Apart from the occasional theft and my perfectly rational fear of the after-dark, Dar Es Salaam, “City of peace” is enjoyably quirky city filled to the topsies with unique characters. Did you know, it is actually illegal not to smile 90 percent of the time? And even if that fact was true, they still wouldn’t not for niether love nor for money. I get greeted at an average rate of 2 people per ten meters (that works out at one person per meter.) People will literally throw themselves out of their way to smile at me or say hello to me or ask me where I live and how would I like to be their girlfriend. Cars slow down, people come out of shops, and entire conversations come to a screeching halt wherever I pass. I feel like a rock star. School buses are like greeting drive-byes, with thousands (or a dozen) of children shrieking out the window at me: “Mzungu Mzungu Mzungu Mzungu Mzungu! HiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!! How are you! Good morning! (Even though it’s the afternoom. Tsk.) MAMBO MAMBO MAMBOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” If the greeting is formal and warm I will always reply cordially: “Mombo!” Poa! “Shikamu!” Marahaba to you young one! “Habari?” Msuri my friend! “Mzungo!” Mbongo baby! Hey! Hey! Heeeeey! But any hint, any whisper, of a “Shorty”, “Baby”, “Amina”, “Fatuma” (generic lady names) or worst “Majuma” (a notoriously stuck up tv persona) and they will be greeted with my icy silence or/and a glare of choice. After two whole months of living amongst Kiswahili speakers, a third of what i I have learnt is comprehensive conversation whilst the remaining two thirds are, sadly, social greetings.
The Bucket System. I didn’t realize that I was going to live in a house without running taps or flushing toilets so I wasn’t prepped for the bucket system. Someone could have told me. My host home (for which i am very grateful) has : one standy-uppy toilet (watch your aim!), one bathroom with a bath, a cracked toilet and a sink, a small hallway that has another sink(blocked) and a large water container, and one kitchen with two sinks (one of which is blocked), one small water container and one more large water container, like the one in the hallway. To assist me in my hygene rituals are: one big red bucket in the loo (with a small scoopy bucket), two big white buckets, one big yellow bucket and one big blue bucket in the bathroom with two small scoopy buckets, four small, handled scoopy buckets next to the water container, three large washing bowls next to the hallway sink, one small scoopy bucket ontop of the small water container in the kitchen, one large jug on the large water container in the kitchen and , finally, three large washing bowls next to the sink. Lost yet? I have now succeeded in finding out exactly where I can and cannot wee, spit, drink, wash my body, wash my clothes and wash my dishes. But i am yet to get to the bottom of the biggest mystery of all: where is the toilet paper? with what and how do they wipe their bums??? I have come to two conclusions. 1) They use their hands. Reason for suspition: they are only allowed to eat with their right hand as the left hand is their "toilet hand", but I am not sure to exactly what extent the toilet hand functions as a “Toilet Hand.” 2) They use the buckets. I wouldn’t know how. And I daren’t ask for fear of a Three Seashells moment, á la Demolition Man: “Oh what? You don’t know how to use the three buckets? Hey guys! She doesn’t know how to use the three buckets! AHAHAHAHA. How common she is.” Oh well.
Wednesday 3 March 2010
Saturday 16 January 2010
Living in an African slum
I had my suspicions, covered in all that lush vegetation it was quite hard to tell. But it took good a week to confirm to myself that, yes, I was indeed living in a huge slum. I had researched Dar Es Salaam (a bit) on the internet before coming. Aside from the information on hotels and the odd back packer blog, I had read on wikipedia (that fountain of all knowledge, be it true or not) that Dar was one of Africa’s largest ports, that it hosted a multitude of cultures and communities, that it had a city center with supermarkets and post offices and, due to a government decision to push rural people into urban areas, Dar was suffering from overpopulation. I have seen overpopulated urban cities, like Tokyo, but I had never seen one in a (so-called) third world country. Africa is poor beyond words and Dar Es Salaam, 50% slum, is a true representation of Urban life in Africa.
The bustle of Dar consists of busy commuters and peddlers. Every third person on the street is selling something from broken shacks or street stalls: clothes, fruit, water, shoes. And the markets will sell everything else under the sun including the kitchen sink. Everything here is a commodity. You find people selling plastic bags for those markets goers who need something to put their goods into: if it has a value it has to be sold.
The Dalla dallas (public transport) will cram as many people as possible onto their broken, over used vehicles (which have a tendency of running out of petrol whilst on the go) in order to get as much money out of their round trips. One ride is half of 25p. The roads jam up at peak times, drivers show no qualms at driving the wrong way down the roads, habitualy cut each other up, and the tuk-tuks wheel their way in and out of the congestion making everything that much jammier. Whilsts stuck in the heat and the dust of a jam, you would be forgiven for mistaking the kissing noises numerouse peddlers make drawing attention to the bottles of water they are trying to sell through open car windows as they weave their way through the traffic, with the sounds of cicadas.
Putting your trust in a Dalla dalla to get you to your desired location is just plain foolish. They pick their routes depending on traffic, heavy rain and whims. One of my main frustrations here is having my night life cut short. I have been strongly advised by all to never attempt walking the streets at night. And the risk of a dalla dalla taking me several blocks too far from home after dark is too high to attempt. Even though I call it night, it is safe to say this is a city that never sleeps. There are no street lights off the main roads, only the thrumming vibrations of the light, life and music of the bars and the odd glow emitted by the single candle burning in every night peddlers' shack. Of course when I say it is a city that never sleeps, I have to omit my self from that equation. I am safe in bed. (what a wuss.)
Looking after your things is a must do. Every time I turn my back someone is trying to get into my bag. You must keep your bag on your front at all times and only carry the bare necessities. So going out with a camera or iPod is a no go. Try not to over pack it as they will think you have lots of stuff to take and try not to look white as they will assume you are filthy rich. Oh wait! I can’t rectify the last one so I have to double my attention. We’ve already had one successful bag snatch, one break in robbery and one nicked pack of fags.
Being Muzungu (white/strange man) is a source of great entertainment for passing toddlers, which is great, but it is also a cue for every tenth male in this patriarchal society that (mostly) thrives on rap (god help me) to make cat calls. You can’t swim in the water without having at least three guys come up to you and ask you what your name is, where you come from, where you are staying in Dar… One even hinted to Laura that he needed help with his tuition fees. I think they are looking for sugar mamas.
Having had my eyes opened for me to the utter shit Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania and hence the rest of Africa is living in has been quite an experience in itself. Running water here is scarce let alone drinking water. Children are being trafficked into the city for prostitution (i work with an institution that saves them). Apparently Kenya has the same crime rate but it has taken it up a notch to gun point robbery in broad day light. Zanzibar has suffered from a power cut since… wait for it… November! Apparently its electricity comes from just the one pipeline from mainland Tanzania and it is fucked. Hopefully it will be fixed by March. How nice.
Most people here share the school of thought that this poverty crisis is all the fault of "white" people (due to colonization, the slave trade and variouse trade agreements) and that we owe them a massive debt. Whilst this statement isn’t exactly fair, I can’t help but compare the two societies and agree that something here just isn’t quite Kosher.
NOTE TO MY MOTHER: don’t worry, I may be living in the heart of darkness but I am being completely and utterly protected from its evils by the combine power of my overprotective host family, my paranoid counterpart and our dutiful program supervisors. I can’t fart without a being risk assessed here and have at least twenty emergency contact numbers tattooed onto my person.
The bustle of Dar consists of busy commuters and peddlers. Every third person on the street is selling something from broken shacks or street stalls: clothes, fruit, water, shoes. And the markets will sell everything else under the sun including the kitchen sink. Everything here is a commodity. You find people selling plastic bags for those markets goers who need something to put their goods into: if it has a value it has to be sold.
The Dalla dallas (public transport) will cram as many people as possible onto their broken, over used vehicles (which have a tendency of running out of petrol whilst on the go) in order to get as much money out of their round trips. One ride is half of 25p. The roads jam up at peak times, drivers show no qualms at driving the wrong way down the roads, habitualy cut each other up, and the tuk-tuks wheel their way in and out of the congestion making everything that much jammier. Whilsts stuck in the heat and the dust of a jam, you would be forgiven for mistaking the kissing noises numerouse peddlers make drawing attention to the bottles of water they are trying to sell through open car windows as they weave their way through the traffic, with the sounds of cicadas.
Putting your trust in a Dalla dalla to get you to your desired location is just plain foolish. They pick their routes depending on traffic, heavy rain and whims. One of my main frustrations here is having my night life cut short. I have been strongly advised by all to never attempt walking the streets at night. And the risk of a dalla dalla taking me several blocks too far from home after dark is too high to attempt. Even though I call it night, it is safe to say this is a city that never sleeps. There are no street lights off the main roads, only the thrumming vibrations of the light, life and music of the bars and the odd glow emitted by the single candle burning in every night peddlers' shack. Of course when I say it is a city that never sleeps, I have to omit my self from that equation. I am safe in bed. (what a wuss.)
Looking after your things is a must do. Every time I turn my back someone is trying to get into my bag. You must keep your bag on your front at all times and only carry the bare necessities. So going out with a camera or iPod is a no go. Try not to over pack it as they will think you have lots of stuff to take and try not to look white as they will assume you are filthy rich. Oh wait! I can’t rectify the last one so I have to double my attention. We’ve already had one successful bag snatch, one break in robbery and one nicked pack of fags.
Being Muzungu (white/strange man) is a source of great entertainment for passing toddlers, which is great, but it is also a cue for every tenth male in this patriarchal society that (mostly) thrives on rap (god help me) to make cat calls. You can’t swim in the water without having at least three guys come up to you and ask you what your name is, where you come from, where you are staying in Dar… One even hinted to Laura that he needed help with his tuition fees. I think they are looking for sugar mamas.
Having had my eyes opened for me to the utter shit Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania and hence the rest of Africa is living in has been quite an experience in itself. Running water here is scarce let alone drinking water. Children are being trafficked into the city for prostitution (i work with an institution that saves them). Apparently Kenya has the same crime rate but it has taken it up a notch to gun point robbery in broad day light. Zanzibar has suffered from a power cut since… wait for it… November! Apparently its electricity comes from just the one pipeline from mainland Tanzania and it is fucked. Hopefully it will be fixed by March. How nice.
Most people here share the school of thought that this poverty crisis is all the fault of "white" people (due to colonization, the slave trade and variouse trade agreements) and that we owe them a massive debt. Whilst this statement isn’t exactly fair, I can’t help but compare the two societies and agree that something here just isn’t quite Kosher.
NOTE TO MY MOTHER: don’t worry, I may be living in the heart of darkness but I am being completely and utterly protected from its evils by the combine power of my overprotective host family, my paranoid counterpart and our dutiful program supervisors. I can’t fart without a being risk assessed here and have at least twenty emergency contact numbers tattooed onto my person.
Tuesday 5 January 2010
bongo a go-go
It was only when the plane landed in Dar Es Salaam airport that i suddenly realised i was going to Africa. better than that, i was already there! After six months of waiting i had grown used to the wait. the heat was the first thing i noticed. I stood sweltering in my high tops, boiling my feet, for a good thirty minutes before i was able to change into my sandals. After being greeted by the TYC officials (Tanzanian Youth Coalition, the Dar version of Foyer) we piled into an old, second hand Japanese minivan. The city is over populated with these small vehicles, or rather "dalla dallas" as they are called, which serve as the local bus system, and have no particular route, and only cost 25p a ride. You actually have to phsyically fight your way through to get onto one. If you want to queue, go back to England. Lucky for us and our oversized luggage, this one had been booked. No air con was available but the windows were sufficient as long as it kept moving. I peered out the window (or, rather, jammed my head right out to get as much air effect as possible) as we pull out of the airport and in the first minute I see three men on bicyles loaded with hundreds of eggs. It is seven in the morning and they are out-a-delivering.
To get a good idea of Dar life, one only needs a short bus trip down a main road. A two lained road with a seperate dirt track on either side (for the bicycles) seperated by a small stretch of grass and palm trees . These grassy bits are taken up by small huts and stalls, fruit carts, corn sellers, actual smalls plots of corn, the odd bike repair man, the occasional goat, hen or cockerel, garden furniture for sale as well as hudreds of animal statues and plants (i even saw three huge fish tanks filled with tropical fish,) drinking dens, women gossiping and men playing checkers. As you approach one of Dars millions of markets, the stalls and people thicken, the rate of crime goes up and you find yourself clutching onto your belongings for dear life. The people are poor (60% of women live in complete poverty) but everywhere you go life is vibrant. Off the main road, down the side streets, children are playing everywhere, women are braiding each others hair, and people hang outside tiny colourful barber shops (the size of Brighton an Hove beach Huts) and soda pop stalls . They smile and wave and chat to you and teach you swahili as you walk down the street. Being Muzungu (white person) we are novelties to be poked at, but they will also chat freely with tanzanian strangers. Strangers have no qualms with talking to each other here and children are completely free to roam and pull faces at you. Also tanzanian toddlers are so cute, I might just have to do a Madonna.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXzHzNNf_rUX6v7qFo_konJ4_96j8_qPcpRnS-7RRdU8psFCvOc3ZqGuepY2xNJKSuRe4kRdLcLLMIG6o_F2c1iuFB-HzcO6IRrzxrOM1UxCrrL2JOlo3LL4EnV2Xm28ivWonl6A9VAX4/s1600-h/DSCF0308.JPG
Next Blog: 3 pounds to watch Ivory coast vs Tanania- The madness and hayhem of an international football match in Dar.
To get a good idea of Dar life, one only needs a short bus trip down a main road. A two lained road with a seperate dirt track on either side (for the bicycles) seperated by a small stretch of grass and palm trees . These grassy bits are taken up by small huts and stalls, fruit carts, corn sellers, actual smalls plots of corn, the odd bike repair man, the occasional goat, hen or cockerel, garden furniture for sale as well as hudreds of animal statues and plants (i even saw three huge fish tanks filled with tropical fish,) drinking dens, women gossiping and men playing checkers. As you approach one of Dars millions of markets, the stalls and people thicken, the rate of crime goes up and you find yourself clutching onto your belongings for dear life. The people are poor (60% of women live in complete poverty) but everywhere you go life is vibrant. Off the main road, down the side streets, children are playing everywhere, women are braiding each others hair, and people hang outside tiny colourful barber shops (the size of Brighton an Hove beach Huts) and soda pop stalls . They smile and wave and chat to you and teach you swahili as you walk down the street. Being Muzungu (white person) we are novelties to be poked at, but they will also chat freely with tanzanian strangers. Strangers have no qualms with talking to each other here and children are completely free to roam and pull faces at you. Also tanzanian toddlers are so cute, I might just have to do a Madonna.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXzHzNNf_rUX6v7qFo_konJ4_96j8_qPcpRnS-7RRdU8psFCvOc3ZqGuepY2xNJKSuRe4kRdLcLLMIG6o_F2c1iuFB-HzcO6IRrzxrOM1UxCrrL2JOlo3LL4EnV2Xm28ivWonl6A9VAX4/s1600-h/DSCF0308.JPG
Next Blog: 3 pounds to watch Ivory coast vs Tanania- The madness and hayhem of an international football match in Dar.
Wednesday 9 December 2009
I Want To Culture You Up
culture. a word i spent threes years throwing around my mouth. what is it? how can we stopper it, put it in a snow globe which at a later date we can take out, shake and gawp at? my degree is a certificate that proves that i did indeed have a good hard look at its significance, but attempting to read a dozen ethnographies is nothing on the hilarity of a real live cross-culture exchange . the very first time i sat Maria (my Tanzanian housemate) down to enjoy her first experience of Friends (you might be familiar with the 1990's hit sitcom) she turned to me half way through, with a look of puzzlement on her face, and asked with complete sincerity: "But, Who is laughing?!" "Ah! uhm, yes, that is what we call canned laughter. sometimes there is an audience, and sometimes they put on a previously made recording of people laughing". she arches her eyebrows at me as if this is the most insane thing she has ever heard. this is pretty much her general response to any explanation i have for our culture.
Upon watching Mars attacks i had to explain to her our concept of "Aliens": "things that live in outer space, that we are not quite sure exist, but if they do we are 99.9999% sure they are going to come here and fuck everything up. stereotypically small and green. though as you may have noticed, mars attacks is an ironic parody of 1960s sci fi. follow me yet?" "no."
Upon telling her that were going to help steward a sponsored Santa Run (where a few hundred Aberdonians dress up in santa suits and run a few miles around the city for charity to the sound of Wham's "Last Christmas".) "Who is this santa clause??" "well, uhm, Ok. he is st nick! or father christmass. yes. uhm he is a fat man in a red suit and he brings presents to little children, bringing joy to many!! but not if they are bad! oh no no no!! only if they are good!" silence "and he appears at this time of year because... well he is related with Christmas (though I'm not sure how exactly) and, we all like him because we like Christmas, and we like Christmas because of the presents and the family gathering..." Maria, who is a devout Christian, does not look convinced. (laughing nervously) "in fact I'm not sure why we celebrate Christmas at all! i personally think it should be renamed the Winter festival for PC reasons. really Christmas is just a time for consumerism, greed and waste, symbolic of the globalist capitalist world in which we are now forced to live in and anyway, originally Santa was green and not red but coca cola turned him red which proves my point!" she has stopped listening to me by this point, having learnt by now exactly when to tune out of my ramblings of insanity. who can blame her? i confuse myself.
anyways, wedensday was a mini celebration for myself because successfully managed turned her to the teen-angst-emo vampire phenomenon that is Twilight (though this did not prove to be too hard, she being a girl and all). That evening she, I, and five other GX gal-pals went to see, and shamelessly enjoy, the epic blockbuster New Moon at the Cineworld cinema. Huzzah! (We would have gone to The Belmont, our local, independent, and thus more ethically correct cinema. But for reasons that are beyond me it was not showing it.)
I am ever so glad that it is I, Harriet Jane Thompson who gets to expose my humble, yet ever-curious Tanzanian visitor Maria Mbughuni, to the true fruits of our wonderfully rich and diverse Culture. Whatever that may be.
Upon watching Mars attacks i had to explain to her our concept of "Aliens": "things that live in outer space, that we are not quite sure exist, but if they do we are 99.9999% sure they are going to come here and fuck everything up. stereotypically small and green. though as you may have noticed, mars attacks is an ironic parody of 1960s sci fi. follow me yet?" "no."
Upon telling her that were going to help steward a sponsored Santa Run (where a few hundred Aberdonians dress up in santa suits and run a few miles around the city for charity to the sound of Wham's "Last Christmas".) "Who is this santa clause??" "well, uhm, Ok. he is st nick! or father christmass. yes. uhm he is a fat man in a red suit and he brings presents to little children, bringing joy to many!! but not if they are bad! oh no no no!! only if they are good!" silence "and he appears at this time of year because... well he is related with Christmas (though I'm not sure how exactly) and, we all like him because we like Christmas, and we like Christmas because of the presents and the family gathering..." Maria, who is a devout Christian, does not look convinced. (laughing nervously) "in fact I'm not sure why we celebrate Christmas at all! i personally think it should be renamed the Winter festival for PC reasons. really Christmas is just a time for consumerism, greed and waste, symbolic of the globalist capitalist world in which we are now forced to live in and anyway, originally Santa was green and not red but coca cola turned him red which proves my point!" she has stopped listening to me by this point, having learnt by now exactly when to tune out of my ramblings of insanity. who can blame her? i confuse myself.
anyways, wedensday was a mini celebration for myself because successfully managed turned her to the teen-angst-emo vampire phenomenon that is Twilight (though this did not prove to be too hard, she being a girl and all). That evening she, I, and five other GX gal-pals went to see, and shamelessly enjoy, the epic blockbuster New Moon at the Cineworld cinema. Huzzah! (We would have gone to The Belmont, our local, independent, and thus more ethically correct cinema. But for reasons that are beyond me it was not showing it.)
I am ever so glad that it is I, Harriet Jane Thompson who gets to expose my humble, yet ever-curious Tanzanian visitor Maria Mbughuni, to the true fruits of our wonderfully rich and diverse Culture. Whatever that may be.
Thursday 19 November 2009
I HEART The WEA
So Thursday and Fridays i spend my time with the WEA, the Workers Educational Association. http://www.wea.org.uk/aboutus/index.htm It is over one hundred years old and is spread out over the whole of the UK (and even some of Australia.) So, what is the WEA? Well it is a center for education and rehabilitation. It gives a second chance to those who, for some reason or the other, may have missed out at achieving an education at an earlier stage in their life. The WEA also provides guidance and councilling to help them find a place in society (college courses, job placements etc.) All the members of the thursday class are middle aged and come from a variety of different backgrounds. I dont know exactly what it is they have been through (as they are supposed to approach you out of their own incentive, once they have gotten to know and trust you) but from what i have gathered it is a mixture of alcohol abuse, drug abuse, homelessness and long term illness. They are referred to the center by whoever takes care of them and are welcomed with open arms. The classes which run on Thursdays and that i take part in are the Scottish History class and Mellow Fruitfulness (which consists of foraging for food and cooking seasonal vegetables.) The teachers are enthusiastic (one of the history teachers is a never ending source of spooky aberdonian ghost stories) but the students not always so. Some of them live in their own worlds, suddenly interrupting the class with outbursts of statements that have nothing to do with the topic at hand. The teachers are patient with these but always encourage the class to focus on their work. Others remain withdrawn, with sunken eyes and a constant silence. They are left to brood on their own, never forced to participate. But if they do decide to participate, they are welcomed with smiles and encouragement.
On the whole the classes are diverse and energetically led. Enough so to see the same members return every week. Most enjoy the classes and the feeling of being educated, but some return purely out of the need to have a source of stability. Warmth and affection is always abundantly supplied by the staff who lead the classes (Claire, Ross, Annie and Graham.) The students feel free to approach them to discuss their personal problems and are free to visit the center any day they chose. Parties are always thrown with gusto on all the adequate hollidays (halloween, St andrews day, Christmas etc.) with baking, party treats and decorations aplenty. The center is a small town house, located in the center aberdeen, and emits a sense of homeliness. It's multicoloured walls are decorated with present and past students' art and IT work, giving one the strange impression of being in a childrens nursery. The effect is enforced by a plathora of plants and a large colourful cage which sits in the corner of the classroom and plays home to the two residential guinea pigs: Morag and Elaine (named after the admin staff, much to their distaste). The classes have to look out for the welfare of these two, cleaning out the cage and giving them food and water. This provides the members with a small and yet somewhat significant sense of responsibility. Ross has told me that when one of the members becomes agitated or upset, he can hand them one of the guinea pigs and the therapeutic effect is almost instant. The house is equipped with a large kitchen, a classroom with six computers and a shed load of arts and crafts materials, a "calming" room with a sofa where members can go to be on their own or have a one-on-one with the staff, and three small offices where the admin staff labour tirelessly over the promotion and maintenance of the aberdeen branch of the WEA. Every year is a new battle for financing as no trust fund will supply a particular charity for two years running. The money they are currently applying to Tesco for will barely cover half a year's wages for a part time member of staff. This is strange as the people who work here are some of the most dedicated and hard working people i have ever met. Ross actually runs a football club every wednesday free of charge because he simply can not be bothered to go through the entire mountain of paperwork it would normally have taken him to get the funding.
So how effective are these classes? From what i've heard, the WEA will run any class or group the government will pay for, from Literature to Literacy, English Language Classes for foreigners, reading groups and walking excursions. Aberdeen is home to such several institutions that will provide these services free of charge. But one of the main problems is that it will always be the same group of people, alternating the different classes and different institutions over different days of the week, they have done so for a few years already and will probably do so for some years more, never leaving the comfort and security that they are provided with here. The classes are supposed to be a gateway for people, a means to enter back into society (work, education, community, economy) but what is happening is that the people are building the groups around themselves to form their own version of a society. And though they can be encouraged, they can not be made to move on. But how big a problem is this? Does it matter if within a town cursed by heroin and poverty, a town which neglects the poor in favour of the oil elite, that one groups of unfortunates have found a corner of solace? As i have said, i only know a fraction of the gritty details of these peoples' pasts, so i find it hard to judge the situation. The staff seem to be the only people around here who have any inkling of what's going, so maybe if i stick around for a few more years or so, I too could begin to evaluate properly the ins and outs of a charity such as the WEA.
phew, that was a tricky post to write, i am now going to treat myself by listening to some much deserved devendra banhart and thinking of other things "put me in your blue skies, put me in your GREEEEEEEYYY!!"
On the whole the classes are diverse and energetically led. Enough so to see the same members return every week. Most enjoy the classes and the feeling of being educated, but some return purely out of the need to have a source of stability. Warmth and affection is always abundantly supplied by the staff who lead the classes (Claire, Ross, Annie and Graham.) The students feel free to approach them to discuss their personal problems and are free to visit the center any day they chose. Parties are always thrown with gusto on all the adequate hollidays (halloween, St andrews day, Christmas etc.) with baking, party treats and decorations aplenty. The center is a small town house, located in the center aberdeen, and emits a sense of homeliness. It's multicoloured walls are decorated with present and past students' art and IT work, giving one the strange impression of being in a childrens nursery. The effect is enforced by a plathora of plants and a large colourful cage which sits in the corner of the classroom and plays home to the two residential guinea pigs: Morag and Elaine (named after the admin staff, much to their distaste). The classes have to look out for the welfare of these two, cleaning out the cage and giving them food and water. This provides the members with a small and yet somewhat significant sense of responsibility. Ross has told me that when one of the members becomes agitated or upset, he can hand them one of the guinea pigs and the therapeutic effect is almost instant. The house is equipped with a large kitchen, a classroom with six computers and a shed load of arts and crafts materials, a "calming" room with a sofa where members can go to be on their own or have a one-on-one with the staff, and three small offices where the admin staff labour tirelessly over the promotion and maintenance of the aberdeen branch of the WEA. Every year is a new battle for financing as no trust fund will supply a particular charity for two years running. The money they are currently applying to Tesco for will barely cover half a year's wages for a part time member of staff. This is strange as the people who work here are some of the most dedicated and hard working people i have ever met. Ross actually runs a football club every wednesday free of charge because he simply can not be bothered to go through the entire mountain of paperwork it would normally have taken him to get the funding.
So how effective are these classes? From what i've heard, the WEA will run any class or group the government will pay for, from Literature to Literacy, English Language Classes for foreigners, reading groups and walking excursions. Aberdeen is home to such several institutions that will provide these services free of charge. But one of the main problems is that it will always be the same group of people, alternating the different classes and different institutions over different days of the week, they have done so for a few years already and will probably do so for some years more, never leaving the comfort and security that they are provided with here. The classes are supposed to be a gateway for people, a means to enter back into society (work, education, community, economy) but what is happening is that the people are building the groups around themselves to form their own version of a society. And though they can be encouraged, they can not be made to move on. But how big a problem is this? Does it matter if within a town cursed by heroin and poverty, a town which neglects the poor in favour of the oil elite, that one groups of unfortunates have found a corner of solace? As i have said, i only know a fraction of the gritty details of these peoples' pasts, so i find it hard to judge the situation. The staff seem to be the only people around here who have any inkling of what's going, so maybe if i stick around for a few more years or so, I too could begin to evaluate properly the ins and outs of a charity such as the WEA.
phew, that was a tricky post to write, i am now going to treat myself by listening to some much deserved devendra banhart and thinking of other things "put me in your blue skies, put me in your GREEEEEEEYYY!!"
Thursday 22 October 2009
Children From Hell
SOoooo after two weeks of orientation and finally finding out what work placements i was doing, i was ready to say bonjour to le monde réel. So Mondays and tuesdays I am supposed to help run a food co-op at the Fersands and Fountain commmunity center, and Thursdays and Fridays I join in with the Workers Education Association workshops. Only problem was, the lady who ran the food co-op died over the weekend. i know, sad right? So seeing as this week is her funeral, we were informed that we would not start on the food co-op till next week. but would we help instead with the children's holiday club instead? The children's holiday club is part of the community project and it provides the local children, aged 5-11, with a variety of activities which run from ten in the morning till about 4 pm. There is one paid youth worker, Dave, (think the awesome manta ray teacher from finding nemo , he actually yells "alllll above the skylaaaark" every time we get on a bus or a playground ride, awesome) and then there are a handful of volunteers, young hopefuls aquiring work experience in the aim of becoming social workers/teachers, and then there was me, and Nashir. SO, Jenny and Julius , our PSs, drop us off at the community center, Jenny saying "OH you'll have it easy today. its the kid's club!you're going to a movie" YAAAY!! i love kids movies, is it going to be Up? i will cry with happiness if we are going to see Up!! also i LOVE kids which is such a bonus.Jenny: "not sure, you'll find out when you get there". Arrive at the center. Jenny "this is dave, he will be running the workshop." Dave: "kids club eh? so i see they've thrown you in at the deep end!" wot? "Yeah we had 32 kids last week, each one of them got chucked out of the cinema". Jenny : "byeee!." ENsue two whole days of being physically as well as emotionaly abused by people who are half my height and cute as buttons. The blonde twins, they looked like angels, matching clothes, matching hair. they screamed throughout the WHOLE of Aliens in the Attic (which wasn't actually all that bad.) WHilst waiting for the bus, the children, despite being asked kindly and repeatedly not to climb over the cinema seats, cascaded down every single row, like some kind of sick water feature. A few of them even made the point of hiding in the ticket booth, refusing to come out, despite the insistence of me and half the cinemas staff, and drinking the staff's pepsi. THEN, we got thrown out of the botanical gardens. But, not before they had scooped out all the coppers from the bottom of the wishing pond, leaving a wake of terrorised goldfish, and then running off to the corner shop to buy what ever they could find that was made entirely of MSG and sugar. Then the park. But recalling even that with leave me with a severe brain hemorrhage. But i will tell you this much, there was some seriouse verbal and physical abuse.
Anyway. So what can be said? These kids are just a product of their destructive living environment. Fersands is an incredibly poor and deprived area. It's not their fault that they parrot every obscenity they witness in their neibourhood or household. They're just kids!
AT the end of the day, Dave confronted one of the mothers and explained that her son could not come to the following days activities as he had been swearing so badly. and what did she do? she laughed and shrugged.
They're not all bad, there was one girl who i positively hit it off with. But there are some that just seem beyond reach. The community center is important though. because it provides the kids with positive role models that they might be lacking at home. like Dave, a never ending source of cheerfullness and positivity. People that demonstrate that there is a life outside that of the drugs and gangs that they will eventually fall into. There are SOOO many good community projects here, and having been here for only a week, i have a feeling that i have only seen the tip of the ice berg. For example. On the second day, the activity that was run for the kids was by one that was called Blanc Canvas (i think thats the name...) an art based social project. Basically, the center that Fersands and Fountain is Based in is brand spanking new building, giving a home to many local social representatives. But, before, the project had been based in nearby portacabbins (outside the local school) for the past 24 years. Blanc Canvas's idea was to let the children go crazy and decorate the whole thing inside and out before it got torn down (i think its getting torn down tomorow.) Using a hell load of paints and marker pens, the kids were given an ideal opportunity to discover their creative side.
Thing was that that afternoon's activities had to be cancelled. as well as the following day's promised trip up to a mannor house. and that was all because they just didnt have enough volunteers. so the kids got sent home early. dissapointed. volunteers! these kids shouldnt have to relly on volunteers for their well being! they should have proper help. these kids even deserve psychological support ! but the money just isnt there.
oh well. next week they'll start school again and i'll do the food co-op. and i'll never have to see the little devils again. but what will become of them?
I'm afraid to say that le monde réel is just as terrifying and confusing as i expected it would be.
Anyway. So what can be said? These kids are just a product of their destructive living environment. Fersands is an incredibly poor and deprived area. It's not their fault that they parrot every obscenity they witness in their neibourhood or household. They're just kids!
AT the end of the day, Dave confronted one of the mothers and explained that her son could not come to the following days activities as he had been swearing so badly. and what did she do? she laughed and shrugged.
They're not all bad, there was one girl who i positively hit it off with. But there are some that just seem beyond reach. The community center is important though. because it provides the kids with positive role models that they might be lacking at home. like Dave, a never ending source of cheerfullness and positivity. People that demonstrate that there is a life outside that of the drugs and gangs that they will eventually fall into. There are SOOO many good community projects here, and having been here for only a week, i have a feeling that i have only seen the tip of the ice berg. For example. On the second day, the activity that was run for the kids was by one that was called Blanc Canvas (i think thats the name...) an art based social project. Basically, the center that Fersands and Fountain is Based in is brand spanking new building, giving a home to many local social representatives. But, before, the project had been based in nearby portacabbins (outside the local school) for the past 24 years. Blanc Canvas's idea was to let the children go crazy and decorate the whole thing inside and out before it got torn down (i think its getting torn down tomorow.) Using a hell load of paints and marker pens, the kids were given an ideal opportunity to discover their creative side.
Thing was that that afternoon's activities had to be cancelled. as well as the following day's promised trip up to a mannor house. and that was all because they just didnt have enough volunteers. so the kids got sent home early. dissapointed. volunteers! these kids shouldnt have to relly on volunteers for their well being! they should have proper help. these kids even deserve psychological support ! but the money just isnt there.
oh well. next week they'll start school again and i'll do the food co-op. and i'll never have to see the little devils again. but what will become of them?
I'm afraid to say that le monde réel is just as terrifying and confusing as i expected it would be.
Tuesday 13 October 2009
Week 1
So, there is a place. It is far, faaaaaarr away from the home i call Brighton. It's name: Aberdeen. aka the Granite city (it was also once called the Silver city due to the shimmer the granite gave off under the sunlight. i think i prefer this slightly, less depressing-sounding nickname. and so it shall be silver.) It is indeed very grey. filled with many old churches. all grey. and great big town buildings. grey too. colour does appear here and there in the form of parks, shopping centers and pubs. did i tell you the churches are now pubs and clubs too? well if i didnt then here it is: they are. well not all of them, but a fair few. i've also seen churches transform into flats! i first noticed this when i saw several sky dished poking out the side of one of them. SO that is aberdeen so far. it also has a sea front which i havent figured an easy way to yet, an old fair ground and many many council estates. Also pretty much all the city is some how or the other funded by it's off-shore oil industry.
The HQ for all the community based projects we have been delegated is a rather impressive organisation called Foyer. Foyer is located in several buildings across aberdeen and is the center for all those who are unemployed and down on their luck. The organisation provides facilities and resources in the form of motivation groups, job-seeking aids, band rooms, sports facilities, and other sorts of clubs which i am yet to discover.
The two men from foyer who are guiding us through the ins and outs of the local charities and support groups are two jolly scotts called Dave and Larry (or Tweedledum and Tweedledee as our project supervisor, Jenny, calls them due to similarities in their physiques.) You can tell that these two are in the know when it comes to social work. Though they are always cheerful, always winding us and each other up, they are deadly seriouse about, and steadfastly commited to their line of work. Larry confessed that he barely had a home life due to the emount of time he dedicates to his job. Dave had spent about twelve years working for the oil companies before deciding to change his line of work to social work and has never been happy. They dont lie about the hardships of their jobs but both are incredibly inspiring characters.
The GX Project supervisors (PSs) are Jenny (25) and Julius. Jenny is the UK PS. She did the GX exchange herself only two years ago (she went to malawi where, she claims, the only thing she could buy with her weekly allowance was ice cream). having just completed her masters in international development at soas, she only just got offered the job position this july. She is incredibly sweet and i can see that she really wants this to work. The PS's carry so much responsibility (us) and they have so many people to please (VSO, GX, the british council, the woodland trust ...) and they have so much to do (make sure we get our jabs, find the volunteer placements, make sure we are housed and fed and happy, and basically everything else under the sun). Julius is our Tanzanian PS and we still dont know what he has in store for us when we go to dar es salaam. Julius has spent a lot of time working for other international community based work exchanges in Tanzania. i'm not sure if this is his first GX.
My GX peers: everyone on the exchange is friendly and really excited about the project. the uk people i had already met but we are still getting to know each other. The tanzanians are extremely friendly and playful. They have already taught us a series of dances and songs (which we performed to a room full of people at the launch. we also did the hokey kokey and "saturday night and i like the way you move" because none of us knew how to morris dance or do a kaley.) We dont start our work placements till next week as the first two weeks are dedicated to the likes of team building, health and safety, project, placement and city orientation. We spend most our time at the foyer listening to the seminars, engaging in group talks, discussing our fears and our hopes, and running around the room like mad things, playing what they call "energizers" (or what i call "games.") We are all nervous about the next six months. how our are relationships going to unravel? the PSs hope that there will be no group splits. how are our placements going to be? Aparrently one of mine is in one of the most depraved areas of aberdeen, Fairsands, and, being from an extremely priviledged and protected background, i am anxious to see how i deal with it.
So that is pretty much all of it so far, oh wait i am also living with a lovely elderly lady called agnes whose house is all cushions, lace curtains and freshly baked puddings. Apart from that i am going to live for the next six months with Maria who is one of the tanzanian girls, and will be working with a cheeky guy called Nashir.
I will try to update my blog as often as possible and mayhaps will try to slip in the odd joke or fun trivia fact to pep things up .
miss you all lots and lots and will pobably see you in six months as it looks like i will be christmassing in france. BON SOIREE!!!! XXXXXXXXXXXX hazzamungus
So far so enjoyable
The HQ for all the community based projects we have been delegated is a rather impressive organisation called Foyer. Foyer is located in several buildings across aberdeen and is the center for all those who are unemployed and down on their luck. The organisation provides facilities and resources in the form of motivation groups, job-seeking aids, band rooms, sports facilities, and other sorts of clubs which i am yet to discover.
The two men from foyer who are guiding us through the ins and outs of the local charities and support groups are two jolly scotts called Dave and Larry (or Tweedledum and Tweedledee as our project supervisor, Jenny, calls them due to similarities in their physiques.) You can tell that these two are in the know when it comes to social work. Though they are always cheerful, always winding us and each other up, they are deadly seriouse about, and steadfastly commited to their line of work. Larry confessed that he barely had a home life due to the emount of time he dedicates to his job. Dave had spent about twelve years working for the oil companies before deciding to change his line of work to social work and has never been happy. They dont lie about the hardships of their jobs but both are incredibly inspiring characters.
The GX Project supervisors (PSs) are Jenny (25) and Julius. Jenny is the UK PS. She did the GX exchange herself only two years ago (she went to malawi where, she claims, the only thing she could buy with her weekly allowance was ice cream). having just completed her masters in international development at soas, she only just got offered the job position this july. She is incredibly sweet and i can see that she really wants this to work. The PS's carry so much responsibility (us) and they have so many people to please (VSO, GX, the british council, the woodland trust ...) and they have so much to do (make sure we get our jabs, find the volunteer placements, make sure we are housed and fed and happy, and basically everything else under the sun). Julius is our Tanzanian PS and we still dont know what he has in store for us when we go to dar es salaam. Julius has spent a lot of time working for other international community based work exchanges in Tanzania. i'm not sure if this is his first GX.
My GX peers: everyone on the exchange is friendly and really excited about the project. the uk people i had already met but we are still getting to know each other. The tanzanians are extremely friendly and playful. They have already taught us a series of dances and songs (which we performed to a room full of people at the launch. we also did the hokey kokey and "saturday night and i like the way you move" because none of us knew how to morris dance or do a kaley.) We dont start our work placements till next week as the first two weeks are dedicated to the likes of team building, health and safety, project, placement and city orientation. We spend most our time at the foyer listening to the seminars, engaging in group talks, discussing our fears and our hopes, and running around the room like mad things, playing what they call "energizers" (or what i call "games.") We are all nervous about the next six months. how our are relationships going to unravel? the PSs hope that there will be no group splits. how are our placements going to be? Aparrently one of mine is in one of the most depraved areas of aberdeen, Fairsands, and, being from an extremely priviledged and protected background, i am anxious to see how i deal with it.
So that is pretty much all of it so far, oh wait i am also living with a lovely elderly lady called agnes whose house is all cushions, lace curtains and freshly baked puddings. Apart from that i am going to live for the next six months with Maria who is one of the tanzanian girls, and will be working with a cheeky guy called Nashir.
I will try to update my blog as often as possible and mayhaps will try to slip in the odd joke or fun trivia fact to pep things up .
miss you all lots and lots and will pobably see you in six months as it looks like i will be christmassing in france. BON SOIREE!!!! XXXXXXXXXXXX hazzamungus
So far so enjoyable
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