytime homeless shelter providing multi-faceted services is Saint Francis House in Boston, Massachusetts.
Homeless shelters are usually operated by a non-profit agency, or associated with a church. Many get at least part of their funding from local government entities. Shelters can sometimes be referred to as 'human warehouses'.
Homeless shelters sometimes also provide other services, such as a soup kitchen, job seeking skills training, job training, job placement, support groups, and/or substance (i.e., drugs and/or alcohol) abuse treatment. If they do not offer any of these services, they can usually refer their clients to agencies that do."
Why are homeless people not all in shelters
Well, often, shelters are full or refuse you based on your profile (perhaps you are a young white male and the shelter only accept mothers and children). Some people say that there is a large violence problem in shelters and they prefer sleeping in a busy street instead of being raped or robbed of their possessions.
When I lived in Japan, I saw large parks completely usurped by tents and man-made shacks where whole communities of homeless people would reside. They would also open the underground metro when the weather go particularly cold so people wouldn't die outside.
Why don't homeless people apply to job and go to interviews, like I do when I need a job?
From Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homelessness_in_the_United_States
"Since most homeless people have no telephone, or fixed phone number or no personal phone number at all, no computer to access E-mail, no permanent address, or any place to get changed and washed, it can be difficult for a homeless person to apply for, find or even maintain a job; and without a job it can be difficult to raise the money or gain the references needed to acquire accommodation if governmental aid is not available or insufficient."
and
"In some homeless shelters and day centers, the homeless have access to a phone for making local calls, take a shower, and use a post office box at the shelter to receive mail, or sometimes can use a computer to access email. In many shelters and centers, they must signup on a first-come/first-serve list for such services, so it is not always possible to use a phone or have a shower in a timely fashion. The washing and laundering of dirty clothes, which frequently consists simply of the clothes on the person's body, presents an almost insurmountable problem, since many shelters do not provide laundry machines or services and using a public laundromat is not possible with only one set of clothes or lack of money to pay for the use of the laundromat."
What is a homeless person's daily routine? How does it feel to be homeless?
Well, I'm not quite sure. I think that it's important for homeless people to get about their day and fill it with normal activities like having two or three meals a day, going to the library, interacting with friends, going to see a movies etc...You would be surprised to find out that some homeless people are very well educated and have a family somewhere. This is the case for this homeless person who blogs about his daily life: The Homeless Guy
Where can I read more on this issue?
My sources are the following:
Democracy Now - http://www.democracynow.org/article.pl?sid=04/06/11/1431244
National Council for Community Behavioral Health Care - http://www.nccbh.org/WHO/Def-resources/History.pdf
Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deinstitutionalisation
Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homelessness
Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homeless_shelter
Blog of a Homeless Man - http://thehomelessguy.blogspot.com/
Some thoughts on homelessness...
How many homeless people are there in the United States?
From Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homelessness_in_the_United_States
Total Number
As many as 3.5 million people experience homelessness in a given year (1% of the entire U.S. population or 10% of its poor), and about 842,000 people on any given day.
Familial composition
40% are families with children—the fastest growing segment.
41% are single males.
14% are single females.
5% are minors unaccompanied by adults.
Why are people homeless in the United States?
Well, there are many reasons. Sometimes it boils down to economic factors (people loose their jobs and cannot pay rent), other times it can be mental illness (people prefer living free and unconstrained instead of being forced to take medication).
How did homelessness become such a big issue here?
There are several events that precipitated homelessness to what it is today in the United States.
In the 1960, President Reagan signs the Mental Retardation Facilities and Community Mental Health Centers Construction Act. The main idea behind this act is to take fragmented arrangement of separate, independent, and often noncommunicating, hospitals, clinics and agencies, and organized them into a service network called community mental health centers (CMHCs).
Except, these centers are crushed by the number of newly deinstitutionalized patients (also a Reagan legacy) and people on work-disability: patients that have little or no money to pay for health services. Due to tight budgets, external services are cut, leaving only the more basic services running.
Reagan decides to cut the budget for the Department of Housing and Urban Development by three-quarters, from $32 billion in 1981 to $7.5 billion by 1988. In fact, the department’s role to give subsidized housing (housing of very low cost) for the poor.
Reagan also changes of tax codes. This reduces incentives for private developers to create low-income homes. Under Reagan, the number of people living beneath the federal poverty line rose from 24.5 million in 1978 to 32.5 million in 1988.
Faced with community centers operating basic services and no subsidized or affordable housing, a large number of people found themselves on the street.
What do shelters provide?
From Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homelessness_in_the_United_States
"Homeless shelters are temporary residences for homeless people. Usually located in urban neighborhoods, they are similar to emergency shelters. The primary difference is that homeless shelters are usually open to anyone, without regard to the reason for need. Some shelters limit their clientele by gender or age.
Most homeless shelters expect clients to stay elsewhere during the day, returning only to sleep, or if the shelter also provides meals, to eat; people in emergency shelters are more likely to stay all day, except for work, school, or errands. Some homeless shelters, however, are open 24 hours a day.
There are daytime-only homeless shelters, where the homeless can go when they cannot stay inside at their night-time sleeping shelter during the day. Such an early model of a daytime homeless shelter providing multi-faceted services is Saint Francis House in Boston, Massachusetts.
Homeless shelters are usually operated by a non-profit agency, or associated with a church. Many get at least part of their funding from local government entities. Shelters can sometimes be referred to as 'human warehouses'.
Homeless shelters sometimes also provide other services, such as a soup kitchen, job seeking skills training, job training, job placement, support groups, and/or substance (i.e., drugs and/or alcohol) abuse treatment. If they do not offer any of these services, they can usually refer their clients to agencies that do."
Why are homeless people not all in shelters
Well, often, shelters are full or refuse you based on your profile (perhaps you are a young white male and the shelter only accept mothers and children). Some people say that there is a large violence problem in shelters and they prefer sleeping in a busy street instead of being raped or robbed of their possessions.
When I lived in Japan, I saw large parks completely usurped by tents and man-made shacks where whole communities of homeless people would reside. They would also open the underground metro when the weather go particularly cold so people wouldn't die outside.
Why don't homeless people apply to job and go to interviews, like I do when I need a job?
From Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homelessness_in_the_United_States
"Since most homeless people have no telephone, or fixed phone number or no personal phone number at all, no computer to access E-mail, no permanent address, or any place to get changed and washed, it can be difficult for a homeless person to apply for, find or even maintain a job; and without a job it can be difficult to raise the money or gain the references needed to acquire accommodation if governmental aid is not available or insufficient."
and
"In some homeless shelters and day centers, the homeless have access to a phone for making local calls, take a shower, and use a post office box at the shelter to receive mail, or sometimes can use a computer to access email. In many shelters and centers, they must signup on a first-come/first-serve list for such services, so it is not always possible to use a phone or have a shower in a timely fashion. The washing and laundering of dirty clothes, which frequently consists simply of the clothes on the person's body, presents an almost insurmountable problem, since many shelters do not provide laundry machines or services and using a public laundromat is not possible with only one set of clothes or lack of money to pay for the use of the laundromat."
What is a homeless person's daily routine? How does it feel to be homeless?
Well, I'm not quite sure. I think that it's important for homeless people to get about their day and fill it with normal activities like having two or three meals a day, going to the library, interacting with friends, going to see a movies etc...You would be surprised to find out that some homeless people are very well educated and have a family somewhere. This is the case for this homeless person who blogs about his daily life: The Homeless Guy
Where can I read more on this issue?
My sources are the following:
Democracy Now - http://www.democracynow.org/article.pl?sid=04/06/11/1431244
National Council for Community Behavioral Health Care - http://www.nccbh.org/WHO/Def-resources/History.pdf
Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deinstitutionalisation
Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homelessness
Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homeless_shelter
Blog of a Homeless Man - http://thehomelessguy.blogspot.com/
December 14, 2006
The $10 Christmas
They said it couldn't be done! They said it would be impossible to curb those impulse buys and consumerisms tendencies! They were wrong!!
This year, my family and I have decided to give each other small presents. The rule: all gifts have to be under ten dollars. And believe me, it's really hard to find a gift under $10 nowadays.
Don't tell anyone, but this is what I'm thinking about getting everyone.
Brother has a very serious job in a Consulting firm. He has to have a neat appearance in a sombre suit to compensate for the fact that he doesn't know what he is doing there. For him, I am getting a comb, so he can comb his hair to the side and suck up to the clients.
Sister is rather althetic. She rides horses, swing dances in local competitions and is generally fitter than I am. And has no qualms in reminding me of this fact. For her, I am getting her a time-honored tennis ball. It's rubber and it's electric yellow, which means that her chances of breaking or loosing this are slim to none. Perfect!
Dad is starting to contemplate his retirement with optimism and a tear in his eye. Everyday, I hear, "only 3 years, 2 months, and 232 days until retirement". But I worry that he will be bored when in retirement. I am getting him a ball point pen so he can write that award-winning novel in his golden years.
Let's face it. Even if mom says she "hates" nay "ABHORS" cooking, I think she secretly enjoys it. I mean, she cooked for us everyday of our lives when we were living at home, right? Therefore, I am getting her a special, stainless steel Ladle.
The boyfriend? Well I complain of the dust and the disorder in his apartment often enough that he will enjoy this feather duster for sure!
I can't wait for Christmas day, when I will see that sparkle in their eyes when they open their presents.
This year, my family and I have decided to give each other small presents. The rule: all gifts have to be under ten dollars. And believe me, it's really hard to find a gift under $10 nowadays.
Don't tell anyone, but this is what I'm thinking about getting everyone.
Brother has a very serious job in a Consulting firm. He has to have a neat appearance in a sombre suit to compensate for the fact that he doesn't know what he is doing there. For him, I am getting a comb, so he can comb his hair to the side and suck up to the clients.
Sister is rather althetic. She rides horses, swing dances in local competitions and is generally fitter than I am. And has no qualms in reminding me of this fact. For her, I am getting her a time-honored tennis ball. It's rubber and it's electric yellow, which means that her chances of breaking or loosing this are slim to none. Perfect!
Dad is starting to contemplate his retirement with optimism and a tear in his eye. Everyday, I hear, "only 3 years, 2 months, and 232 days until retirement". But I worry that he will be bored when in retirement. I am getting him a ball point pen so he can write that award-winning novel in his golden years.
Let's face it. Even if mom says she "hates" nay "ABHORS" cooking, I think she secretly enjoys it. I mean, she cooked for us everyday of our lives when we were living at home, right? Therefore, I am getting her a special, stainless steel Ladle.
The boyfriend? Well I complain of the dust and the disorder in his apartment often enough that he will enjoy this feather duster for sure!
I can't wait for Christmas day, when I will see that sparkle in their eyes when they open their presents.
December 07, 2006
On Homelessness
Yesterday, I was coming home from work, and I can honestly, HONESTLY not remember when I had been that cold last.
Perhaps living in Sahelian and Tropical countries has made me weak. Perhaps. But I was caught in this intense wind that made me want to cling to a telephone poll for stability. This wind went right through my thin trousers fabric and nestled into my flesh. It burned my face and froze the blood in my cheeks. It attacked my toes and, like a diabetic's numb extremities, made them feel bloated and dead. It attacked every exposed corner of my body relentlessly.
And yet, I see homeless people everywhere. With thin, old army blankets over their shoulders, and short socks that leave their calf exposed. With sweat-soaked gloves and hats that probably have little effect against the numbing cold. They settle in nooks between two buildings, right in the cross-winds created by these large architectural structures. Within the warm confines of my comforter, I wonder: How do they do it? How can you stand spending a whole winter shivering until your back and leg muscle hurt?
Perhaps living in Sahelian and Tropical countries has made me weak. Perhaps. But I was caught in this intense wind that made me want to cling to a telephone poll for stability. This wind went right through my thin trousers fabric and nestled into my flesh. It burned my face and froze the blood in my cheeks. It attacked my toes and, like a diabetic's numb extremities, made them feel bloated and dead. It attacked every exposed corner of my body relentlessly.
And yet, I see homeless people everywhere. With thin, old army blankets over their shoulders, and short socks that leave their calf exposed. With sweat-soaked gloves and hats that probably have little effect against the numbing cold. They settle in nooks between two buildings, right in the cross-winds created by these large architectural structures. Within the warm confines of my comforter, I wonder: How do they do it? How can you stand spending a whole winter shivering until your back and leg muscle hurt?
November 30, 2006
Demeaning
The whole Looking-for-a-Job thing is so demeaning.
Adjective: demeaning
Causing awareness of your shortcomings
- humbling, humiliating, mortifying
Verb: demean
Reduce in worth or character, usually verbally
- take down, degrade, disgrace, put down
See also: demeaningly, undignified
Type of: abase, chagrin, humble, humiliate, mortify
Either you're spending hours tailoring your résumé and cover letters or you're calling people back to see if they can give you a definite yes or no answer.
It's incredibly demoralizing when you realise that:
1. Most jobs to which you have applied already have a chosen candidate. Organizations will post their jobs internally, allowing internal candidates to apply first. By the time they post on their external websites (for legal reasons job postings have to be shared), it's too late for you.
2. Large organizations have automated answering machines-you leave a message enquiring about your application and never hear from them again.
3. When you can talk to a human-being, he or she is not allowed to disclose anything about what is happening with the job selection.
4. The majority of jobs in DC are acquired through networking. When you're an introvert like me, the thought of bothering someone who's busy with their own work and asking them to evaluate your chances or contact someone they barely know, makes you cringe inside.
5. A friend told me that he's tracking if people are reading his emails. He tells me that, in some cases, people don't even bother to read the emails and just erase them immediately.
What's a girl like me to do?
Adjective: demeaning
Causing awareness of your shortcomings
- humbling, humiliating, mortifying
Verb: demean
Reduce in worth or character, usually verbally
- take down, degrade, disgrace, put down
See also: demeaningly, undignified
Type of: abase, chagrin, humble, humiliate, mortify
Either you're spending hours tailoring your résumé and cover letters or you're calling people back to see if they can give you a definite yes or no answer.
It's incredibly demoralizing when you realise that:
1. Most jobs to which you have applied already have a chosen candidate. Organizations will post their jobs internally, allowing internal candidates to apply first. By the time they post on their external websites (for legal reasons job postings have to be shared), it's too late for you.
2. Large organizations have automated answering machines-you leave a message enquiring about your application and never hear from them again.
3. When you can talk to a human-being, he or she is not allowed to disclose anything about what is happening with the job selection.
4. The majority of jobs in DC are acquired through networking. When you're an introvert like me, the thought of bothering someone who's busy with their own work and asking them to evaluate your chances or contact someone they barely know, makes you cringe inside.
5. A friend told me that he's tracking if people are reading his emails. He tells me that, in some cases, people don't even bother to read the emails and just erase them immediately.
What's a girl like me to do?
November 22, 2006
Congo court catches fire as fighting erupts
POSTED: 12:07 p.m. EST, November 21, 2006 , on CNN.com
KINSHASA, Democratic Republic of Congo (AP) -- Gunfire and street fights erupted outside Congo's supreme court and a blaze swept through the building Tuesday as hearings began over fraud allegations in a presidential election meant to bring lasting peace to the Central African giant.
Ex-rebel leader Jean-Pierre Bemba has launched a legal challenge of the results that showed him losing to President Joseph Kabila in a runoff that was designed to end the wars, coups d'etat and autocratic rule that has hobbled mineral-rich Congo since independence in 1960. Some 17,500 U.N. peacekeepers are overseeing the transition.
The latest election-related civil unrest in the capital, Kinshasa, came as dozens of Bemba supporters massed outside the court building as proceedings on his motion got under way. Fights broke out in the angry crowd.
Sporadic gunfire was heard for about 45 minutes as U.N. peacekeepers sped to the scene in armored vehicles, then fired in the air to disperse the crowd. Cars were set ablaze, and police sirens wailed.
Officials said gunmen in the crowd had fired on security forces, but no injuries were immediately reported.
"Armed men were mixed in with the civilians and shot at the police," Interior Minister Denis Kalume said.
Several offices in the two-story court building were on fire, along with furniture and documents. U.N. soldiers evacuated the building and firefighters worked to contain the flames.
A spokesman for Bemba's party said it had no role in the violence. [...]
KINSHASA, Democratic Republic of Congo (AP) -- Gunfire and street fights erupted outside Congo's supreme court and a blaze swept through the building Tuesday as hearings began over fraud allegations in a presidential election meant to bring lasting peace to the Central African giant.
Ex-rebel leader Jean-Pierre Bemba has launched a legal challenge of the results that showed him losing to President Joseph Kabila in a runoff that was designed to end the wars, coups d'etat and autocratic rule that has hobbled mineral-rich Congo since independence in 1960. Some 17,500 U.N. peacekeepers are overseeing the transition.
The latest election-related civil unrest in the capital, Kinshasa, came as dozens of Bemba supporters massed outside the court building as proceedings on his motion got under way. Fights broke out in the angry crowd.
Sporadic gunfire was heard for about 45 minutes as U.N. peacekeepers sped to the scene in armored vehicles, then fired in the air to disperse the crowd. Cars were set ablaze, and police sirens wailed.
Officials said gunmen in the crowd had fired on security forces, but no injuries were immediately reported.
"Armed men were mixed in with the civilians and shot at the police," Interior Minister Denis Kalume said.
Several offices in the two-story court building were on fire, along with furniture and documents. U.N. soldiers evacuated the building and firefighters worked to contain the flames.
A spokesman for Bemba's party said it had no role in the violence. [...]
November 21, 2006
Sweet Lord!
I was just "casually" checking my blog's net worth and found that it's now worth US$67, 744. 80.
Sweet Lord! I'm giddy with excitement!
Sweet Lord! I'm giddy with excitement!
November 17, 2006
Claiming the "Embarrassment Right"
I am 28 and my parents still embarrass me. I suspect they signed a special "Embarrassement Right" contract when I was born: "Thou shall be allowed to embarrass thy Daughter as often as thou wishes."
Case in Point:
My parents were in town the other day (from Madagascar), so I celebrated by taking them to dinner (well that's technically untrue. I showed them where the dinner place was, but as all good parents will I suppose, they paid for dinner).
We went to this wonderful place called Mimi's American Bistro.
It's described as a "Cabaret restaurant with singing servers and a variety of live music". Which means that every waiter and waitress is involved in plays and live theater, but works at Mimi's part-time for extra income. It's such a fun place to go, when your waiter could be up on the stage belting out a rendition of Les Miserables one minute and asking you if you want white or red with your salmon the next.
I hesitated a little bit before making that decision-my parents are cool and all that, but it takes a special kind of person to appreciate the place. Namely, a young, gay or very open person. My parents were born on this earth around the 1950s and well, the world was a different place back then.
Well we sat down to dinner and my dad was slumped-over with fatigue. I started explaining the spirit of the restaurant, when he sat up, looked over at the stage...and mouthed every word that was being sung! Oh my god it was embarrassing. Furthermore, he fully recognized a Liza Minelli song and enjoyed a young waiter's imitation of Renee's performance of a Chicago song, slinky moves and all.
When our waitress came around, he kindly asked her to sing from the Evita soundtrack-which (I couldn't believe) she graciously obliged. When she started singing, he gesticulated wildly and I cringed with embarrassment at his enthusiasm. I felt like I was in a sailor's bar with my dad singing along with the old drinking songs and waving his arm for emphasis. Except this was Mimi's and these were show tunes.
Thankfully, I looked around to assess the damage of his enthusiasm...and saw that everyone else was doing the same thing. Pfeww!
Case in Point:
My parents were in town the other day (from Madagascar), so I celebrated by taking them to dinner (well that's technically untrue. I showed them where the dinner place was, but as all good parents will I suppose, they paid for dinner).
We went to this wonderful place called Mimi's American Bistro.
It's described as a "Cabaret restaurant with singing servers and a variety of live music". Which means that every waiter and waitress is involved in plays and live theater, but works at Mimi's part-time for extra income. It's such a fun place to go, when your waiter could be up on the stage belting out a rendition of Les Miserables one minute and asking you if you want white or red with your salmon the next.
I hesitated a little bit before making that decision-my parents are cool and all that, but it takes a special kind of person to appreciate the place. Namely, a young, gay or very open person. My parents were born on this earth around the 1950s and well, the world was a different place back then.
Well we sat down to dinner and my dad was slumped-over with fatigue. I started explaining the spirit of the restaurant, when he sat up, looked over at the stage...and mouthed every word that was being sung! Oh my god it was embarrassing. Furthermore, he fully recognized a Liza Minelli song and enjoyed a young waiter's imitation of Renee's performance of a Chicago song, slinky moves and all.
When our waitress came around, he kindly asked her to sing from the Evita soundtrack-which (I couldn't believe) she graciously obliged. When she started singing, he gesticulated wildly and I cringed with embarrassment at his enthusiasm. I felt like I was in a sailor's bar with my dad singing along with the old drinking songs and waving his arm for emphasis. Except this was Mimi's and these were show tunes.
Thankfully, I looked around to assess the damage of his enthusiasm...and saw that everyone else was doing the same thing. Pfeww!
November 14, 2006
I'm not knocking temping but...
...today I was filling in for the receptionist for a couple of hours and some colleagues stuck up a conversation in front of my desk. They eventually patted my hand and said: "I'm sure you'll find a good job soon, a lot of our receptionists find good employments".
To which I replied with politeness: "Well I certainly hope so, you see, I used to be a Project Manager in Congo; but that's very kind of you".
November 08, 2006
A car and a woman curled up
My roomate and I had a crash last night, and the unfortunate victim of the accident was a young lady coming home from work.
We are looking for a place to park, in the busy "up and coming" U street area, recently converted from decaying townhouses and louche neighborhood into a busy and popular evening hangout. Wanting to find a place close to the restaurant and in a rush to get there precisely at 7:30 to watch the election results, my roomate waits for a lull in traffic to swing his car around, in his usual confident, I'm-cool fashion.
I see her, a young black lady with her plastic shopping bags, all dressed in black, in the dark of the evening. My roomate is looking the other way, making sure he aligns with the lign of traffic and makes it around quickly enough to avoid other cars. I see her as she walks two feet away from our car, also taking advantage of the gap in traffic to walk across to her car, from an evening of working in a cheap clothing store.
I am close enough to see the shock on her face as she realizes she's going to be hit by our slow but sharply swinging vehicle. I extend a hand in her direction, as if pushing her back from harm, and yell "careful!" to my driver. Her body curls against the front of the bumper and she falls to the ground. The sound of the impact is terrible -I'm not sure if it's the contact of the car to her body or the sound of the breaks- and for a stomach-churning minute, I believe she is lying, pinned under the floor of the car.
I swing the door open to get to her, as my roomate slowly creeps the car out of traffic's way. My door swings more open and I am almost scared to get out.
She gets up, intact...thank you God. She is shaken and, intuitively checks that her hair is not out of place. Funny how these unimportant instincts surface. I ask (many times) if she's OK and she says yes but that she's just shaken. I hear an accent in her voice and can't stop thinking how bad this must be for her-a recent immigrant, working in a cheap clothing store, jay-walking to her car at the end of a long day, to get hit by a car. For some reason, this is worse for her than for anybody else.
The cops are instantly on the scene. They are nice, helpful, ask what's been going on and appropriately fine my roomate quite substantially. But they keep their cool, they are polite and they do the right thing. Thank God for them now. I only wish they would ask her to sit in their car. I ask her again and again if she wants to sit but she doesn't, she just stays at the scene slightly shaken and shell-shocked. She lifts her black pants to check her leg which is aching but can't see anything underneath her knee-high stockings. I wear the same things to work-funny how that is. She reaches to her back often and realizes that it hurts from falling on her bottom. That's the word she uses. It's so quaint, so delicate and polite. How funny.
I drive home, our evening understandably cut short by the incident. My roomate tells me the young lady lives on our street. In fact, she lives on our block. How funny. How ironic. We three roomates, who live in a neighborhood where we are already not welcomed, where the up-and-coming-ness of the street makes it so that we can afford a nice townhouse and our neighbors live in low-income housing. How unfortunate.
And here I am, at 2am morphing into 4am, rethinking the events and the sequence of the crash, thinking, how funny, how unfortunate. My lips, ears and scalp are throbbing, as they often are when I am stressed and they itch and they burn.
We are looking for a place to park, in the busy "up and coming" U street area, recently converted from decaying townhouses and louche neighborhood into a busy and popular evening hangout. Wanting to find a place close to the restaurant and in a rush to get there precisely at 7:30 to watch the election results, my roomate waits for a lull in traffic to swing his car around, in his usual confident, I'm-cool fashion.
I see her, a young black lady with her plastic shopping bags, all dressed in black, in the dark of the evening. My roomate is looking the other way, making sure he aligns with the lign of traffic and makes it around quickly enough to avoid other cars. I see her as she walks two feet away from our car, also taking advantage of the gap in traffic to walk across to her car, from an evening of working in a cheap clothing store.
I am close enough to see the shock on her face as she realizes she's going to be hit by our slow but sharply swinging vehicle. I extend a hand in her direction, as if pushing her back from harm, and yell "careful!" to my driver. Her body curls against the front of the bumper and she falls to the ground. The sound of the impact is terrible -I'm not sure if it's the contact of the car to her body or the sound of the breaks- and for a stomach-churning minute, I believe she is lying, pinned under the floor of the car.
I swing the door open to get to her, as my roomate slowly creeps the car out of traffic's way. My door swings more open and I am almost scared to get out.
She gets up, intact...thank you God. She is shaken and, intuitively checks that her hair is not out of place. Funny how these unimportant instincts surface. I ask (many times) if she's OK and she says yes but that she's just shaken. I hear an accent in her voice and can't stop thinking how bad this must be for her-a recent immigrant, working in a cheap clothing store, jay-walking to her car at the end of a long day, to get hit by a car. For some reason, this is worse for her than for anybody else.
The cops are instantly on the scene. They are nice, helpful, ask what's been going on and appropriately fine my roomate quite substantially. But they keep their cool, they are polite and they do the right thing. Thank God for them now. I only wish they would ask her to sit in their car. I ask her again and again if she wants to sit but she doesn't, she just stays at the scene slightly shaken and shell-shocked. She lifts her black pants to check her leg which is aching but can't see anything underneath her knee-high stockings. I wear the same things to work-funny how that is. She reaches to her back often and realizes that it hurts from falling on her bottom. That's the word she uses. It's so quaint, so delicate and polite. How funny.
I drive home, our evening understandably cut short by the incident. My roomate tells me the young lady lives on our street. In fact, she lives on our block. How funny. How ironic. We three roomates, who live in a neighborhood where we are already not welcomed, where the up-and-coming-ness of the street makes it so that we can afford a nice townhouse and our neighbors live in low-income housing. How unfortunate.
And here I am, at 2am morphing into 4am, rethinking the events and the sequence of the crash, thinking, how funny, how unfortunate. My lips, ears and scalp are throbbing, as they often are when I am stressed and they itch and they burn.
November 06, 2006
Elucidated-The Mystery of the Wax Ball
The Best Response so far was from a Chinese Girl who says:
"Aha, how funny!
It's Chinese for sure. And it's a herbal medicine ball! First of all, the
yellow ball is made of wax and keeps the moisture of the herbal content. I
can read from the package the black ball is for strengthening kidney. If you
are really curious, they usually cut the black ball into small pieces and
then swallow them with warm water.
I guess it belongs to a male...but it could be a joke. "
But thanks to Laura who asked a total stranger in a Asian grocery store about it-that takes balls :)
"Aha, how funny!
It's Chinese for sure. And it's a herbal medicine ball! First of all, the
yellow ball is made of wax and keeps the moisture of the herbal content. I
can read from the package the black ball is for strengthening kidney. If you
are really curious, they usually cut the black ball into small pieces and
then swallow them with warm water.
I guess it belongs to a male...but it could be a joke. "
But thanks to Laura who asked a total stranger in a Asian grocery store about it-that takes balls :)
November 03, 2006
Come On!
Come on! Doesn't anybody, of Asian persuasion or even remotely connected to Asian customs and lifestyle, know what this ball of wax is? It's killing me!
Surely one, ONE person can read the characters on the box, no?
Arrrgh...If I don't hear from anybody in, say, one week, I will brew the licorice-like ball and make my morning tea with it. That'll teach you!
UPDATE: Sunday, 5:20PM.
Steve in WI says:
"I've got the answer!
According to Jeff Pan at the English-language China Daily newspaper in Beijing:
[Quote:] "To my knowledge, this is probably a kind of traditional Chinese medicine, with the 'wax ball' being the wrap for the medicine in it."
The mystery is solved.
Now if we only knew what the medicine was for."
Thanks Steve! I sort of figured it was medicine-so now that's confirmed, but am still puzzled about what sort of medicine this is.
Surely one, ONE person can read the characters on the box, no?
Arrrgh...If I don't hear from anybody in, say, one week, I will brew the licorice-like ball and make my morning tea with it. That'll teach you!
UPDATE: Sunday, 5:20PM.
Steve in WI says:
"I've got the answer!
According to Jeff Pan at the English-language China Daily newspaper in Beijing:
[Quote:] "To my knowledge, this is probably a kind of traditional Chinese medicine, with the 'wax ball' being the wrap for the medicine in it."
The mystery is solved.
Now if we only knew what the medicine was for."
Thanks Steve! I sort of figured it was medicine-so now that's confirmed, but am still puzzled about what sort of medicine this is.
November 02, 2006
Two Degrees of Separation
If you work in the Humanitarian sector, beware. You can't afford to piss somebody off because that person will come back to hunt you.
Yesterday I was chatting with a nice gentleman who had just finished Peace Corps in Niger. I talked a little bit about my time in the Congo and he says:
Him- "I know someone in Congo"
Me- "Oh really? Well there are a lot of expats there but I may know them"
Him- "Her name is KW"
Me-"No way! That was my favorite person in the Congo. She even lived in my building! I just talked to her by Skype last week!"
Him-"My, that's weird. Well my wife was considering applying to a job in the Congo with X organization"
Me-"NOOO! So funny, that's where I worked!"
At that point the conversation got louder.
Me-"Wait, wait, is your wife a health person"
Him-"Why...yes."
Me-"Oh my GOD! That was for my position! I wrote the job description! I remember emailing her about it too!"
And this is during my lunch break at the temping job. I'm so glad I didn't do anything mean to her :)
Yesterday I was chatting with a nice gentleman who had just finished Peace Corps in Niger. I talked a little bit about my time in the Congo and he says:
Him- "I know someone in Congo"
Me- "Oh really? Well there are a lot of expats there but I may know them"
Him- "Her name is KW"
Me-"No way! That was my favorite person in the Congo. She even lived in my building! I just talked to her by Skype last week!"
Him-"My, that's weird. Well my wife was considering applying to a job in the Congo with X organization"
Me-"NOOO! So funny, that's where I worked!"
At that point the conversation got louder.
Me-"Wait, wait, is your wife a health person"
Him-"Why...yes."
Me-"Oh my GOD! That was for my position! I wrote the job description! I remember emailing her about it too!"
And this is during my lunch break at the temping job. I'm so glad I didn't do anything mean to her :)
Other Side of the Street Theorem
My friend brought to my attention a very interesting phenomenon, right here in our nation's capital. I call it the Bus Clumping Phenomenon. It goes like this.
a. Have you ever noticed that there are sometimes 2, 3, or sometimes 4 commuter buses in a row in the morning? I always thought that there was someone at the bus headquarters who screwed up the dispatch schedule.
b. But it turns out that the reason for this bus clumping is that the first bus has a lot of people to pick up in the morning. And thus, with all the little old ladies trembling their way up the stairs, the bus is slowed down and takes a long time to finish its usual route.
c. The second bus has fewer passengers to pick up along the way (since the first bus picked them up). Consequently, this second bus is much faster on its route.
d. It soon catches up to the overloaded first bus and, voila! A bus clump has formed.
Inspired by this rather astute observation, I present you my very own equation. I have noticed that -when I am waiting for a bus in the morning freezing my buns off- the buses on the other side of the street come much more frequently than the buses on MY side of the street. I swear this is true. I call it the Other Side of the Street Theorem. I haven't quite figured out how it happens yet, but I'll certainly think about it when I'm waiting at the bus stop tomorrow morning.
a. Have you ever noticed that there are sometimes 2, 3, or sometimes 4 commuter buses in a row in the morning? I always thought that there was someone at the bus headquarters who screwed up the dispatch schedule.
b. But it turns out that the reason for this bus clumping is that the first bus has a lot of people to pick up in the morning. And thus, with all the little old ladies trembling their way up the stairs, the bus is slowed down and takes a long time to finish its usual route.
c. The second bus has fewer passengers to pick up along the way (since the first bus picked them up). Consequently, this second bus is much faster on its route.
d. It soon catches up to the overloaded first bus and, voila! A bus clump has formed.
Inspired by this rather astute observation, I present you my very own equation. I have noticed that -when I am waiting for a bus in the morning freezing my buns off- the buses on the other side of the street come much more frequently than the buses on MY side of the street. I swear this is true. I call it the Other Side of the Street Theorem. I haven't quite figured out how it happens yet, but I'll certainly think about it when I'm waiting at the bus stop tomorrow morning.
BlogRoll
Wow, for some reason, on my way to work in the bus today, I thought about lots of new things that I would like to blog about. And since I have a notoriously bad memory ("Congo, where?"), I must write them down right here and now:
-My thoughts on the Campaign to End Poverty-is it realistic?
-The Bus Clumping Phenomenon and the Other Side of the Street Theorem
-Nigerian Scam Emails, and
-Two Degrees of Separation-the Humanitarian Game
I have plenty of free time on the weekend, so hopefully I can update soon. I know you are quivering with curiosity and anticipation!
-My thoughts on the Campaign to End Poverty-is it realistic?
-The Bus Clumping Phenomenon and the Other Side of the Street Theorem
-Nigerian Scam Emails, and
-Two Degrees of Separation-the Humanitarian Game
I have plenty of free time on the weekend, so hopefully I can update soon. I know you are quivering with curiosity and anticipation!
Who Stole my America?
I wanted to share these Words of Encouragement bestowed upon me by Strudel (a German reader):
"dedicris said...
My flipping rocks, you becoming a sick European-minded lazy worker. Rush out American Girl, enter the next bank and tell the fucking banker you want $1 billion to invest in the yellow-ball toy before Xmas. He would be shy and not dare to ask you -What's this thing? -. STRUDEL
11:11 AM"
and
"dedicris said...
Who stole my America? Redskins. Ford T . Stan & Oliver. Now you answer ads, get interviews, are told -WeLetYouKnow- . Just like us.
Many (sigh) many years ago, hijacking in Germany I met a parà of the most famous Folgore Brigade in Africa in ww2,he was working as a driver for Herz comapny. Many (sigh) many years later, as a management consultant I met a second Folgore parà , he was working as an accountant in a factory. Work sucks for the bravest too. STRUDEL
11:24 AM"
What translation engine have you been using Strudel? When you say hijacking, I think you mean hitchiking, no? Anyways, thanks for the good words(I think)! A little laughter at 7:00am goes a long way.
"dedicris said...
My flipping rocks, you becoming a sick European-minded lazy worker. Rush out American Girl, enter the next bank and tell the fucking banker you want $1 billion to invest in the yellow-ball toy before Xmas. He would be shy and not dare to ask you -What's this thing? -. STRUDEL
11:11 AM"
and
"dedicris said...
Who stole my America? Redskins. Ford T . Stan & Oliver. Now you answer ads, get interviews, are told -WeLetYouKnow- . Just like us.
Many (sigh) many years ago, hijacking in Germany I met a parà of the most famous Folgore Brigade in Africa in ww2,he was working as a driver for Herz comapny. Many (sigh) many years later, as a management consultant I met a second Folgore parà , he was working as an accountant in a factory. Work sucks for the bravest too. STRUDEL
11:24 AM"
What translation engine have you been using Strudel? When you say hijacking, I think you mean hitchiking, no? Anyways, thanks for the good words(I think)! A little laughter at 7:00am goes a long way.
November 01, 2006
Chinese Wax Ball
So, I go up at 6:00AM twice in a row to apply to a job before my temping job starts and instead, I bring you "Chinese Wax Ball!".
I was going through my drawers in the office, looking for a marker in my new cubicle, when i came upon this white, red and orange stamped box. Like Alice through the Looking Glass, I couldn't help but open it, thinking there would be a miniature inking pad and stamp in there. No dice. It revealed this perfectly spherical, yellow wax ball. I jiggled it and noticed that there was something large moving in there. Try as I might, no amount of throwing, biting or stabbing would get it to open. Then I gently pushed it on its seams and TA-DA, it opened! Revealing, revealing....
A licorice-smelling waxy ball.
Does anybody know what the heck it is? The mystery deepens.
(Note: this does not mean I get nothing done at work. I am actually very productive during the day. Please hire me, and I promise I won't go through your drawers...much)
I was going through my drawers in the office, looking for a marker in my new cubicle, when i came upon this white, red and orange stamped box. Like Alice through the Looking Glass, I couldn't help but open it, thinking there would be a miniature inking pad and stamp in there. No dice. It revealed this perfectly spherical, yellow wax ball. I jiggled it and noticed that there was something large moving in there. Try as I might, no amount of throwing, biting or stabbing would get it to open. Then I gently pushed it on its seams and TA-DA, it opened! Revealing, revealing....
A licorice-smelling waxy ball.
Does anybody know what the heck it is? The mystery deepens.
(Note: this does not mean I get nothing done at work. I am actually very productive during the day. Please hire me, and I promise I won't go through your drawers...much)
October 26, 2006
Optimism Crushed
So I've been back since July 2006, which means I've been in the States...oh...3 months now.
My situation is thus:
1. I have a great room in a not so great neighborhood. I am paying through the teeth for it each month,
2. I have no source of income and seem to be spending lavish amounts of money like Britney Spears,
3. I've been looking for a job for the last months...unsuccessfully. I was offered a job with unsatisfactory pay and decided not to bargain for a better salary because the position was not exactly what I was looking for.
So once again, ladies and gentlemen, I am temping. What is temping you ask? It is a mechanism whereby strapped-for-cash individuals get short-term, banal, unchallenging assignments for meager paid-per-hour salaries.
I am the queen of temping. I've done it long and I've done it hard. But I'm proud to say that I was able to quit temping cold turkey in favor of the various virtues of having a real job with a real salary.
Why are you temping now, What happened, you ask? Well, it seems that, with my French/English bilingualism, my masters in International Health from a reputable school, my 2-year work experience abroad, my enthusiasm and good recommendations from previous employers; I was getting a little too cocky. I though: "it's going to take me 1 month, or 2 tops, until I find a job". Wrong!
And thus I am temping...again.
My situation is thus:
1. I have a great room in a not so great neighborhood. I am paying through the teeth for it each month,
2. I have no source of income and seem to be spending lavish amounts of money like Britney Spears,
3. I've been looking for a job for the last months...unsuccessfully. I was offered a job with unsatisfactory pay and decided not to bargain for a better salary because the position was not exactly what I was looking for.
So once again, ladies and gentlemen, I am temping. What is temping you ask? It is a mechanism whereby strapped-for-cash individuals get short-term, banal, unchallenging assignments for meager paid-per-hour salaries.
I am the queen of temping. I've done it long and I've done it hard. But I'm proud to say that I was able to quit temping cold turkey in favor of the various virtues of having a real job with a real salary.
Why are you temping now, What happened, you ask? Well, it seems that, with my French/English bilingualism, my masters in International Health from a reputable school, my 2-year work experience abroad, my enthusiasm and good recommendations from previous employers; I was getting a little too cocky. I though: "it's going to take me 1 month, or 2 tops, until I find a job". Wrong!
And thus I am temping...again.
October 19, 2006
Mountains O' Things
The life Ive always wanted
I guess Ill never have
Ill be working for somebody else
Until Im in my grave
Ill be dreaming of a live of ease
And mountains
Oh mountains o things
To have a big expensive car
Drag my furs on the ground
And have a maid that I can tell
To bring me anything
Everyone will look at me with envy and with greed
Ill revel in their attention
And mountains
Oh mountains o things
Sweet lazy life
Champagne and caviar
I hope youll come and find me
Cause you know who we are
Those who deserve the best in life
And know what moneys worth
And those whose sole misfortune
Was having mountains o nothing at birth
Oh they tell me
Theres still time to save my soul
They tell me
Renounce all
Renounce all those material things you gained by
Exploiting other human beings
Consume more than you need
This is the dream
Make you pauper
Or make you queen
I wont die lonely
Ill have it all prearranged
A grave thats deep and wide enough
For me and all my mountains o things
Mostly I feel lonely
Good good people are
Good people are only
My stepping stones
Its gonna take all my mountains o things
To surround me
Keep all my enemies away
Keep my sadness and loneliness at bay
Ill be dreaming, dreaming...
Dreaming...
--Tracy Chapman
I hope you'll excuse me for posting these (rather long) song lyrics from Tracy Chapman's song. Inexplicably, it has been popping in my mind for some time now. Here I am, back in the States for three (THREE!) months now, jobless still, and I have these unhealthy compulsions to buy, buy, buy. Yesterday, I was in a store, and seeing that winter is coming, coupled with my lack of good warm clothing, I decided to buy...two dresses. Wha???
I want to say that the advertisements, red flashy store letters, posters of impossibly polished models, and soft cardigans rows in the store fronts are all to blame for my lack of shopping self-control.
I mean, just take a look at the Container Store for crying out loud. Does any other country have a Container Store? No! Why? Because, other than Americans, needs to CONTAIN all the stuff they own. Case in point, the store sells the following items:
-Accessory storage hangers
-Clear plastic hat boxes--the website even says "our boxes are one of our most frequently requested items"
-Customized Gift wrap center boxes that slip under you bed--for the professional wrapper in you
And yet...and yet...What I wouldn't do to own all three items! I really need to get a job so I can get income, so I can spend it on Mountains and Mountains O' Crap.
And inside, I am afraid that it's not really the advertisements that lure me to the stores. It's a little mutation in a gene on the 19th chromosome that has transformed me into a shopping addict.
Please, oh no, doctor, tell me it isn't true, tell me it isn't true! How much longer do I have to live? 60 years? Oh god, nooooooo.
I guess Ill never have
Ill be working for somebody else
Until Im in my grave
Ill be dreaming of a live of ease
And mountains
Oh mountains o things
To have a big expensive car
Drag my furs on the ground
And have a maid that I can tell
To bring me anything
Everyone will look at me with envy and with greed
Ill revel in their attention
And mountains
Oh mountains o things
Sweet lazy life
Champagne and caviar
I hope youll come and find me
Cause you know who we are
Those who deserve the best in life
And know what moneys worth
And those whose sole misfortune
Was having mountains o nothing at birth
Oh they tell me
Theres still time to save my soul
They tell me
Renounce all
Renounce all those material things you gained by
Exploiting other human beings
Consume more than you need
This is the dream
Make you pauper
Or make you queen
I wont die lonely
Ill have it all prearranged
A grave thats deep and wide enough
For me and all my mountains o things
Mostly I feel lonely
Good good people are
Good people are only
My stepping stones
Its gonna take all my mountains o things
To surround me
Keep all my enemies away
Keep my sadness and loneliness at bay
Ill be dreaming, dreaming...
Dreaming...
--Tracy Chapman
I hope you'll excuse me for posting these (rather long) song lyrics from Tracy Chapman's song. Inexplicably, it has been popping in my mind for some time now. Here I am, back in the States for three (THREE!) months now, jobless still, and I have these unhealthy compulsions to buy, buy, buy. Yesterday, I was in a store, and seeing that winter is coming, coupled with my lack of good warm clothing, I decided to buy...two dresses. Wha???
I want to say that the advertisements, red flashy store letters, posters of impossibly polished models, and soft cardigans rows in the store fronts are all to blame for my lack of shopping self-control.
I mean, just take a look at the Container Store for crying out loud. Does any other country have a Container Store? No! Why? Because, other than Americans, needs to CONTAIN all the stuff they own. Case in point, the store sells the following items:
-Accessory storage hangers
-Clear plastic hat boxes--the website even says "our boxes are one of our most frequently requested items"
-Customized Gift wrap center boxes that slip under you bed--for the professional wrapper in you
And yet...and yet...What I wouldn't do to own all three items! I really need to get a job so I can get income, so I can spend it on Mountains and Mountains O' Crap.
And inside, I am afraid that it's not really the advertisements that lure me to the stores. It's a little mutation in a gene on the 19th chromosome that has transformed me into a shopping addict.
Please, oh no, doctor, tell me it isn't true, tell me it isn't true! How much longer do I have to live? 60 years? Oh god, nooooooo.
October 02, 2006
Back in the US of A
Dear All,
I am writing from my new room in Washington DC, where the weather is oh-so perfect and my windows are open. I can hear the clanging of a construction crew working on a recreation center, some heavy gangsta/hip-hop music, a car alarms ringing and ringing without let-up and kids playing basketball on the court next to my house.
What a change a few months make! I am loving the fact that I am back and slowly becoming acclimated to Mountains O' Things (as Tracy Chapman said so well): the 13 types of bread at Giant, spending a Congolese yearly salary on a room rental for a month, props and more props for the scary Halloween season ahead, rich succulent food heaped in mounds on my restaurant plate, containers I didn't know I need from the Container store. It's a little overwhelming at time and I find myself having to leave a store to take a breather outside in the beautiful weather.
I am still looking for a job, though I have decided to work part-time until I can find something decent because my money is dwindling fast. By the way, if you know of anyone working for a Health Campaign firm (one that works on Behavior Change), please let me know!
I was offered a job a few weeks back but the pay was not very substantial and it was located waaaaay in the middle of nowhere, Maryland. God dammit, I have a family to feed! Uh, actually that's a lie but it's a little linguistic tic I picked up in the Congo.
Other than that, life is peachy, thank you very much.
Best Regards,
007 in Africa
PS: Thanks all for your nice comments (especially that 70 year old man who can still speak Swahili-how cool is that?)
I am writing from my new room in Washington DC, where the weather is oh-so perfect and my windows are open. I can hear the clanging of a construction crew working on a recreation center, some heavy gangsta/hip-hop music, a car alarms ringing and ringing without let-up and kids playing basketball on the court next to my house.
What a change a few months make! I am loving the fact that I am back and slowly becoming acclimated to Mountains O' Things (as Tracy Chapman said so well): the 13 types of bread at Giant, spending a Congolese yearly salary on a room rental for a month, props and more props for the scary Halloween season ahead, rich succulent food heaped in mounds on my restaurant plate, containers I didn't know I need from the Container store. It's a little overwhelming at time and I find myself having to leave a store to take a breather outside in the beautiful weather.
I am still looking for a job, though I have decided to work part-time until I can find something decent because my money is dwindling fast. By the way, if you know of anyone working for a Health Campaign firm (one that works on Behavior Change), please let me know!
I was offered a job a few weeks back but the pay was not very substantial and it was located waaaaay in the middle of nowhere, Maryland. God dammit, I have a family to feed! Uh, actually that's a lie but it's a little linguistic tic I picked up in the Congo.
Other than that, life is peachy, thank you very much.
Best Regards,
007 in Africa
PS: Thanks all for your nice comments (especially that 70 year old man who can still speak Swahili-how cool is that?)
July 06, 2006
Taking a break from Blogging
Friends, family and readers...I am taking a little break from blogging. I wish you adventures, luck and frienships along the way!
June 22nd 2006
The trip back is long and hard as usual. Along the way, we manage to pick up two small antelopes and one large one with a freshly bloodied trachea. The driver puts them directly on top of our suitcases.
Along the way, we stop to give way to an old Russian truck and meet a cute little baby called Angel. I coo and awww and tickle her, when the dad asks me what I can do about her "condition". She has a frothy, black paste on her toes which turns out to be "la gale". One of the doctors explains how to treat this with local plants and general hygiene, and donates one of her medicated soaps. She also adds that these pimples are highly contagious. I wipe my hands on my jeans, praying that I haven't caught the disease.
We run into the woman who sheltered us on our last trip, and I hand her two dishes, which I bought in Kinshasa for the occasion. She hands me a little chicken, bound by its toes that I delicately accept and hand to the driver to store. He unceremoniously jams it under his seat.
We cross the river on the barge again, and I--covered in Antelope blood, chicken feathers, gale disease, and sweat--have left Kole forever.
Along the way, we stop to give way to an old Russian truck and meet a cute little baby called Angel. I coo and awww and tickle her, when the dad asks me what I can do about her "condition". She has a frothy, black paste on her toes which turns out to be "la gale". One of the doctors explains how to treat this with local plants and general hygiene, and donates one of her medicated soaps. She also adds that these pimples are highly contagious. I wipe my hands on my jeans, praying that I haven't caught the disease.
We run into the woman who sheltered us on our last trip, and I hand her two dishes, which I bought in Kinshasa for the occasion. She hands me a little chicken, bound by its toes that I delicately accept and hand to the driver to store. He unceremoniously jams it under his seat.
We cross the river on the barge again, and I--covered in Antelope blood, chicken feathers, gale disease, and sweat--have left Kole forever.
June 21st 2006
The whole participant group is loaded in an open-backed truck. We settle on the metal floor or suspended between the metal bars that form the skeleton of the roof. We negotiate the sandy grounds to get to the hospital for the practical part of the training. Suddenly, the men in front of me duck. Not realizing what is happening, I duck a second too slow and realize that low branches from a nearby tree along the road threatened to decapitate me…much to the amusement of passengers behind me.
We visit and inspect the maternity, the prenatal and postnatal consultation rooms. The prenatal nurse recognizes me and, by way of greeting, tells me I have gained weight. It’s shocking to admit this but I am a good 20 pounds heavier than most of the women in the room who are 8 months pregnant-and I weight about 120 pounds.
In the maternity, a mother is sitting on a cloth on the ground, crying her eyes out. I must look frightened because the women nudge me, saying that labor pains (or labor work as they say in French) are about 100 times more painful than period pains. This woman has a small stature. As a result, for cautionary purposes, she will have to have a caesarian. She is crying warm tears because, once again, she will not be able to give birth naturally. Not one is there to comfort her, not one is there to explain the surgery, no one has prepared her for this eventuality, even though she is a small woman and will have to give birth by caesarian each and every time.
The school kid that I have been waiting on since the 18th finally makes his arrival after a motorcycle ride to Tshudi Loto and then a three-day bicycle ride to Kole. I pay the bicyclist who brought him over $30 and thank him profusely. The child is happy to be in Kole and the sisters in the convent (who travel often) all recognize him, give him high fives and shake him with delight. He sits down, takes off his shoes, and massage his feet thoroughly. For someone who has never worn closed shoes, the three day ride with these tennis shoes were excruciating. He asks for someone to buy him flip-flops as he has not brought them over in his plastic bags of cloths.
The rest of the day, he eat meat and Chikwangue and hangs out with me. We cannot communicate but he demonstrates is halting new grasp of letters “ffff-fffo-kasu” (focus), “pppee-aa-gesus” (page) etc. I realize that he has not been learning French in his school and the lack of read material has impeded his reading abilities. But it’s obvious he wants to learn and grabs a few magazine eagerly to practice. I promise myself I will buy the school a few easy reading books in French when in France and send them over. I mull over the difficulty of getting them first to Kinshasa (plane), then in my office, and then to Lodja (cargo plane), finishing with Vango which is situated 15 km from isolated Lomela (probably by bike). Before I leave Kole, I make sure to leave enough money to hire a motorcyclist to drive him back the whole way and school fees so he can be in school another year.
My last evening with our partners finishes lavishly as they have invited me to a ceremony at the nearby convent. They have prepared a table full of food, the novices sing and dance my praises (by songs in which they have cleverly substituted my name). I am giving a simple wooden shield, a war ax, and a bright orange table cloth with the words “l’Union fait la Force” (Togetherness is our Strength—a very Mobutu thing to say) embroidered in blue.
I am asked to give an ad-hoc speech, which I do with hesitation, and end my discourse with tears and a clenched throat. I know full-well that, no matter how much I want to come back, the chance being back in this little town as slim to none.
We visit and inspect the maternity, the prenatal and postnatal consultation rooms. The prenatal nurse recognizes me and, by way of greeting, tells me I have gained weight. It’s shocking to admit this but I am a good 20 pounds heavier than most of the women in the room who are 8 months pregnant-and I weight about 120 pounds.
In the maternity, a mother is sitting on a cloth on the ground, crying her eyes out. I must look frightened because the women nudge me, saying that labor pains (or labor work as they say in French) are about 100 times more painful than period pains. This woman has a small stature. As a result, for cautionary purposes, she will have to have a caesarian. She is crying warm tears because, once again, she will not be able to give birth naturally. Not one is there to comfort her, not one is there to explain the surgery, no one has prepared her for this eventuality, even though she is a small woman and will have to give birth by caesarian each and every time.
The school kid that I have been waiting on since the 18th finally makes his arrival after a motorcycle ride to Tshudi Loto and then a three-day bicycle ride to Kole. I pay the bicyclist who brought him over $30 and thank him profusely. The child is happy to be in Kole and the sisters in the convent (who travel often) all recognize him, give him high fives and shake him with delight. He sits down, takes off his shoes, and massage his feet thoroughly. For someone who has never worn closed shoes, the three day ride with these tennis shoes were excruciating. He asks for someone to buy him flip-flops as he has not brought them over in his plastic bags of cloths.
The rest of the day, he eat meat and Chikwangue and hangs out with me. We cannot communicate but he demonstrates is halting new grasp of letters “ffff-fffo-kasu” (focus), “pppee-aa-gesus” (page) etc. I realize that he has not been learning French in his school and the lack of read material has impeded his reading abilities. But it’s obvious he wants to learn and grabs a few magazine eagerly to practice. I promise myself I will buy the school a few easy reading books in French when in France and send them over. I mull over the difficulty of getting them first to Kinshasa (plane), then in my office, and then to Lodja (cargo plane), finishing with Vango which is situated 15 km from isolated Lomela (probably by bike). Before I leave Kole, I make sure to leave enough money to hire a motorcyclist to drive him back the whole way and school fees so he can be in school another year.
My last evening with our partners finishes lavishly as they have invited me to a ceremony at the nearby convent. They have prepared a table full of food, the novices sing and dance my praises (by songs in which they have cleverly substituted my name). I am giving a simple wooden shield, a war ax, and a bright orange table cloth with the words “l’Union fait la Force” (Togetherness is our Strength—a very Mobutu thing to say) embroidered in blue.
I am asked to give an ad-hoc speech, which I do with hesitation, and end my discourse with tears and a clenched throat. I know full-well that, no matter how much I want to come back, the chance being back in this little town as slim to none.
June 20th 2006
After a long day of work, I am invited to dinner by the Spanish, Belgian and Philipino sisters. We have delicious wild boar (Sanglier) with home-grown tomatoes, onions and garlic.
We talk about the difficulties of the field (a perennial favorite) and a sister remembers the Rwandese soldiers pillaging the village. She and the Bishop had to flee to the forest for a month, fed surreptitiously by villagers. She decided to stay behind to continue working in the hospital and ended treating as many villagers and wounded Rwandese soldiers. She’s been in the Congo for the better part of 30 years.
We also discuss politics (another perennial favorite) and evaluate Presidential candidates which include the daughter of Kasa Vubu (first president in the early 1960s), the son of Mobutu (the nerve!) and of course Kabila the Father’s son.
I heartily admire a little carved, sitting stool they own. The Belgian sister grabs it from the wall where it is hanging, dusts it off, and thrusts it towards me as a farewell gift. I’m embarrassed by this generous gesture but can’t resist accepting nonetheless.
(A family of dogs lying in the grass in front of an office, the view of Kole when coming in from the road in the forest, the Belgian sister dusting off her old carved stool)
On the way back from the sisters place by motorcycle, I crane my neck for 15 mins just taking into the sky. Though the depth perception is amazing at night with no lights around, the heavens feel low and all encompassing. I catch glimmers of palm trees and rarely lit mud houses when the motorcycle beams hit the sandy road ahead of us.
We talk about the difficulties of the field (a perennial favorite) and a sister remembers the Rwandese soldiers pillaging the village. She and the Bishop had to flee to the forest for a month, fed surreptitiously by villagers. She decided to stay behind to continue working in the hospital and ended treating as many villagers and wounded Rwandese soldiers. She’s been in the Congo for the better part of 30 years.
We also discuss politics (another perennial favorite) and evaluate Presidential candidates which include the daughter of Kasa Vubu (first president in the early 1960s), the son of Mobutu (the nerve!) and of course Kabila the Father’s son.
I heartily admire a little carved, sitting stool they own. The Belgian sister grabs it from the wall where it is hanging, dusts it off, and thrusts it towards me as a farewell gift. I’m embarrassed by this generous gesture but can’t resist accepting nonetheless.
(A family of dogs lying in the grass in front of an office, the view of Kole when coming in from the road in the forest, the Belgian sister dusting off her old carved stool)
On the way back from the sisters place by motorcycle, I crane my neck for 15 mins just taking into the sky. Though the depth perception is amazing at night with no lights around, the heavens feel low and all encompassing. I catch glimmers of palm trees and rarely lit mud houses when the motorcycle beams hit the sandy road ahead of us.
July 04, 2006
June 19th
The trainers have organized a refresher training on Low Risk Maternity on topics ranging from generalities on the health system in the R.D.Congo, to Behavior Change Communication techniques, to prevention of and care of people living with HIV and AIDS.
The topic that commands to most attention from slumbering participants is the one on family planning. Proper male and female condoms techniques are illustrated, IUD are activated, and a cycle bead necklace is passed around.
She is a true feminist, extolling the virtues of contraception not just for reducing numbers of children but for allowing a woman to reach her full potential at work. She beseeches men to take an active role in their wives’ family planning and suggests—rather scandalously!—that the men acquaint themselves with their partners’ fertility cycle as well. The talks elicit “uh huh” and “that’s right!” from the midwives, and female nurses and gentle chuckling from the male doctors and nurses.
(The trainer is showing how to work an IUD, how to follow one's menstrual cycle using Cycle Beads and how to insert a female condom)
The trainers bring news of Kinshasa to the participants that are so isolated from the capital—the little news that some of them get is from the static-filled radio stations. The trainers talk of system-wide “greve” in Kinshasa to force the government to reconsider their salary. Presently, their salaries are a meager $10 a month…that’s if they get them every month (consider this: a very small apartment with one bedroom cost $35 a month).
As the training continues, there is a lot of discussion and laughter causes by the norms set by the Ministry of Health/WHO and the realities of the field:
1. The benefits of breastfeeding are apparent but policies are different if a mother is HIV positive. But let’s be honest, the majority of the hospitals don’t have counseling and testing centers. So, mothers are released and are rarely given proper recommendations on breastfeeding
2. According to WHO, there is an increased incidence of maternal deaths when assisted by a mid-wife. As a result, WHO has officially asked that mid-wives not be part of a health team. In a lot of instances however, a mother can give birth far from the health center or the nurse may be overwhelmed by work. By banning mid-wives, you’re taking away a person who has seen and assisted a lot of births. And you’re asking mothers to give birth alone or unassisted in a health center.
In the evening, I eat quickly, regal in a dessert (desserts are not often served in these parts) which is made from mashed Coeur de Boeuf (Bread fruit) and Maracuja.
The topic that commands to most attention from slumbering participants is the one on family planning. Proper male and female condoms techniques are illustrated, IUD are activated, and a cycle bead necklace is passed around.
She is a true feminist, extolling the virtues of contraception not just for reducing numbers of children but for allowing a woman to reach her full potential at work. She beseeches men to take an active role in their wives’ family planning and suggests—rather scandalously!—that the men acquaint themselves with their partners’ fertility cycle as well. The talks elicit “uh huh” and “that’s right!” from the midwives, and female nurses and gentle chuckling from the male doctors and nurses.
(The trainer is showing how to work an IUD, how to follow one's menstrual cycle using Cycle Beads and how to insert a female condom)
The trainers bring news of Kinshasa to the participants that are so isolated from the capital—the little news that some of them get is from the static-filled radio stations. The trainers talk of system-wide “greve” in Kinshasa to force the government to reconsider their salary. Presently, their salaries are a meager $10 a month…that’s if they get them every month (consider this: a very small apartment with one bedroom cost $35 a month).
As the training continues, there is a lot of discussion and laughter causes by the norms set by the Ministry of Health/WHO and the realities of the field:
1. The benefits of breastfeeding are apparent but policies are different if a mother is HIV positive. But let’s be honest, the majority of the hospitals don’t have counseling and testing centers. So, mothers are released and are rarely given proper recommendations on breastfeeding
2. According to WHO, there is an increased incidence of maternal deaths when assisted by a mid-wife. As a result, WHO has officially asked that mid-wives not be part of a health team. In a lot of instances however, a mother can give birth far from the health center or the nurse may be overwhelmed by work. By banning mid-wives, you’re taking away a person who has seen and assisted a lot of births. And you’re asking mothers to give birth alone or unassisted in a health center.
In the evening, I eat quickly, regal in a dessert (desserts are not often served in these parts) which is made from mashed Coeur de Boeuf (Bread fruit) and Maracuja.
June 18, 2006
A little bell rings energetically at 6:00, to get the sisters up so they can start praying at 6:30. Thankfully, I am allowed to sleep in until 7:00 in time for a breakfast made from soggy rice and tea. I feel like I’ve only slept for 1 hour.
In the morning, I notice a strong smell of petrol emanating from my body and realize that all my clothes sport large spot of gasoline. My thin travel backpack has absorbed a flow of fuel from the ill-closed fuel canister. I quickly clean my jeans and shirt as best I can, in a bucket of cold water, with market-made greasy clothing soap and hang them out to dry along with the sisters’ white underwears on the line.
The training for Reduced Risk Maternity (literally translation for Maternité à Moindre Risque) continues in the school room where doctors, nurses and sage-femme alike sit on kid stools and wait for the presenter to write on the blackboard.
In the morning, I notice a strong smell of petrol emanating from my body and realize that all my clothes sport large spot of gasoline. My thin travel backpack has absorbed a flow of fuel from the ill-closed fuel canister. I quickly clean my jeans and shirt as best I can, in a bucket of cold water, with market-made greasy clothing soap and hang them out to dry along with the sisters’ white underwears on the line.
The training for Reduced Risk Maternity (literally translation for Maternité à Moindre Risque) continues in the school room where doctors, nurses and sage-femme alike sit on kid stools and wait for the presenter to write on the blackboard.
June 17th 2006
This morning, I find that two bites on my back and bum from yesterday have swelled up alarmingly and one has even developed the tale-tell sign of fly larvae: a large red welt with a black spot in the middle. I show it to all who care to see and everyone seems to agree that there is indeed something growing beneath my skin.
The brother proposes to squeeze them out. I respectfully decline and ask a female doctor (one of the trainers) to do it instead. She applies gentle but constant pressure to the boils. It hurts terribly and all I can mutter is “Jesus, oh God, sweet Mary”. She finishes the deed and swabs the entire area with my antiseptic hand wash (it contains alcohol). I take a look at the cotton swab and see two tiny white grubs squirming lazily. I pull up my underwear, button my jeans and join the rest of the crew for breakfast.
We finally make our exit around 13:00 which, judging from the road conditions in this country, should make us arrive at 21:00 for a 220 kilometers trip. The 8-hour trip is its usually challenge, with two uneven footpaths making up what they call a “road”. I anxiously look at the mechanical dial and note that we tip the 30 degree angle (where the left wheel is higher up than the right) three times. Luckily, we do not need to hoe the road as the conditions are passable.
The the driver spots a small mammal (ciboulette in French) which he almost hits. He shouts in frustration and I learn with that he actually wanted to run it over to bring home to cook. We also stop briefly at his house so he can visit his family. I ask him which of the 15 kids are his. He exclaims “but they are all mine”. I first imagine that he is being all inclusive of his kids and his neighbors but later find out that they are truly all his kids belonging to 3 wives which all live on the same compound.
We finally arrive to the convent in Kole. Our dusty bags (the back door of the car didn’t close properly) are dropped off. Exhausted, I fall asleep in a foam bed, in a room where there’s just enough space to place a single bed, a table and a small dresser. The rooms are subdivided by small walls that do not reach the ceiling and I’m painfully aware that each gurgling sounds from my stomach can be heard by all the sisters and I fall deeper in a fitful sleep.
The brother proposes to squeeze them out. I respectfully decline and ask a female doctor (one of the trainers) to do it instead. She applies gentle but constant pressure to the boils. It hurts terribly and all I can mutter is “Jesus, oh God, sweet Mary”. She finishes the deed and swabs the entire area with my antiseptic hand wash (it contains alcohol). I take a look at the cotton swab and see two tiny white grubs squirming lazily. I pull up my underwear, button my jeans and join the rest of the crew for breakfast.
We finally make our exit around 13:00 which, judging from the road conditions in this country, should make us arrive at 21:00 for a 220 kilometers trip. The 8-hour trip is its usually challenge, with two uneven footpaths making up what they call a “road”. I anxiously look at the mechanical dial and note that we tip the 30 degree angle (where the left wheel is higher up than the right) three times. Luckily, we do not need to hoe the road as the conditions are passable.
The the driver spots a small mammal (ciboulette in French) which he almost hits. He shouts in frustration and I learn with that he actually wanted to run it over to bring home to cook. We also stop briefly at his house so he can visit his family. I ask him which of the 15 kids are his. He exclaims “but they are all mine”. I first imagine that he is being all inclusive of his kids and his neighbors but later find out that they are truly all his kids belonging to 3 wives which all live on the same compound.
We finally arrive to the convent in Kole. Our dusty bags (the back door of the car didn’t close properly) are dropped off. Exhausted, I fall asleep in a foam bed, in a room where there’s just enough space to place a single bed, a table and a small dresser. The rooms are subdivided by small walls that do not reach the ceiling and I’m painfully aware that each gurgling sounds from my stomach can be heard by all the sisters and I fall deeper in a fitful sleep.
June 16th 2006
I am still waiting in Lodja for the trainers for Safe Motherhood. I hope they arrive today as planned because, without a car and in a small town, I don’t have much to do. I’m almost at the end of my New Yorker magazine. Damn! I should have brought more reading materials. I also vastly under-packed in order to leave space for the various presents I plan to give our partners.
This morning it is cold and misty, I can see my breath. I have not brought a sweater and wrap myself in a bright pink Kenyan cloth instead. I look strange and mismatched but hey, it’s fashionable in the village to be wearing a patterned green skirt, with a polka-dotted torn red shirt, blue flip-flop and a yellow hair wrap.
In the late afternoon, the sister leads my through a large, dusty, busy market to buy items. This is for a kid for the distant village of Vango which I am putting through school. We buy a cheap pleather (plastic leather) suitcase, three second-hand pants, a fabric belt, four second-hand shirts, a towel, a year’s supply of soap, a year’s supply of clothing soap and a toothbrush + toothpaste. I am horrified by the expensive prices, even as the sister bargains them down. 50% of the used clothes are brand names I recognize from the United States, and 30% of those come from Old Navy. The sellers get huge balls of clothing for $100 and sell them in large markets such as these.
For lunch, I get the daily meal of fufu, rice and fish, improved by two roasted pigeons. For a French girl, it’s awkward to admit that this is the first time I try this poultry. It’s nicely grilled with Maggi bouillon cubes, and the meager pieces of meat taste delicious.
The afternoon is spent at the pitiful airport, waiting for two Congolese trainers from Kinshasa. Immigration officials pester me non-stop and ask me for $4 just to reach the tarmac. Besides me, people come and go freely without concern. After a futile attempt at getting angry and scowling at them, I walk away dejected, absolutely powerless to do anything about it.
During the day, I also go visit a depot we share with sisters (filled with boxes upon boxes of condoms. The afternoon gives way to numerous political debates and thoughts between residents of the hotel. They also discuss how campaigners have sent three city buses to Lodja, a city that has very poor roads and sand banks (during the rainy seasons, deep pools of mud water stagnate in the middle of the road)—and where they most likely will not run. This just reinforces their notion that politicians are completely disconnected from the realities of the field.
This morning it is cold and misty, I can see my breath. I have not brought a sweater and wrap myself in a bright pink Kenyan cloth instead. I look strange and mismatched but hey, it’s fashionable in the village to be wearing a patterned green skirt, with a polka-dotted torn red shirt, blue flip-flop and a yellow hair wrap.
In the late afternoon, the sister leads my through a large, dusty, busy market to buy items. This is for a kid for the distant village of Vango which I am putting through school. We buy a cheap pleather (plastic leather) suitcase, three second-hand pants, a fabric belt, four second-hand shirts, a towel, a year’s supply of soap, a year’s supply of clothing soap and a toothbrush + toothpaste. I am horrified by the expensive prices, even as the sister bargains them down. 50% of the used clothes are brand names I recognize from the United States, and 30% of those come from Old Navy. The sellers get huge balls of clothing for $100 and sell them in large markets such as these.
For lunch, I get the daily meal of fufu, rice and fish, improved by two roasted pigeons. For a French girl, it’s awkward to admit that this is the first time I try this poultry. It’s nicely grilled with Maggi bouillon cubes, and the meager pieces of meat taste delicious.
The afternoon is spent at the pitiful airport, waiting for two Congolese trainers from Kinshasa. Immigration officials pester me non-stop and ask me for $4 just to reach the tarmac. Besides me, people come and go freely without concern. After a futile attempt at getting angry and scowling at them, I walk away dejected, absolutely powerless to do anything about it.
During the day, I also go visit a depot we share with sisters (filled with boxes upon boxes of condoms. The afternoon gives way to numerous political debates and thoughts between residents of the hotel. They also discuss how campaigners have sent three city buses to Lodja, a city that has very poor roads and sand banks (during the rainy seasons, deep pools of mud water stagnate in the middle of the road)—and where they most likely will not run. This just reinforces their notion that politicians are completely disconnected from the realities of the field.
June 14th 2006
This is my last trip to the field and I am already getting nostalgic about the place. As usual, we are flown into Lodja on a nice plane by some polite American pilots. The plane is empty but for two of us, the pilot and copilot, so we are able to pack it up with flipcharts for community village activists, registers, tools for tracking Insecticide-Treated Net sales in the small health zones. This one trip alone saves us a lot of cash by reducing distribution of project materials from months to days.
A sister welcomes me at the airport. Just 10 minutes of standing around in the sun gives me a splitting headache. I just have the energy to make sure the porters don’t run away with our project materials and to hand the immigration man (my very best friend in the whole world) my Ordre de Mission and my passport. I don’t protest when the sister pays a bribe or when she reaches into her bag to pay the steep parking fee of $4 on the defunct airstrip. When I tell her she shouldn’t have paid this, she protests, explaining that these guys don’t get salaries and this is their only way to live. It’s hard to deal with bribing. On the one hand, you don’t want to encourage this ad-hoc, informal system of money flow. On the other hand, this is almost an official way to make your salary.
I arrive in the compounds of a Catholic-run “hotel”, visit my old friend Antonia the Bonobo—this always attracts fearful stares from Congolese men (which she often mistreats). I sit down with the brothers to eat. The meal is highly satisfying: fufu ball, amarentes leaves, and baked fish swimming in red/orange palm oil. I am well satiated and crash promptly to bed. I am awoken 6 times by phone calls from the office and never get to sleep my migraine off.
Since I always travel with copious amounts of Advil, pop two in and feel it very slowly diminishing. In the evening, we sit around the television powered by solar panels to watch the Soccer game. The brother explains that the battery will soon run out as this is the second time the TV is turned on to watch a match today. The World Cup organizers have no idea how much electricity is being used up in Africa just to watch their event. Little by little, villagers approach the hotel, hoping to catch the game. The brother grumbles at the disturbances but lets them watch nonetheless.
A sister welcomes me at the airport. Just 10 minutes of standing around in the sun gives me a splitting headache. I just have the energy to make sure the porters don’t run away with our project materials and to hand the immigration man (my very best friend in the whole world) my Ordre de Mission and my passport. I don’t protest when the sister pays a bribe or when she reaches into her bag to pay the steep parking fee of $4 on the defunct airstrip. When I tell her she shouldn’t have paid this, she protests, explaining that these guys don’t get salaries and this is their only way to live. It’s hard to deal with bribing. On the one hand, you don’t want to encourage this ad-hoc, informal system of money flow. On the other hand, this is almost an official way to make your salary.
I arrive in the compounds of a Catholic-run “hotel”, visit my old friend Antonia the Bonobo—this always attracts fearful stares from Congolese men (which she often mistreats). I sit down with the brothers to eat. The meal is highly satisfying: fufu ball, amarentes leaves, and baked fish swimming in red/orange palm oil. I am well satiated and crash promptly to bed. I am awoken 6 times by phone calls from the office and never get to sleep my migraine off.
Since I always travel with copious amounts of Advil, pop two in and feel it very slowly diminishing. In the evening, we sit around the television powered by solar panels to watch the Soccer game. The brother explains that the battery will soon run out as this is the second time the TV is turned on to watch a match today. The World Cup organizers have no idea how much electricity is being used up in Africa just to watch their event. Little by little, villagers approach the hotel, hoping to catch the game. The brother grumbles at the disturbances but lets them watch nonetheless.
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