tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67865282024-03-18T20:26:41.962-07:00Nothing SpecialThis will all be on the exam.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.comBlogger775125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-82600045762027793162012-03-25T14:30:00.003-07:002012-03-26T08:45:39.500-07:00Spoilers Ahoy!: Thoughts on "The Hunger Games"First, a confession: I re-read the book the day before I went to see the movie. I realize now that doing so was a mistake. I had a hard time focusing on thematic consistency---which is how I generally try to compare movies to their source books---because I kept getting caught up in nitpicking.<br /><br />With that disclaimer, here are my thoughts on the movie version of "The Hunger Games."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Good</span><br /><br />* Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss. She was perfectly cast. I did think she played Katniss a bit too hard in the beginning---we didn't get to see any of the fear and vulnerability that comes out early in the book---but I think that was more a failure of direction than acting.<br /><br />* Elizabeth Banks as Effie; Woody Harrelson as Haymitch; Lenny Kravitz as Cinna; and Stanley Tucci as Caesar Flickerman. The supporting cast was well chosen and well played.<br /><br />* Foreshadowing. I appreciated that the filmmakers saw the whole story---not just one book---and tried to weave in some elements from later books where they made sense (even if this might be confusing to those who only read the first book).<br /><br />* Gale. Or, lack thereof. Not that I have anything against Liam Hemsworth. I thought he was one of the better physical transformations into a character. But I was very grateful that the filmmakers played down the Gale-Katniss-Peeta romantic triangle. The movie could so easily have gone down the "Twilight" route, where the girl makes all her decisions based on a boy. Instead, the filmmakers stuck to portraying a strong, smart, resourceful girl who thinks for herself.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Bad</span><br /><br />* Josh Hutcherson as Peeta. This one was a big casting misstep. Hutcherson had zero chemistry with Lawrence, and the rest of his acting was equally flat.<br /><br />* Wardrobe, Hair, and Make-Up. The clothes were generally a letdown from what was described in the book. And the hair and make-up departments were a total fail in the arena. We're supposed to be watching a group of kids who are sick, injured, and starving as they fight to the death. But most of the actors remained fresh-faced and too pretty throughout. Peeta is supposed to be on death's door: pale, sweating, feverish. So why does he look like the picture of health? I get that they can't have a bunch of young actors starve themselves down for the arena scenes, but they could have at least given them some dark circles under their eyes, some bruises and scars, something that makes it look like they are in the arena---not the community park.<br /><br />* Character Development. Or lack thereof. Jennifer Lawrence, as noted, is amazing as Katniss. But she can't carry the movie alone. Yet, Katniss was the only character with any depth. As a result, the movie lacks any emotional punch. In the book, we get more about Katniss' relationship with her sister, Prim---how Katniss sees herself as her sister's caretaker---so the reaping scene is that much more powerful. We get more about the relationship between Katniss and Rue---that Katniss sees so much of Prim in Rue---so that when Rue dies, it is absolutely heart wrenching. The relationship between Katniss and Rue is also thematically important in the book: As Katniss learns more about Rue's district, it opens her eyes to the brutality of the Capitol. In the book, Katniss doesn't just mature emotionally but also politically, which becomes important for the next two books.<br /><br />* Violence. Or, again, lack thereof. I get that the filmmakers wanted to get a PG-13 rating. But I think they pulled too many punches. The one that really bothered me was the finale---when the muttations attack the final three tributes. In the book, the muttations have characteristics of the dead tributes, whereas in the movie, they are generic techno-mutts. Also in the book, the attack on Cato continues for hours; in the movie, it lasts mere seconds. Again, both of these elements are thematically important to Katniss' political awakening as she realizes the lengths the Capitol will go to ensure a good "show." I think a more creative director could have conveyed the sense of violence while still showing restraint in what appears on screen.<br /><br />* Flashbacks. I thought the flashbacks---to the mining accident that killed Katniss' father, to her memory of Peeta giving her bread---were too abstract. They didn't add to any understanding of the movie, unless you had read the books to know what was being referenced.<br /><br />All in all, I thought the movie was . . . okay. I do think the filmmakers focused too much on making a franchise, rather than a really good movie. They tried too hard to appeal to the teen crowd. The thing is, I think they are underestimating their audience. The books didn't become a phenomenon because they featured Teen Beat-worthy actors and simplistic storylines. The books are challenging, raw, sophisticated, complex. The books are political. And, yet, readers of all ages flocked to them. The filmmakers didn't seem to trust that the audience will accept these same qualities in a film.<br /><br />I also think---and this may be nitpicking---that the filmmakers ignored consistency in places where they could have thrown a bone to the fans. I know that the movie can't be a scene by scene replica of the books, and I do think that the filmmakers made some smart choices in where they cut and condensed material (e.g., cutting Haymitch's drunken dive off the reaping stage; condensing Katniss' early days in the arena). But they sometimes cut or changed things for no good reason. Why leave out the early scene of Katniss and Gale sharing a picnic in the woods? Why cut the number of tributes killed by the wasps from two to one? Why have Katniss off stage during Peeta's declaration of love for her---instead of on the stage, blushing and panicked? Why not have Katniss and Peeta's discussion on the night before the games take place on the rooftop? Why have Peeta throw the bread to the pigs first, and then to Katniss---which changed the scene thematically? The filmmakers seemed to be counting on the audience having read the books---see above, re: flashbacks, among other things---but then they didn't seem to care about getting the little details right---even though it's the little details that matter so much to the fans.<br /><br />Now that I've written all this out, it seems like I really disliked the movie. Which isn't entirely true. It's just that I liked the books so much more.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-77675830690174929002012-03-21T19:02:00.003-07:002012-03-21T19:20:44.110-07:00Top Ten Tuesday(ish): Spring To Be ReadI wasn't going to do my top ten this week. Quite frankly, I've spent enough time in front of my computer for the week. And, let's face it, I'm not actually going to have time to read anything I want to read until some time in June. But, if I lived in a perfect world and had time to read, these are the books that would be on my To Be Read Books for Spring.<br /><br />1. <span style="font-style: italic;">Pulphead: Essays</span> by John Jeremiah Sullivan<br /><br />2. <span style="font-style: italic;">Girlchild</span> by Tupelo Hassman<br /><br />3. <span style="font-style: italic;">Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth</span> by Margaret Atwood (This one has been on my TBR list for approximately forever.)<br /><br />4. <span style="font-style: italic;">There But For The </span>by Ali Smith<br /><br />5. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Book Thief</span> by Markus Zusak<br /><br />6. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Subversive Copy Editor </span>by Carol Fisher Saller<br /><br />7. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Shadow of the Wind</span> by Carlos Ruiz Zafon<br /><br />8. <span style="font-style: italic;">Beyond the Beautiful Forevers</span> by Katherine Boo<br /><br />9. <span style="font-style: italic;">I've Got Your Number</span> by Sophie Kinsella<br /><br />10. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Beginner's Goodbye</span> by Anne Tyler<br /><br />The hardest part of making this list was choosing from the long, long list of books I want to read. I've become addicted to the sample option for Kindle, so I have a growing number of "samples" stored up for when I do have time to read.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-51230484800337184872012-03-13T19:41:00.002-07:002012-03-13T20:16:20.969-07:00Top Ten Tuesday: Books on Writing and GrammarThis week's Top Ten Tuesday topic from <a href="http://brokeandbookish.blogspot.com/">The Broke and the Bookish</a> is "Top X Genre Books." I'm preoccupied with preparing my students to write their fieldwork assignments, so I've got grammar and writing on the brain. Hence . . .<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My Top Ten Books on Writing and Grammar</span><br /><br />1. <span style="font-style: italic;">On Writing Well </span>by William Zinsser. A classic, and rightfully so. I also highly recommend Zinsser's <span style="font-style: italic;">Writing to Learn</span>.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-style: italic;">Walking on Water</span> by Madeleine L'Engle.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-style: italic;">Writing Your Dissertation in Fifteen Minutes a Day</span> by Joan Bolker. A new favorite, this book got me over my writing blocks and into writing my dissertation.<br /><br />4. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Careful Writer</span> by Theodore Bernstein.<br /><br /> 5. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Art of Fiction</span> by John Gardiner.<br /><br />6. <span style="font-style: italic;">Getting the Words Right: How to Rewrite, Edit, and Revise</span> by Theodore Cheney. I'm not a fan of some of Cheney's other works (especially <span style="font-style: italic;">Writing Creative Nonfiction</span>), but this book is a great overview of the revision process.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-style: italic;">Garner's Modern American Usage</span> by Bryan Garner.<br /><br />8. <span style="font-style: italic;">Sister Bernadette's Barking Dog</span> by Kitty Burns Florey. An entire book on sentence diagramming!<br /><br />9. <span style="font-style: italic;">Negotiating with the Dead</span> by Margaret Atwood.<br /><br />10a. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Gregg Reference Manual</span> by William Sabin. A nuts-and-bolts workhorse of a book that lays out the basics of professional communication.<br /><br />10b. <span style="font-style: italic;">Words Into Type</span>. Another classic. <span style="font-style: italic;">Words Into Type</span> isn't so much about writing and grammar, but about the whole process of turning a manuscript into a final printed work. An extremely useful primer for would-be authors.<br /><br />I currently have in my reading queue <span style="font-style: italic;">The Subversive Copy Editor</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">How to Write a Sentence</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Writing Your Journal Article in Twelve Weeks</span>, so I may be adding to this list in the coming weeks.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-78802935363834724232012-02-15T13:59:00.003-08:002012-02-15T14:26:04.741-08:00Top Ten Tuesday: Books that Broke My Heart a LittleAnd once again I'm a day late and a dollar short on my Top Ten Tuesday. And I was going to give you this whole prelude about my back problems and how I can only sit for very short periods of time before PAIN---which is not terribly convenient for a graduate student---and how I spent Monday morning in traction but it was okay because the PT made a <span style="font-style: italic;">Princess Bride</span> joke before strapping me in. But it's been a long, hectic week---trying to catch up with all of the work I didn't do last week because of PAIN and the need to be flat on my back and the very large doses of painkillers---and I really can only sit for very short periods of time. So let's get to it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Top Ten Books that Broke My Heart a Little (or sometimes a lot)</span><br /><br />And I know that a lot of these are repeats, but I just really like books that make me cry. Don't judge.<br /><br />1. <span style="font-style: italic;">Marley & Me</span> by John Grogan. Spoiler Alert: The dog dies. And I just cannot cope with bad things happening to dogs.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Bluest Eye</span> by Toni Morrison. If you can get through this one without shedding a tear, you need to seek professional help. Really.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-style: italic;">We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with Our Families</span> by Philip Gourevitch. Genocide in Rwanda. Unforgivable inaction in the rest of the world.<br /><br />4. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Hunger Games</span> by Suzanne Collins. So much sadness.<br /><br />5. <span style="font-style: italic;">One Day</span> by David Nicholls. This one I won't spoil. Except to say: OH MY GOD THE ENDING.<br /><br />6. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Road</span> by Cormac McCarthy. I have a penchant for dystopian novels (especially YA ones), but God Almighty was this bleak. Well written and worth reading, but so very bleak.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-style: italic;">Amazing Grace</span> by Jonathon Kozol. Systematic neglect and abuse of the poor. Unforgivable inaction by the rest of us.<br /><br />8. <span style="font-style: italic;">Two-Part Invention: The Story of a Marriage</span> by Madeleine L'Engle. I love the whole Crosswicks Journal series, but this one---where she describes her 40-year marriage---is so tender and beautiful and heartbreaking.<br /><br />9. <span style="font-style: italic;">Go Ask Alice</span> by Anonymous. If we really wanted to keep kids off drugs, we'd make this required reading in every junior high school.<br /><br />10. <span style="font-style: italic;">Weep Not, Child</span> by Ngugi wa Thiongo. Beautifully written. Essential reading. But, wow, it left me just flat-out devastated for days.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Addendum: </span>After posting my Top Ten Books on Africa, I realized that I do have a tenth book. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind</span> is a fantastic memoir by a young Malawian man, William Kamkwamba, who manages to convey the harsh realities of a deeply impoverished nation without giving in to Afro-pessimism or oversimplification.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-43285057758345407832012-01-18T08:09:00.000-08:002012-01-18T09:45:02.967-08:00Top Ten TuesdaySo I'm posting my <span style="font-weight: bold;">Top Ten Tuesday</span> on a Wednesday. I really need to remember not to order the second margarita when I go to <a href="http://www.pasquals.net/hilldale/">Pasqual's</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Top Ten Books I'd Recommend to Someone Who Doesn't Read About Africa</span><br /><br />1. <span style="font-style: italic;">We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families</span> by Philip Gourevitch. The book is a bit dated; by now I would hope that most people have some familiarity with the Rwandan genocide. And it isn't flawless. But I think it gives one of the better accounts of the events and is a good source for starting to understand how the West both created many of Africa's contemporary struggles and continues to refuse responsibility.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-style: italic;">This Voice in My Heart</span> by Gilbert Tuhabonye and Gary Brozek. Despite what's been portrayed in the media and by Hollywood, the "Rwandan" genocide wasn't just about Rwanda. As Tuhabonye, an Olympic-level runner and sole survivor of the massacre of his schoolmates in Burundi, shows in his memoir, the violence encompassed a whole region and many of the victims, survivors, and perpetrators continue to be ignored. (See also, <span style="font-style: italic;">Strength in What Remains</span> by Tracy Kidder)<br /><br />3. <span style="font-style: italic;">What is the What</span> by Dave Eggers. Yes, another book on violence and genocide. Unfortunately, that's a lot of what is published about Africa in the West. Eggers does a solid job of sharing the story of Valentino Achak Deng, one of the "Lost Boys" of Sudan. For me, the real strength of the book isn't in its retelling of the violence that Deng faced in Sudan, but rather in its portrayal of Deng's struggles once he had arrived to the "safety" of the West. So often the story of refugees ends with "They arrived in the West and lived happily ever after," but as Eggers shows, that is far from the reality for many.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>4<span style="font-style: italic;">. King Leopold's Ghost</span> by Adam Hochschild. We used this in the introduction to Africa course for which I was a teaching assistant, and the students found it both accessible and eye opening. Hochschild examines the colonization of Africa through the example of the brutal enslavement of the Congo. It's a good introduction to a part of history that most of us never got in school yet is essential for understanding contemporary Africa.<br /><br />5. <span style="font-style: italic;">Weep Not, Child</span> by James Ngugi (aka, Ngugi wa Thiong'o). The debut novel of one of Africa's foremost writers. Yes, it is also about violence and colonialism (specifically the Mau Mau resistance movement in 1950s Kenya), but it is also a beautifully rendered coming-of-age story about a young man struggling to find his place in the world.<br /><br />6. <span style="font-style: italic;">Africa Since 1940</span> by Frederick Cooper. Much more academic than the previous books, but still a very readable and accessible primer on African history and the forces that have shaped contemporary Africa. Should be required reading for anyone engaging in humanitarian or voluntary work in Africa.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-style: italic;">Global Shadows</span> by James Ferguson. Again, a rather academic book, although written at a level that's accessible to your average undergraduate and doesn't require more than a cursory background on Africa (although I would strongly recommend reading the Cooper book first). Ignore the god-awful ugly cover and the boring title. Taking a more contemporary and broad approach to Africa, Ferguson considers Africa's place in the global community and, in the process, challenges simplistic models for understanding a complex continent.<br /><br />8. <span style="font-style: italic;">A Heart for the Work</span> by Claire Wendland. I promise: I'm not just recommending this book because it was written by my advisor (she doesn't even know about this blog---I hope---so I'm not actually earning any brownie points for this). Or because it's about Malawi. This is an extremely well-written book, and although its focus is on medical training in Malawi, I think it has a lot to say more generally about why so many African countries are so intractably mired in persistent, severe poverty.<br /><br />9. <span style="font-style: italic;">Half of a Yellow Sun</span> by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Like Ngugi, Adichie both depicts a specific historical moment---in this case, the Biafran war---and weaves a beautiful, timeless epic that transcends its setting.<br /><br />10. TBD. I'm not sure how to interpret that I can't come up with a tenth book to recommend for people who don't normally read about Africa. Have I just not read sufficiently myself? Certainly that's true, particularly for fiction and creative works. Or is there a lack of good books about Africa that are accessible to general readers? I think that's also true, especially for nonfiction books. I have pages and pages of African Studies references, but most of the books are (1) dead boring, (2) deeply flawed, or (3) both. There just aren't a lot of books out there---at least, that I know of---that are both well written and rigorously researched.<br /><br />A few that I thought about recommending include <span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Compassion Fatigue</span> by Susan Moeller; <span style="font-style: italic;">The Road to Hell </span>by Michael Maren; and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Lords of Poverty</span> by Graham Hancock. These are all highly readable, provocative books that reframe much of what we think we know about contemporary Africa and particularly about humanitarism. But they are also very polemical---and are quickly becoming outdated---so I wouldn't put them on a top-ten list. (Although I would definitely recommend reading any of them once you've finished the top ten or if you have a solid background in African Studies and can approach them with a more critical eye.)<br /><br />Anything you would add/remove/qualify?Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-15752708685083389892012-01-10T17:52:00.000-08:002012-01-10T18:33:02.199-08:00Top Ten Tuesday<span style="font-weight: bold;">10 Authors I Wish Would Write Another Book</span><br /><br />I (almost) always enjoy writing about books, but this week's <span style="font-weight: bold;">Top Ten Tuesday</span> from <a href="http://brokeandbookish.blogspot.com/">The Broke and the Bookish</a> was more fun than usual. In trying to narrow down the list to just ten, I looked up various authors' bibliographies and was reminded of the many, many books that some of my favorite authors have written but I haven't yet read (despite having a good number of those titles in my home library). And I found a few that having upcoming novels that I didn't know about (New Toni Morrison! Yay!).<br /><br />So now I have an even longer list of To Be Read Books to keep me occupied while I wait for the following authors to produce new works:<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Margaret Atwood</span>. Based on her Twitter updates, Atwood is working on a new novel, and I CANNOT WAIT.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Madeleine L'Engle</span>. In particular, I wish she would have written a fifth installment in her Crosswicks Journal before leaving us.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Jonathan Kozol.</span> One of the best writers on education and poverty. We desperately need his perspective on the current policy environment.<br /><br />4. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Bonnie Jo Campbell.</span> Loved <span style="font-style: italic;">Once Upon a River</span>. LOVED <span style="font-style: italic;">American Salvage</span>. Campbell needs to write more, right now.<br /><br />5. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Joanna Kavenna.</span> Like Campbell, Kavenna has a gift for devestatingly bleak realism. More please!<br /><br />6. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Marjane Satrapi.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Persepolis</span> is one of my all-time favorite books, and I think it's been time enough for her to add Vol. 3.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Michael Pollan.</span> As much as I love his writing on food systems, I'd really like for him to apply his enthusiasm and engaging writing to a new topic.<br /><br />8. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Jeffrey Eugenides.</span> So including Eugenides is a bit unfair because he did just release <span style="font-style: italic;">The Marriage Plot</span> a couple of months ago. But I'm already itching for his next one. Please don't make us wait another nine years!<br /><br />9. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Muriel Barbery.</span> Her fantastically absurb and whimsical novels are a nice antidote to aforementioned bleak realism.<br /><br />10. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Tim Gunn.</span> Because we can never have enough Gunn in our lives.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-67962865237256047792011-12-06T15:58:00.000-08:002011-12-06T16:26:50.215-08:00Top Ten Tuesday: Childhood FavoritesYet again, I'm ridiculously swamped with school work and can't even fathom how I'm going to get it all done. And so, yet again, I'm spending my time making a list of books.<br /><br />This week's Top Ten Tuesday theme from <a href="http://brokeandbookish.blogspot.com/">The Broke and the Bookish</a> is childhood favorites.<br /><br />1. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Egypt Game</span> by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. My absolute, all-time favorite childhood book.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-style: italic;">Homecoming</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Dicey's Song </span>by Cynthia Voigt. I reread these a few years ago, and they held up surprisingly well.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-style: italic;">From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler</span> by E.L. Konigsburg. A mystery in a museum? Yes, please!<br /><br />4. Nancy Drew Mysteries (original series) by Carolyn Keene. I have very specific and fond memories of laying in bed with a Nancy Drew mystery and a glass of milk. I read my mom's old copies, and I was devastated when I found out that my grandmother had gotten rid of them when she cleaned out her attic.<br /><br />5. & 6. The Babysitter's Club and Sweet Valley High series. I was such a sucker for a series. Still am. There was also a series about ballet students that I loved, but I can't remember the title.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-style: italic;">A Wrinkle in Tim</span>e by Madeleine L'Engle. The beginning of a lifelong love of L'Engle. As an adult, I've reread her Crosswicks Journals many times.<br /><br />8. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Grinch Who Stole Christmas</span> by Dr. Seuss. I used to make my sister read this to me every Christmas.<br /><br />9. <span style="font-style: italic;">Where the Sidewalk Ends</span> by Shel Silverstein.<br /><br />10. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Poky Little Puppy</span> by Janette Sebring Lowrey. My mom used to call me the Poky Little Puppy, so I have a particular attachment to this book.<br /><br />Bonus: The Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Anderson. I had a beautiful edition---a yellow cover with an ornate drawing---that I loved as much for the aesthetics of the book as for the content.<br /><br />Bonus Bonus: Two YA books that I've read as an adult and loved---<span style="font-style: italic;">The Hunger Games</span> trilogy by Suzanne Collins and <span style="font-style: italic;">What I Believe</span> by Norma Fox Mazer.<br /><br />What are some of your favorites?Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-26864759360288260422011-11-30T18:21:00.001-08:002011-11-30T18:52:57.596-08:00Top Ten Tuesday: Winter ReadingI *should* be working on any of the many school projects that are crowding my calendar for the next two-and-one-half weeks. Instead, I'm going to join in with <a href="http://brokeandbookish.blogspot.com/">The Broke and the Bookish's</a> Top Ten Tuesday and plan my winter reading.<br /><br />1. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Marriage Plot</span> by Jeffrey Eugenides. I've already started this one---a library copy that's now about two weeks overdue---and am already enjoying it.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-style: italic;">Modelland</span> by Tyra Banks. Oh yeah.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-style: italic;">Who Fears Death</span> by Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu. I've checked this one out, renewed it until I ran out of renewals, and rechecked it out for the past couple of months.<br /><br />4. <span style="font-style: italic;">One Day I Will Write About This Place</span> by Binyavanga Wainaina. This book and the above are also part of my Read More Books by Africans project.<br /><br />5. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian</span> by Sherman Alexie. Another long timer on the to-be-read pile that will come off the pile over winter break.<br /><br />6. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Magician King</span> by Lev Grossman. I finally finished re-reading The Magicians, so now time for the sequel.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-style: italic;">A Visit from the Goon Squad</span> by Jennifer Egan. I downloaded this one ages ago after reading loads of good review.<br /><br />8. <span style="font-style: italic;">A Game of Thrones</span> by George R. R. Martin. Usually too much hype makes me run the opposite direction (hence why I've never read the Harry Potter books), but I'm willing to give in and try this one.<br /><br />9. <span style="font-style: italic;">Beauty Queens</span> by Libby Bray. Winter break requires some no-brainer reading.<br /><br />10. <span style="font-style: italic;">Spoiled</span> by Heather Cocks and Jessica Morgan. Ditto.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-86242365769725804972011-10-14T16:50:00.000-07:002011-10-14T17:22:37.494-07:00Lighting CandlesTo completely misappropriate a phrase: It's better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.<br /><br />So I haven't quit grad school. Raise your hand if you're surprised.<br /><br />No one?<br /><br />Yeah, me either.<br /><br />Disentangling myself from school is mentally complicated. It means letting go ideas of myself. Letting go of others' expectations of me. Giving myself permission to admit I made a mistake, which is <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> difficult for me. I'll put myself through hell and back---staying in a damaging relationship way too long, spending almost two years miserable on two continents, another two years deeply unhappy in Texas---rather than admit that I made a bad choice.<br /><br />It's also logistically complicated. Grad school is currently providing my income (meager as it is) and health insurance.<br /><br />So I haven't quit grad school. What I am doing is lighting candles. I'm updating my CV, checking job sites, putting out word that I'm looking for editing work. I'm looking into my options for a leave of absence or going part-time or just making a clean break.<br /><br />So I haven't quit grad school, but I'm taking baby steps toward it. Creating the conditions that would make it possible.<br /><br />Scary stuff.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-72707413013139389852011-09-14T15:36:00.000-07:002011-09-14T16:14:25.270-07:00And It's Only the Second WeekSomeone talk me out of quitting grad school.<br /><br />Or talk me into it.<br /><br />I'm not sure which option I want to be convinced of.<br /><br />**********<br /><br />I'm trying to remember why I started grad school. I have some vague notion that I wanted to work more directly on issues of development, social justice, and Africa; that I wanted to write my own material, not just edit other people's work; that I couldn't get where I wanted to go without a master's degree.<br /><br />**********<br /><br />Now, here I am, in my <span style="font-style: italic;">sixth</span> year of grad school. I have a master's degree and an ABD (which WILL become a PhD), and I'm starting a second master's degree. I also have a mountain of debt, a semi-permanent scowl, and a growing sense that somewhere along the line, I've lost the plot.<br /><br />I came to grad school to get a master's degree in anthropology. I stayed because I passed my qualifying exams and the next "logical" step was to continue with the PhD. I wrote grant applications and preliminary exams because I was in the PhD program. I went to the field because I got a grant. I'm writing a dissertation because I went to the field.<br /><br />At some point, grad school stopped being an active choice that I was making toward a goal and became a process in which I'm a passive participant. I do things because they are "what one does," rather than because I want to or need to.<br /><br />**********<br /><br />I'm no longer sure why I'm writing a dissertation, why I'm in library school, why I'm giving up any form of a life, digging a deeper hole of debt, and generally making myself miserable.<br /><br />**********<br /><br />I really like editing. It's one of the few things I will claim to be very good at. Better than most, even. AND I have a proven history of getting jobs as an editor. I'm not quite sure why I ever left it.<br /><br />Would I be entirely lame if, after more than five years of grad school, I went back to where I was before? (Not exactly where I was before; I have no desire to live in Austin again. Sorry, Austin folks!)<br /><br />**********<br /><br />Someone make the decision for me. I've had to make entirely too many decisions lately.<br /><br />(For those keeping score: I bought a cheap chest of drawers instead of any of the furniture sets I was considering, and I'm painting the office "Aerospace," and I'm putting the chalkboard on the shorter wall, and I'm getting bookcases from Target instead of building in bookshelves, and I'm keeping my fourth course in library school instead of dropping down to three, and . . . see, LOTS of decisions.)<br /><br />**********<br /><br />In an unrelated note: My keyboard is possessed. The left-hand shift key will no longer work with the asterisk key. It works with every other key. And the right-hand shift key works with the asterisk key. But for some reason, the left-hand shift and asterisk will not work together. And I can't put more than one hyphen in a row. Given my deep love for the m-dash, this new quirk is seriously cramping my style.<br /><br />Tonight might be a good night to hunker down with a large plate of tuna casserole and a good YA novel (which I can totally justify now that staying in my class on multicultural children's and YA literature).Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-67361892415414519812011-07-18T08:40:00.000-07:002011-07-18T09:03:42.673-07:00Summertime BlahsMore than halfway through July already? Really?<br /><br />Time flies when you are bored into a semi-comatose state.<br /><br />All that stuff I was going to do this summer---running, an African reading challenge, working on my dissertation---none of it has actually happened.<br /><br />***************<br /><br />One thing I did do: I auditioned for “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?”<br /><br />For years, my mother has told me that I should try out for the show. When she saw that they were holding auditions in Harrisburg, she said, “That’s it. No more excuses.” So I got up at 5:00 a.m. to drive the hour north to Harrisburg and be in line at 7:00 a.m., along with several hundred other hopefuls.<br /><br />The audition consisted of a multiple-choice quiz and an interview (if you passed the quiz). I have to admit that I went into the audition feeling rather cocky about the quiz. In preparation for the audition, I watched the show for a week, and although the questions were harder than they used to be, the people were just as stupid. Really. Some of the people who get on the show are truly, truly some of God’s dumber children. So how hard could the quiz be?<br /><br />I was much less sure about my chances with the interview.<br /><br />I’ve also been watching “The Next Food Network Star.” My favorites are Jyll and Whitney. I like their low-key, friendly, real-life attitudes. They are the kind of girls with whom I’d like to crack open a bottle of wine and make dinner. But I know nothing about what makes good television, because every week the judges ding them for being too reserved and “not authentic,” while praising the ones I find insipid and tiresome. (As an aside, I was seriously unhappy with the judges this week when they criticized Jyll for keeping her composure during a truly embarrassing moment. And you know they would have reamed her for being unprofessional if she hadn’t stayed composed. I think they just have it in for her. Boo. On Wisconsin!)<br /><br />And, so, back to my point: Those truly dumb people who get on game shows are also truly crazy and over-the-top and way more willing to embarrass themselves than I am. Which is apparently what makes for good television. So I didn’t think I would have much of a chance with the interview.<br /><br />I needn’t have worried about the interview. I failed the quiz.<br /><br />Y’all, it was HARD. It was 30 multiple-choice questions, and we had 10 minutes to complete it. Which means we had 20 seconds per question---no time at all to think about or reason through the answers. Strictly gut reactions. And the questions were really esoteric. Like, Who did Oprah date in the 80s? And what board game’s national championship has a prize of $20,580? I was sure of my answers to about a third; another third I could make an educated guess on; the final third was straight-up random answers.<br /><br />I did feel a little better that I was hardly alone in my failure. Out of about 200 people in the room, only about 15 passed---mostly middle-age or older white men.<br /><br />Guess I won’t be quitting my day job any time soon.<br /><br />***************<br /><br />In the plus column of Things I Actually Have Done: Knitting!<br /><br />I finished a blanket for my new niece. And, yes, I totally gave in to gender norms and made her a pink-and-white striped blanket. See:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0AUhxLQXBAOS6GPAArwLqv5mNxgHiUpHq3SqQ9fJ6t1M2AGCR1wtDBVOeBCB8gJM-9fgD2nIqsN3GbJMKveSOaITY_nZvO5UpsVd0HkrriESzAAIYrivPmBmUbJIVPBsmbRz8w/s1600/DSC_1021.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0AUhxLQXBAOS6GPAArwLqv5mNxgHiUpHq3SqQ9fJ6t1M2AGCR1wtDBVOeBCB8gJM-9fgD2nIqsN3GbJMKveSOaITY_nZvO5UpsVd0HkrriESzAAIYrivPmBmUbJIVPBsmbRz8w/s320/DSC_1021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630718423793705490" border="0" /></a><br />I’ve spent every weekend with my niece and nephew, and I’m loving getting to know my nephew and seeing my niece grow and change over the past month from a sleepy newborn to an awake, alert, smiling infant.<br /><br />Now I’m working on a scarf with some super-soft, super-beautiful yarn that my friends (J, C, and K) sent to me while I was in Malawi.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYfvxKLEq8LGVXtb_APlyeL5VDKDuPPTX0pNe-WpBiepNOWDWvR7GDSmF-AwPuTshj0Y9LA31_Qxjt2WiQfiXp6N5LzN9YgK76UOCSe2a-GTtEcvWD05FH4F1lm5FNWXzoOYwXRQ/s1600/DSC_1027.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYfvxKLEq8LGVXtb_APlyeL5VDKDuPPTX0pNe-WpBiepNOWDWvR7GDSmF-AwPuTshj0Y9LA31_Qxjt2WiQfiXp6N5LzN9YgK76UOCSe2a-GTtEcvWD05FH4F1lm5FNWXzoOYwXRQ/s320/DSC_1027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630721703170466530" border="0" /></a><br /><br />**************<br /><br />I have been reading a lot---just not the books I meant to. Most recently I finished <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.amazon.com/Once-Upon-River-Bonnie-Campbell/dp/0393079899/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1311004060&sr=1-1">Once Upon a River</a> by Bonnie Jo Campbell. I had been eagerly waiting for this one; I read Campbell’s short-story collection, <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.amazon.com/American-Salvage-Made-Michigan-Writers/dp/0814334865/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1311004115&sr=1-1">American Salvage</a>, last year and loved it. Bleak, despondent, poignant realism set among the economically and socially marginalized in middle America.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Once Upon a River</span> expands on one of the stories from the collection. In a (slightly spoilerish) nutshell: Margo is fifteen when she is sexually abused by her uncle (she contests the idea that she was raped). Her attempt to reconcile what happened goes terribly awry and leads to the violent death of her father. Margo then takes to the river to find her mother, who had run off a few years before. Margo is determined to shape a different life for herself, one of self-sufficiency on the river, although she repeatedly finds that she has to rely on help from others, often men, with mixed results.<br /><br />Once again, I’m not sure how I feel about the book. The writing is effortlessly lyrical, beautifully rendering both the mundane and the grotesque. I’m a big fan of the brutal realism sans pity at which Campbell excels. And I appreciate that Campbell is attempting to create a strong, self-realized, “real” teenage girl who owns her strength and her sexuality.<br /><br />But . . . Margo is a teenage runaway, who drops out of high school, has sexual relations with multiple men twice her age (and sometimes older), spends much of her time homeless, and generally lacks positive adult role models. Although she certainly has pluck (and I disagree with some LT reviewers who see her as dim), I see her less as strong and self-realized and more as naïve and exploited. She’s much too young to appreciate the consequences of her choices---as evidenced by her evolving reaction to two violent crimes she herself commits.<br /><br />Of course, this confusion just makes me like the novel more. I like books that challenge my preconceived notions, that force me to think about issues of sexuality and consent; social ideas of age and adulthood; life and death; concepts of justice; and so on.<br /><br />So although I don’t agree with what I think was the author’s intent---to present Margo as a strong, self-realized heroine---I admire Campbell’s ability to evince a world where social ideals and clear-cut values become muddied by social and economic realities. And to show it with an unflinching respect for the people who inhabit that world.<br /><br />Currently I’m reading more cheerful fare: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Happiness-Project-Morning-Aristotle-Generally/dp/006158326X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1311004313&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Happiness Project</span></a> by Gretchen Rubin, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Circle-Quiet-Madeleine-Lengle/dp/0062545035/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1311004364&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">A Circle of Quiet</span></a> by Madeleine L’Engle (my security blanket in book form), and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unfamiliar-Fishes-Sarah-Vowell/dp/1594487871/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1311004408&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">Unfamiliar Fishes</span></a> by Sarah Vowell (who writes the stuff I wish I could).Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-80613889449218497432011-06-20T17:25:00.000-07:002011-06-20T17:45:24.397-07:00My SympathiesI’m an aunt! Again! My niece was born, healthy and hale, last Tuesday evening.<br /><br />As much as I love my nephew, I feel a special affinity for E.---and not just because she looks and acts much like I did as a newborn. I’m also the second of two, and so I have a particular sympathy for her position in the family. Indeed, I can already see the same (troublesome) patterns emerging. Although I can understand and respect the need to reassure the older child that he is still a special and much-loved part of the family, my family has a tendency to overcompensate for that insecurity. All my life, my position in the family and my accomplishments have been defined in terms of how they will affect my older sister. I was never allowed to be special or to celebrate what is unique about me in the same way that my sister was because to do so might make her feel badly about herself.<br /><br />I can already see this same path for my niece. For every gift she gets (or her mother gets on her behalf), my nephew gets two. They even removed E. from the room before A. came down from his nap yesterday---when both sides of the family gathered for a Fathers Day/Welcome Baby/Thanksgiving dinner---so that he wouldn’t have to share the attention with his baby sister.<br /><br />This all seems a bit extreme and overcompensating---and eventually damaging to my niece’s sense of self. But I’m curious how other families have handled the same situation. Am I just being oversensitive and paranoid?<br /><br />***************<br /><br />On another note: I’ve finished the first book of my Reading Africa challenge. My mother keeps stealing my Kindle, so I had to change the order of books a bit. So instead of reading Gurnah’s <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Desertion-Abdulrazak-Gurnah/dp/1400095409/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1308615994&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">Desertion</span></a>, I read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Disgrace-Publisher-J-M-Coetzee/dp/B004QJSDIC/ref=sr_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1308616027&sr=1-8"><span style="font-style: italic;">Disgrace</span></a> by J.M. Coetzee.<br /><br />I’m dissatisfied, perplexed, annoyed, conflicted. I feel like I need someone way smarter than me to tell me how I’m supposed to read this book.<br /><br />***Warning: Spoilers Ahead***<br /><br />In a nutshell, the novel concerns a middle-age scholar-cum-reluctant professor, David Lurie, living in post-Apartheid South Africa. After losing his weekly appointment with a prostitute because he semi-stalks her, he then begins a short-lived “affair” with one of his students after semi-stalking her as well and possibly raping her. He’s dismissed from the university and sends himself into exile at his daughter’s homestead in the Eastern Cape. While staying with his daughter, she’s gang-raped and he’s beaten by three black men at her home. David and his daughter clash over her decision of how to cope after the rape (he wants her to report the rape to the police and move away from her homestead; she refuses to do either).<br /><br />I appreciate that Coetzee takes on a difficult and politically unpopular topic: how do white South Africans cope in the post-apartheid era. I’m sensitive and somewhat sympathetic the precariousness and fear that many white South Africans felt (and continue to feel); while in Malawi, I met a number of white Zimbabweans who had been forced out of---and sometimes fled under attack from---their homes during Mugabe’s regime. They had been born in Zimbabwe; their parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents had lived their whole lives in Zimbabwe. Many were still fearful that they could again be dislocated from Malawi. Moreover, I have the experience of being a white woman in Africa and understand (some of ) the ways that you are marked by your race and your gender.<br /><br />That all said, I thought the main character was unsympathetic and troubling and, well, disgraceful. The author seemed to be asking me not only to sympathize with but to admire someone I thought was racist, elitist, and misogynist. (I think) I’m supposed to see David as heroic when he refuses to offer a full confession and apology as part of the university’s inquest into his affair with his student. (I think) I’m supposed to think that he was bravely taking on the culture of political correctness by refusing to apologize for giving in to “Eros.” Instead I read his actions as those of an entitled man who refuses to accept responsibility for his crime: using his power to coerce a girl into an unwanted sexual exchange. Even after his daughter’s rape, David again refuses--or simply can’t---make the connection between the abuse and exploitation she suffered (and continues to suffer) and the ways that he exploited and abused other women (the prostitute, his student, another prostitute at the end of the novel). (I think) I'm supposed to see him as the voice of reason, being drowned out by the chaos of the post-apartheid transition, when he tries to convince his daughter to report the rape to the police and leave her homestead. Yet I would argue that he contributes to the violation of his daughter by attempting to force her to adopt the position he thinks she should take regarding the rape (as the helpless victim). And again at the end of the novel, when we discover that the daughter’s tenant/worker is using the rape---and was possibly active in arranging it---to force her to marry him and turn over her land in exchange for protection, (I think) I'm supposed to sympathize with David for wanting to protect his daughter and find a way to start over, clear of the baggage of apartheid. But I was more angered that David still doesn’t make the connection between his own use of sex as an exploitative form of exchange (sex for money, sex for grades) and that being suffered by his daughter. Adding insult to injury is the great “revelation” of the novel: that David has been “enriched” by each of his sexual relationships---and he claims hundreds of them---and therefore should not have to apologize for his behavior---to the women, to the university, to God---or feel any disgrace for his actions. (Never mind what the women might think about these exchanges; they only serve as symbols in the novel.)<br /><br />I’m both intrigued and perplexed by Coetzee’s approach to race in the novel. He often doesn’t state a given character’s race outright. He makes vague illusions via physical characteristics, although never specific enough for me to be able to say definitively what race a given character is, or he’ll later clarify a character’s race. But he often leaves race unspoken. I’m torn on whether this is a clever commentary on the reader’s prejudices (that we assume the attackers are black Africans without being told immediately) or whether the author is revealing his own prejudices (of course the attackers are black Africans because they are the source of violence in post-Apartheid South Africa). (I’m still not clear on whether I’m supposed to read the character of Melanie, the student, as black, white, or other; given the context of the novel, I think it matters to how you interpret that exchange and the fall-out from it.)<br /><br />So I feel like I’m missing something, that I’m not getting the joke, so to speak. Surely we wouldn’t celebrate someone who seems to valorize such a despicable character and, by extension, such deplorable views? Yet the novel doesn’t seem to be broad enough for satire. What am I not reading in this novel? Can someone who is smarter, better read, more insightful please explain this book to me?<br /><br />I’m also now curious how other authors---particularly women and black South Africans---have dealt with the post-Apartheid transition, so I’ve added to my list two more South African books: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/House-Gun-Nadine-Gordimer/dp/0140278206/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1308616292&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">The House Gun</span></a> by Nadine Gordimer and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Heart-Redness-Novel-Zakes-Mda/dp/0312421745/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1308616332&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Heart of Redness</span></a> by Zakes Mda.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-43798924099761292382011-06-11T12:12:00.000-07:002011-06-11T12:23:05.027-07:00How I'm Spending My Summer VacationOn the top of my post-Malawi to-do list was spending loads of time with my nephew, A. He’s now 2 years old and a whole new person from the one I left 10 months ago. He runs around, talks, plays games, climbs up jungle gyms, sleeps in a real bed that he gets into himself. Who is this person?<br /><br />Most of my visits with him have gone well, although he’s still super-wary of me; he doesn’t talk much and is a little too well behaved. After all, I am a total stranger to him; he has no fixed memory of me. *sniff* But, we were making progress in our bonding, and I thought I was doing well as Auntie Lisa.<br /><br />Until yesterday . . . <br /><br />Some Lessons Learned:<br /><br />* Two-year-olds do not understand sarcasm.<br />* Two-year-olds do not understand logic.<br />* Two-year-olds have amazing stamina and focus when it comes to getting what they want. Especially when what they want is their mommy.<br />* Never attempt a new recipe when baking with a two-year-old.<br />* Never turn your back on a two-year-old who is holding a full bottle of sprinkles.<br /><br />We had a few close calls and a lot of clean up, but we managed to bake some cupcakes. A. got to pick the mix-ins for the batter, so we had chocolate-chip-and-rainbow-sprinkle cakes and blueberry-M&M-snowflake cakes. Decorated with bright yellow icing and red, pink, and white sprinkles. Surprisingly, they were rather tasty.<br /><br />***************<br /><br />Despite being a (quickly disappearing) farming community, my hometown has surprisingly few farmers markets. A couple of large, semi-permanent markets have created a bit of a monopoly. But some folks are trying to create some alternative markets. We have one market that has run one Saturday a month for the past few years; now a new market started last month, also once a month.<br /><br />The new market had all of five stands today, and two of them were mostly selling plants, not produce. But I still managed to fill up the fridge with goodies: kale, zucchini, radishes, red leaf lettuce, tomatoes, new potatoes, spring onions. I also got garlic scapes, which I’m eager to try. I’ve never cooked with them before, but they were only one dollar for a bunch of three, so I figured it was worth the risk.<br /><br />The challenge now is to find recipes that my mother---who prefers her food as bland and predictable as possible---will eat. I've convinced her to give fish tacos a try this coming week, so I have some hope.<br /><br />***************<br /><br />I’ve decided to take on a year-long reading challenge to read a book from each African country. As much as I’ve read <span style="font-style: italic;">about</span> Africa and Africans, I’ve read very little <span style="font-style: italic;">by</span> Africans. So the only rule to my self-imposed challenge is that each book has to be written by someone from Africa. I’m focusing mostly on fiction, but I haven’t ruled out nonfiction (particularly because some countries might have very little available in English-language or translated fiction).<br /><br />But the first snag in my plan is deciding, Who is an African writer? Can I count J.M. Coetzee as a South African writer? He was born there, spent most of his life there, but . . . well . . . he’s white. He’s not an “indigenous” South African.<br /><br />What about others who were born or spent a significant part of their lives in an African nation but now live and write from and about a non-African place? What about white Africans?<br /><br />Mind you, I give this challenge until about mid-September before it entirely falls apart under the weight of my ridiculous academic-year schedule (four courses per term, plus a teaching assistant position, plus a part-time job; I’m not even pretending that I’m going to get work done on my dissertation until next June).<br /><br />In the meantime, first on my list is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Desertion-Abdulrazak-Gurnah/dp/1400095409/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1307819531&sr=8-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">Desertion</span></a> by A. Gurnah (Tanzania).<br /><br />Any thoughts on how to define an "African" writer? Any recommendations for books by African writers?Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-15876709519802805362011-06-01T10:50:00.000-07:002011-06-01T11:24:18.896-07:00Life as I Knew It<a href="http://www.smashbox.com/PHOTO-FINISH-FOUNDATION-PRIMER-LIGHT">Best 270 S.A. rand I've ever spent.</a>*<br /><br />I had a five-hour layover in Johannesburg on my way back to the States, so I thought I'd do a little shopping at the duty-free shop to transition myself back into my life. After restocking my basics at Clinique (lip gloss, mascara, hand cream), I perused some of the other goodies. I was drawn to the Smashbox counter because (1) they package their stuff beautifully and (2) I seemed to recall someone---Artemisia, maybe?---writing glowingly about their eye primer. I don't wear much eye makeup in general---and never in summer---but I thought I'd give one of their foundation primers a try.<br /><br />Love.<br /><br />I tend to prefer minimal makeup, especially in the summer, but I still want to look put together and pretty. The Photo Finish Light foundation primer is the perfect middle ground: it's super light on my skin and I don't have to worry about blending, but it still somehow has these magical transformative powers that make my skin smoother, lighter, more even, less shiny.<br /><br />Love.<br /><br />***************<br /><br />So by "transition myself back into my life," I apparently mean being as lazy and shallow as humanly possible. My transition process involves long days of laying in bed with my computer, catching up on gossip and <a href="http://gofugyourself.com/">Go Fug Yourself</a> and television (Glee! Top Chef! Mythbusters!).**<br /><br />I do occasionally rouse myself---to get treats (Chai Latte! Greek Yogurt! Utz Chips! Cheese!) or go on a shopping spree (DSW! Ann Taylor Loft!) or restock on glossy magazines (People! Elle! Vogue! Food & Wine!).<br /><br />***************<br /><br />I did manage to find a summer job. I'll be providing before and after daycare for kids attending a local summer camp. It's not a lot of hours---or pay---but I'll at least cover my basic expenses for the next couple of months. And I keep telling myself that the job will provide a good structure for my days: I work two hours in the morning and another two in the afternoon. In between, I can work on dissertation stuff (translation, coding, reading).<br /><br />That's what I tell myself anyway.<br /><br />***************<br /><br />I'm trying to get myself back to running this summer, too, now that I'm once again in a place with decent surfaces and not too many hills and where I can run outside without feeling unsafe or self-conscious.<br /><br />I've gone twice since getting back to the States, and I didn't lose as much fitness as I thought I had. I'm currently doing run/walk intervals for about 20-25 minutes; my goals is to run a 5K by the end of the summer.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*I didn't convert to dollars because, really, I don't want to know.</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">**Have I mentioned that Tory Belleci is my new imaginary boyfriend and future husband? </span>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-13949362943307934282011-05-12T09:35:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:45:43.674-07:00Twelve More Days!Bathmophobia: fear of stairs or slopes.<br /><br />I have a fear of falling. Mostly of falling from short distances. I’m not particularly afraid of heights, and indeed, I have no problem actually climbing up stairs or slopes, apart from the anxiety created by the anticipation of having to somehow come back down. And I’m not more than normally fearful about falling from great heights; I’ve been skydiving and bungee jumping and abseiling.<br /><br />The closest I can come to a name for my fear is “bathmophobia,” a fear of stairs or slopes, although the term doesn’t entirely encapsulate my particular fear. I am afraid of going down stairs and slopes, but I’m also afraid of walking on unstable surfaces: ice, rocky or sandy paths, wet floors.<br /><br />I’ve become more open about having this fear, although I’m still self-conscious about it in practice. It tends to make me appear rather unfit and weak. Which I am, but not nearly so much as I appear because of how slowly I take slopes and stairs and irregular surfaces because of my fear.<br /><br />As you might imagine, this fear makes living in Africa all the more challenging. I’ve just spent the past four months living in a place where the nearest paved road is a 20-minute walk away. Getting to it requires navigating an uneven, rocky slope strewn with gravel. The lodge where I stayed is set into a hillside, with irregular stairs cut haphazardly out of the natural slope, made with whatever rocks and logs happened to be around. Even in Blantyre, my field sites generally required long walks along dusty roads with steep hills. (At least my research assistants quickly learned that I don’t do well on the “short-cuts” and stuck to the main roads.)<br /><br />I’ve been having a nine-month-long anxiety attack.<br /><br />So what do I do in my off time, when I don’t have to put myself through the hell of confronting this fear?<br /><br />I volunteer to hike up Michiru Mountain as part of a fundraiser for one of the organizations where I did fieldwork. And I recruit two very fit and fearless people to hike with me. And I choose one of the longest and most challenging trails for us to hike.<br /><br />I am stupid. Or masochistic. Or both.<br /><br />The hike was beautiful (I’ll post pictures next time I have a decent Internet connection). And I enjoyed the company. But the descent was steep and slippery, and by the time we got back to flat land, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand.<br /><br />********************<br /><br />Twelve days to go. Less than two weeks.<br /><br />I’m cautiously optimistic that I’ve gotten some good information. I feel tentatively confident that I can write a dissertation from what I have.<br /><br />At the moment, I’m constantly flitting between calling it quits and enjoying my last week-and-a-half in Malawi and trying to cram in a few last interviews, finding a few more stones to turn over.<br /><br />********************<br /><br />Leaving this time feels very final. Even though I actually do hope that I’ll come back to Malawi in a few years. Just for a visit. Or a very short-term research project. Absolutely no more than two months. I am well and truly done with these long stays away from family and friends and my dog and my creature comforts.<br /><br />But as excited as I am to be returning home to my family and friends and dog and hot showers and cheese and wine and margaritas and sushi and television and high-speed Internet and a comfy bed and a washing machine and . . . wait . . . Where was I?<br /><br />Oh, yes. As excited as I am for all that and my car and a kitchen with an oven and refrigerator and take-out Chinese and glossy magazines and book stores and Starbucks . . .<br /><br />Sorry. Back to my point.<br /><br />Leaving is bittersweet. I have some good friends whom I’ll be very sad to leave. And living at the lake definitely had its nice moments: swimming and snorkeling and beers on the beach. And as frustrating and maddening and uncomfortable and strange as Malawi can be, it has also become a second home in a lot of ways.<br /><br />********************<br /><br />Lest I end on a down note: My most recent Kindle purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sweet-Valley-Confidential-Years-Later/dp/0312667574/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1305217568&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sweet Valley Confidential---Ten Years Later</span></a>. Yep, I am a highly educated woman in my mid-thirties, and I cannot wait to read the latest installment in the lives of Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield.<br /><br />First I have to finish my current book: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Skippy-Dies-Novel-Paul-Murray/dp/0865479437/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1305217671&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">Skippy Dies</span></a>, which I’m enjoying, although it’s a bit long. Admittedly, I might not be so concerned with the length if I wasn’t so anxious to finish it so I can pick up the new one.<br /><br />I did finally, and with great effort of will, finish <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Taste-Place-Cultural-Journey-California/dp/0520261720/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1305217723&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">A Taste of Place</span></a>. The book got great reviews, and a friend whose judgment in such things I respect recommended it. But I was disappointed. I thought the book was disorganized, redundant, superficial, poorly researched, and lacking in analytical rigour. It mostly made me want to reread <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Omnivores-Dilemma-Natural-History-Meals/dp/0143038583/ref=pd_bxgy_b_text_b"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Omnivore’s Dilemma</span></a>, which covers many of the same concepts but in a much more engaging and thoughtful way.<br /><br />********************<br /><br />Twelve more days! My next blog post will likely be from Stateside. Woohoo!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-87358808069641234142011-03-03T06:54:00.000-08:002011-03-03T06:56:32.733-08:00Vacation, All I Ever WantedTime, it is flying. Has it really been seven weeks since my last blog post? A month since I went to Tanzania? Eleven weeks until I go home?<br /><br />The trip to Tanzania was amazing. Exhausting, but amazing. I only had a week, with a firm deadline for when I had to be back in Malawi for a meeting related to my grant. And I was traveling on a budget (partly self-imposed, partly set by my travel companion). So I spent a lot of long days riding on buses of varying quality and schlepping my over-packed backpack across borders, along roads, up and down stairs. On the first day alone, I spent 12 hours in seven different vehicles, just to get from Nkhata Bay, Malawi, to Mbeya, Tanzania. The way back was a combined 30 hours---from Dar es Salaam to Lilongwe---in two buses and two taxis.<br /><br />The actual travel bit was uneventful, once I learned not to pick fights with border officials and to confirm transport prices in Swahili. (Taxi drivers in Tanzania have a tendency to conveniently “mix up” their numbers in English. Fortunately my dormant Swahili came back surprisingly quickly.) And the middle bit was quite pleasant. Once in Mbeya, we took the train to Dar es Salaam---a lazy, 24-hour canter across the country, through national park lands and past small villages. I opted for “first class,” a sleeper compartment with four berths. Although it was hardly what we in the West would consider first class, it was comfortable and clean and I even managed to get a decent night’s sleep. I was disappointed that I didn’t get to see any animals, apart from a herd of wildebeest, but I met some nice people, including my compartment mate, a Tanzanian girl named Happiness who worked at a hotel in Zanzibar and offered to help us get out to the island and get oriented to Stone Town.<br /><br />Dar was a bit of a shock: a true urban center (as opposed to the large towns that pass as cities in Malawi) with bumper-to-bumper traffic and multi-lane roads and proper shopping malls. It was late when we got there and dark by the time we settled into our room at the YMCA and got much-needed showers, so we defied common sense and wandered into the dark to find dinner. And wander we did. My travel companion---a volunteer from the lodge where I’m staying in Malawi---wanted to find a restaurant that her sister had recommended. Except that she had only the faintest idea of where the restaurant actually was and no idea of the name of the place. A nice stranger guided us through various back roads, past night markets with all sorts of fruits and vegetables, past restaurants emitting delicious smells, around round-abouts and down alleys, until I was thoroughly lost and hungry and unamused. Eventually we found the general area, a sort of Little India in the midst of the city, and settled on a different restaurant, where we had vast quantities of delicious Indian food.<br /><br />The next day, we only had the morning to explore the city, so we went to the National Museum, which had some decent, if uninspired exhibits on the history of Tanzania and the archeological finds. I think I probably would have been more impressed had I not taken an archy class that convinced me that archeologists just make shit up. (Yeah, yeah. Scientific method. Blah, blah, blah. You cannot convince me that you can tell me how a society was structured based on finding some beads next to a pile of bodies.)<br /><br />In the afternoon, we met up with Happiness and took the ferry to Zanzibar. High on the list of things I love: water; boats; seafood; spices; narrow, labyrinthine paths that promise tiny discoveries around every corner; the ability to explore those paths alone without having to carry on redundant conversations with strangers. So, basically, Zanzibar was my Xanadu. Loved, loved, loved Zanzibar.<br /><br />(I’m willing to admit that part of my infatuation may be that Zanzibar is my first actual vacation---my first time to travel somewhere just as a tourist---in more than eight years. And, really, I don’t understand what people have against being a tourist. I had so much fun, taking photos and shopping for souvenirs and going on tours.)<br /><br />We stayed in a small hotel, tucked into the middle of Stone Town. During the day, we shopped at the various markets; at night, we went to the fish market, held in a plaza along the water, where you pick out skewers of barracuda, shark, tuna, swordfish, prawns or whole lobsters and crabs, squid and octopus, to be cooked on barbeques and eaten with chipati and a tall class of sugarcane juice. Then we’d go to Mercury Bar, named for Freddy Mercury, who it turns out was born in Zanzibar, for overpriced drinks and overloud music. We spent one day on a Spice Tour, going by bus to one of the farms where they grow the spices. We got to taste and smell and feel nutmeg and vanilla and cloves and jackfruit and curry leaves and pepper. Then we had a fabulous lunch made with the spices. The day finished with a trip to a gorgeous white-sand beach with perfect blue water: a living postcard.<br /><br />I was reluctant to leave, but I had that firm deadline and needed to arrange a bus ticket back to Lilongwe. So back on the ferry to Dar, where I trudged through ridiculous heat, made worse by the press of traffic, on a frustratingly long and ultimately unsuccessful mission to find a bus to Lilongwe. I eventually had to settle for a bus to the border town of Kyela, as buses to Lilongwe only ran on certain days, and those days didn’t match my schedule. To salvage my last day of vacation, I treated myself to a nice meal at an upscale restaurant where I could order a proper cocktail and sit quietly by myself and have a delicious prawn curry.<br /><br />The next two days were a series of long, dull bus rides; rainy, late night arrivals; another border crossing; more rain and buses.<br /><br />I was back in Malawi, in time for my meeting. Barely. But after two days of buses and rain and make-do meals from road stands, I was thrilled to be in Lilongwe---not a place I’m normally happy to be. This time, however, I was being put up in a seriously swank lodge by the embassy so that I could take part in the orientation program for the newly arrived Fulbright grantees. So not only did I get to enjoy a proper bed with sturdy white pillows and a hot shower with fluffy white towels and an air-conditioned room and room service, I got to hang out with a bunch of Americans for a few days. Americans who aren’t Peace Corps volunteers (who have sunk to all-new lows in my estimation). After months and months of Brits and Dutch and Canadians and Germans and Australian, I was so happy to be surrounded by Americans. People who know my references and understand why I was so excited about the Super Bowl and share my language. It helps that the Fulbrighters are, as a group, incredibly nice, intelligent, fun people.<br /><br />While the new arrivals were properly oriented by the embassy, I got to abuse my privileges once again to secure transport for some essential work: shopping! I stocked up on groceries and restocked on shirts (I go through t-shirts and tank tops at an alarming rate).<br /><br />On the final day, I even more reluctantly returned to Nkhata Bay. Back to work. Back to ant invasions and giant flying cockroaches and cold showers---when there’s water---and peeing behind my cabin because I’m too lazy to walk 500 feet to the toilets at 2 a.m. and sliding through ankle-deep mud to get to town because there aren’t any paved roads.<br /><br />But also back to the lake and the familiar and my routines and the small group of friends I’ve cobbled together. And as much as I sometimes get annoyed with having to greet absolutely every single person any time I leave the lodge, I enjoyed the warm welcome back from the lodge staff, curio sellers, church members, and others on my return.<br /><br />Once back, however, I had to get myself back to work. In Blantyre, everyone works, or at least, so it seems. It’s the commercial capital of the country, and by 7 a.m., the roads were filled with cars and people walking to offices. At the lodge where I stayed, most of the other guests were either volunteers (the majority at the hospital) or short-term contract workers, so everyone tended to head off to work early in the morning. I felt out of place, hanging around the lodge during the day, and so I had extra incentive to find ways to keep myself busy each day. Nkhata Bay, on the other hand, is a tourist town. Although plenty of people do work, plenty of others---both local and foreign---just “stay”---sleeping until late morning, wandering about town, hanging out at the lodges and bars. I’m usually the first one awake at the lodge; often the other guests don’t rock up until lunchtime. So I found myself lulled into a lazy state, convincing myself that I was conducting participant-observation by sitting around the common area.<br /><br />My good intentions toward work, however, were temporarily thwarted by yet another nasty cold, my third one since arriving in Malawi. I spent about a week feeling absolutely wretched---achy, tired, coughing incessantly, producing more snot than I thought was humanly possible. (I’m still coughing, but generally feeling much better.)<br /><br />I’m still perhaps a bit less manic than I was in Blantyre, and I actually do get quite a bit of good data from sitting around the common area or hanging out at the local bars. But I’m trying to be more diligent in seeking out interviews and putting together focus groups. I’m determined that I will have plenty of data for my dissertation when I leave.<br /><br />I’ve also found myself committed to several volunteer projects. I’ve stopped going to the youth club at the lodge; I was hopelessly useless and inept with them. But I’m now holding a weekly tutoring session on “Romeo & Juliet,” which is part of the Form 4 (Grade 12) curriculum. I’m helping a widows group with their plan to create a baking business, mostly by teaching them new recipes that will appeal to the tourists. And I’m working with several small libraries and information centers to catalog their holdings.<br /><br />Balancing my research needs and volunteer commitments can be challenging; I have to remind both myself and others that the research is my primary responsibility. But being busy does make the time go more quickly.<br /><br />In other news, I’m suffering a terrible case of puppy envy. One of the dogs from the lodge next door had a litter, and I’m absolutely smitten by the puppies. I want one! So far, I’ve been practical: I have no place to keep a puppy here, and I wouldn’t be able to take it home with me. Once I get back State-side, though . . .<br /><br />Once I get back State-side: I think about this daily. I think about the food I can cook, the magazines I can buy, the television shows I can watch, the people I can see. I think about my dog and my condo and my kitchen. About Metcalfe’s and the farmers market. About cheese and fresh herbs and an oven. I think about hot showers and hair salons and fresh clothes. I think about Friday Night Dinners and Thai food and high-speed Internet and well-stocked pharmacies.<br /><br />Eleven weeks and still counting . . .Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-20247139284291717352011-01-20T04:07:00.000-08:002011-01-20T04:14:42.668-08:0018 WeeksAnd counting down.<br /><br />I’m so relieved to be past the halfway mark now. I’m beginning to feel a bit of the sense of urgency of only having a few months left to finish my research---the feeling of Oh crap, I still haven’t done X, Y, or Z. But more, I feel the relief of being able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.<br /><br />**********<br /><br />I’ve moved to my new project site, Nkhata Bay, a small town on the lakeshore in the Northern Region. The new site has its benefits: I’m staying in a lodge right on the lake; I go swimming nearly every day; things are a bit less expensive than they were in Blantyre.<br /><br />But it has its drawbacks as well. I had gotten a bit used to living in an urban environment, with reliable, relatively quick Internet, hot showers, decent restaurants and grocery stores filed with Western goods and an enormous market with just about any type of produce you could want. Now I’m a 20-minute walk from the nearest paved road; the grocery stores stock just the basics and the produce market is limited to tomatoes, onions, and one or two types of greens (although it does have loads of fish). Internet is slow and unreliable. Hot water is nonexistent; even cold water is iffy since the water goes out every time the power does, which is several times a week. Those daily swims often have to double as baths (and sometimes laundry). And the weather is wicked hot, with almost no rain for even temporary relief. I’m getting bitten to bits by mosquitoes, and spend the better part of my day trying to ward off the ants and flies that get onto and into everything (me, my clothes, my food, my computer, my bed, . . . ). I try not to think about how many ants I’ve eaten these past two weeks.<br /><br />I finally almost feel like I’m a real anthropologist!<br /><br />**********<br /><br />The downsides are outweighed by one big upside: I found two places that have short-term volunteers and are willing to let me hang around for a few months to do my research. One of the places is the lodge where I’m staying (temporarily, I hope). The owners, two British women, bought the lodge with the intention to turn it into a hub for community development. They’ve opened a nursery school, an information center, and a youth club, along with supporting groups for widows, HIV-positive adults, and special-needs children. They have a demonstration garden and offer seeds and support for people who want to plant alternative crops. The lodge then is primarily intended to house volunteers, although it also gets its fair share of backpackers, some of whom do a few days of volunteering to take advantage of the half-price volunteer rate. The lodge also seems to be a social hub for what I’ll call “independent” Western development workers and volunteers. This category is largely composed of Westerners, many of whom originally came to Malawi as volunteers with an established organization, who are launching their own small-scale charity projects, mostly building single schools.<br /><br />So I’ve gotten a lot done just by hanging about the lodge. I’m also volunteering with the youth club---and discovering that I’m absolute rot with kids. I wasn’t very good at being a kid when I was one, let alone when I’m in my mid-thirties. I spent most of my childhood with my nose in a book. Or at Girl Scout meetings and dance classes and piano lessons. Nothing that’s really very useful in this context.<br /><br />The other place is a community-based organization in town. The organization was actually started by one of the women who own the lodge and a British man, and for a long time was part of a larger UK-based organization. It has since broken off from its roots---although it seems the British man is still involved, albeit from afar because he was kicked out of the country (details of the circumstances vary)---and is, at least nominally, attempting to become a self-sustaining CBO. It also has a nursery school , a library, and a widows’ group (the same group of widows served by the lodge . . . ahem), as well as supporting a school for the blind, offering an adult education program, and running a “shelter” school---an afternoon program, held in a shelter (hence the name), to provide supplementary education for young children. Also like the lodge, the organization’s director wants to promote alternative crops that can be used for health and healing (e.g., ginger, garlic).<br /><br /> I’m still working out my role with the CBO. They want me to help them with publicity and marketing. Which I know how to do. I did get my undergraduate degree in public relations and worked in PR/Marketing. But I’m a bit torn about helping promote both an organization and an activity about which I have some conflicting feelings. In the meantime, I am trying to insert myself into their efforts to develop some kind of cooperative with the other libraries and information centers in town. With any luck, I may be able to get two research projects for the price of one!<br /><br />Interestingly---to me, anyway---both organizations are very keen for me to volunteer with their schools, even though I've made it clear that I have no experience or particular skill for teaching young children. Just the very fact of me being white and Western seems to imbue me with the aura of having some superior knowledge to their own, local teachers.<br /><br />**********<br /><br />Another upside to my new field site: I’m only a few hours from the Tanzanian border. Admittedly, Malawi is small enough that you are never more than a few hours from the border of something. But I’ve already been to Zambia, and I’ve heard that Mozambique is a bit difficult to get around. So . . . Tanzania. I’m heading up there for a week of “vacation” at the beginning of February. The plan is to take the train from Mbeya to Dar es Salaam, then a ferry to Zanzibar.<br /><br />Plans in Africa never seem to go as such. And I haven’t quite worked out how I’m getting back to Malawi. One would think it would be a simple matter of reversing how I got there. But again . . . This is Africa. Nothing is simple.<br /><br />Regardless, I’m looking forward to seeing someplace that isn’t Malawi and maybe talking about something other than my research for a week.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-17113365830052216072011-01-05T22:15:00.000-08:002011-01-05T22:19:32.586-08:00PSA: Field GearI’m in a kind of reflective, middle place at the moment. Partly because I’m now just past the halfway mark in my fieldwork; partly because I’m in a fieldwork lull (holiday season + rainy/planting season = no one around to interview); partly because I’m feeling a bit liminal as I wait to move from one field site to another (a pox on whoever is causing my Christmas packages to be nearly two weeks delayed).<br /><br />So I thought I’d do a bit of a public service post on fieldwork gear: what I won’t ever again leave home without, what was a waste of luggage space, what I wish I would have brought.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Yes, do bring . . . </span><br /><br />* LiveScribe Pen. Despite not being waterproof, this pen has been one of my best tech investments. In addition to a digital voice recorder, it includes an infrared camera to capture your handwritten notes. You can upload both the voice recording and the notes to your computer (a handy way to back up your written notes). The written notes are then searchable, and the audio is synced to the notes; so if you want to see what people have said about, for example, jealousy, you can search for jealousy across your notes and then play back those parts of the interviews. The desktop software also includes handy features for transcribing, such as slow playback and a 10-second reverse button. The only downside is that you have to use special notebooks, and as far as I can tell, they only come in one, rather large, size.<br /><br />* Knitting supplies, running gear, yoga mat. Or whatever you use to quiet your brain and rebalance yourself. These things can seem really expendable when you are facing a mountain of supplies and two puny suitcases. But, for me, it’s worth leaving behind a pair of shoes and that extra sweater to make room for your mental health.<br /><br />* Netbook. Lightweight. Long battery life. And relatively inexpensive, so if it gets stolen or dies, you are replacing a $300 piece of equipment rather than a $1000+ piece. (But see below re: external DVD drive).<br /><br />* External hard drive. Duh. Other “duh” items include a pair of super-comfy shoes (and a back-up pair; as already noted, I love the Ahnu mocs that I brought with me), an adaptor and converter for electronics, a small sewing kit, several passport-size photos, . . .<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Yes, but . . . </span><br /><br />* Kindle. I loved my Kindle. Right up to the point that it died (the victim of a violently bumpy motola ride). Getting customer service from Amazon while in the field in Africa has been beyond challenging. I now have a very nice paperweight until I return to the States (or travel somewhere within Amazon’s “worldwide” network; NB: I think newer models have more options for connecting to local wireless and therefore might be better suited for the field).<br /><br />* Digital camera. A good digital camera is a must. You will want high-quality, high-res photos for your eventual book, as well as conference presentations, lectures, etc. But . . . I am regretting getting a digital SLR. The camera is bulky and heavy and I wind up leaving it behind when I head into the villages because I don’t want to carry it. I’m also less-than-pleased with the particular model I got (a Nikon). If I had it to do over again, I’d get a high-quality point-and-shoot and a handful of memory cards. (NB: Don’t try to stretch a smaller memory card by setting your camera to lower resolution photos. You won’t be able to use those photos for publication. Make sure you set your camera for at least medium, and preferably high, resolution.) Of course, ignore this advice if you are an experienced photographer, have the financial resources to invest in very good lenses, and/or are doing photoethnography.<br /><br />* First aid kit. My first time in Malawi, I brought an enormous first aid kit. You could have performed an appendectomy with this kit. I think I may have used a couple of band-aids and some aspirin from it. This time, I scaled down considerably. Even though I haven’t yet opened it, I do feel a sense of comfort knowing that if I slice a finger while making dinner, I won’t have to call a taxi to take me to a hospital and figure out the local word for “boo boo.” So bring some basic first aid supplies---band aids, ace bandage, antibiotic ointment---but don’t go overboard.<br /><br />* Solar shower. I haven’t had to use it often, but when I have, it has worked surprisingly well. I may move this up a category after a few weeks in Nkhata Bay (if I ever get there). Lightweight and easy to pack, I would recommend it if you are going someplace where hot water can be iffy. Although it perhaps won’t be as helpful if you are in Eastern Europe in the winter.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Don’t bother . . . </span><br /><br />* The whole darn medicine cabinet. As per usual, I completely overpacked on toiletries and pharmaceuticals. Of course, you should pack any essential prescriptions and a good starter kit of toiletries. But if I can find tampons, delapatory creams, and hair dye in Malawi, you can almost definitely find everything you need at your field site. Same goes for the pharmaceuticals. (NB: The one exception to this advice is contact lens solution, which is notoriously difficult to find in non-Western countries. So pack lots of it and bring your glasses.)<br /><br />* Batteries. Ditto the above. You might have to pay a bit more for them than you would in the States, but they are heavy and take up valuable luggage space. Rechargeable batteries are probably worthwhile, except that if you are anything like me, you will forget to recharge them until your flashlight dies in the middle of a blackout. At which point, the charger isn’t going to do you a whole lot of good and you have to resort to regular batteries anyway.<br /><br />* Books. Because I had the Kindle, I didn’t pack any books. Once the Kindle died---and I had gotten over my panic attack at not having any books---I discovered the wonderful worlds of secondhand shops and swap shelves. I haven’t lacked for (cheap or free) reading material since. Again, if I can find these things in Malawi, you can almost definitely find them in your field site. Pack two or three books to get you started, then have fun hunting the various corners of your site for secondhand shops, swap shelves, and libraries (many cities have an “American” or “British” library).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Shoulda, coulda, woulda brought . . . </span><br /><br />* External DVD drive. The lightweight netbook is great (see above). But it gets to be lightweight by stripping away all the extras, like drives. And depending on where you are, Internet connections can be dead slow, making downloading media content nearly impossible. An external DVD drive and a few (absolutely legal, officer) DVDs from the local market can be a saving grace when you are trapped at home, alone, every night. You might also want to load up your external hard drive with some media before you leave.<br /><br />* Extra flash drives. My one flash drive got a virus the very first time I used it on a public computer. Bring several, because you will likely have to trash a few.<br /><br />* Eyeglass repair kit. Beyond the obvious use, that little screwdriver can come in handy when, say, you spill a bottle of water in your bag and have to perform life-saving operations on your various electronic gizmos.<br /><br />* Make up, hair care, and a “going out” outfit. I’m going to do fieldwork in Africa. Who cares what I look like? Well . . From time to time, I wish I had packed a few items for “dressing up.” Nothing real fancy or formal, but just so that I can feel put-together when I find myself attending a fashion show or going out to a club. Fieldwork is full of surprises, and even if you plan to spend your whole 10 months in a remote village without water or electricity, you will likely at some point travel into the city or meet with urbanite professionals. For me, I feel more comfortable if I can make myself look appropriately presentable to the situation.<br /><br />* A portable photo printer. Yeah, a photo printer is a bit of extra weight, especially when you factor in paper and ink. But sharing photos is a good way to give a little something back to the people whom you interview and who let you take their photo for your research. People in Malawi especially love to have photos of themselves.<br /><br /><br />Obviously, this list is not exhaustive of everything I packed. I thought I’d highlight a few things that might be helpful for my fellow fieldworkers.<br /><br />As for field notes, I won’t really know how effective my method is until I’m trying analyze data and write up the dissertation, but I’ve been using Evernote. It’s a free download, and it seems to have some useful features (keyword tags, online backup, ability to store multiple formats) although it does not seem to be searchable across notes, which is disappointing.<br /><br />Anyway . . . Perhaps this rather lengthy review will be helpful. Perhaps not.<br /><br />Anyone have anything to add?Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-49302318757941087052010-12-31T02:06:00.000-08:002010-12-31T04:10:54.282-08:00Flesh and BonesAdvisor: I think you could probably make a dissertation out of what you already have.<br /><br />Me: Does that mean I can come home now?<br /><br />Advisor: No.<br /><br />Me: Damn!<br /><br />**********<br /><br />So where were we?<br /><br />I have been a very negligent blogger these past two months. I’ve been alternating between being so busy that I’m too exhausted to write and being so depressed that I can’t summon the will to relive it all in writing.<br /><br />Fieldwork, for me, has been a series of peaks and valleys. I have good days---days when I have two or three on-point interviews or even just one revealing, insightful conversation---days when I feel productive and useful---days when I can actually imagine this dissertation taking shape. Then I have bad days---days when I trudge miles for a couple of useless interviews or worse when I have absolutely nothing to do---no interviews, no site visits---days when I think this whole endeavor is a waste of time and when I can only see the huge holes that I still need to fill.<br /><br />On my better days, when I can see with a bit of balance, and my advisor’s comment aside, I feel like I’ve reached the point where I have the bones but I’m missing the flesh. I have an outline, but I still need the narrative---the telling examples, the descriptive details, the stories.<br /><br />**********<br /><br />Depending on your perspective, I’ve had the good (my advisor’s) or bad (mine) luck to come into my fieldwork just as the subject of my study---voluntourism---goes into decline. The economy plays a big part in this decline; not as many people can afford to spend several weeks or months in Africa. As a knock-on effect of the global recession, UK universities are reducing the number of available spaces and will be tripling the tuition. So gap-year students, who form a large segment of voluntourists in Malawi, are disappearing; these students don’t want to risk losing their place at university or waiting until the tuition go up by taking a gap year. And then there’s the spate of bad press on voluntourism. A recent paper on “AIDS orphan tourism,” in which the authors argued that short-term volunteers in orphanages can impair children’s development through a continuous cycle of broken attachments, got quite a bit of media attention in southern Africa and the UK. Other critical voices have been emerging over the past six months, as well.<br /><br />In addition to the reduced demand, several large programs have had problems with local management in Malawi and, as a result, have pulled out or are in the process of doing so.<br /><br />The combination of these factors has created a steep decline in short-term volunteers in Malawi. The programs that I identified during my preliminary research have either shut down in Malawi or have reduced both the number of trips and the number of sites.<br /><br />Other, smaller, short-term volunteer programs persist. And it may be that the demand for voluntourism hasn’t so much declined as shifted from large, for-profit programs to small, NGO-based programs (but I have no way to quantify this). Although even some of the more successful NGO-based programs that I know are facing volunteer droughts in the coming months.<br /><br />What this means for my fieldwork: Fewer volunteers, coming less often and through more informal routes, which makes identifying them---and therefore identifying a field site---rather challenging.<br /><br />**********<br /><br />With the exception of two weeks at the lake just after Thanksgiving and a weekend in Lilongwe for Malawi’s “fashion week” (actually one night that showcased about 10 designers) , I’ve spent most of my time in Blantyre and its environs, hunting down and interviewing anyone who is even tangentially related to volunteering and my study. I’ve met with program directors, CBO and NGO staff, tour operators, volunteers of every stripe, community members, and anyone else who makes the mistake of answering my phone call or even sitting near me for more than 30 seconds.<br /><br />Just about the same time as I was suffering acutely from malawia, I met with the director of a UK-based NGO that supports various community development efforts and has hosted various volunteer groups. Although the program doesn’t have any volunteers at the moment, the director was sufficiently interested in my research to offer me access to the communities that have been served by volunteers in the past---and to lend me some of her field officers to act as guides and interpreters (my Chichewa continues to be limited to the very basics). Figuring that something is better than nothing, I took her up on her offer and spent about four weeks in total going out to the program’s project sites.<br /><br />Most of that time was spent in P., a village that is about as remote as you can get and still technically be in Blantyre. To get to P., you take a minibus to the stage at M.<br /><br />Now, all minibuses are in some state of disrepair. But the minibuses to the outer villages tend to be in greater disrepair than, say, the ones that go to the suburbs or between cities. The ones to M. were among the worst that I’ve seen. In one of them, the steering apparatus was entirely held together by duct tape. The front passenger door of another one had a tendency to fly open on turns.<br /><br />So you take the minibus to M. If you arrive alive, you then have about a three-kilometer walk, up and down steep hills, on an unpaved, rocky road, with no shade, sliding along the loose gravel on the downhills, leaning against the incline of the uphills. And you do this in November, which is the worst of the hot season. And that’s just to reach the village center. You then have an additional 2-3 kilometers of walking on even rockier, narrow “short cuts” to reach the houses for the interviews.<br /><br />Getting to most of the other project sites---in C., K., and N.---was a similar process. For those couple of weeks, I almost felt like a real anthropologist. And the “something” that I got out of the interviews was worth the sweat; the interviews shaped the outline that I mentioned above.<br /><br />(A brief aside on gear: I brought a pair of Ahnu shoes that I’ve worn almost every day for the past four months, including for these long walks, and I absolutely love them. Cuter than hiking boots or sneakers, but still super comfy, with good grip on the sole. The adjuster strap is starting to get a bit worn, and they stink to high heaven, but so far have performed very well.)<br /><br />**********<br /><br />But even though my time in Blantyre wasn’t a complete loss, I haven’t found what I really need: a site where I can engage in daily participant-observation. So I’m hitting the road again. Next week, I’m relocating to Nkhata Bay, a tourist town along the lake in the northern region. (Not sure exactly when I’m moving because I’m still waiting on a couple of Christmas packages that were sent to Blantyre.) During my post-Thanksgiving trip to the lake, I visited the Bay and identified two programs that not only have a reasonably steady supply of volunteers but also are willing to let me hang around for a few months.<br /><br />I’m still being cautiously optimistic. That “reasonably steady” supply could dry up as soon as I get there. And I’ve run out of back-up plans.<br /><br />Nkhata Bay will be a big change from Blantyre. Despite being a tourist town---or perhaps because of it---the Bay is much more rural and isolated. It has only a couple of grocery stores, none of which carry “wazungu” food, and the market is mostly limited to onions, tomatoes, and one or two types of greens. As much as I disliked going to the Blantyre market, I could get a huge variety of fresh produce there. No more gym (and its pool privileges). I’ll have a choice of about three restaurants, which often only have about half of the menu available at any given time. The only bank that will take my ATM card is about a 3-kilometer walk.<br /><br />But I’ll be right on the lake, with crystal-clear waters. I’ll be able to walk at night. And I might just find the missing pieces of my dissertation.<br /><br />**********<br /><br />I’m officially at the halfway point. Twenty weeks to go!<br /><br />**********<br /><br />If you’ve made it this far, you must actually be my friend. And so you might want my new address:<br /><br />c/o Butterfly Lodge<br />PO Box 211<br />Nkhata Bay<br />Malawi<br /><br />I’m planning to be in Nkhata Bay until the end of April. Remember that letters take a minimum of 4 weeks; packages take at least 6 weeks.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-91101633208470357062010-11-07T08:16:00.000-08:002010-11-07T08:28:54.623-08:00Home is Where the Hot Showers and Electricity Are<span style="font-weight: bold;">Malawia:</span> The state or condition of being frustrated to the point of exhaustion by life in Malawi.*<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Symptoms</span><br />* Irritability<br />* Frequent use of foul language<br />* Fatigue; a strong desire to stay in bed all day<br />* Constant complaining<br />* Politically incorrect and/or colonial thoughts<br />* Cravings for Western culture (food, entertainment, etc.)<br />* Repeatedly counting the time left in Malawi<br />* Repeatedly checking the date on one’s return ticket<br />* Obsessively checking bank balance against cost of flights home<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Causes</span><br />* Lack of schedules and general timekeeping<br />* Minibuses<br />* Hot season<br />* Rainy season<br />* Dry season<br />* Overconsumption of chicken and chips<br />* Load shedding (i.e., blackouts)<br />* Water shortages<br />* Lazy, inept lodge “managers”<br />* Lack of privacy<br />* Lack of sleep<br />* Bug infestations<br />* Deet and/or Doom poisoning<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Treatments</span><br />* Alcohol<br />* Letters and/or packages from home (*hint, hint*)<br />* Hanging out in wazungu spaces (swimming pools, La Caverna, overpriced hotels)<br />* A “restorative” retreat at the lake (preferably combined with alcohol consumption)<br />* Ruby slippers<br /><br />I’ve had an ongoing, low-grade case of Malawia since my arrival, but it’s recently flared up into a rather acute outbreak. I’m tired of waking up---after a mostly sleepless night---soaked in sweat and then not being able to get a decent shower because of water shortages. Coming back in the evenings, soaked in sweat and dirt from spending the day cramped into a minibus to travel out to yet another volunteer site, and not being able to get a decent shower because of blackouts. I miss my car and my washing machine and my kitchen and my ceiling fan. I miss being able to plan my day and know that if I make an appointment for a particular time (a) I’ll be able to arrive on time and (b) the person I’m meeting will arrive on time---or within a reasonable interval---or will call to tell me that he or she is running late. I miss being able to call a business and find out its hours and know that the business will actually be open during those hours. (Seriously, you would not believe the conversation I had to ensure just to find out when the UPS office would be open.) I miss clean clothes and fabric softener and decent pillows. I miss parks and coffee shops and the little farmer’s market across from my place where I don’t have to push my way through a barrage of boys shouting at me to buy their jumbo (plastic bags) and then have the vendors shouting at me from all directions to buy this or that or another thing while the bag boys follow me around, trying to trick me into putting my purchases into their plastic bags so I’ll have to pay them a ridiculous amount.<br /><br />I miss home.<br /><br />I think if my research was going better, life here might be more tolerable. At least the time would pass more quickly. But each day is still a slog---cold calling organizations, setting up meetings with people who may or may not actually show up to those meetings, spending hours traveling to sites that turn out to be outside my study parameters, conducting endless interviews that are---at best---tangentially relevant to my study, chasing down lead after lead after lead and feeling like I’m really just chasing my own tail. And now we’re just a few weeks from the holiday season---another dead zone in the volunteer calendar---when the current crop of volunteers---and much of the ex-pat community---heads back West.<br /><br />I’m sorry this has been another downer post. I do keep plugging along, even if I’m not sure why or whether I’m making any progress.<br /><br />Nearly three months down! Seven(ish) left to go.<br /><br />Perhaps it’s time for one of those “restorative retreats” at the lake.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >*I've borrowed this term from a long-term volunteer who shall, per IRB regulations, remain nameless.</span>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-24045216648255470892010-10-21T08:19:00.000-07:002010-10-21T08:22:12.501-07:00Greener Pastures?A whole month has gone by since my last update. Where to start?<br /><br />How about with a small revision to my previous post: The Kindle <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> the best item I packed. Unfortunately it wasn’t really built to withstand the rigors of Malawian public transportation. It died during an especially unpleasant hour-long ride in a truck bed along a deeply rutted dirt road. (Fortunately it was under warranty, and Amazon is supposed to be spending a replacement. “Supposed to.” Whether one is actually being sent is still unclear even after 15 minutes of phone calls that cost me $25 and several desperate e-mails.)<br /><br />So . . . when last I wrote, I was accosting strangers and trudging to the far corners of Zomba in the hunt for research subjects. And I was failing absolutely.<br /><br />Off to Blantyre!<br /><br />I had visited some volunteer sites in Blantyre during my preliminary research, and a cursory Internet search turned up some additional leads. I had initially planned to use Blantyre as a secondary site---visiting from time to time to supplement my findings from my primary site---but I began to think that it might be a good primary site for a few months. I could spend the first half of my time there, and then return to Zomba so that I’d be able to compare urban and rural experiences.<br /><br />But first, I was off to Lilongwe. My visa application was finally approved, so I had to go to the embassy to get my passport stamped. Which meant that once again, I spent a morning at the bus depot. During earlier reconnaissance, I had ascertained that a coach bus left from Zomba to Lilongwe at 7:00 each morning. So I arrived bright and early to get a seat. Only to discover that the bus wasn’t running that day due to the nation-wide fuel shortage. Thankfully, I only had to wait a short while until a bus that had managed to get fuel departed for Lilongwe, and I arrived mid-afternoon. I abused my embassy privileges just a *smidge* to get a driver to meet me at the depot in Lilongwe and take me to the embassy.<br /><br />I stayed the night in Lilongwe at the Mufasa Backpackers Lodge, which was fantastically located in the city center---and just a few blocks from the Old Town Mall, where I was able to satisfy a weeks-long craving for a caprese salad (in panini form, but so yummy). At the lodge, I continued to tell everyone and anyone about my research project, and lo and behold, I wound up talking to two British girls who had just arrived to spend part of their gap year volunteering at an orphanage---in Blantyre! Finally, things were looking up. <br /><br />The next morning was yet another early bus trip, but this time I decided to “splurge” on a ticket for the Axa Executive bus to Blantyre: three times the price as a regular coach bus (about $25 versus $8) but it left exactly at its scheduled time, didn’t make any stops along the way, and got us to Blantyre in about 4 hours (versus 8 or 9 hours on the regular bus). We even got a small snack along the way! I also met a young Malawian man who worked at another orphan-care project outside of Blantyre, and we arranged for him to set up a meeting for me with a volunteer working there. And for once, someone kept his word: I went out that afternoon to meet with an Australian woman who is spending a year working at the project as a physiotherapist. She’s there for one year, so again, a bit outside my subject pool, but she gave me some other leads.<br /><br />The next day, I went to the orphanage where the two British girls were volunteering. I had been to this orphanage during my preliminary research and had gotten a warm welcome then, and was welcomed again this time. I hung out for most of the morning---feeding babies, talking to the nurses and caregivers, and getting a sense of volunteering there. The matron and director agreed to let me return the next day to spend a full day there.<br /><br />Perhaps the universe was finally giving me a break? Perhaps I had found my field site?<br /><br />In the afternoon, I interviewed two volunteer staff members for the Lake of Stars festival, and they agreed to let me come in to some of the interviews to select local volunteers and to “embed” myself as a volunteer at the festival.<br /><br />While in Blantyre, I also met with a woman who runs a “responsible” safari company that incorporates short-term volunteering and project visits into its traditional safari trips and got contact information for a street kids program that hosts short-term volunteers.<br /><br />But the universe was just toying with me: I also managed to drown my cell phone, modem, and data-recording pen when a bottle of water overturned in my tote bag (which strangely is only waterproof from the inside; the cell phone and modem eventually recovered, but the pen was a total loss). And when I returned to Zomba, I was greeted by the caretaker’s wife with the news that we were almost out of electricity units (electricity is prepaid in some places). Of course by the time I got the news, it was Saturday afternoon, so the Escom office was closed and nothing could be done until Monday morning. I got through Saturday night, but we lost power on Sunday morning. Grrrr.<br /><br />In any case, I returned to Zomba for a mostly unproductive week of chasing down my affiliation and reading in the archives. I did a couple of brief interviews with some long-term volunteers just to have something to do. I also finally got leads on a couple of short-term volunteer groups in town, but I had made up my mind to return to Blantyre until the end of December, so I tucked them away for future reference.<br /><br />I was finally starting to feel somewhat optimistic about my research project. I thought the orphanage would be a good---if not ideal---site for a few months of participant observation, and I would have several supplementary sites that I could visit every few weeks. I would also get to spend at least a couple weeks---until I set up a home stay---at a lodge where I had hot showers, a decent kitchen, and satellite television (“Mythbusters” reruns every afternoon! Have I mentioned that Tory Belleci is my new imaginary boyfriend?).<br /><br />But my optimism was premature. When I returned to the orphanage to get official permission to hang around until the end of December, they did an about-face, and my warm welcome was replaced with a rather cold shoulder. Not only could I not use them as my long-term, primary research site, but suddenly they didn’t want me there at all.<br /><br />Being rejected by the orphanage pointed out a major flaw in my plans: The places that have sufficient volunteers to make them a good project site . . . . well, have sufficient volunteers and don't really need or want an extra person hanging around, particularly someone who doesn't have anything to offer them beyond an extra set of hands.<br /><br />After a day after feeling seriously sorry for myself, I rallied to the cause and started looking for another site. I got a list of NGOs in Blantyre and started cold calling any that sounded like they might have volunteers. I also started knocking on doors---going to travel agencies and organizations that might either sponsor volunteers or know who does. I got a couple of good interviews out of my efforts, but still no project site. Then I headed back to the street kids program; I had called ahead and found out that they had just had new volunteers arrive: two American girls who had recently graduated from nursing school. While at the site to meet with the girls, we were joined by the local volunteer coordinator who had placed the girls at the site. Voluntourism has created its own industry in Malawi, including these local coordinators who act as the go-betweens to identify volunteer sites and housing, as well as to trouble-shoot on the ground. Most of the coordinators work part-time as freelancers for several programs, and it is a bit unclear whether their primary allegiance is to the agencies that are paying them or to the community organizations for whom they recruit volunteers.<br /><br />K., the local coordinator for this program, agreed to help me find a project site through his list of contacts. I once again had some cautious optimism. And, at first, the optimism seemed to be winning out. K. set up a series of interviews with community-based organizations who had worked with volunteers in the recent past. I got some great information: a broad spectrum of experiences with short-term international volunteers and some common themes that could help guide my observations once I got into a long-term site.<br /><br />But after an initial burst of productivity, the cautious side won out: Three weeks later, I still don’t have a long-term project site.<br /><br />I had also arranged for K. to find me a home stay. As comfy as I am at the lodge, I have definitely been spending too much time “on the veranda.” I’m really belaboring this metaphor, aren’t I? But it’s an issue that is constantly on my mind.<br /><br />I wouldn’t classify myself as particularly shy, but I am extremely introverted and private. One of the greatest challenges for me in my fieldwork is the almost complete loss of my privacy. Not to put it too starkly, but . . . I’m a white woman in a place where public spaces are dominated by black men. I stand out. I relinquish any sense of anonymity and privacy the moment I step off the lodge property and into public space. Children shout, “Azungu! Azungu!” Men fall into step next to me to ask, “What is your name? Where are you from? Where are you staying? Why are you here?” Or worse, they cat call as I pass, “Hey, Mami!” The level of intrusion has varied from place to place. In Zomba, I often had someone accompany me for a short bit if we were heading the same direction, but they kept a polite distance and took the hint when I would give them curt answers and a cold shoulder. In Blantyre, they cat call and occasionally go out of their way to walk with me---crossing the street or even reversing direction. (They also sometimes try to lift my wallet.) Cape Maclear was the worst: they would reverse direction, cross the road, and intrude into my personal space---practically forcing me off the path. And they would become aggressively rude if I rebuffed them or sometimes directly asked them to leave me alone.<br /><br />I don’t mean any of this to be read as a totalizing statement on Malawian men. The vast, vast majority of Malawian men are perfectly content to let me go about my day as they go about theirs. And not all of what I experience as intrusion is meant maliciously. But rather just to say that I feel a daily sense of intrusion and exposure---along a continuum from annoying to harassing---that affects how I am experiencing field work and what spaces I chose to occupy in the field. I find myself seeking out “wazungu” spaces---spaces primarily occupied by ex-pats, temporary residents, and tourists---where I feel like I can let down my guard a bit.<br /><br />On the one hand, I need these spaces for my mental health. And they do fit into my research as I think about how and where international volunteers interact with local community members. But on the other hand, they could become a crutch and a way of “surviving” fieldwork without having to put myself into the uncomfortable---exposed, vulnerable---position of being in the local community.<br /><br />The lodge seemed like one of those crutches, so I asked K. to find me a home stay. And he did---with his neighbors. Unfortunately, I decided that the situation wasn’t right for me---I’d be sharing a room with their teenage daughter, the father was a heavy drinker who had me out at the bottleshop at 11 a.m. (not really the impression I want to make on the community)---so I’m back on the veranda---at the lodge---for now.<br /><br />As an aside, because men---and those mostly in their twenties and thirties---dominate public spaces, my informant pool is very heavily skewed toward that demographic at the moment. I’m struggling to find ways to get more women and greater age variation into my sample.<br /><br />Anyway, that was a rather long diversion. Where was I? Oh, yes: same story, different city. Still no project site. I’m now more than 2 months (almost 10 weeks!) into a 10-month project; I’m starting to panic, and my resolve is starting to flag. The intrepid anthropologist---who knows she should be out in the community making contacts, finding informants, and participating in “real” Malawian life---is at war with the introverted librarian---who just wants to settle into the wazungu life, surrounded by books, venturing out for the occasional interview. Not helping: I had a nasty cold that had me out of commission for several days, and now I’ve come down with a stomach bug.<br /><br />This update has gone on much too long---even with judicious edits (I have to save something for the dissertation!)---so I’ll save my stories from the lake for another post.<br /><br />And fear not: I will rally again. If only because I do not want to return after 10 months without sufficient material to write a dissertation.<br /><br />To end on a bright note: My affiliation finally came through! So at least I’m officially approved to do research---if I can ever find a place to do it.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-71811772435316166852010-10-05T22:48:00.000-07:002010-10-05T23:01:32.536-07:00A Word from Our SponsorsA very overdue---and likely very long---update is forthcoming. In the meantime, for those who are interested, I have a mailing address:<br /><br />c/o Young Voices<br />PO Box 30010<br />Chichiri Blantyre<br />Malawi<br />PH: 0991746546<br /><br />You need to include the phone number so the post office will call and let me know that I have mail. Or just tell me that you've sent something so I know to start checking for it.<br /><br />The address is good for things sent by early December.<br /><br />Also, for my fellow fieldworkers and future fieldworkers, a book recommendation: <span style="font-style: italic;">Improvising Theory: Process and Temporality in Ethnographic Fieldwork</span> by Allaine Cerwonka and Liisa Malkki. Skim the first chapter---it's mostly a poli sci grad student making the shocking revelation that ethnography is a valuable method. But the bulk of the book is an e-mail exchange between a student in the field (Cerwonka) and her adviser (Malkki) about all the vagaries of fieldwork: how to choose a field site, who makes a good informant, what to include in fieldnotes, etc. I've found reading the exchange hugely helpful---both in answering my own questions about fieldwork (seeing as my own committee is ignoring me) and in reassuring myself that I'm not a total failure at fieldwork (e.g., it's not unusual to spend the first few months just trying to locate and settle into a site).<br /><br />Stay tuned for a massive round up of a month's worth of ups and downs.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-69947589327311353122010-09-21T05:22:00.001-07:002010-09-21T05:24:39.528-07:00Chasing Volunteers and Other Wild GeeseA brief side note to my fellow field workers: The Kindle is the single best item I packed. Field work, at least in my case, has a lot of down time---and a limited number of ways to fill that time. Having plenty of reading material---without the accompanying weight of physical books---has been a saving grace. It can also be a bit of a crutch; if Malinowski had a Kindle, he might never have gotten down from the veranda (and many days, I wish he never had).<br /><br />Now back to our regularly scheduled blogging . . . .<br /><br />I returned to Zomba even more determined to find some short-term volunteers so that I wouldn’t have to spend the next year in a hot, dusty, mosquito-ridden, Internet-deprived lakeside town. I went with a time-honored research technique: accosting strangers in the street. Emulating the locals, I approached every azungu I saw to ask where they were from, why they were in Malawi, and how long they were staying. I went up to them in the streets, stalked them through the markets, and shouted at them across crowded restaurants (a Canadian engineer is still rather wary of me after I used this last technique with him). Taking a hint from safaris, I tracked my prey where they ate. I spent countless hours at restaurants and bars where azungu were rumored to hang out, enlisting the aid of bartenders and waiters and passersby to identify possible subjects.<br /><br />I also started being much friendlier to the locals who approached me. I explained my project to everyone and anyone who so much as made eye contact with me. I think at least half the men in Zomba between the ages of 18 and 35 now have my phone number.<br /><br />And then I followed up every possible lead, no matter how vague or tenuous. I called every phone number I was given. I stopped in every office I could think of or was referred to.<br /><br />One afternoon, I walked out to the district health office. One of my Malawian acquaintances assured me that it was very close, just a kilometer from where we stood in the center of town. Almost an hour later, dusty and sweaty from the afternoon sun, I finally reached the office. The two staff members I met were remarkably eager to help, even if they weren’t actually very helpful. I got the phone number of a Peace Corps volunteer (PCV) who was working at a clinic. PCVs aren’t really in my subject group, but I thought he might know of other volunteers. Then someone mentioned a community meeting where another PCV was supposed to be. It was at a school about another kilometer down the road (this time, an actual kilometer). So I trudged down the road again. The PCV hadn’t yet arrived, so I found a seat in the shade and waited. And waited. And waited. After more than an hour, he hadn’t arrived, so I gave up and went back up the road. Next door to the DHO is the central hospital, so I stopped in to ask about volunteers there (although I’m mostly avoiding medical professionals because any research involving hospitals requires yet another review board clearance). The hospital director was very friendly as he explained that he wasn’t going to tell me boo until I produced a letter of affiliation (which I still don’t have---this time because they lost one of my letters of recommendation).<br /><br />The next day I went on an even longer hike---made extra long by my inability to read a map---up a rather steep hill on the advice of a woman I met in a restaurant (I really am not kidding about accosting all sorts of strangers in all sorts of places). She suggested two places in the same neighborhood: a faith-based NGO and a house where a Belgian woman occasionally housed volunteers. At the NGO, I met with a Canadian “volunteer”---a guy in his early twenties---who is assigned for two-years (again, outside of my subject group, and he was hesitant to call himself a volunteer because he has a job description and receives a stipend). He didn’t know of any short-term volunteers in the area, but seemed at least willing to keep an eye out for me. Further up the mountain, I found the house where the Belgian woman lives, but she was in Belgium for holiday.<br /><br />So back down the mountain with nothing to show for it except a couple of new numbers in my contact list and a blazing sunburn on my chest, neck, and scalp. I stopped in at a lodge that was reputed to be popular among volunteers, only to be told that the volunteers had all cleared out a few weeks ago.<br /><br />All in all, a lot of wild goose chases around Zomba in search of an ever-more elusive prey. So this, kids, is field work: lots of long days of trudging along dusty roads in the hot sun with little result.<br /><br />In the meantime, I was <span style="font-style: italic;">still</span> stymied by the bureaucracy of getting my affiliation (as noted above), still waiting for my extended visa to be approved (as the expiration on my temporary visa rapidly approached), and still moping about my living situation (not improved by the fridge breaking down while I was out of town and causing a terrible stench).<br /><br />But I did have a few bright spots. On one of my azungu hunting trips, I worked up the nerve to go out to a local bar on a Friday night. Much to my surprise, several of the people I had met (read: accosted) during the week were there, including the “volunteer” from the mountain-side NGO and the Canadian engineer (as well as the girl who welched on the houseshare with me). Also there: a couple of Italian architects, a German development worker, a couple of American World Bank researchers, a (long-term) volunteer with Global Health Corps. Apparently the young ex-pat community converges on this bar on a regular basis (and regularly cleans it out of beer and cigarettes). They also have a weekly volleyball game on Sunday afternoons, where I finally met the PCV I had stalked earlier in the week, who finally gave me a substantive lead on short-term volunteers in the area. Unfortunately, by the time I got this lead, I had already made up my mind to go to Blantyre, where I hoped I’d have better luck (and did---more on this next time). But I’m tucking away the contact information for when I will (hopefully) return to Zomba.<br /><br />I also had a very welcome visit from a fellow anthropology grad student who needed a place to crash for a few nights. I had been “friends” with A. on Facebook for nearly a year, but this was the first time we actually met in person. I was glad to have some company, if only for a short while; I even stayed up past nine o’clock!<br /><br />And so, I gave Zomba the ol’ college try, but I was coming up with little more than tenuous suggestions that some more volunteers might show up in October. So I decided that I needed to look elsewhere.<br /><br />To conclude with another brief aside: I’m writing this blog entry at a bookstore/café on the outskirts of Zomba center. The stated purpose of the establishment is to provide affordable Christian literature to Malawians. To this end, the owners have set up a café that caters to the azungu crowd---both in type of food and in price. The theory is that the food sales will underwrite the bookstore.<br /><br />I’m a bit torn about patronizing the café. Because although it’s stated purpose is to serve the local community (through evangelism---I won’t get into the debate about how much that actually serves the community), in reality, it has become an azungu hang out. The food is outside the price range of even most middle-class Malawians, and I’ve never seen any Malawians eating here who weren’t in the company of azungu.<br /><br />But . . . they serve really yummy azungu food (hot scones! with real butter!).<br /><br />Am I staying too much on the veranda?<br /><br />(Apologies for all the veranda references. Blame J. for bringing it up in an e-mail. Because J. actually sends me e-mails. *ahem, cough, cough*)<br /><br />Next time: Greener PasturesLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-68509229761258638592010-09-11T12:55:00.000-07:002010-09-11T12:57:47.876-07:00Boys, Beaches, and Bus Depots (Not Necessarily in that Order)I’m getting very behind on my updates. And I just know that all one-and-a-half of you reading this blog are desperately waiting for my next post.<br /><br />So I arrived in Zomba to find that all the voluntourists had come and gone. But my first few days weren’t a total loss. My daily vigils at Tasty Bites paid off when I ran into a woman I had met two years ago during my preliminary research. A German who now splits her time between Malawi (8 months) and Australia (the rainy season), B. runs a charity with an informal volunteer program in a small town on the lake. The volunteers, mostly Germans and Aussies, come for anywhere from 2 weeks to 3 months, ostensibly to tutor children in an afterschool program, but really to do any work that can be found for them. The ones who were just here were redigging a trench around the property and working in the garden.<br /><br />B. had three volunteers at the time, and she assented to my coming for a brief visit. I also hoped to catch up with another program in the same area that I also knew from my prior trip.<br /><br />Getting to this particular town required yet another bus ride. A couple days before I planned to travel, I went to the bus depot to ask whether any of the more reliable coach buses went to my destination. The Axa bus did not; the National Bus supposedly did (and, indeed, does) but no one knew its schedule. A few people guessed that it left between 7 and 8 in the morning.<br /><br />So on my travel day, I woke early to walk to the bus depot, getting there at about a quarter to seven---plenty of time to make sure I caught the bus and even get a seat.<br /><br />As it turns out, the bus leaves BLANTYRE---a full two hours (by bus) south of Zomba---sometime between 7 and 8, which as we know, means about nine o’clock. Once again, I waited. And waited. And waited. A full three hours, until a coach bus---not the National Bus---arrived. I admit that I took full advantage of azungu privilege to push my way to the front of the line to get on, lest I have to wait several more hours. And even then, I had to stand for the first half hour or so, until a seat became free.<br /><br />The trip itself only took about five hours, and someone was at the bus depot when I arrived to greet me and help me get my pack to the backpackers lodge where I would be staying. And by “backpackers lodge,” I mean “campsite.” The term “backpackers lodge” is applied to a whole range of accommodations in Malawi; some of the lodges have very nice private rooms with en suite baths, hot water included (in addition to the dorms and camp grounds), while others---like this one---are a bit more . . . rustic. My room was two twin beds with thin mattresses, thinner pillows, and a dingy blanket and torn mosquito net apiece in about an 8x10-foot space. No lock on the door or curtain on the window (which was just a torn mesh screen). No electricity anywhere on the property, and the bath was shared: two working toilets and one shower, about a 50-foot walk from the rooms. The water for the bathrooms came from several large barrels on top of the building, which were filled with lake water via bucket brigade; hot water was via a small fire lit under one of the barrels. If you wanted a shower, you had to give 30-minutes notice so someone could fill the barrels.<br /><br />But . . . it was right on the lake, with a small private beach and plenty of quiet. If I had been prepared for camping, it would actually have been quite nice. Although, silly me forgot her bathing suit back in the States. (As an aside: I do not understand how some girls can manage to maintain impeccable personal grooming while backpacking for months on end. I can barely keep up the basics under the most optimum conditions.)<br /><br />In any case, I got to spend a couple of days with the volunteers, and I re-established my contact with the other program (although I wasn’t able to meet with any of its volunteers because they were heading out of town for a weekend trip).<br /><br />In some ways, the town would make a good project site for my research. It has a steady stream of voluntourists. And it has some controversy brewing with the voluntourism programs: Some former voluntourists, dissatisfied with their voluntourism experience, decided that they could do more good on their own. They partnered with the local volunteer coordinator to channel money into a particular project. They are now alleging that the coordinator embezzled the money. I also heard rumors that some other voluntourists have complained about their program and the local coordinators, but my informant was a bit cagey about divulging the stories (he was concerned that the people involved would kill him through witchcraft). The site also has the potential to reveal the stark cultural differences between Malawi and the West, and the influence of Western culture. Rastafarian culture is big among both the local young men and the Westerners who travel there; I was often the only one at the backpackers who was NOT high on ganga banana bread. And many of the voluntourists act like they are at the beach: wearing shorts and bathing suits, smoking and drinking, flirting with the locals.<br /><br />But . . . it is hot. It is dusty. It is rather isolated; transport is difficult to other areas of Malawi. And it has no Internet. No where. None. Not for miles and miles. It’s also a bit of an extreme case. My impression from my previous research is that the voluntourists in other parts of Malawi do a little bit better job of blending into local norms (although they still tend to drink and smoke with abandon).<br /><br />So, research-wise: promising. Living conditions: less so.<br /><br />It’s definitely a site that I want to return to several times throughout the year---stay for a week or two---but not my ideal location for my primary site.<br /><br />When I wasn’t scoping out the research possibilities, I was fending off the advances of one of the staff members at the backpackers: a Rastafarian who drinks and eats meat and who spent much of the time telling me how much he liked me. I didn’t want to offend him because, quite frankly, he’s a useful informant. In addition to greeting the arrivals at the bus depot, he mans a storefront from which he sells sodas, and therefore attracts various locals throughout the day. A lot of the information I got about the aforementioned controversy, as well as some local opinion on the German charity, came from hanging out on the front porch of the store. But I did try to make myself very clear that I was only interested in friendship.<br /><br />I’m fairly certain that he moved on to the next lonely female traveler as soon as I departed, although he has tried calling me a few times.<br /><br />Returning to Zomba involved another fun adventure at the bus depot. This time, I was told that the bus would depart at 3:00 am. I arranged with my Rasta boy to have him accompany me to the depot because (1) hadn’t brought a torch with me and (2) even with a torch, I didn’t love the idea of walking the rather isolated road from the backpackers to town. He, of course, didn’t show up at our arranged meeting time, so I had to rouse half the lodge to find him. We finally get to the depot a little after 3:00---and find out that the bus doesn’t depart until 4:00. In fact, the driver wasn’t even there and the bus wasn’t yet open to passengers. So I got to spend another half hour on the porch of the storefront, listening to a very drunk and high Rasta boy tell me how much he liked me.<br /><br />The bus actually left on time, even though it was only about half full. But it then stopped about every quarter of a mile to pick up passengers along the road. Every one of whom seemed to be carrying the entirety of their worldly goods with them, requiring a good ten to fifteen minutes at each stop to load luggage. I was lucky to keep my seat to myself for about the first hour, until a woman with a very fussy---and very stinky---baby plopped herself, her baby, and her live chicken into the seat next to me---and into about half of my seat. I spent the remaining four hours alternating between cat-naps and passive-aggressive battle for space.<br /><br />I got back to Zomba; slept for half a day; took a long, hot shower to scrub off the sand and grit; and steeled myself for another week of volunteer hunting.<br /><br />Next Up: Wild Goose Chases and Other AdventuresLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6786528.post-69233745566875164282010-09-06T03:53:00.000-07:002010-09-06T03:57:45.484-07:00A Day in the LifeTo recap a bit: I arrived in Malawi, spent two days being orientated in Lilongwe, went to a friend’s wedding in Mzuzu, and was depressed in Zomba.<br /><br />And I’m still in Zomba, but only occasionally depressed. Things were a bit frustrating when I first arrived. My housemate bailed on me. Malawian utilities were---and still are---failing me. And the institution with which I want to affiliate was strangling me in red tape. I had written ahead to find out what I needed to apply for affiliation---a proposal, a CV, and a letter of recommendation---and I promptly sent all the items so that the process would at least be started when I arrived. Except that when I arrived, I was told that my application was still incomplete: I needed proof of funding and two more letters of recommendation. After specifically asking if it was okay to have the letters sent by e-mail, I arranged for everything to be submitted. My committee members very dutifully sent the letters straight away. But when I went back again to check on the progress, I was told that the letters had to be on letterhead and signed; an e-mail was not indeed sufficient. Oh, and the affiliation fee has quintupled.<br /><br />So I’m still waiting for affiliation.<br /><br />I had anticipated that getting the affiliation would take some nagging after I got here, so I planned to spend the time locating a field site and doing research in the archives. Thus far, I’ve failed at both.<br /><br />My plan for locating a field site was to hang around at the popular “azungu” (White/visitor) spots to find voluntourists, talk to them, and identify where they were working. This approach worked remarkably well during my preliminary research.<br /><br />Not so much this time.<br /><br />Malawi has hundreds---if not thousands---of foreign volunteers. I’ve found three so far---all at a resort town at the lake, where I most definitely do not want to spend the next eight months (more on this later).<br /><br />As for the archives, I’m mostly striking out, but I haven’t given up. I did find one useful book---a history of the British Voluntary Services Overseas---and I keep digging through subject indexes in the hopes that somewhere I’ll find a buried treasure. At the very least, it keeps me occupied while I hunt the elusive voluntourist and await my affiliation.<br /><br />I do manage to keep myself mostly busy during the day---up until about 4.00 each afternoon. I'm up around 6.00 each morning. I go to the archives for a few hours, then have lunch at Tasty Bites, a restaurant geared toward azungu and middle-class Malawians. The food is decent---I can get a healthy portion of chicken or fish, chips, and salad, with a soda, for the equivalent of about $5---and it’s a hotspot for a couple of wireless services, so I can check e-mail. After lunch, I run errands around town---getting food at the market, having a skirt fixed at the tailor, buying more wireless minutes. I dodge the vendors who ask me every single day if I want to buy strawberries or postcards or cell phone minutes, even though I wave them off every single day. I read the local paper; big stories lately include a proposed policy to limit families to two children (no wonder people here think the Chinese have taken over) and projected food shortages (reports on which have led the president to threaten to shut down media for portraying the government in a bad light; I’m starting to think the Chinese have taken over). I write my notes from the day, although at this point they hardly qualify as field notes. I do some Chichewa review. My language skills are coming back quickly---I’ve managed conversations up to 3 minutes long---although for the life of me, I cannot understand a word that my housekeeper says.*<br /><br />And then . . . I attempt to fill the very long hours from the late afternoon to a decent bedtime (around 9.00). I’m reading a lot; the Kindle has become an indispensable field tool. I listen to the same songs on endless repeat (but I finally got my billing figured out on iTunes, so send suggestions for new music). I cook dinner on a small gas cooker---generally some combination of potatoes, beans, and greens with tomatoes and onions. I write overly long, depressing blog posts and count the weeks until I can come home.<br /><br />Field work is oh-so glamorous.<br /><br />Next up: Boys, Beaches, and Bus Depots<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />* The owner of the house employs a caretaker who lives on the property with his wife and baby daughter. With all the dirt and dust and creepy critters in Malawi, daily house cleaning is essential. I’m way too lazy for that. And I’m complete rot at washing my clothes by hand. So I hired the wife as a part-time housekeeper, justifying it as contributing to the local economy.</span>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07708528079142986732noreply@blogger.com3