Nothing Special

Top Ten Tuesday

2012-01-18T08:09:00.000-08:00

So I'm posting my Top Ten Tuesday on a Wednesday. I really need to remember not to order the second margarita when I go to Pasqual's.

Top Ten Books I'd Recommend to Someone Who Doesn't Read About Africa

1. We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families 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.

2. This Voice in My Heart 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, Strength in What Remains by Tracy Kidder)

3. What is the What 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.

4. King Leopold's Ghost 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.

5. Weep Not, Child 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.

6. Africa Since 1940 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.

7. Global Shadows 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.

8. A Heart for the Work 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.

9. Half of a Yellow Sun 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.

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.

A few that I thought about recommending include Compassion Fatigue by Susan Moeller; The Road to Hell by Michael Maren; and The Lords of Poverty 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.)

Anything you would add/remove/qualify?

Top Ten Tuesday

2012-01-10T17:52:00.000-08:00

10 Authors I Wish Would Write Another Book

I (almost) always enjoy writing about books, but this week's Top Ten Tuesday from The Broke and the Bookish 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!).

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:

1. Margaret Atwood. Based on her Twitter updates, Atwood is working on a new novel, and I CANNOT WAIT.

2. Madeleine L'Engle. In particular, I wish she would have written a fifth installment in her Crosswicks Journal before leaving us.

3. Jonathan Kozol. One of the best writers on education and poverty. We desperately need his perspective on the current policy environment.

4. Bonnie Jo Campbell. Loved Once Upon a River. LOVED American Salvage. Campbell needs to write more, right now.

5. Joanna Kavenna. Like Campbell, Kavenna has a gift for devestatingly bleak realism. More please!

6. Marjane Satrapi. Persepolis is one of my all-time favorite books, and I think it's been time enough for her to add Vol. 3.

7. Michael Pollan. 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.

8. Jeffrey Eugenides. So including Eugenides is a bit unfair because he did just release The Marriage Plot a couple of months ago. But I'm already itching for his next one. Please don't make us wait another nine years!

9. Muriel Barbery. Her fantastically absurb and whimsical novels are a nice antidote to aforementioned bleak realism.

10. Tim Gunn. Because we can never have enough Gunn in our lives.

Top Ten Tuesday: Childhood Favorites

2011-12-06T15:58:00.000-08:00

Yet 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.

This week's Top Ten Tuesday theme from The Broke and the Bookish is childhood favorites.

1. The Egypt Game by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. My absolute, all-time favorite childhood book.

2. Homecoming and Dicey's Song by Cynthia Voigt. I reread these a few years ago, and they held up surprisingly well.

3. From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg. A mystery in a museum? Yes, please!

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.

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.

7. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle. The beginning of a lifelong love of L'Engle. As an adult, I've reread her Crosswicks Journals many times.

8. The Grinch Who Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss. I used to make my sister read this to me every Christmas.

9. Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein.

10. The Poky Little Puppy by Janette Sebring Lowrey. My mom used to call me the Poky Little Puppy, so I have a particular attachment to this book.

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.

Bonus Bonus: Two YA books that I've read as an adult and loved---The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins and What I Believe by Norma Fox Mazer.

What are some of your favorites?

Top Ten Tuesday: Winter Reading

2011-11-30T18:21:00.001-08:00

I *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 The Broke and the Bookish's Top Ten Tuesday and plan my winter reading.

1. The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides. I've already started this one---a library copy that's now about two weeks overdue---and am already enjoying it.

2. Modelland by Tyra Banks. Oh yeah.

3. Who Fears Death 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.

4. One Day I Will Write About This Place by Binyavanga Wainaina. This book and the above are also part of my Read More Books by Africans project.

5. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian by Sherman Alexie. Another long timer on the to-be-read pile that will come off the pile over winter break.

6. The Magician King by Lev Grossman. I finally finished re-reading The Magicians, so now time for the sequel.

7. A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan. I downloaded this one ages ago after reading loads of good review.

8. A Game of Thrones 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.

9. Beauty Queens by Libby Bray. Winter break requires some no-brainer reading.

10. Spoiled by Heather Cocks and Jessica Morgan. Ditto.

Lighting Candles

2011-10-14T16:50:00.000-07:00

To completely misappropriate a phrase: It's better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.

So I haven't quit grad school. Raise your hand if you're surprised.

No one?

Yeah, me either.

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 very 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.

It's also logistically complicated. Grad school is currently providing my income (meager as it is) and health insurance.

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.

So I haven't quit grad school, but I'm taking baby steps toward it. Creating the conditions that would make it possible.

Scary stuff.

And It's Only the Second Week

2011-09-14T15:36:00.000-07:00

Someone talk me out of quitting grad school.

Or talk me into it.

I'm not sure which option I want to be convinced of.

**********

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.

**********

Now, here I am, in my sixth 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.

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.

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.

**********

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.

**********

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.

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!)

**********

Someone make the decision for me. I've had to make entirely too many decisions lately.

(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.)

**********

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.

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).

Summertime Blahs

2011-07-18T08:40:00.000-07:00

More than halfway through July already? Really?

Time flies when you are bored into a semi-comatose state.

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.

***************

One thing I did do: I auditioned for “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?”

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.

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?

I was much less sure about my chances with the interview.

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!)

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.

I needn’t have worried about the interview. I failed the quiz.

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.

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.

Guess I won’t be quitting my day job any time soon.

***************

In the plus column of Things I Actually Have Done: Knitting!

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:

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.

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.

**************

I have been reading a lot---just not the books I meant to. Most recently I finished Once Upon a River by Bonnie Jo Campbell. I had been eagerly waiting for this one; I read Campbell’s short-story collection, American Salvage, last year and loved it. Bleak, despondent, poignant realism set among the economically and socially marginalized in middle America.

Once Upon a River 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Currently I’m reading more cheerful fare: The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L’Engle (my security blanket in book form), and Unfamiliar Fishes by Sarah Vowell (who writes the stuff I wish I could).

My Sympathies

2011-06-20T17:25:00.000-07:00

I’m an aunt! Again! My niece was born, healthy and hale, last Tuesday evening.

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.

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.

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?

***************

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 Desertion, I read Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee.

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.

***Warning: Spoilers Ahead***

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).

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.

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.)

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.)

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?

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: The House Gun by Nadine Gordimer and The Heart of Redness by Zakes Mda.

How I'm Spending My Summer Vacation

2011-06-11T12:12:00.000-07:00

On 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?

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.

Until yesterday . . .

Some Lessons Learned:

* Two-year-olds do not understand sarcasm.
* Two-year-olds do not understand logic.
* Two-year-olds have amazing stamina and focus when it comes to getting what they want. Especially when what they want is their mommy.
* Never attempt a new recipe when baking with a two-year-old.
* Never turn your back on a two-year-old who is holding a full bottle of sprinkles.

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.

***************

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.

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.

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.

***************

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 about Africa and Africans, I’ve read very little by 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).

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.

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?

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).

In the meantime, first on my list is Desertion by A. Gurnah (Tanzania).

Any thoughts on how to define an "African" writer? Any recommendations for books by African writers?

Life as I Knew It

2011-06-01T10:50:00.000-07:00

Best 270 S.A. rand I've ever spent.*

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.

Love.

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.

Love.

***************

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 Go Fug Yourself and television (Glee! Top Chef! Mythbusters!).**

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!).

***************

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).

That's what I tell myself anyway.

***************

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.

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.

*I didn't convert to dollars because, really, I don't want to know.
**Have I mentioned that Tory Belleci is my new imaginary boyfriend and future husband?

Twelve More Days!

2011-05-12T09:35:00.000-07:00

Bathmophobia: fear of stairs or slopes.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

I’ve been having a nine-month-long anxiety attack.

So what do I do in my off time, when I don’t have to put myself through the hell of confronting this fear?

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.

I am stupid. Or masochistic. Or both.

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.

********************

Twelve days to go. Less than two weeks.

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.

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.

********************

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.

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?

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 . . .

Sorry. Back to my point.

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.

********************

Lest I end on a down note: My most recent Kindle purchase: Sweet Valley Confidential---Ten Years Later. 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.

First I have to finish my current book: Skippy Dies, 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.

I did finally, and with great effort of will, finish A Taste of Place. 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 The Omnivore’s Dilemma, which covers many of the same concepts but in a much more engaging and thoughtful way.

********************

Twelve more days! My next blog post will likely be from Stateside. Woohoo!

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

2011-03-03T06:54:00.000-08:00

Time, 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?

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

(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.)

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.

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.

The next two days were a series of long, dull bus rides; rainy, late night arrivals; another border crossing; more rain and buses.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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 . . .

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.

Eleven weeks and still counting . . .

18 Weeks

2011-01-20T04:07:00.000-08:00

And counting down.

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.

**********

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.

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.

I finally almost feel like I’m a real anthropologist!

**********

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.

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.

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).

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!

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.

**********

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.

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.

Regardless, I’m looking forward to seeing someplace that isn’t Malawi and maybe talking about something other than my research for a week.

PSA: Field Gear

2011-01-05T22:15:00.000-08:00

I’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).

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.

Yes, do bring . . .

* 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.

* 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.

* 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).

* 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, . . .

Yes, but . . .

* 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).

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

Don’t bother . . .

* 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.)

* 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.

* 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).

Shoulda, coulda, woulda brought . . .

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

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.

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.

Anyway . . . Perhaps this rather lengthy review will be helpful. Perhaps not.

Anyone have anything to add?

Flesh and Bones

2010-12-31T02:06:00.000-08:00

Advisor: I think you could probably make a dissertation out of what you already have.

Me: Does that mean I can come home now?

Advisor: No.

Me: Damn!

**********

So where were we?

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.

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.

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.

**********

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

**********

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

(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.)

**********

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.

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.

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.

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.

**********

I’m officially at the halfway point. Twenty weeks to go!

**********

If you’ve made it this far, you must actually be my friend. And so you might want my new address:

c/o Butterfly Lodge
PO Box 211
Nkhata Bay
Malawi

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.

Home is Where the Hot Showers and Electricity Are

2010-11-07T08:16:00.000-08:00

Malawia: The state or condition of being frustrated to the point of exhaustion by life in Malawi.*

Symptoms
* Irritability
* Frequent use of foul language
* Fatigue; a strong desire to stay in bed all day
* Constant complaining
* Politically incorrect and/or colonial thoughts
* Cravings for Western culture (food, entertainment, etc.)
* Repeatedly counting the time left in Malawi
* Repeatedly checking the date on one’s return ticket
* Obsessively checking bank balance against cost of flights home

Causes
* Lack of schedules and general timekeeping
* Minibuses
* Hot season
* Rainy season
* Dry season
* Overconsumption of chicken and chips
* Load shedding (i.e., blackouts)
* Water shortages
* Lazy, inept lodge “managers”
* Lack of privacy
* Lack of sleep
* Bug infestations
* Deet and/or Doom poisoning

Treatments
* Alcohol
* Letters and/or packages from home (*hint, hint*)
* Hanging out in wazungu spaces (swimming pools, La Caverna, overpriced hotels)
* A “restorative” retreat at the lake (preferably combined with alcohol consumption)
* Ruby slippers

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.

I miss home.

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.

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.

Nearly three months down! Seven(ish) left to go.

Perhaps it’s time for one of those “restorative retreats” at the lake.

*I've borrowed this term from a long-term volunteer who shall, per IRB regulations, remain nameless.

Greener Pastures?

2010-10-21T08:19:00.000-07:00

A whole month has gone by since my last update. Where to start?

How about with a small revision to my previous post: The Kindle was 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.)

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.

Off to Blantyre!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Perhaps the universe was finally giving me a break? Perhaps I had found my field site?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

A Word from Our Sponsors

2010-10-05T22:48:00.000-07:00

A very overdue---and likely very long---update is forthcoming. In the meantime, for those who are interested, I have a mailing address:

c/o Young Voices
PO Box 30010
Chichiri Blantyre
Malawi
PH: 0991746546

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.

The address is good for things sent by early December.

Also, for my fellow fieldworkers and future fieldworkers, a book recommendation: Improvising Theory: Process and Temporality in Ethnographic Fieldwork 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).

Stay tuned for a massive round up of a month's worth of ups and downs.

Chasing Volunteers and Other Wild Geese

2010-09-21T05:22:00.001-07:00

A 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).

Now back to our regularly scheduled blogging . . . .

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

In the meantime, I was still 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).

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

But . . . they serve really yummy azungu food (hot scones! with real butter!).

Am I staying too much on the veranda?

(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*)

Next time: Greener Pastures

Boys, Beaches, and Bus Depots (Not Necessarily in that Order)

2010-09-11T12:55:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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).

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.

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).

So, research-wise: promising. Living conditions: less so.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Next Up: Wild Goose Chases and Other Adventures

A Day in the Life

2010-09-06T03:53:00.000-07:00

To 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.

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.

So I’m still waiting for affiliation.

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.

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.

Not so much this time.

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).

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.

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.*

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.

Field work is oh-so glamorous.

Next up: Boys, Beaches, and Bus Depots

* 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.

At Last, The Wedding

2010-08-30T04:14:00.000-07:00

Back to a cheerier topic: the wedding.

So I had arrived---very late---on Thursday. Malawians take great pride in their reputation for friendliness and hospitality; no one should have to stay at a hotel unless by choice. Instead, everyone crams together in the homes of friends and family. Such was the case with the wedding. I was put up at the house of one of Jean’s friends, along with various nieces, nephews, friends, and others. We piled into beds and onto floor mats, even though few of us got much sleep.

The house itself was rather comfortable. Jean’s friend teaches at the nursing college in Mzuzu, and her home is a typical middle-class Malawian house: concrete walls (nicely painted) and floors (covered in area rugs), with a tile roof. It had three bedrooms, two and half baths (with hot water!), a comfortable living room, a dining room, and a small kitchen. She has most of the markers of middle-class life: nicely made, matching furniture; satellite television and DVD player; microwave; fridge/freezer. All in all, a very nice place to stay for a few days (and what I hope to find for my field site stay).

The next morning, after somehow managing to get everyone bathed and dressed despite limited facilities, we had a breakfast of sweet potatoes (the breakfast of Malawian champions!) and headed into town. Mzuzu, in the northern region, is actually quite large---larger than Zomba, although Zomba recently achieved “city” status and Mzuzu is still considered a town. The downtown area was crowded with cars and stores and people. I think the number of cars has trebled again from when I was here last---and then I was shocked by how many more cars there had been since I was first here in 2003. But used cars are increasingly available, the government is investing in road development, and the growing middle class increasingly wants cars for both mobility and status. (As an aside, Toyotas are the most popular because the spare parts are the easiest to obtain, but Mercedes Benz---or Mercs---are the most desired for status.)

But I digress---again. Joshua picked up Jean and I in his car (a Toyota), and then we picked up the flower girl and her mother, and we all dropped in town at the salon. I’m learning way more than I ever thought I would about African hair. Jean was getting a new weave for the wedding, while her flower girl was getting her hair steamed and a hair piece attached. Shortly after we got into town, Jean’s bridesmaid---Gloria---arrived from Lilongwe and joined us at the salon to get her current weave steamed and curled.

Jean’s weave would be an all day event, so in the meantime, I went with Gloria and two of her friends to run errands in town---going to the pharmacy, getting a new chitenji for me, picking up gifts, changing money into small bills for the reception (I’ll explain in a bit), and so on.

We wound up spending the whole day in town, with various friends and family circling through the salon and meeting up in the market. I spent the day mostly lost in translation; unless they were directly addressing me, everyone spoke Chichewa. So I went where I was told, with whom I was told to go, with very little idea of what was going on.

After a whole day in town, we went straight to the rehearsal. I was then supposed to go with Jean and Gloria to stay at Gloria’s sister-in-law’s mother’s house so that I could go with them to the traditional presentation to the groom’s family and be around for the pre-wedding preparations in the morning. At some point, either someone decided or someone misunderstood---but I wound up back as Ellemes’ house for the night. I was disappointed that I missed the presentation, although I will admit that I was also relieved to be able to stay at home that night. I still hadn’t really gotten over jetlag and now was exhausted from running around all day and trying to keep up with the conversation in a language I barely know.

Not that I got much rest. People were coming and going all through the night---turning on lights, having loud conversations, and generally interfering with any attempts at sleep.

The morning of the wedding came very early.

Perhaps guessing that many of the guests would be operating on “African time,” the wedding committee had told everyone to be at the church by 8:00 a.m. The service, however, was not set to begin until 9:00 a.m. So after another rushed morning and many concerns about transportation (none of us at the house had a car), we arrived at the church via Jean’s brother, Moses, with almost an hour to spare. Fortunately, we had two choirs to entertain us, and I was kept busy with greeting even more people whom I had met during my last stay, as well as meeting new family and friends.

The church service is very similar to Western weddings, with a little more music and dancing. The wedding parties enter and exit with well-choreographed routines. One major difference is that the services usually include more than one wedding party; individual services are available but can be expensive. We had one other wedding party at our service.

In some ways, Jean’s wedding departed from the Malawian norm. She had a small wedding party---just one bridesmaid and one flower girl, with a best man and a “stick boy” (about the equivalent of a ring bearer). Often, Malawian weddings are large affairs, with multiple bridesmaids, junior brides, and flower girls, along with their male counterparts. A wedding party can easily approach two dozen people.

Jean also had her wedding in the middle of the month. For reasons that will become apparent when I describe the reception, weddings are usually held at the beginning or end of the month---when people have money.

In any case, Jean was a beautiful bride and the ceremony was lovely---even if I couldn’t understand most of it---and I took loads of pictures with which to bore you when I return. For those who care about such things (like me), her gown was sleeveless---with just simple lace straps, a beaded bodice, and a modest train, worn with a short-sleeve, cropped jacket and elbow-length gloves for the church service. Her colors were green and white.

After the service, the wedding party went off in a decorated car to a house near the reception site for an arranged lunch, while the rest of us returned to various homes for our own lunches and some rest (or attempted rest---impossible, again, due to the number of people coming and going).

Then we went to the reception---and this is where the Malawian wedding is very different. Jean’s reception was held in a tent on the grounds of the Hotel Mzuzu, a rather upscale and expensive hotel. The bridal party once again performed a choreographed dance routine to enter the tent and process up to a raised stage at the front. The attendees then sit in rows of chairs, like an audience, facing the stage. The master of ceremonies then calls up various parts of the audience---bride’s side, groom’s side, friends of the bride, people who came from Zomba, and so forth. Those who are called then go up in front of the stage to dance while throwing money at the couple, into baskets, into the air, and onto the floor. Cashiers then follow behind to pick up the money and count it. To maximize one’s time “dancing,” people use 20-kwacha notes (the smallest paper bill; hence stopping for change the day before). They also take part in various games and events designed to elicit more money. For example, the bride and groom hand out apples to their friends, who are then called up to the front to “buy” their apples for 500 kwacha. The wedding cakes (they have a series of small ones) are auctioned off for more money. The whole point of the reception is to raise funds to pay for the wedding. And for my fellow anthropologists, it has the feeling of a potlatch to it, with its public displays of wealth and the way in which the money was carelessly, almost destructively, thrown on the floor.

At the end of the reception, some drinks and a small treat were handed out to guests (although somehow my section was overlooked; because you don’t need to RSVP to a Malawian reception, getting a guest count can be difficult). Then it was back to Ellemes’ house for dinner and sleep.

The next day was supposed to be a lazy day at home, but after lunch, Jean came by to get me for an impromptu trip to the lake with her, Joshua, some of her relatives, including her brother Moses, who lives in Zambia and hadn’t been back to Malawi in ten years (Jean hadn’t even met two of her nieces!). We drank beers on the beach, talked, laughed a lot, ate dinner, and generally had a wonderful time, sharing pictures and family stories.

From there, it was back to Lilongwe for two days’ rest and some unfinished business at the embassy, then off to Zomba.

Next up: Fear and Loathing in Zomba

Darkest Africa

2010-08-27T07:12:00.000-07:00

This update is brought to you by the Malawi Electric Company.

My only light sources at the moment are the computer screen and a rapidly dying mini-lantern. Apparently none of the previous occupants of the house thought to stockpile candles and matches. Or, if they did, they took their supplies with them. I tried sending the caretaker’s wife for batteries for the larger lantern, but the grocery nearby was out of stock and she didn’t want to range too far with her infant with her. I’m hoping that the caretaker will return soon to save me.

To jump ahead a little, I’m now in Zomba, in the southern region of the country, at the house that I’ve rented for a month. It’s a rather large, old colonial house in the center of town. It’s well-maintained, if not particularly well appointed. The owner just installed a fridge and freezer before I moved in; the cooker is just a two-burner gas range (and currently the gas tank is empty). The linens are threadbare, the furniture is sparse, but I have hot water and a sort of a shower (a handheld shower head that doesn’t extend high enough to stand, so to wash my hair, I have to sort of crouch in the tub).

I’m here by myself at the moment. I was supposed to share the house with another graduate student, but she flaked out on our agreement after finding a better housing situation. I should have known that I couldn’t trust her---she’s in political science, after all. (I can’t say I entirely blame her; I probably would have bailed also if I hadn’t already paid the month’s rent up front.)

It’s quiet, which I like, but lonely. Despite assurances from the locals that this area is safe, I don’t feel particularly comfortable with going out after dark, so I’m basically trapped inside from about 5:30 in the evening. With no television, no radio, no Internet, no housemates, and the occasional blackout---I think I’ll go stir crazy within a fortnight.

I am so not cut out for this anthropology stuff. Not two weeks have gone by---most of which I’ve spent in rather comfortable digs (the guest house and a middle-class house)---and I’m already pining for the comforts of home. And I’m supposed to move out to the village in a few weeks?!

In the meantime, I’m still in clearance limbo. Every time I think I’ve submitted all the paperwork I need, someone decides that I need something else. I had planned to be out in the village in a few weeks, but I may still be here in Zomba, chasing down approvals.

I’m sorry this is such a downer of an update. I’m sure once I start the actual research, time will go quickly, and I’ll have more interesting and exciting things to write about. At the moment, my days are a series of frustrations and annoyances (such as flaky grad students bailing on me; institutions creating new and fun hurdles for me to jump through) and my nights are endless hours of solitude, which I’ve chosen to fill with a series of pity parties.

How did I get into this?

How do I get out of it?

Malawi: African Time

2010-08-26T01:51:00.001-07:00

And so I arrived---alive and well and with all my luggage---and was properly oriented to the dangers of darkest Africa. Still jetlagged, I departed once again---this time for Mzuzu (in the north of Malawi) and my friend Jean’s wedding. Getting there was an experience in “African time.”

I should state here that I know plenty of Malawians (and people of other African nationalities) who are perfectly capable of telling time and keeping to a schedule. So I generally think that “African time” is bunk. But . . . I also can’t deny that time and schedules have a different meaning here, and even the most well-educated, professional, Westernized Malawians can have a rather elastic interpretation of time.

And so, on that Thursday, I was to be picked up by an embassy driver at 7.30 am so that I could cash a check before I departed. The driver did not arrive until 9.30---and only after several calls to my contact to check on his progress. I had intended to leave for the bus depot at 10.00; that got pushed back to 11.00. At least the driver for the guest house arrived on time to pick me up to go to the bus depot. Then he dropped me in the wrong place for the bus. Fortunately, someone who was also going to Mzuzu got me to the right place. Unfortunately, by the time I figured out that I was in the wrong place and got to the right place, the bus that I wanted was full---not even standing room. So my new traveling companion and I went in search of another bus.

A note about buses in Malawi: In recent years, Malawi has expanded its options for public transportation. When I first came to Malawi in 2003, coach buses were few and far between and had limited runs, usually overnight. We mostly traveled by minibus. Now, Malawi has two large bus companies---the National bus and the Axa bus---that run more or less on time (i.e., the buses generally depart within an hour of their scheduled time). In addition, a number of other companies run what are known as “local” buses---coach buses that depart when they are full and make more stops than the National or Axa bus. Then, there are the minibuses, although my impression is that most people only use those for short distances anymore.

Because we had missed the Axa bus, we boarded one of the local buses. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. We finally began to move around 2.30 pm, but only went from one end of the bus depot to the other, where we waited some more as the conductor tried to push a few more passengers onto a filled-to-capacity bus. After much protesting by the other passengers, the bus finally departed the depot---and went about 2k to the petrol station. Apparently, there was a problem with the tire. For whatever reason, they couldn’t resolve the problem at the first petrol station, so we went to another. And then another. We didn’t actually leave Lilongwe until after 3.00 in the afternoon---which was about the time I had hoped to arrive in Mzuzu.

I've decided that Malawi's naional motto needs to be changed from "The Warm Heart of Africa" to "The Place Where You Wait."

We finally get on the road. I had been told by several people that the trip to Mzuzu would take four, maybe five, hours. These people must only travel by car. We didn’t arrive until about 9.30 that night. Mind you, I was still very jetlagged and now hungry, filthy, and very annoyed---and very sticky. At one of the stops along the way---the Kasungu depot---I gave into hunger and thirst and bought a Coke and some peanuts. I then promptly spilled the soda all over me---my tote bag, my pants, my fleece jacket. Thank goodness that chitenjis are very absorbent! (And that I was carrying mine with me.)

But the trip did have two bright spots: My friend Jean was at the depot to greet me when I arrived, and I found that one of Jean’s nieces---whom I had known when I was in Zomba two years ago---was on the same bus (we were on the same bus for more than seven hours and only realized that we knew each other when we reached the depot!). So at least I didn’t have to wait alone at a dark bus depot.

I was thrilled to see Jean again---we hadn’t seen each other for two years---and to meet her husband-to-be, Joshua.

Joshua drove Jean, Ethel, and I to the house of Jean’s friend, Ellemes, where we would spend the night---and I would spend the rest of the weekend. Also staying at the house was another of Jean’s nieces, Gwen, who I knew from my previous stay. (Among others---it was a very full house for the weekend.) We had tea, caught up, shared photos, ate a late dinner, and finally fell into bed.

The next day was the beginning of the wedding festivities . . .

Malawi: The Arrival

2010-08-24T08:02:00.000-07:00

So I’ve made it through my first week in Malawi. My travel here was as painless as two days of traveling can be. I did almost have a minor heart attack at the airport in Baltimore: the ticketing agent mistakenly put “international visa required” on my boarding passes, and security wouldn’t let me through without the visa (which I didn’t actually need). Eventually the security folks decided that I could pass through for the flight to Atlanta and could sort of the South African leg at the gate. And, indeed, at the gate, the agent confirmed that I did not need a visa for a stay of less than 24 hours. (When I passed through South Africa’s passport control, they didn’t even ask how long I was staying---they just issued me a temporary visa).

I had another small bump in the road when I checked in for the flight from Johannesburg to Lilongwe. South African Air weighs all your bags---carry on and checked---before letting you up to the ticket counter. My carry-on bag was about 5 kilos too heavy, and my baggage, which was well within the weight limits for international flights from the United States, was a smidge overweight.* I did some last-minute shifting, and eventually they let me through just to get me out of the way.

All of my luggage arrived in tact in Lilongwe, and I was greeted by a representative from the U.S. Embassy, who escorted me to the guest house that had been arranged for me. I felt very official! The guest house is lovely---very comfortable---with hot showers and high-speed Internet and satellite television. The only downside is that I’m the only one here. It’s only recently opened, and the proprietor is counting on word of mouth to find guests. I feel a bit colonial, having this nice house with a full staff all to myself.

My first day was full of meetings and errands to get set up. I have an official embassy badge! Which generally won’t do me much good as I’ll be several hours from the minibus for most of my stay.

Part of the first day was a security briefing, which was interesting if not terribly useful. The gist of the briefing was that Malawi is a dark and dangerous place, filled with desperate people who cannot be trusted.** We, however, can lift them out of their desperation and civilize them by employing them in menial labor.

I also got a glimpse of how the other---ex-patriot---half lives. The others at the security briefing were all foreign service officers and their families, who live in embassy housing, with full staffs and “safe haven” rooms and cars and such. Part of me is rather judgmental of their lifestyle; it seems a bit excessive in one of the poorest countries of the world. It’s no wonder that they are targeted for home invasions and carjackings and such. A more sympathetic part of me thinks, I only have to endure deprivation for 10 months. This is their life; they will be here for several years; most of them have come from positions in other poor nations; many of them will go on to similar positions after this. In the meantime, I’ll return to my comfortable home in the States.

Still, I failed to be terribly sympathetic when I ran into two of them today as they discussed the difficulties of bringing in trampolines and household supplies. (Um, perhaps go to the market to buy your household items so you can support the local economy rather than spending a fortune in government dollars to ship things from the States.)

So this update is going very long. And I still have to tell you about my adventures with “African Time” and the wedding weekend. But I think I’ll end here and post the rest in a day or two.

* Despite some last-minute packing panic, I did an admirable job of packing for 10 months. I did wind up with two checked bags, but one was only 40 lbs and the other about 25 lbs. Of course, I’m already regretting some of the things that I left behind, as well as some of the things that I brought (note to self: check that the elastic in one’s skirts has not gone before packing).

** For what it’s worth, I’ve yet to have any security problems in Malawi. I’ve occasionally been unnerved when I get caught out after dark or a drunk and/or crazy person targets me for his attentions. But I’ve more generally found that Malawians are as friendly, helpful, and trustworthy as people anywhere, and that someone will invariably come to the rescue of a lone, white woman who looks as lost as she feels.

Rain, Rain . . .

2010-07-22T12:34:00.000-07:00

Am I the only person who likes rainy summer days? They remind me of summer camp. For some reason, my memories of summer camp are mostly of sitting in my tent, listening to the drum of rain against the canvas, or trudging through the hot, humid aftermath in a sticky raincoat.

I think I also like the excuse to stay home and be lazy. When the sun is out, I feel like I should be out or I'm wasting the day. But when it's raining, I feel like it's okay to camp out in front of the television, take a nap, read a book in bed.

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Do you have a person in your life who just always brings you down? Someone who just has to rain on your parade, criticize everything you do, and bring up every mistake you've ever made?

I do.

And unfortunately, she's not someone I can just excise from my life.

How do you handle that person?

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I'm starting to get closer to my departure. My condo is in shambles at the moment: boxes stacked everywhere; piles of things that I really should sort through before I pack (but I have a feeling that I'll wind up tossing them into a box that will be ignored until the next time I have to move); more piles of books and magazines that I "swear" I'll get to read in the next 12 days; lists of things to do, to get, to remember.

On the bright side, I'm making fun discoveries---like the L.L. Bean gift card that I unearthed from the craft closet yesterday and the CDs that I found in one of those boxes of "things to be sorted" that sat unsorted in the storage closet for three years.

My mother is coming next week to help me pack and clean. My plan is to give her a set of boxes and a room to pack each day, while I go into work. Then, I just don't have to deal with any of it.

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I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. I was going to go super short. Like Felicity-post-breakup short. Hot showers are few and far between in Malawi, and trying to wash long, thick hair in a cold, bucket shower is an exercise in futility. Short hair would be way more practical.

But I think I might be wussing out. For one, I do not have Keri Russell's bone structure. I am not so impossibly beautiful that I can carry any hair style. And I recently unearthed a photo of myself from last summer when I had chin-length hair. It was not a good look for me. (Why didn't anyone tell me?!)

What say you---Should I be brave and go short? Or should I stick to a moderate, brushing-the-shoulders length (and hope that my new solar shower solves the problem of how to wash it)?

Stuff

2010-07-15T14:06:00.000-07:00

I have way too much stuff.

I decided to tackle the office this week, which meant going through the filing cabinet, the piles of papers and journals and books, the two big closets, and the top of my desk.

Yikes!

So far, I've carted off about three bags of trash, taken an overflowing armload of paper down to recycling (with another pile started), found several boxes that I never unpacked from when I moved in more than three years ago, discovered three old cell phones (with various accessories), filled a "to donate" box, spent an entire day punching holes and putting things in binders, and kicked up a storm of dog hair and dust (gross!).

And, yet. The office doesn't look any better than it did before I started this project. I think it may look worse. I have so many things, and I don't know where to put them. Which is why they've been sitting in piles.

And I haven't even opened the craft closet yet.

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So what did I do this afternoon?

I bought more stuff.

I'm starting to stock up on what I'll need to take to Malawi. Today was a trip to Target for toiletries. I'm trying to be more conservative than I was when I first went and packed enough to survive nuclear holocaust. Seriously, I'm still using some of my stockpiled supplies from eight years ago.

So I'm trying to be more reasonable and remember that I can get most things there, even if I have to travel a bit to get them or compromise on what I think I need. Even so, I'm starting to accept that I'm not going to make my goal of packing in one camping backpack (and a mid-size tote bag for my carry-0n). I keep reminding myself that I have to schlep whatever I pack from Lilongwe to Zomba---on a minibus---and then from the bus depot to where I'm staying. Less stuff equals less grunting and sweating and generally making a spectacle of myself as a spoiled Westerner. Still, some things are more easily, more cheaply, and more reliably bought here.

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I'm also debating how many tech gizmos I need and/or want to take with me. I'm definitely taking my netbook. I bought it a year ago with fieldwork in mind. And I will actually need it for fieldnotes. I tried doing my fieldnotes by hand last time I went; it was an utter disaster.

My family is getting me a Kindle for an early birthday gift. Yay! Not packing books will hugely lighten my load.

I think I'm going to get a Live Scribe pen. My roommate at the Fulbright orientation gave it a raving recommendation, and it does seem like it will simplify organizing and transcribing my fieldnotes. And I needed to get a new digital voice recorder anyway, because I haven't seen the one I bought two years ago in, well, two years. So . . . .

My biggest debate is whether to invest in a digital SLR. I have a digital point-and-shoot camera, and I have a film SLR. The digital point-and-shoot works . . . okay. It's slow and tends to oversaturate with the flash, but I get decent enough photos. The film SLR takes great photos, but I'd have to pack a ton of film and then hope that the film doesn't get ruined by the heat and dust and multiple x-ray machines and so forth. The digital SLR would take much better photos without me having to lug around film (and pay exorbitant fees to get it developed at a good photo shop---I wouldn't want to trust the drug store photo lab with my film).

Actually, I think I talked myself into it as I was typing that last sentence.

And I can justify it as a research tool and as necessary for ensuring that I have good-quality photos for my future book (based on the dissertation). But still . . . $700 is a good chunk of my research allowance (and about half of my normal monthly income) and other things are starting to add up. On my credit card because I haven't been able to get the last piece of documentation I need to get my grant processed.

If I do decide to get the camera, I'm deciding between the Nikon D5000 or the Canon EOS Rebel T1i. The Canon is the best-selling camera and got higher marks from Consumer Reports, but my film SLR is a Nikon, so I might be able to swap out the lenses between the two. Any thoughts, opinions, or experience?

Friday Five: Malawi or Bust!

2010-07-02T12:10:00.000-07:00

I bought a plane ticket for Malawi. I leave on August 15 (which means I don't actually arrive in Malawi until August 17).

No changing my mind now, I suppose.

My departure date is a bit of rare self-confidence. My prelim exam is on August 2. So I haven't given myself any wiggle room in case things go horribly wrong.

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And those prelims . . .

To review, for those not in my department, the preliminary exam consists of three literature reviews and a proposal. I have one of the literature reviews (on the political economy of development in Africa since the 1940s) completely finished, ready to turn in. Another one of the literature reviews (on the tradition of the Western "helper" in southern Africa) should need just one more round of revisions, plus adding in a couple more readings that my co-advisor sent to me. The third literature review just went back to its committee member for the next round of feedback. I'm praying that she doesn't savage it. Or tell me that I need to do more reading. The proposal is written, but needs revised.

I'm getting there. And I've got until next Friday to get there. I was supposed to be there today.

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I am so looking forward to next Friday. After I turn in these papers, for better or worse, the exam is largely out of my hands. I'll still need to put together a ten-minute presentation to explain my proposed research and how these three reviews fit into that research. But other than that, I can finally kick back, guilt-free, for a few weeks.

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Or I can start packing up my place. I've got two renters who have signed a lease, starting August 6. Which means I have to be out by August 5. Which means I really, really have to pass my prelims.

I've already started cleaning out closets and packing out-of-season clothes. I could probably start boxing up books and craft supplies, but that means admitting that I won't read all the books that I've been meaning to read or finish all the projects I've been meaning to do before I leave in August.

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I'm excited, though, that I'll make it to Malawi in time for my friend's wedding. And I'm ready to get the research done. I thought about delaying my departure until later in August or even into September, but as I've discovered with my prelims, I am highly influenced by the laws of physics: Once I'm at rest, I stay at rest unless acted on by a great force.

I need to get there, get it done, and get out of grad school.

Under the Covers with Cookies and Captain Tightpants

2010-06-15T12:08:00.000-07:00

So I was going great guns on my final prelim paper. I was plowing through the readings at previously unknown speeds. I even managed to skim some readings. I was plastering my wall with brightly colored Post-Its as evidence of my prodigious productivity. I wrote out a main thesis on the white board and had the beginnings of an outline.

Then, today, I crashed. A combination of stress, rainy weather, and sore muscles from a surprisingly strenuous workout has me longing to crawl back into bed for a Firefly marathon courtesy of Netflix.

I have until Friday to produce as much as possible of a draft of a 20-page paper on popular culture as a site of encounter between Africans and Westerners. I haven't written a single page, and I still have a huge pile of reading that I need to do before I start writing. I did manage to put together an outline. But still . . .

I am so screwed.

If You Want to Make God Laugh . . .

2010-06-02T14:41:00.000-07:00

Today has not gone as planned.

I had planned to get up at 7 a.m. and go running. But when the alarm went off, and I started doing my mental math to decide how many times I could hit the snooze button, I decided that I wouldn't have time to go running and still catch the bus that I wanted to take. So I decided that I'd run in the prevening instead.

So then I had planned to go into campus to work at my publications job for a few hours in the morning. But then a friend, who was going out of town for the summer and was going to leave me the keys to her apartment so I could check on it and forgot that she needed to drop off the keys until late last night, called about two minutes before I was supposed to leave for the bus to ask if she could come by with the keys. I'm not going to see J. again before I leave for Malawi, so I wanted to see her to say goodbye, not just have her drop the keys outside my place.

So I thought that I'd catch the next bus, a half hour later. But then I did more mental math and decided that it was silly to go up to campus for just an hour or two before coming back home for lunch. I would just make it an all-day prelim work day instead.

And I did go to the library for a couple of hours and read a couple of chapters from my prelim reading stack.

I came home for lunch---I'm trying to be more frugal by eating at home more often---and planned to spend a few more hours on prelim reading. But then I called my mother with a quick question and got drawn into an extended conversation about her new ceiling fan. And while I was at the library, I picked up some book requests that had arrived, including The Poisoner's Handbook. So I've spent most of the afternoon reading that and napping.

Now it's the time when I had planned to run, and I'm watching the sky darkening and the wind growing. I'd rather not be out running in the middle of a thunderstorm. And it's impossible to tell whether the storm is going to start in five minutes or an hour.

So now I'm going to try to wait it out, hoping the storm passes soon and I can still get in a run before dinner. But this day has not gone as I'd hoped so far, so . . .

Grumble, Bitch, Moan

2010-06-01T16:18:00.000-07:00

So I turned in a complete draft of one of my prelims. I now have 17 days to get as much done as I can on a draft of the last one. (One has been done for about a year and a half.)

I'm really hoping that my committee takes the attitude, "You've got funding. We can fix any problems with the literature reviews when you are writing the dissertation. Go forth and do research!" Because I have little-to-no wiggle room in my schedule for revisions.

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I failed the eye exam for my driver's license today. Badly. I was pretty sure that I was going to. Wisconsin uses the viewfinder machines, so I couldn't cheat and use the peripheral vision from my good eye to compensate for the bad one.

I went to the eye doctor more than a year ago and got a prescription for glasses that for various reasons (weather, money, time, desire) I never filled. Now I have to suck it up and get the glasses. I'm not even all that opposed to wearing glasses while I drive---imagine being able to read street signs!---but I'm not looking forward to spending a couple hundred dollars that I don't have on glasses that I won't really need for the next year. Unfortunately, my license expires in August, so I can't wait until I get back to deal with this.

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A couple hundred dollars that I was hoping to spend on sailing lessons this summer. With the glasses and moving expenses and my general inability to live within my means and only working part-time for the summer, I think sailing might be out this year.

Boo.

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I met with a leasing agent last week to start the process of renting my condo. I'm so sad to be leaving my home! And not at all pleased to have someone else living here---someone who won't care about leaving scuff marks on the walls or scratching the counters or staining the carpet.

I'm not a great housekeeper. I can never seem to clear the clutter or keep up with the dishes and the dog hair. But I take good care of the place. I fret over every bump and scratch and crack. It's the first place that's all mine. And it's the only place that's really mine.

(On the topic of housekeeping: Anyone know a good way to clean off calcium build-up? I tried CLR, and it barely made a dent.)

I'm Done!

2010-05-19T08:31:00.000-07:00

But then, not so much.

I finished grading the exams and submitted the final grades (with a generous curve, because we wouldn't want the students to think that college was, like, hard or anything).

So I should be done, right?

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Oh yeah---those pesky prelims. That I still cannot make myself finish. Even though I know I have an absolute deadline. And even though I know that the sooner I get them done, the sooner I can have some real downtime.

I've always been a procrastinator, but I've never been this bad about it. And I'm not sure if it's paralysis or apathy.

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The abundance of end-of-year and farewell get-togethers is not helping. I'm trying to be somewhat selective in which ones I attend---mostly because I'm both tired and broke---but even then, I've been to one at least every other day for the past week. And knowing that I probably won't see many of these people for at least year---if not more---makes it harder to turn down invitations.

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At least I'm being a productive knitter. I finished a shrug in a mere four days. Of course, the shrug turned out to be doll-sized, so perhaps not so productive.

I really like the general pattern, though, so I might try again with some modifications for size.

Now I'm working on a sweater shell---the same one that I frogged just a few months ago (same pattern, different yarn).

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Really, I just want a nice 9-5 library job that leaves my evenings free to read and knit and watch the telly.

I am so lame.

Grade This!

2010-05-14T12:06:00.001-07:00

I'm done! Almost.

All I have left to do for this semester is grade the students' final exams (and calculate their grades, but I already have a spreadsheet set up to do that for me). So you would think that I'd be plowing through the pile of blue books so I could get done as soon as possible. That would be the logical, responsible thing to do.

And that's me: logical and responsible. (Pushing the computer away so it isn't harmed by the lightening bolt)

Yeah. So far today, I've taken the dog for a walk, finished a mystery novel (The Last Place by Laura Lippman), surfed through my usual Internet haunts about a dozen times, and eaten lunch. I did sort the exams into sections. So, progress?

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I've also been obsessively checking for my own grades. Because no matter how old I get or how well I know how long grading can take, I'm always impatient for the report card.

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I am so burned out on grad school. Getting a grant gave me a slight burst of renewed enthusiasm, but that burst burned out rather quickly. And I still have quite a bit to get done before I can leave for Malawi in August: writing two more prelims and revising my proposal, submitting two IRB protocols, and getting myself packed up and my life shut down for 10 months.

Again, the responsible, logical thing would be to get my work done as soon as possible so I have some time to enjoy the summer. Instead, I'm dragging my heels. Total denial that I have to submit my prelims by July 1, that I'm leaving in mid-August, that I'll be gone for almost a year.

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If you ever want to suck the love and joy out of something, make it your dissertation topic.

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So I should grade exams this afternoon. Or I should take a nap, work on our group novel about Zombia,* and maybe catch up on some DVR'd television. I might even go for a run to offset the ridiculous amount of food and alcohol I've consumed this week.**

* An idea born of grad-school burn-out and too much alcohol.
** I finally bought jeans in the next size down only to undo all my good work in a week-long food binge. Gah!

Homey Things

2010-05-12T19:26:00.000-07:00

My students are taking up all of my time and mental energy. The weather is just dreadful (40s in May?!). And another long term has come to an end. Even though I still have two prelims and a proposal to write by July 1 (prelim date: August 2!), I haven't been able to get myself to much non-TA work this week.

I, however, did manage to attempt homemade pizza. Homemade pizza really shouldn't be that difficult. But crusts of all kinds are my nemeses. And anything that involves yeast tends to be a spectacular disaster in my kitchen.

Yes, I could just order very good pizza from the local pizzeria and have it delivered to my door. I could even buy dough from the same pizzeria if I wanted to save a little money or use my own toppings or just have super-fresh-from-the-oven pizza.

But I feel like I really ought to be able to bake a pizza from scratch. And Cooking Light had a whole section devoted to making pizzas in this month's issue.

So I gave it another go. I made the dough on Monday night because it needed to rest for 24 hours. I needed two tries with the yeast before I got it to do anything near "bubbling." And when I tried using what I thought was the dough hook on the ancient mixing stand that I got second-hand from my mother (she got it as a wedding gift!), the dough snaked up the beater and into the innards of the mixer. So I spent most of Monday night with a power drill and a screwdriver, dismantling the mixer and scraping out dough (along with some other substances that I'd rather not think about).

I baked the pizza on Wednesday. I didn't properly roll the dough, so the center was too thin and the sides were too thick. But the crust generally baked up nice and bready and golden. I think I would probably prebake the crust a bit the next time; even with laying down a layer of cheese, the bottom got a bit soggy from the sauce. And I'll definitely use a different sauce next time; the recipe in Cooking Light came out too oily and thin for my taste.

But I made pizza!

I also started a new knitting project---a shrug---inspired by Bearette. After spending one whole evening making swatches out of every skein in my stash, I then spent most of a morning going to yarn shops in search of the right yarn, only to end up getting a yarn that I could have bought at the first place.

I've got a good start on the shrug, although I'm beginning to think that I really should have used a circular needle; the straight needle is getting very crowded and I still have about six more increase rows to go.

Perhaps I'll take my knitting with me to work on as I monitor my students' final tomorrow---a modern-day Madame Defarge.

An Apology

2010-05-11T11:26:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry that you ignored the minimum requirements for the assignment despite having the requirements sent to you by e-mail, posted on the course Web site, reiterated in class, and resent by e-mail.

I'm sorry that you didn't understand that a research paper requires you to do research.

I'm sorry that you decided to treat this course as a blow-off class even though it's required for you to graduate.

I'm sorry that you tried to bullshit your way through the paper and I called you on it.

I'm sorry that I expected you, a college student, to be able to write a clear thesis.

I'm sorry that I expected you to provide evidence to back up your specious arguments.

I'm sorry that I expected you to know how to cite references properly and to format a bibliography.

I'm sorry that I enforced the rules that I said I would enforce in the way that I said that I would enforce them.

I'm sorry that you discovered that your actions have consequences.

I'm sorry that no one ever told you that you have to earn your grades.

I'm sorry that you have to study for the final because you blew off the paper.

I'm sorry that I didn't select your topic, identify and read appropriate research materials, provide an outline, and write your paper for you.

I'm sorry that I thought a college student could write a 5-page analytical research paper in just three months.

Mostly, I'm truly sorry that the rest of you had to read yet another rant from me.

A Rant

2010-04-22T14:10:00.000-07:00

(I realize I probably shouldn't be posting this on a public site, but . . . fuck it.)

I am persnickety. I believe that if something is worth doing, it is worth doing not just well, but also correctly. I follow the rules. I dot my "i"s and cross my "t"s. I fold my socks. (Once said socks are in my overcrowded sock drawer, however, I have no control over them and they tend to go a little wild.)

I am who I am, although I certainly was not born this way. I've always had persnickety tendencies. But I've had people in my life---teachers, particularly---who nurtured those tendencies, who pushed me to go past "good enough" and attempt to reach, if not perfection, at least "outstanding." To find ways to color within the lines, but in unique, insightful, intelligent, and creative ways.

And I've found that being persnickety has its rewards. Indeed, it is perhaps the only surefire way to ensure job security (well, other than having compromising pictures of your boss) and a great way to advance quickly in whatever your chosen field. People may not like the persnickety---I know that I can sometimes be . . . difficult . . . in social situations (although, really, mixing wines in your glass? Were you raised in a barn?)---but they respect it and trust it.

I have 33 years of experience that tells me that being attentive to detail, being precise in your work, finding ways to be unique and creative and smart while staying inside the lines---being persnickety---are important.

Unfortunately, I can't seem to convey any of this to my students. I do warn them at the beginning of the term that I'm persnickety. I lay out the rules in excruciating detail: fonts and font size, page and word limits, heading information, deadlines, and so forth. I remind them ad nauseaam of the rules. I also am entirely transparent about the consequences of not following the rules. And I warn them that I used to be an editor and a student and therefore not only am highly attentive to details in their work but also know all the tricks they use to get around the rules.

I know that I'm probably a lot more picky than most teaching assistants, and likely more picky than most professors, although I think many of the professors are just beat down from argumentative students and have given up. But in any case, I have rules about assignments and attendance and performance. And I think, at least, that I make these rules very clear.

My students, however, do not seem to hold much value in being persnickety. I had two students this week get rather angry because they suffered the consequences of not following the rules for an assignment. (One student, in his defense, did later apologize for being rude.) One of those students told me that I was "stifling his creativity." The other just accused me of being unreasonable. During the past few weeks, I've had other students seem shocked that I had marked them late for class (even though I've told them since the beginning that I mark latecomers and I consider any time after the start of class to be late) and that I was enforcing the rules for assignments (they didn't bother to argue that they had followed the rules or that they didn't understand the rules---just that I shouldn't actually enforce the rules).

Am I unreasonable? I really don't know. Has being persnickety lost its value?

I realize, of course, that civilization will not come to an end because a student goes two lines over the page limit for an assignment. But then where do we draw the line? Because I've also learned from experience that some students will always try to push the line. I don't know if they think that the rules don't apply to them, if they just aren't paying attention, or if they've just gotten so used to teachers who don't enforce the rules---or cave in when the students complain. Probably a combination of all of the above.

I'm not sure what my point in all this was, other than to vent a bit and wonder if I'm an unreasonable relic of a time past.

Perhaps I'm struggling with a bigger issue: the role of higher education. I like to think that we are, first, preparing the students to be adults in the world, and second, preparing them for their desired professions. And, for me, that preparation is less about the content of the courses and more about the skills they take from the process of learning the content: the ability to think critically, to express themselves articulately, and to act responsibly. Most of these student will never need to know the capitals of Africa or the stages of postcolonial transition. But they do need the skills they gain through the act of learning those details.

Do I have it all wrong? What is the role of higher education? Does it even have a role anymore, or is it an outdated means of forcing students through a socially determined liminal state? Is content more important than skills?

I am persnickety. I will never stop wanting the world to be orderly. But should I stop trying to make my students persnickety too?

I am awesome!

2010-04-21T12:53:00.001-07:00

But, then, not so much.

So I was feeling pretty darn great about myself this past week. First, I finally got a research grant. Mind you, it's the least prestigious grant of the grants for which I applied. But I got a grant! So I get to go back to Malawi and finish my research and write my dissertation and be done with grad school. Yay!

And on Monday, I set a sub-10-minute pace on my run. So it was a 9:59-minute mile. That's sub-10. And its a big improvement from the 12:30 pace I was doing just 8 weeks ago. So again, Yay!

But then I went to the doctor yesterday and was bummed to find out that I haven't lost nearly as much weight as I thought I had (only 9 lbs). Then I had lab work done this morning as part of my medical clearance for the aforementioned grant. And I found out that I have high cholesterol!

Admittedly, although I've been very faithful with exercising this year, I have not been as great about food. I've all but given up soda (I think I've had maybe 3 sodas since Christmas), and I've been limiting myself to one snack a day and trying to eat healthy snacks (almonds, Luna bars, fruit). But I don't count calories at meals, and my lunches frequently include a side of french fries. And my good intentions have a way of falling apart on the weekends.

Still, I was rather shocked to find out that I have high cholesterol. I eat loads of veggies, whole grains, fruit. I don't eat any meat, and I've cut way back on cheese. I've always been fat, but I've generally been healthy---low cholesterol, good blood pressure, normal blood sugar. And because I have a family history of diabetes, high blood pressure, and heart disease, I do watch those numbers carefully.

So, not feeling quite so awesome anymore.

Spring Break

2010-04-04T15:16:00.000-07:00

I had two goals for Spring Break:

1. Write---and finish---one of my prelim papers.
2. Paint my bedroom.

Guess which one got done.

I did get about five pages of the prelim paper written, although I've already decided to cut a big chunk of that because that section isn't working. But the weather was so nice and I really needed a break and . . . Whatever. I was lazy. I'm having a hard time caring about finishing the prelims and reaching doctoral candidacy when I don't know if I'll being going any further than that. And I don't see the point in being able to say that I'm ABD. To me, that's worse than just getting the master's because ABD says that I was this close to finishing the doctorate and just couldn't cut it.

I need grad school to be over.

In any case, I did work on the prelim paper. But I did a few other things that weren't on the list. Like starting my summer herb garden:

Chives, Rosemary, and Thyme. I still need to get sage and basil.

I also went for a hike with Rowen:

With much help from C. and J., I painted the bedroom:

I'm a little obsessive with the blue tape.

After photos TK. But you can see the color---sage---in the sample on the wall.

And I baked my first cheesecake---a yummy lemon one---which I forgot to take a picture of before C., J., and I devoured it.

I'm not looking forward to going back to classes this week. I have a huge take-home exam due on Tuesday, which I haven't even started to work on, and a conference paper to give on Thursday, which I still need to revise and cut by at least two pages. And we only have about five weeks left in the term, which is both exciting (summer vacay!) and terrifying (I have a paper, a group project, two prelims, and a whole lot of grading to do in five weeks! And I don't have summer plans!).

The Mutha of UFOs

2010-03-25T16:25:00.000-07:00

So I survived my hell week: one mock job talk, two course assignments, a pile of grading, a conference paper, a paper revision, TA applications, and a guest lecture. I made it through the lecture with minimal humiliation---although I did manage to completely blank on what G8 stands for---and I didn't have to resort to singing the periodic table of elements. Thank goodness, because as my sister reminded me, I don't actually know the periodic table of elements.

The last of the deadlines was on Tuesday afternoon. By 5 p.m., I was in my pajamas, on the couch, and sobbing uncontrollably through "Life Unexpected" and "The Biggest Loser." (Or, at least, until the last ten minutes of BL, when the Black Team finally lost a weigh in and Lance and his nasty beard got sent home. Now, if we can just get rid of Michael. Yeah, yeah, it's a matter of life and death for him. He's the only one still over 400 pounds. But he's so annoying! I just want to shove a pie in his face to get him to Shut Up Already.)

Anyway . . .

Spring Break is nigh, and I just might have time to work on my next UFO:

This afghan was supposed to be my sister's wedding gift. She was married in July.

2006.

So I have been working, on and off, on this blanket for FOUR YEARS!

I've knit about three-quarters of it. It needs to get done.

I did finally finish the sweater for my nephew, and much to my surprise, it still fits. Yay! I didn't get any photos of the actual sweater, but here's one from the Coldwater Collaborative (where I got the pattern and yarn) of what it looked like:

Except mine didn't have the button at the top.

Still, so cute!

Friday Five: Panic! at the Computer

2010-03-19T08:21:00.000-07:00

Five things that I need to get done in the next 72-ish hours:

1. Write a conference paper. A 15-minute paper, titled "Like a Volunteer: Shaping Subjectivities in the Voluntourism Encounter."

The abstract, in case you are interested:

International volunteers are often on the front lines of implementing development programs as humanitarian action increasingly becomes the purview of individuals in the private sector. Voluntourism—the practice of traveling outside of one’s community for less than three months to perform unpaid work, as an alternative to or in conjunction with traditional leisure tourism— is a boom industry that brings millions of these volunteers to developing nations. By taking the individualism of volunteering to an extreme—anyone can purchase the experience of “solving” poverty—voluntourism raises questions about the role of volunteers in developing communities: Who is a “volunteer” and who makes that determination? What social, economic, and political effects do volunteers have on communities? Who is accountable for those effects? How local community members and volunteers resolve these questions has implications for development practice at all levels. In this paper, I will draw on fieldwork conducted in Malawi to explore the multiple, conflicting ideas about place, morality, globalization, and development that local community members and Western volunteers bring to resolving these questions. I will challenge the dominant Western discourse of volunteering, which views volunteering is a “pure” humanitarian endeavor, removed from the political, economic, and social movements that have shaped contemporary development. By contrast, I will situate Malawian and Western views of international volunteering within those movements to examine the various subjectivities that participants bring to encounters between local community members and Western volunteers.

A 15-minute paper really isn't very long---only about 7 or 8 pages of text. But I'm writing it from scratch, based on field notes that I haven't looked at in 2 years, with a theoretical basis in which I'm not well-grounded.

Oh, and my advisor is the discussant for the panel. And I was supposed to have the draft to her yesterday.

2. Write a lecture for an introductory survey course on Africa. A 75-minute lecture, titled "Madonna, Monsanto, and the New Millennium: Development in the 21st Century."

One of the "perks" of being a TA for the course is the chance to do a guest lecture during the term. And I kind of like lecturing, although I can never quite shake the fear that someone is going to stand up in the middle of the lecture to yell, "Fraud! You have no idea what you are talking about!" I have one student this term whom I can absolutely picture doing just that.

And filling 75 minutes without putting 240 students to sleep is a bit daunting.

Mind you, we scheduled my guest lecture for this coming week to avoid having it overlap with the conference paper, completing forgetting that I needed to get the conference paper done early for the discussant. Bah!

3. Apply for TA positions.

I still have no idea where I'll be in six months. I've been rejected by two grants, but I'm still waiting for decisions from three others, and I just put in another application for a summer grant. In the meantime, applications are coming due for Project Assistant and Teaching Assistant positions for next year. And because I can't rely on my own department to have a TA position for me, I'm hustling to secure outside positions.

4. Revise an article that I'm trying to get ready to submit for publication. Yet another situation in which I'm semi-paralyzed by the fear of being exposed as a fraud and a moron. And as much as I'd like to put this revision off for another week, I promised my advisor that I'd have the revision ready for her by this coming week. Plus, putting it off just backs into the next set of crazy deadlines.

5. Read The Elegance of the Hedgehog, bake a cheesecake, and keep up with Fug Madness.

So technically I don't need to do these things. But I started The Elegance of the Hedgehog as my bedtime reading this past week, and I'm completely hooked. And the latest issue of Fine Cooking has an article on how to make a cheesecake, along with about a dozen yummy variations. And Fug Madness is just that---madness!

Oh, and then there's the journal mailing that I was supposed to do this week. And the survey I need to revise so I can get the pilot phase done. And the books that I need to read before the library storms my home and takes them back by force (the books have been recalled and are now overdue on the recalls and the library is sending me threatening e-mails). And the disaster that is my home.

Gah! Off to work!

Stuff Going On

2010-03-02T15:34:00.000-08:00

The weather is less-than-frightful --- one can almost feel Spring trying to push its way in --- so no more excuses:

W-a-l-k?

I went to the running store today and got a new pair of running shoes. Getting fitted for shoes is always an adventure: my right foot is almost a full size longer than my left foot, but my left foot has a super-high bridge that often requires various adjustments and wide sizes and such.

When I was trying on different sizes, the salesgirl pulled out a different color shoe in the larger size, so she asked if I minded what color it was.

Me: "I'm not exactly going for high fashion when I'm out on a run."
Salesgirl: "Oh, thank God."

I guess a lot of people pick their shoes based on the color. Me? When I'm running, I'm red-faced and frizzy-haired, sucking wind and pouring sweat. The last thing I'm worried about---and the last thing I'm sure anyone is looking at---is the color of my shoes.

In other stuff going on, I've been a fairly productive knitter of late, even if I'm not working my way through my UFO pile.

I finished a hat:

The pattern was straight-forward---wide-wale rib-knit---but with a little bit of a twist with the reverse rib to make it interesting.

But I don't have any scarves that go with a red hat, so . . .

This scarf will also solve the problem of not having anything to go with another hat that I made a couple years ago but almost never wear because I don't have anything to go with it.

I, however, really do need to finish the sweater for my nephew. I'm going to visit him (and other family members) this weekend to celebrate his first birthday. So for the next two days, about all I'll be doing is knitting and grading 73 midterm exams.

Friday Five: Productively Unproductive

2010-02-26T09:17:00.000-08:00

Things I'm Doing Instead of Working on My Prelims

1. Sending and replying to e-mails on various minutia: student questions, dog sitting, weekend plans, group projects, and so forth. I've gotten about as bad at returning e-mails as I am at returning phone calls, so I have a bit of a back log.

I also really need to clean out and organize my e-mail, considering that, as of this writing, I have 1618 e-mails in my inbox, 248 of which are unread (mostly Google Alerts).

2. Applying for project assistant positions. Once again, my life is in complete limbo. So far, I've been rejected for two research grants, moved onto the second stage for one grant, and am waiting to hear from two more grants. I probably won't know until June whether I've got a research grant. I've been accepted to library school, but I don't know yet whether I'll be able to start in the fall or if I'll be deferring for a year. Or if I'll be starting in the fall and then taking a leave of absence for a year. Or just going straight through.

In meantime, deadlines are coming up for PA and TA position applications, and I don't want to wind up without a research grant OR funding for the fall. So I'm applying for positions and will figure it all out later.

I'm also trying to find some kind of steady income for the summer. I can continue my regular part-time job, but I can barely eek out 10-15 hours of work a week, which doesn't come close to covering my monthly expenses.

My mother remarked last night that I always seem to be applying for something: research grants, grad schools, jobs. I can't wait until I'm done with all this and am in a steady job and don't always have to be applying and worrying and wondering what I'll be doing in six months or even---dare to dream!---a year.

3. Cleaning the kitching, in anticipation of making a big mess in it this afternoon. I'm making Spinach, Gorgonzola, and Pine Nut Lasagna for dinner. It's a new recipe and involves multiple steps with many different pots---cooking the noodles, making a bechamel sauce, mixing the filling---so I'm expecting my kitchen to be a disaster afterward.

On the bright side, someone else has offered to host our weekly Friday Night Dinner, so I don't have to worry about getting the rest of my place cleaned up.

I think I really need a pasta maker. Because exactly what I need is another gadget that I have no time to use.

4. Eating Easter candy. Easter candy is my kryptonite. Cadbury Creme Eggs. Peanut-butter eggs. Marshmallow eggs. Kisses in shiny pastel wrappers.

I had been doing very well at eating better and exercising, and despite the Wii balance board's refusal to register much of a weight loss, I was losing some weight (based on being able to move my belt buckle over two notches). I haven't had a soda since December, and I'd stopped snacking between meals (except for an afternoon snack bar on days when I TA; my office and the classrooms are on opposite sides of a very steep hill and a very large set of stairs, which I traverse at least twice a day).

But darn Easter candy! I've had two Cadbury eggs already today.

5. Catching up on blogs, Facebook, and the news. Between chasing down references for PA positions, reading for my TA classes, getting a journal out to the printer, and trying to keep up with my own course work, I haven't had a lot of time to notice the rest of the world.

Of course, it doesn't help that I've been going to bed at about 8 o'clock every night. I stay up reading, but still . . . Every night this week I've been totally wiped out after dinner.

Friday Five: Procrastination Pro

2010-02-05T12:53:00.000-08:00

I very intentionally set my schedule this term so that I'd have two full days free from classes and TAing and other obligations. The intention was that I'd use those two full days to work on my preliminary exams, which I've been putting off for almost a year now. For those of you who aren't graduate students in the anthropology department of UW, prelim exams are a series of four papers---three extended literature reviews and a project proposal---that need to be submitted and approved in order to attain the status of "doctoral candidate." Also known as, ABD status.

I have one of the lit reviews and most of the proposal done; the other two lit reviews have grown into giant, psychotic, unconquerable octopuses.

In the meantime, my two "free" days wound up being Mondays and Fridays. And instead of using these days to get loads of work done, I've mostly thought of them as extended weekends and use those days to run errands and clean the house and generally do all the things I should have done on the actual weekend.

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This weekend, I'm giving cross-country skiing another try. I'm hoping that the fresh snow we got this week---paltry though it was---will be enough to cover the ice and slow down the trails a bit.

Perhaps I'll manage not to face plant this time.

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I've become addicted to LibraryThing (madknitta, if you want to look me up). A friend had mentioned it a few times. Then, I found myself checking out books from the library that I already owned but didn't remember that I owned and couldn't find even if I had remembered because I have way too many books on too few shelves with no discernible organization, other than separating fiction from nonfiction. So, I thought I'd try to clean up my shelves a bit and create a database so that I'd at least know whether I owned a book, even if locating it might still require a dowsing rod, a headlamp, and a shovel.

I'm currently at 298 books, with two shelves of fiction and scattered piles left to be cataloged.

On the plus side, my shelves are much neater.

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Now if I could just get my desk to be as neat and semi-organized.

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Go Saints!

UFOs: Two Down

2010-01-18T07:30:00.000-08:00

Finishing the sweater took a little longer than planned, but . . .

Tada!

(Apologies for the poor photo quality.)

The sweater is finished. And will now gather dust and mothballs in the back of my closet. It isn't a complete disaster, but it's also not something I'm likely to wear in public unless I lose a bet. The yarn was very chunky, so the sweater is very bulky and heavy. I think I made the front slightly shorter than the back (the result of a year's lapse between making the two---and not finding the index card on which I had helpfully recorded the cast-on and measurement info for the back until I had bound off the front). The arms are about two inches too long. And in trying to correct for an overly abundant V, I mucked up the front.

I also really need to learn how to do long-tail cast-on before I attempt my next sweater; cable cast on doesn't make the nicest edge and doesn't have much give.

Although the sweater took an extra week to finish, I managed to take care of another UFO at the same time: I decided to abandon a sleeveless sweater that I started more than six years ago and that has been languishing half done ever since. I frogged the whole thing, and the yarn is now sitting in a pile to be donated to Humanitarian Knitting, a local knitting group that makes projects for charity. Yes, I actually managed to clean out my stash and have about a dozen skeins that I'm willing to admit I will never use. Go me!

Next up: Finishing a sweater for my nephew that he has almost certainly outgrown already.

UFOs

2010-01-07T07:51:00.001-08:00

One of my New Year's Resolutions is to eliminate all my current knitting works-in-progress (WiPs). I have a lot of them. Including half-done pillow covers from at least six years ago and an afghan for my sister's wedding, which was more than three years ago.

For each project, I have a choice: complete the project or abandon it for good.

First up: A simple v-neck sweater that I started as a weekend project. More than a year ago. At the time, I finished the back and started the front.

As of last night, I had all but a small section of the front done. I still need to finish that small section and the sleeves. The plan is to complete the whole thing---including construction---by the end of the weekend.

On the Pile: Winter Break Edition

2010-01-04T15:25:00.000-08:00

I went a little crazy at the library today. I went to pick up some hold requests that had come in: Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby; A Changed Man by Francine Prose (mind you, I think I actually own this book but my books have long since outgrown my shelves and I've started doing double rows, which makes it impossible to find anything); and Await Your Reply by Dan Chaon. While at the library, I decided to look through the "new releases" shelf and added to my pile: Burn this Book, ed. by Toni Morrison; Columbine by Dave Cullen; and Always Looking Up by Michael J. Fox.

These books go into the already towering pile I've accumulated from the library:
* Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
* A Good Man is Hard to Find and Other Stories by Flannery O'Conner (which I think I've checked out at least a half dozen times since I started trying to read it over the summer and still haven't gotten past the first story)
* In a Strange City by Laura Lippman
* Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace (this book alone could take up the rest of my winter break)
* Kaddish for an Unborn Child by Imre Kertesz
* The Master & Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov (which I promised Chay that I would read during the break)
* My Father's Tears and Other Stories by John Updike
* Where the Stress Falls: Essays by Susan Sontag (another one that I have checked out, renewed, returned, and re-checked out multiple times but still haven't actually read)

And I bought myself some books at the end of the term: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami; The Lost Continent by Bill Bryson; and There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor's Baby: Scary Fairy Tales by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya.

I did manage to finish a couple of books over the holidays: The Magicians by Lev Grossman and Once a Runner by John L. Parker.

And I'm currently reading The Museum of Innocence by Orhan Pamuk, which is off to a promising start.

I'm ignoring the large, looming pile of books I'm supposed to be reading for my preliminary exams. But I think I'm going to have to dig into it very soon. On top: Of Revelation and Revolution II by John and Jean Comaroff. But maybe I'll read some more Pamuk first . . . .

Friday Five: Counting Down

2009-12-18T10:49:00.000-08:00

I have five days left until I leave to visit family for Christmas. In the spirit of counting down, here's what I have to do in the next five days.

5. Grade 80 exams and finish grading about 50 research papers so I can turn in the final grades for the class for which I've TA'd this term.

4. Put together a partial syllabus on celebrity, humanitarianism, and the media. The syllabus is taking the place of a paper that I was supposed to complete for an independent study in the spring term and still haven't finished.

3. Decorate gingerbread men! I'm getting together with some friends on Sunday, and we're going to decorate our little cookie people and maybe break out the awesome early Christmas gift that K. got me and perhaps I'll attempt making some mulled wine.

I was going to take part in Do Nothing But Read Day on Sunday, but I think cookie decorating is a worthy substitute.

2. Finish knitting Christmas gifts!

1. Clean my home, wash laundry, take Rowen to the vet, and the thousand other little chores that have to get done before I can leave for a week. Strangely, I can live for weeks in total chaos, but I can't stand to leave a messy home when I go out of town. It's partly a paranoia of bugs; I'm always convinced that as soon as I leave, the bugs start moving in. It's also just knowing that I'll be coming back to a clean home and not walking back into a mess.

I'm sure there's probably more that needs to be done, but I'm trying to be realistic in what can be done and let the rest go until January.

One thing I did get done: I turned in my application for library school!

AWOL

2009-11-25T14:22:00.000-08:00

Blog? What blog?

So I've been a bit busy this term. Every single term, I think to myself, "The next one will be better. Not so crazy and stressful and draining." And every single term, I'm wrong.

This term should be easier than the ones before; I'm taking only two courses, one of which is a lecture class on archiving and I can mostly get away with not doing the reading for it. But I'm also TAing and working a second job, and I wrote four grant proposals, and I am trying to write two prelims and applying to library school.

But next term! Should be so much easier. Or so I keep telling myself.
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I'm attempting to make a pecan pie for Thanksgiving. Pies are my nemesis. Or, more specifically, crusts are my nemesis. I can never seem to get them to just the right thickness where they cook through but aren't so thin that they burn or get holes.

I'm also making my traditional corn pudding, stuffing, and roasted green beans.

I'm hosting Thanksgiving this year, but just a few school friends are coming over, so not overly stressful. Other than the pie.
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I was in New Orleans last week. The major perk of my second job---other than being able to pay my bills---is getting sent to the African Studies Association conference. I didn't get to see too much of the conference itself because I was mostly working in the exhibit hall, but I did make a few good contacts and I was able to grill some Africanist librarians on their jobs, the state of the field, and what I need to do to make myself a strong job candidate.

I thought I wouldn't care much for New Orleans because I don't like lots of noise, crowds, and chaos. And I would definitely not go there during Mardi Gras, but I would like to go back. The food is amazing. I had raw oysters for the first time---yum!---and beignets and crawfish etouffee and seafood gumbo. And I'd love to see some of the museums and the garden district.
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I have several Amazon packages sitting in my closet, and I'm not allowed to open them until Christmas! Torture!

I think one of them may be a Wii; I had asked for either that or a dresser, and none of the packages are big enough to be a dresser. Unless my mother bought me an inflatable dresser. Hmmmm.

October Madness

2009-10-19T13:52:00.001-07:00

And it continues . . .

In the next 24 hours, I need to . . .
* Coordinate test accommodations for the midterm for students with learning conditions. This task would be a lot easier if my fellow TAs would answer any of my numerous e-mails asking how many students they have that need accommodations and what accommodations they need so I know how many rooms to reserve.
* Attend the class-wide review session for the class that I'm TAing.
* Field frantic e-mails from students who have questions about the midterm.
* Do laundry. I'm just about out of the essentials.
* Return a pile of overdue, unread library books.

In the next week, I need to . . .
* Read the assigned book for my African health class so I can maybe make an intelligent comment or two in discussion.
* Read a second book for the same class.
* Write a review of the second book.
* Grade midterms.
* Submit grades for freshmen and athletes.
* Attend one or more meetings about online store fronts and e-hosting.
* Catch up on the growing pile of mail for my second job.
* Write a first draft of two proposals.

By the end of the month, I need to . . .
* Finish two grant proposals and have a draft completed for a third.
* Wade through the new pile of literature I've begun to gather now that I think I may have a theory (some sort of mish-mash of complicating the encounter model, subjectivities, hegemony, and serious games).
* Lay out and send to the printer the journal that just---finally---arrived in my e-mail.
* Disentangle the database that holds the orders for the above journal.
* Make at least a significant dent in the pile of library books on my office floor.
* Figure out a topic for my archives administration paper.

Plus anything I left off from last week's list, my regular TA duties, my second job, my regular course work, . . .

This week, at the grocery store, I stocked up on frozen pizzas, heat-and-serve curries, pasta, soup, and other minimal-prep foods. I'm not even pretending that I'll cook anything until November.

When Do the Nice Men in White Coats Show Up?

2009-10-13T13:46:00.000-07:00

For those of you with extremely busy, stressful lives of your own, I will totally understand if you skip this post. I just needed to rant while simultaneously attempting to make some sense of my life.

In the next 24 hours, I need to . . .
* Write a 1000-word book review that is worth 15% of my course grade
* Prepare to lead the class discussion on that same book
* Make a midterm study guide for the class I'm TAing
* Organize a class-wide review session for the same
* Figure out what I'm going to do in sections for that class
* Coordinate room changes and/or A/V equipment and/or video streaming for next week's sections
* Repeatedly remind the TA who is supposed to be writing the exam that she is supposed to be writing the exam

In the next week, I need to . . .
* Sort through several thousand documents, research available materials on Bancroft Camp 16, and write an appraisal report for my archives administration class
* Make some sort of sense out of the materials I've gathered from various online hosting companies so I can make a recommendation to my boss
* Relearn Chichewa so I can write to my teacher in Malawi to ask for a letter of recommendation
* Meet with my advisor to review the gazillionth version of my grant proposal

In the next month, I need to . . .
* Find a theory
* Write three more grant proposals
* Read several dozen books on media, popular culture, and Africa
* Write a prelim paper on media, popular culture, and Africa
* Grade the midterm exams
* Deal with tearful, angry, vengeful, and otherwise unpleasant students who didn't get the grades they wanted
* Write another book review
* Prepare the marketing and display materials for a table at an upcoming conference

Plus my regular courses, my TA sections, my second job, . . . .

Friday Five: Rainy Day Edition

2009-10-02T12:27:00.000-07:00

I'm at the library and supposed to be reading for class. Instead, I thought I'd post a Friday Five.

I finally---finally!---got my netbook. I'm still getting used to the smaller format of everything. The keyboard is close to standard size, but the touchpad is tiny. And supersensitive. Also, I keep inadvertently resizing the screen. I'm not sure what action causes the screen to resize, so I can't not do it.

But the computer can actually keep up with the speed of my typing; my high-speed Internet connection is really high speed (and not rivaling dial-up); and I can type the number 4. So, yay.

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TAing has been a mixed bag this week. We didn't have any readings to discuss, and I was struggling to come up with substantive discussion questions so that I wouldn't just be quizzing the students on the lecture material. So I decided to put together a game. In an effort to do something a little creative, I put together Trivial Pursuit: 277 Edition.

It failed. So very badly. More than half the students had never played Trivial Pursuit, so they didn't understand the point of the game. And going team-by-team was rather dull.

Today, I set the game up as Jeopardy! and had much better success. The students were really energetic and fun. Even in my 8.50 a.m. section.

I was feeling much better about my TA abilities, until an incident during office hours. I won't go into detail here other than to say that I showed some very poor judgment and am now beating myself up for it.

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My nephew is crawling. Crawling! When I last saw him, he was just starting to be able to support his head on his own. Now, he's mobile. Ridiculous.

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I have finally turned the corner on my back. The acupuncture is helping tremendously. Doing yoga and the PT exercises also helps a lot; I'm just struggling to find the time and energy to exercise. But I'm starting to back off the pain meds. I'm down to one heavy-duty dose of ibuprofen in the morning and one Vicodin at night. Yay!

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This coming weekend is supposed to be cold and rainy, so I'm planning to get caught up on a bunch of work: revising my grant proposal (again), reading for prelims, and working through the pile of paperwork for my publications job.

In reality, I will probably watch the approximately 4,000 hours of the Ken Burns' documentary on National Parks; page through a pile of magazines; and eat my weight in comfort food.

I also still want to go see The September Issue, and now Whip It! is out.

Friday Five

2009-09-25T15:12:00.000-07:00

I'm having a Movie Madness weekend. The Fame remake, The September Issue, and Adam are all coming out this weekend. I haven't decided which of the three I'm going to see, although I suspect Fame won't stay in the theaters long, so I should probably prioritize that one.

And tomorrow, I'm having a "bad movies we love" marathon with some friends. The line up includes The Karate Kid, Empire Records, and Stargate. I still haven't decided whether my contribution will be the original Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie or the original Fame.

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I finally ordered a new computer---a netbook. My laptop has gotten ridiculously slow. I had sort of accepted that I couldn't watch videos online and that I could only buy one or two songs at a time from iTunes before the computer would crash. But now, even the most basic functions---just typing a single sentence---take forever.

And the "four" key fell off.

So now I'm just biding my time until Amazon decides to send me my new netbook. The case arrived yesterday, so I'm hopeful that the computer won't be far behind.

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I'm about a quarter of the way through the term, and I'm already freaking out. This term was supposed to be "light." I'm only taking two classes. But I'm also TAing and working part time and trying to complete the prelims I was supposed to have done over the summer and rewriting all my grant proposals.

So not so much "light."

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TAing is going well so far. I think. The beginning of the term has been complicated by the H1N1 virus. The university has overdone its awareness campaign, so now every student who wakes up a bit tired or with a scratchy throat thinks that he or she has the flu. And the university decided to make a policy that students don't need to provide a doctor's note for the flu, so they are even more likely to decide that they have the "flu."

Overall, though, my students seem nice and relatively bright. The discussions are going well, and they are turning in their assignments. I have a few problem children---including one girl who seems to think that my job includes chasing her down to schedule a make-up quiz and get her caught up on work after she was absent for two weeks and a few students who haven't yet figured out which section they are actually registered for---but that's to be expected. Of course, they haven't yet discovered how mean I am---you know, with expecting them to give the correct answer on exams and write a college-level research paper.

I got my student evaluations back from the summer session, and a good number of them thought that I was a hard---"unfair"---grader. A good number of them also undermined their point by adding that I was a hard grader "for a summer course." Apparently I didn't get the memo that summer classes were supposed to be an easy A. Oops.

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I told my co-advisor about my plans for library school. She was a little surprised---and a little concerned that I meant that I was dropping out of the anthropology program---but generally supportive. She asked some good questions that I need to find the answers for.

We also had a great conversation about my concerns with being an anthropologist---namely that I don't feel like I have the overwhelming drive needed for anthropology. I think anthropology is interesting; I like studying it and talking about it in class and writing the occasional paper on it; but I'm not completely absorbed by it. I don't want to curl up with an ethnography at night or spend my weekends with a stack of journal articles. I think my research site is interesting, but I'm not itching to get into the field and I've never wanted to stay any longer than I absolutely had to. I want a balance between my work and my life.

Dr. W. suggested that I perhaps had a skewed perception of the practicing anthropologist that comes more from what people present themselves as rather than what they really do---that most of the professors in the department do find a work/life balance, even if their boundaries between the two sometimes are a bit flexible. And I think she makes a good point. My perception of how I "ought" to be is based on how the people around me---particularly my fellow grad students---think they "ought" to be presenting themselves.

At the same time, though, I think I know at least some of the other students well enough to know that they are authentic in their passion for anthropology, both the theory and the fieldwork, to a degree that I'm not.

Friday Five

2009-09-11T13:00:00.000-07:00

Five Things I'm Doing When I Should Be Working on Prelims

1. Revising my grant proposal for the umpteenth time. On the bright side, my advisor finally---finally!---gave me some positive feedback. That's not to say that she didn't suggest changing every other word, but at least she didn't receive it with complete despair. So, progress.

2. Applying to a different department. I finally made good on my promise/threat from the past four years: I met with the graduate coordinator at the UW School for Library and Information Sciences to find out how to apply for the program. Unfortunately, I do have to go through the application process, but they have a fairly high acceptance rate (65%) and the coordinator thought I'd be a strong candidate.

I'm also taking a course this term on archives management so that I can start knocking off requirements.

I'm still thinking about the program as "in addition to" rather than "instead of" my doctorate in anthropology, because I think I'd like to focus on special collections or research.

3. Reading non-required reading. I'm about halfway through What is the What by Dave Eggers, and I've started A Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore. I'm barely resisting the urge to get The Magicians by Lev Grossman and Strength in What Remains by Tracy Kidder (if I get a good coupon from any of the bookstores, resistance will be futile). And the new Margaret Atwood novel comes out in 11 days.

4. Watching way too much television. The new seasons of Project Runway, Top Chef, and The Rachel Zoe Project are all underway. And America's Next Top Model started this week. Then there are all the new fall shows to check out. I thought I wasn't going to be interested in the new shows, but I forgot about Glee! (yay!), the Melrose Place reboot, Community, The Beautiful Life, FlashForward. Plus all my old faithfuls: CSI, CSI:NY, Law & Order, SVU, Gossip Girl, Castle, 90210, Bones.

Yeah . . . my DVR will be put to good use in the coming months. My brain, not so much.

5. Wondering what is wrong with people. Seriously, how can anyone be against universal health care? Or think that a Presidential address to students is a secret communist plot? Or think it's okay to compare President Obama to Hitler? Who are these people, and when did we stop rolling our eyes and start taking them seriously?

Friday Five

2009-08-28T14:13:00.000-07:00

AAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!

Which is my polite way of saying, &*#$*A@#*$#A(#(@()$#!!!!!!

I've started round two of grant proposals, and the process is even harder the second time. Because now, in addition to having the voices of my advisor and my inner critic interfering, I also have a chorus of rejections chiming in every time I sit down to write. The result is utter crap.

And don't just take my word for it: My advisor agrees. I met with her this morning, and her feedback was very discouraging. I knew my revisions were still far from perfect, but I was hoping that she'd say that it was stronger in some sections and needed work in other areas. But she trashed the whole thing. Really. She didn't have a single positive thing to say, and her disappointment in me was very visible.

So I'm back to the drawing board. Again.

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Thank goodness I'm meeting friends tonight for margaritas and chocolates.

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I finally picked my first tomato. It was only a little bigger than a golf ball, but fully ripened. I'm still not sure if I just selected a small variety or if the cold weather stunted the tomato's growth.

It was so yummy. I sliced it and sprinkled it with a little salt, pepper, and fresh basil.

Now I'm even more impatient for the rest of the tomatoes to ripen.

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I'm also eagerly awaiting my birthday present:

My current vacuum is crap for picking up dog hair---or anything else. This one has gotten great reviews in Consumer Reports and the store sites where it is sold.

It should be here any day now.

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Classes start again on Wednesday. I still can't figure out what happened to the past three months: It's all a haze of pain, meds, undergraduates, and CSI reruns.

At least I have a soft start to the new term: Only one class and no discussion sections for TAing during the first week.

Friday Five: On the DL

2009-08-21T12:42:00.000-07:00

I started this post last Friday. But about one third of the way through it, a combination of pain and the meds I'm taking to "manage" the pain kicked in, and the need to be horizontal outweighed the want to get a Friday Five posted.

----------------------

It's baaaaack: the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad back problem.

I exaggerate. A bit.

I was feeling great for about three weeks. Then, on Monday, while doing a seated head-to-knee pose as part of my regular morning yoga routine, I felt a tightness in my lower right back. I tried to push into the tension a bit, without overdoing the stretch, and when I finished, I felt a little sore in my right leg, but a good sore. Except, not so much good. Because over the next few days, that soreness got worse. Monday and Tuesday, I had constant pins-and-needles along my right leg, with the occasional sharp pain when I moved the wrong way. By Wednesday night, however, the pain was almost constant; I couldn't find any position---seated or laying down---that was comfortable. When I woke up on Thursday, after a long night of tossing and turning and trying to find a comfortable position, I had a dull achy pain all along my leg and couldn't put much weight on it. So, for once, I admitted that I had a problem and called the doctor.

The diagnosis this time: a bulging disk (simply put, a disk has slipped out of place and is pressing against a nerve). Possibly. The doctors are still playing a guessing game because they want to eliminate all the obvious possibilities before they'll send me for an MRI (a decision that I'm sure has been influenced by insurance regulations).

So I got another set of drugs (extra-strength ibuprofen and Vicoden) that make me spacey but don't seem to have any effect on the pain. I also got a referral to a physical therapist, who gave me yet another list of exercises. Both the doctor and the PT say that I've got at least a couple months before I'm back to 100 percent. And so the doctor is focusing on managing the pain, and the PT is focusing on gradually moving the pain into a single source and strengthening my core to prevent future pain.

Of course, all of this treatment is based on the assumption that the doctor correctly diagnosed the problem.

ETA: The pain meds and exercises are helping. I've managed to remain awake and upright for most of the days this week, and I'm able to get around enough to get some errands done. I may have overdone it last night, though, when I had friends over to watch Project Runway; I've been feeling sore and crappy today. So, of course, I'm going to spend tonight cooking for the weekly sailing social. I expect that I'll be a very unhappy camper tomorrow. (It's not really "volunteering" because I'll get $35 refunded from my membership fee, which is the only reason that I haven't backed out.)

-----------------------

Obviously, this week has been a total loss for doing any work. I'm either in pain or knocked out by the supermeds.

ETA: This week hasn't been much more productive. I've absolutely hit the wall.

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I've been watching "More to Love," much to my shame. I'm generally opposed to dating shows. Perhaps I'm naive about the dating scene, but the idea of women competing for a man who is openly pursuing multiple relationships and judging the women on an arbitary set of criteria in an artificial environment is so distasteful that I'd rather remain a lifelong spinster than participate in that.

But I was intrigued by the idea of a dating show that focused on "normal"-sized women. And I have an ongoing fascination with the current obsession in popular culture with weight and food.

This show, however, manages to take poor taste to a whole new level. I was expecting the women to be overweight but to have healthy self-esteems, to be members of the "fat pride" movement.* And some of the women do have a high opinion of themselves. But most of them need therapy a lot more than they need a reality show. Putting these women, who have some serious self-esteem issues, on a show that constantly focuses on their weight and keeps them in constant fear of rejection, just seems cruel.

Of course, they would have to cast some really desperate women if they want to find someone willing to put up with the bachelor. He is beyond obnoxious.

So why am I still watching this trainwreck?

* I'm also turned off by the idea of "celebrating" severe obesity. Although some of the women are a "normal" weight compared to the super-thin ideal perpetuated on TV, many of them are obese. And although I realize that I'm a bit of hypocrite saying this, given my inability to take my own advice, I don't think we should accept obesity. It's a very real health concern. Yes, self-acceptance is a laudable goal, but in conjunction with---not in place of---efforts to reach a healthy weight.

--------------------------

Project Runway is back! Project Runway is back!

And so are Top Chef and Rachel Zoe's show.

Just when I had started to wean myself from TV, after tiring of endless reruns of the various iterations of CSI and L&O.

---------------------------

My first tomato is turning red and is almost ready to harvest. I have more than a dozen others at various stages of growth. I can't wait!

I'm still trying to decide on names.

Friday Five: Rainy Day Edition

2009-08-07T17:00:00.000-07:00

We're having a cold, rainy day, which should be conducive to getting work done, but oddly, is not.

I'm struggling to get my prelim statements written and my proposal revised. I'm lucky if I get 50 pages read in a day, and I'm excluding about half of what I do read as not relevant or useful. Which I suppose is progress of a sort.

I'm just very disappointed in myself for my lack of real, tangible progress, and I'm worried that my committee members are getting tired of my excuses.

Unfortunately, the deeper the hole I dig for myself, the more inclined I am to wallow in that hole. Today, I picked up a tall pile of research books---then left them in my backpack for the rest of the day while I watched DVR'd episodes of "The Superstars," surfed the Internet, and read "The New Yorker."

___________________________

I'm starting to contemplate a life beyond grad school. I've applied for a couple of jobs, but the market is tight, and Madison isn't really the best place to find a job in publications or marketing. In the meantime, I'm taking advantage of the university's free computer courses to update my software skills so I'll be a bit more competitive when the job market does recover.

I'm not giving up on getting my doctorate yet, which is why I'm reluctant to leave Madison. I'm still planning to resubmit my proposals. But I think I need to be realistic and prepare for the very real possibility that I may get rejected again.

____________________________

I watched Network last night. For a 30-year-old movie, it is surprisingly relevant today: concern that media has become an opiate of the masses, the ubiquity of corporate influence, the co-option of radical action into dominant discourse, paranoia about the Middle East.

I'm also constantly surprised when I revisit older movies by how intelligent, articulate, and subversive they are. The writing in Network is so smart and thick; I had to actually pay attention to the dialogue---and even occasionally replayed a segment because I couldn't keep up as the characters debated social theory.

Not that I don't enjoy my mindless entertainment---the Bring It On series is high on my list of favorites---but once upon a time, films could be smart and witty and relevant and fun.

____________________________

I finally got some sailing in this week. I went out for about an hour on Wednesday, and in that hour, I managed to hit two keel boats. Both were parked at buoys. The first one, I hit when my boom fell down after the line came undone. The second, I hit when I got my rudder caught in the buoy line.

Other than those two incidents---and a less than elegant landing---I did fairly well. Or, at least, I didn't capsize. Which I count as success.

I'm signed up for a couple of lessons next week: a landing clinic and a lesson on one of the cruising keel boats.

_____________________________

We're supposed to continue having cruddy weather over the weekend, so other than trying to get some prelim reading done and spending half of Sunday at a class on Access, I'm planning to stay in with a pile of movies and a stack of magazines. I also finally got a library copy of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

Hmmm . . . that prelim reading might get put off yet again.

Friday Five

2009-07-31T19:42:00.000-07:00

Another Friday, another five.

1. I don’t know where my time goes. Really. I’ve tried to be more conscientious this week. Each day, I’ve made a specific schedule. And each night, I’ve written down what I actually did that day. And I still can’t figure out how I manage to waste so much of each day.

I have one month left to write two 20-page literature reviews and a revised proposal. Not impossible, but I really need to get myself motivated and focused.

2. I also haven’t done any sailing again this week, despite perfect weather almost every day. I forget why I didn’t go on Monday. On Tuesday, I rode my bicycle to campus and was too worn out afterwards to go sailing. Wednesday, I wasn’t feeling well. Thursday, the weather was frustratingly iffy. We were supposed to have storms all day, but the rain came and went in brief bursts and then disappeared in the afternoon, leaving just a bunch of threatening clouds. I didn’t want to get to campus and find out that the lake was closed. Then today, I felt guilty about not having read enough for prelims, so I made myself spend the afternoon working.

3. I saw the cutest Boston Terrier puppy at the dog park today. He was only 4 months old and couldn’t have been more than 10 pounds. (I’ll leave aside my usual rant about how puppies shouldn’t be at the dog park until they are at least six months old.)

I want a new puppy so much. I’m still completely in love with Rowen. But she’s almost 5 years old, and she’s lost that spastic puppy energy. And I realize that a sane person would be happy that her dog has settled down to be a (mostly) calm, sweet-tempered companion. But I’ve never claimed to be sane.

Unfortunately, I have to be realistic. I barely have the time (or money) to care for Rowen. And having one dog in a condo with no yard is less than ideal; having two dogs cooped up all day would be unfair. Not to mention that I still haven’t given up on going into the field next year. I’ve convinced my parents to take Rowen while I’m gone, but no way I’ll be able to convince them to take on the care of two dogs.

4. I now have eight---eight!---little tomatoes growing on my balcony. Mornings are so much more exciting when I can look forward to checking on my plant to see if any new tomatoes have started and how big each one is getting.

Would it be totally weird to name the tomatoes?

5. I’m off to a wedding this weekend. And I decided that I can wear slacks.

On the Pile

2009-07-27T16:15:00.000-07:00

I’ve gotten quite a bit of reading done in the past few weeks. Unfortunately, none of it has been particularly good and very little of it has been for my prelims.

Finished

* Gangleader for a Day by Sudhir Alladi Venkatesh. The author is a sociologist who, as a graduate student at the University of Chicago, took on a long-term ethnographic study of the role of gangs at a Chicago housing project. I’ve had this book on my to-read list for a while because there are so few “popular” ethnographies. I was disappointed, then, that Gang Leader for a Day is not so much an ethnography as a self-aggrandizing memoir. Venkatesh focuses primarily on reiterating how “groundbreaking” and “dangerous” his research was, and although I can understand his not wanting to get bogged down in a literature review in a book aimed at a general audience, I think he grossly misrepresents himself and his research by failing to place his work within the discipline. He also completely ignores those outside the discipline who have done outstanding in-depth reporting on the inner-city poor (such as David Simon and Jonathan Kozol). I do give Venkatesh credit for trying to get beyond the common tropes of inner-city poverty and violence, but I’m disappointed that he mostly uses his experience to bolster his own reputation as a “rogue” sociologist rather than to contribute to a very necessary public discussion.

* Towelhead by Alicia Erian. Another highly buzzed, but ultimately disappointing read. The story centers on a 13-year-old Lebanese-American girl who comes into her sexuality in a broken, unstable world where adults are at best unreliable, and often dangerous. The author tries to frame the girl’s coming-of-age within a post-9/11 milieu, but the issue of her cultural identity and how that plays into her individual development feels tagged on. Indeed, the girl herself feels incidental to the story. We learn almost nothing about her, apart from her sexual experience and victimization. Nor does she change in any significant way throughout the story.

I’m ashamed to admit that despite how terrible the story was, I stayed up late into the night reading with a lurid curiosity, akin to being sucked into a crime-show marathon: fascination of the abomination. And much like those crime shows, much of the book was merely shock for shock’s value, testing the limits of public morality. My participation in that test left me with a strong desire for a shower.

* I’ve been on a Laura Lippman binge. In the past few weeks, I’ve read Butchers Hill, the third book in the Tess Monaghan series, and the stand-alone Life Sentences. I’m finding, however, that Lippman might be best read in small doses spaced well apart. Otherwise the redundancies and limitations of her work becomes much too apparent. Part of what I enjoy about Lippman’s books are the Baltimore setting and the local flavor, but Lippman seems to assume that she has to re-explain that local flavor in every book. The history of Columbia (the section of Maryland, not the country or district) is fascinating. Once. I’ve now read it three times. I know from a marketing perspective, Lippman is smart to write each book as if it were a stand alone. But from a reader’s perspective, I’m annoyed with repetitive asides that bog down the narrative.

Still, I'd recommend Life Sentences. The "mystery" at the center is contrived and the resolution is tacked on, but Lippman offers interesting observations on race, memory, and storytelling. Indeed, the book would have been much stronger if Lippman had left out the mystery---which served only as a cheap plot device---and focused solely on the fallout of the main character's memoir.

* Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn. One day I will learn not to trust the hype. Sharp Objects is yet another well-reviewed, popular novel that sublimates the story for the sake of quirk. The narrator---yet another “complex” female character who I find unbearably self-centered and pathologically idealized---returns to her small, southern home town, and the quirky people who populate it, to report on a possible serial killer who targets spunky, “complex” girls. In doing so, the narrator must confront her own damaged childhood and its lingering scars. Which she mostly accomplishes through binge drinking and destructive sex.

I’m very curious how we’ve come to this cultural moment in which being a “real” woman equates to being self-destructive. It’s almost as if, in attempting to rectify the 1940s/50s image of the “hysterical” woman, we’ve merely swapped stereotypes, so that being non-pathological is itself a pathology. Or is instead an example of the hegemony absorbing resistance: See, liberated women are weak, vulnerable, prone to self-destructive behavior and mental illness. But now it’s by their own choice!

I’ve also read various books and articles on colonialism, medical missionaries, and foreign development for my prelims, as well as a selection of colorful board books and Dr. Seuss stories. I will recommend, for children and adults, Bashful Bob and Doleful Dolinda by Margaret Atwood. Read it aloud for the full experience.

Now Reading

* City of Thieves by David Benioff. So far, it is living up to its hype.

* Voluntary Madness by Norah Vincent.

And re-reading On Writing Well by William Zinsser after realizing that my own writing is suffering from overexposure to bad prose.

On Deck

* The Wish Maker by Ali Sethi.

* Where the Stress Falls by Susan Sontag.

* The Night of the Gun by David Carr.

* Beowulf, trans. by Seamus Heaney.

And maybe I'll pull one of Kozol's books off my shelf to remind myself that intelligent analysis and good writing are not mutually exclusive.

Friday Five

2009-07-24T09:35:00.000-07:00

I'm back in Madison and back to regular access to a high-speed Internet line, so I'm back to Friday Five.

1. I'm so proud of myself. I finally---finally!---cleaned out the suitcases full of old clothes that I've lugged from Virginia to Pennsylvania to Texas and then to Wisconsin but never unpacked because (1) the clothes are several sizes too small and/or (2) I don't actually like them anymore. Seriously, I had three suitcases filled with clothes that I haven't worn for at least a year---some for as many as five years. Instead, I now have three garbage bags full of clothes to go to Goodwill and another nearly full bag of trash. Woohoo!

I did keep a couple of items that I really like. Perhaps they'll give me some incentive to lose this weight.

Next project: Finding the bottom of my desk. And maybe finally setting up the printer and scanner that I got from my father back in January (hand-me-downs after he got an upgraded combo).

2. I'm a little worried that by saying this, I'll jinx it: But my balcony garden is going great! My upside-down tomato plant has grown big and bushy and has six---six!---little tomatoes so far, ranging in size from a pea to a golf ball. My basil, chive, and sage plants are also doing well. I was able to get enough from my basil plant to make homemade pesto (yummy!). I think I'll pick up a couple more plants at the farmers' market this weekend. I'd really like to get cilantro, but I haven't been able to find it. Perhaps tarragon and parsley . . .

Do any of you know how to dry herbs for storing?

3. Unfortunately, work on my prelims and proposals has not been as successful. I'm completely devoid of motivation. For almost three years, I've complained about not being able to work on my own research, and now that I can, I've lost interest. I've extended one of my deadlines twice already, and I think my co-advisor is getting a bit irked. Fortunately my advisor and third committee member have been out of the country for most of the summer, so they haven't yet noticed how badly I've been slacking. But I'll have to face up to them soon enough.

4. Sailing---well, that's been mixed results. I've finished the lessons on the tech boats (small, single-sail vessels about the size of a Sunfish sailboat) and have my light rating, which means I can take the boat out by myself on days when the wind is less than 15 mph. So now I need to get out on the boat to practice a bit before I move on to the next set of lessons.

But . . . I hate the tech boat. With a burning passion. It's tiny and unstable; I'm large and clumsy. As a result, I come back from each excursion covered in bruises and abrasions. And sore as hell from squatting for tacks and jibes.

The weather has also been less than cooperative. The wind is either dead or too strong. Or worse, variable.

So I haven't been sailing as much as I had planned or hoped. But I hope to get out a few times next week. If I can pass up to the next level, I can get back in the sloop, which is about twice the size of the tech and a lot more stable (and a lot easier to launch!).

5. A question: Is it appropriate to wear a pants suit to an evening wedding? I'm going to a wedding next weekend, and as noted above, my legs are covered ankle to hip in large bruises and scrapes. Of course, this assumes that I can find a pants suit in the next week that is both affordable and attractive.

Friday Five

2009-06-26T15:13:00.000-07:00

1. I finally took my first sailing lesson yesterday. I was so happy to be out on the water, even if we didn't have much wind. I'm still getting used to tacking,* although I blame the rudder extension, which makes it very difficult to maneuver one's body across the boat without getting gutted by the extension or beaned by the boom. I have two more lessons next week to get my first rating on the Tech boats (about the size of a Sunfish; fits three cozily). Then I'll have to find someplace near my parents' house to rent a boat while I'm gone for a couple of weeks.

2. Have I mentioned that my blog crush Michael Schaub is back at Bookslut? *sigh*

3. I'm not quite as done with my TA appointment as I thought I was. Now I have to respond to all the disgruntled students who didn't get the grade that they think they "deserve." And I can't fob them off on the professor; she is conveniently leaving the country this weekend.

4. My back was feeling much better---until I went sailing yesterday. Sitting on a hard bench with no back support wasn't the best idea. But I'm tired of putting off my summer plans while I wait for my back to heal. I thought I was finally out of the woods after I managed to sleep through a whole night---and much of the morning---on Wednesday. For the first time in weeks, I didn't wake up groggy and spacey and achy. But last night, the muscle relaxers failed me around 2 a.m., and I had to take some ibuprofen. So I've once again spent most of the day feeling listless and dizzy. I think tonight I'll ditch the muscle relaxer and see what a super-size (but doctor approved) dose of ibuprofen will do.

5. It's damn hot in Madison these days. And humid. Which is not helping with the listless feeling. All I really want to do is nap under the ceiling fan in the bedroom. I'm trying to keep the a/c off as much as possible, but I may have to give in if I want to get anything done at home. And I really, really need to clean.

*Tacking is changing direction while sailing upwind.

Friday Five

2009-06-19T19:18:00.000-07:00

1. I finally went to the doctor about my back. I felt a lot better last week, but then the pain returned over the weekend and got steadily worse this week. The last few nights have been mostly sleepless, and last night was a little scary. I woke up at about 2 a.m., flat on my back in the middle of the bed and totally unable to move. If I tried to roll to the right---or even to move my right leg the slightest bit---I was seized by terrible muscle spasms. My left leg simply wouldn’t move at all. I lay there for about two hours, alternately screaming in pain and crying from the futility of it. I began to think that I’d have to call 911 to be rescued from my own bed. But then I remembered that the kitchen was piled with dishes and I have drifts of dog hair in the living room, and the pain of getting myself out of bed seemed to pale in comparison to the embarrassment of having strangers see my messy home.

I did eventually lever myself out of the bed, doped myself up on some oxycodone I had left from having a wisdom tooth out last summer, strapped a heating pad to my back, and curled up on the couch for a few hours of fitful sleep.

I went to the doctor this afternoon. After some very brief poke and prod, she declared that I had pulled a muscle, gave me a sheet of back stretches, and prescribed some heavy duty muscle relaxers. Some very heavy duty relaxers. The pharmacist actually called the doctor to doublecheck the dosage because she thought it was an error. So I’ll be spending the weekend very doped up. Should make grading exams very interesting.

2. Now, I know that for a doctor, a pulled muscle is just a routine diagnosis, but I do think that the doctor could have been a little more thorough and concerned, especially considering how distraught I was during the appointment. She seemed like she couldn’t shuttle me out fast enough so she could start the weekend.

3. I finished my first TA appointment yesterday. This past week was rough. The students got their midterms back on Monday, and the average was a low C, so I had a lot of unhappy campers. Of course, their poor performance was all because I’m an unfair grader. Among my favorite responses:
“I didn’t know I had to answer all the parts of the essay question. I thought they were just suggestions.”
“Don’t you know how discouraging it is to get so many points taken off?”
“I work really hard, so I deserve a better grade.”
“But I wrote so much. Don’t I get any credit for that?”
Apparently asking for accuracy and articulateness is just plain unreasonable. As is asking them to take notes in lecture (a whole other story).

Overall, I enjoyed TAing. I had some really intelligent, interesting, and fun students. Unfortunately, the students who are doing well and enjoying the class don’t come to office hours, so I’ve only been hearing the negative. (Although I did have one student who was very sweet and supportive after seeing how her fellow students were acting about their midterm grades.)

4. Just a few more days of grading---and some fun drugs to get my back in shape---and then maybe I can start my summer. I’ve got a stack of library books, piles of magazines, and a membership with the university sailing program. Oh, and some pesky prelims and proposals to work on.

5. I’ve made no progress on revising my proposal. In fact, I’m making the opposite of progress. The more I think about it, the more muddied the whole thing gets. And don’t bother telling me not to think about it. If you know me at all, you know that I’m not capable of not worrying an issue. I have all these disparate strands: development, popular culture, media, voluntourism, cross-cultural negotiation, concepts of poverty, neoliberalism, philanthrocapitalism, Millennium Villages Project, exchange. But I don’t have any kind of theoretical framework that ties all these strands into a coherent whole.

Suggestions?

Three Down, One to Go

2009-06-11T19:12:00.000-07:00

Well, only one more week of actually classes for the summer course, but I’ll have a full week’s worth of grading to do after the class ends: a pile of papers and a pile of finals.

I’m mostly enjoying being a teaching assistant. Even though the class is a summer course and most of the students are taking the course as a requirement---for some, it's the last requirement before graduating---the students have been keeping up with the work and really engaging with the class. I’ve had a couple of discussions that resembled dental work, especially this week, when we’ve been talking about a rather dense, difficult book. But with a little prodding, the students got into the discussion. I also took a little more control of the discussion this week, which definitely reduced the awkward silences and kept us more on track.

I have a few students who are more challenging than others. One boy is very enthusiastic---perhaps a little too enthusiastic---but not very bright. Before class, during break, after class, and during office hours---he never runs out of questions. Unfortunately, he proves that there really is such a thing as a dumb question. I feel like I’m spending way too much time repeating lecture material and reviewing the readings for him. I believe that he is doing the reading, but he doesn’t know how to read---at least, not in the academic sense. He doesn’t seem to know how to learn independently. And I’m not a learning specialist. I can tell him a few basic strategies: read everything twice, stop every 10-20 pages to make notes or summarize---but without any background in pedagogy or cognitive theory, I’m not sure how helpful I can be.

Another of the students has an identified learning disorder and struggles with writing essays. Despite giving her twice the time on the midterm, she still couldn’t complete the essay. I feel badly for her, but I don’t know how to help. Essay writing has always come easy for me. I’m sure I was probably taught how to write an essay at some point, but it’s been at least 20 years since I’ve really thought about the process. And at the same time that I want to help her, I also want to be reasonable in the accommodations that I make. I can’t give her unlimited time, and I can’t exempt her from the essay. Again, I’m not trained to handle students with learning disorders, but I’m still supposed to teach and grade them.

With both these students, I’m confronted with not only their learning challenges but so my own biases and snobbery. I’m no genius, but academic learning has always been relatively easy for me. I’ve never had to think about how to learn from a book or how to write a coherent essay. And although I know that we all have different types of intelligence and different ways of learning, I still tend to measure intelligence by my own biases. Even though I know that the girl who struggles to write an essay is not stupid, I still find myself thinking that a college student ought to be able to write a well-developed essay on demand. And that the student who has difficulty with identifying and remembering the important ideas in a reading just isn’t smart, when perhaps he was never taught how to read at an advanced level or simply learns better in other ways. I get frustrated not just because I can’t help these students, but because I can’t understand them. I’m not sure whether it is a failure of empathy or imagination. Perhaps its my own learning disorder that I can understand the students’ struggles on an intellectual level but I can’t grasp them on an affective level.

So what do you all think: At the university level, what responsibility do we have as teachers to understand and meet the students’ diverse learning needs?

On the Pile

2009-06-08T18:59:00.000-07:00

Not a lot of reading has gotten done in the past two weeks. Between TAing and a bad back, I’ve mostly wanted to sack out on the couch with a heating pad and recorded episodes of “90210.” And what has gotten read has mostly been for TAing.

I’ve also posted this disclaimer before, but I tend to be a bit ADD about reading (and, well, about most things in life). So please don’t expect any sort of consistency from week to week.

Finished

* Netherland by Joseph O’Neill. LOVED. O’Neill mixes together a medley of contemporary lits’ worst sins---navel-gazing, mildly depressive narrator; post-9/11 ennui; Babelesque ethnic diversity; therapy as narrative device---and makes them not only tolerable, but enjoyable. His quick pace is largely to credit for O’Neill’s ability to explore disaffection without dragging the reader down into the narrator’s interior muck. A few plot points strain credulity, and the ending feels a bit overly resolved. But these are minor flaws in an overall highly successful novel.

* King Leopold’s Ghost by Adam Hochschild. Again, a disclaimer: I finished this in the grad school sense of finished; as in, I finished as much as I needed to for the purpose at hand and in the time available. I still haven’t entirely shaken my obsessive need to read all books from cover to cover, but I’m getting better at forcing myself to move on, if only as a survival mechanism.

In any case, I’m of two minds about King Leopold’s Ghost. As a general audience book, which is how it was intended, I think it is an engaging and accessible account of an under-reported historical episode: the colonization of the Congo. Hochschild weaves a compelling narrative through a series of characters: the megomaniacal King Leopold; the anti-hero Henry Morgan Stanley; the tragic, and tragically flawed, men who fought against Leopold; the status-obsessed dupes and sociopathic footsoldiers who enabled Leopold’s brutal regime. But as an academic text, it has significant flaws. Hochschild’s emphasis of individual characters and amateur psychoanalysis makes for compelling reading, but obscures the broader processes that make Leopold’s colonial ambition not only imaginable but also achievable. And a coherent narrative leaves little room for dealing with ambiguities, such as the contested numbers of fatalities and the role of missionaries in the colonial project.

* Nuer Dilemmas by Sharon Hutchinson. Same disclaimer about the meaning of “finished.” And one of these days, I really will read all of this, if only because my advisor wrote it. As ethnographies go, Nuer Dilemmas is accessible and readable, although dense with detail. The intricacies of Nuer cattle relations can be mind boggling if you haven’t lived with them for many years. And while I appreciate that Hutchinson was writing at the height of the reflexive moment, I could have done with less intrusion by the author.

Now Reading

* Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. For the course, but I’m excited to read a novel by an African writer. I’m embarrassed by my lack of knowledge of African literature beyond Chinua Achebe.

* The Turnaround by George Pelecanos. So I meant to get another book by Richard Price, after finally reading---and enjoying---the much hyped Lush Life. But I got the names mixed up and bought this book by Pelecanos instead. But I have been meaning to read Pelecanos; he’s a writer and producer on The Wire, one of the best-written (and produced and acted and everything else) television shows ever. In any case, I’m hooked into the story about the consequences of a violent attack that was steeped in the racial tensions of 1970s DC.

* A Good Man is Hard to Find and Other Stories by Flannery O'Conner. So, turns out that I have read some Flannery O'Conner---or, at least, I'd previously read the title story in this collection. I just forgot that I had read the story.

Added to the Pile

* More prelims reading: Curing Their Ills by Megan Vaughan, Lords of Poverty by Graham Hancock, and Toward a Political Economy of Development, edited by Robert Bates.

* Some fun---or, at least, optional---social science reading: Hollywood by Hortense Powdermaker and Reconstructing Reality in the Courtroom by W. Lance Bennett and Martha Feldman.

* And some novels: City of Thieves by David Benioff, The Scenic Route by Binnie Kirshenbaum, and The Fortune of the Rougons by Emile Zola

Wish List

* The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz

* Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

* My Father’s Tears and Other Stories by John Updike

* A Short History of the American Stomach by Frederick Kaufman

* The Sugar House by Laura Lippman

* Towelhead by Alicia Erian

* The Wish Maker by Ali Sethi

Friday Five

2009-06-05T18:21:00.001-07:00

1. TAing is hard. Especially TAing for an intensive summer course. Two and one half hours of lecture in the morning, prep work and office hours, then an hour of discussion in the afternoon. Plus more prep work and reading when I get home. I'm exhausted every day. And then I spend all weekend reading and prepping for the next week. This weekend I have the added fun of reviewing their paper proposals, preparing for my guest lecture next week, and fielding inane questions about Monday's midterm: "How should I study for the test?" Um, you should review the detailed study guide that I gave you. Lord. And I have a feeling I'll have lots of unhappy campers coming to my office hours next week when they get back their proposals with a "Not acceptable. Redo." comment. Because despite specifically telling them---in the syllabus and during discussion---that they needed to submit a 3-5 sentence summary that included a specific research question, at least half of them turned in a vague one sentence proposal along the lines of "I plan to write about AIDS in Southern Africa." Ugh. And at least half of them turned in the proposal late. Also, didn't really think that I needed to specify that the proposal should be type written, but apparently I did.

2. But then just when I had decided that I'd had enough of lame excuses and half-assed work, the universe decided to remind me that we all have our off days. I had a meeting this morning with the professor teaching the course to go over the midterm exam questions. I got a late start to the day, then mixed up the bus schedule, and missed the bus I should have taken. Or at least I thought I had missed it, so I went to get a different bus. And while waiting for that one, I saw the bus I wanted go by. Then the one I was waiting for was late. I decided I could save some time by transfering to a second bus along the way, but then got mixed up on the bus routes and wound up missing the second bus---even though the driver absolutely saw me running to catch the bus. Bastard. And in the end I was almost 20 minutes late for my meeting, with the lame excuse that I got mixed up on the bus routes.

3. An update on my back, because I know you've been losing sleep over this: Better but still not great. I still get stiff and sore if I sit for too long, and I have a shooting pain down my left buttock. But I'm not having to hyperdose on ibuprofen to get through the day. So, improvement. But still frustrating because I haven't been able to start sailing lessons or get back into running.

4. I think Rowen, however, may be working some kind of voodoo to keep my back sore because the one thing that seems to help the most is long, gentle walks, particularly along the soft, dirt path at the dog p-a-r-k. We've been going there frequently.

5. We're supposed to have a rainy weekend, although we were supposed to have a rainy afternoon today and that never materialized. Which had I known, I would have organized some Terrace time. Although it's just as well that I came home, because I really was exhausted today and took two naps this afternoon. But anyway, I'm actually hoping for rain this weekend because in addition to all the TA work I need to do, I also have several craft projects that I want to work on, including knitting a blanket and sweater for my nephew (and he's growing like a weed---he's already off the height charts!) and sewing a tote bag for myself. Of course, I also have a pile of novels---including a new mystery novel that I bought this afternoon---and magazines, and a weekend curled up with a pile of non-academic reading sounds really nice. Even though, really, I'll be spending my weekend with the Nuer and their dilemmas. Bah.

Friday Five: A Random Assortment

2009-05-29T17:49:00.000-07:00

1. My back hurts. It has hurt since Sunday. I'm not quite sure what I did. I was at a barbecue on Sunday, sitting at a picnic table, and when I got up, I noticed that I was stiff and sore. The pain got progressively worse through yesterday, and has felt a little better today. Walking helps, driving hurts. I'm beginning to think that maybe I ought to go to the doctor, but I'm trying to avoid that. Mostly because if I go to the doctor, I'll have to get on a scale, and I really don't want to find out the truth about my weight. Not right now.

2. Other than some M&Ms yesterday, I've been much better about my eating this week. I packed salads and yogurt for my lunches. And today, instead of going to the coffee shop for a chai latte and a pastry, I went to the dog park for a walk and picked up peaches at the grocery store. Of course, the margaritas I drank with dinner tonight probably didn't do me any favors.

3. Summer television is a vast wasteland. Not that I'm not watching the junk anyway. Last night, I watched part of "So You Think You Can Dance." There are a lot of delusional people in the world. Delusional, shameless people. And I'm still watching "The Fashion Show" even though it becomes more of a trainwreck every week. And not even a fabulous, campy, tranny wreck. It's just bad.

4. I think Rowen has allergies. She used to have problems with allergies when we lived in Austin, but she seemed to be doing fine in Madison. But lately, whenever we go to the park or for a hike, she gets a hacking cough and the sneezes. And one morning, she was wheezing and panting at home. Her energy level seems fine, so I don't think she's sick.

5. I finally gave up on growing herbs from seed. After weeks and weeks of watering dirt, I bought some pre-grown herbs at the farmer's market and repotted them. And now I'm an herb junkie---throwing herbs into everything and anything, in random combinations. I've had the plants for a week and haven't killed them yet. I might pick up a couple more this weekend.

One Down

2009-05-28T17:19:00.000-07:00

I finished my first week as a teaching assistant for Africa: An Introductory Survey. So far, I think everything has gone better than I had expected. I've had a few students who think that the world revolves around them, the stars align according to their will, and so on. One student---for whom I was already making a concession because he had scheduled a family trip in the middle of the course (a four-week course)---was unhappy because I was docking his participation points because he "forgot" when his discussion session was. Some others have scheduled classes that overlap with the final week of this one and seem baffled that we want them to attend this class (and don't seem to have any sense of how insulting it is to be told that they need to miss this class so they can attend a different one). But these students are the rare exceptions. For the most part, the students seem perceptive and engaged, even those who are by their own admission only taking the class to fulfill a requirement. We've have limited discussion this week, but what we've had has been lively. A couple of the sections required a little more prodding to go deeper with their discussion, but everyone seems to be trying. And after every lecture, I have students coming up to me with questions and e-mailing questions.

And I'm enjoying being in front of the class and leading the discussions. I'm feeling a little more confident about my own knowledge of Africa. Most of the lecture material has been stuff that I know, although some of it I had forgotten that I knew. And I'm reassured that even the professor who is teaching the course struggles with some of the subject material. In the discussions, I feel like I have knowledge and ideas that I can share with the students to expand on the lecture material, although I'm still trying to figure out how to help them intuit more of the answers rather than directing them to the answers. And how to correct them when they get off course without discouraging them.

This term is a bit intense. I have two books to read in the next couple of days---one that we'll be discussing next week and one that I need to write a reading guide for---plus putting together a map quiz and starting to write the midterm exam. I've been completely exhausted when I get home each afternoon, although that's partly because I'm dealing with a bad back and thus taking vast amounts of ibuprofen. But two and a half hours of lecture plus a discussion section each day is also tiring.

I'm still dreading the grading---my least favorite part of teaching. And putting together my own lecture in a couple of weeks is a bit daunting. But I think I just might like this gig.

On the Pile

2009-05-25T14:32:00.000-07:00

Finished
* Charm City by Laura Lippman. One of my pet peeves with mystery novels is the undeserved ending---when the author throws in a twist ending that has no relation to the rest of the novel: no foreshadowing, no buried clues, no thread to follow back through the story. An ending that makes the reader go, "What?!" rather than "Ooooh." Lippman rather precariously walks that line between "Ooooh" and "What?!" The clues are there, and the heroine helpfully traces the thread back through the plot---usually just before she gets her ass kicked by the bad guy. But the convolutions required to trace that thread can induce more groans than "ahas." That said, Lippman does what I want a mystery writer to do: gradually builds the suspense and pace of the story until I can't put the book down and then gives me an ending that is both surprising and satisfying. In this case, however, Lippman succeeds more with the B-story than the main story, and I was more interested in the origins of the various elements of Tess Monaghan's life that show up in later books than in the central mystery of this book. Worth reading if you enjoy Lippman's more recent work and want to get the background, but I wouldn't recommend it as a stand-alone read.

* Consuming Passions by Judith Williamson. Well, I sort of finished this one . . . if by "finished" you mean that I read the introduction and conclusion and then skimmed enough of the content to decide that it wouldn't be particularly useful for my prelims. Williamson uses a textual analysis approach to examine how media package "passion"---both as sex and as individual desires---for mass consumption. Yet despite her early attempts to take a broad definition of "passion," Williamson focuses on passion in terms of the sexualized female as consumer and, more often, object of consumption. Williamson also claims to approach the media-as-texts from the consumer's point of view, but she then inserts herself as the sole point of view, failing to see that she's recreating the same problematic as the media: an essentialized idea of the "female" experience. In general, I thought her analyses were superficial and overdetermined. But I'll give her the benefit of time---perhaps her analyses were more provocative and original when the book was published more than 20 years ago.

Still Reading
* The Social Construction of Reality by Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann

* The End of Overeating by David Kessler

Now Reading
* Teaching First-Year College Students by Bette Erickson, Calvin Peters, and Diane Strommer. My initial impression is that this book is a good overview for someone who has no background in pedagogy or education theory. The first third of the book reviews theories of learning styles and cognitive development. So far, however, the conversation is largely theoretical; the authors haven't given much practical advice for how to structure a class to address these concerns. They keep promising that practical advice, though, so I'll remain cautiously optimistic. I'm also a bit turned off by the authors' attitude that everyone but the student is responsible for the student's learning. In the introduction, the authors' blame student failure on high school teachers, college professors, the education system as a whole . . . but they have yet to acknowledge that part of the college experience is transitioning into adulthood, which includes taking responsibility for one's own goals, decisions, actions, and outcomes.

* Netherland by Joseph O'Neill. I am loving---LOVING---this novel. O'Neill writes in a nice cantor that moves the story along at a pleasant pace despite the narrator's propensity toward long ruminations on his marriage, his relationship with his mother, his depression, post-9/11 NYC, and the game of cricket.

* Understanding Contemporary Africa, edited by April and Donald Gordon. So far, a decent primer on the history and major issues of Africa. And I'm mildly reassured by the familiarity of the material; maybe I'm not completely unqualified to be the TA for an Africa survey class.

On Deck
In addition to the books remaining from last week . . .

* Book Thief by Markus Zusak. I've read many, many positive reviews of this book, so I'm fully prepared to be disappointed.

* The Spirit of Development by Erica Bornstein and Tensions of Empire, edited by Frederick Cooper and Ann Stoler. Both for prelims.

Added to the Pile
* American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld

* The Master and Margarita by Bulgakov. Because I promised Charitie that I would read this.

Wish List
* Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame-Smith. I'm 177 out of 184 on the library request list.

* The Scenic Route by Binnie Kirshenbaum

* Fairy Tales: A New History by Ruth Bottigheimer

* Red Riding Hood for All Ages by Sandra Beckett

* Ethnicity, Inc. by John and Jean Comaroff

Friday Five: Summer Plans

2009-05-22T12:22:00.000-07:00

1. Work: On Tuesday, I start a four-week gig as a teaching assistant for an introductory survey course on Africa. I fought for the job---my adviser was very reluctant to hire me---and now I'm wondering what I've gotten myself into. I've never taught at the college level, and I'm not sure I really have the breadth of knowledge to be teaching a survey course on Africa. I tried out some quiz sites to help the students prepare for a map test, and I failed miserably on the practice quizzes!

I'll also still be working part-time as the publications assistant for the African Studies program, but until we get the manuscripts for new journal issues, I really don't have much work to do there.

I'm also going to try to pick up a little proofreading work. I miss editing. I enjoy every part of it---proofreading, copyediting, development, acquisitions. And I actually feel competent at editing. I think it would be nice to have one thing in my life that I feel competent at doing.

2. Home: I've been in my condo for more than two years, and I have yet to hang a single picture. C. and I (well, mostly C.) painted the living room and back hall; and my father and I put up a ceiling fan in the bedroom. But other than that, I really haven't done much to the place. So this summer I'd like to get some stuff up on the walls, repaint the nasty bookcase in the living room, and paint the bedroom. Maybe if I'm feeling really ambitious, I'll get around to making a headboard for my bed.

Part of my delay on decorating is that what I actually want is a built-in bookcase along one of the walls in my living room, but I don't have the skills to build it nor the money to pay someone else to do it. And rather than coming up with an alternative, I keep dragging my feet on decorating.

3. Sailing: I'm just waiting for my next paycheck so I can pay the membership fee.

4. Prelims and Proposals: I still have two literature reviews and a prospectus to write. I have a lot of reading to do for both of the lit reviews, but I think I'll enjoy writing them. One is on the construction of social problems in African media; the other is on the Western "Helper" in southeastern Africa.

I'm not looking forward to revising my proposals.

5. Running: For both physical and mental health reasons, I need to get back to running. Getting through the first couple of weeks is the hardest part---getting back into the rhythm, building up some endurance, pushing through those first killer miles. And every time I start and stop, getting started again is even harder.

But I'm putting it out there: My goal is to run a 10K by the end of the summer. Y'all have to keep me honest now!

Market Day

2009-05-20T19:00:00.000-07:00

A small farmers' market runs out of the parking lot of the mall across the street from me on Wednesdays and Saturdays. So this morning, I got myself up and dressed a little earlier than usual to get some fresh veggies. The Wednesday market is small---only about a dozen stands---and this morning, most of the vendors were selling flowers. The veggie selection was slim. But I did get some mixed baby lettuce, green onions, tomatoes, and asparagus. I also picked up a couple of sticky buns and a mini sour cream poundcake. Yummy! I used some of the lettuce, onions, and tomatoes---along with some canned beans I had in the pantry---to make a salad for lunch. And then I used some of the asparagus to make a very delish pasta with goat cheese, lemon, and tarragon for dinner. I went a little too heavy-handed with the cheese, but the lemon gave the pasta a nice, fresh tang. The recipe is from my new favorite site: Smitten Kitchen. My camera takes terrible food photos, so you'll have to go to SM for a pic. I've made a couple of the other recipes from SM, and so far everything has been great.

After the market---and one of the sticky buns for breakfast---I went back to sleep. I went to bed fairly early last night, and my bed didn't show the usual signs of a restless night, but I was exhausted this morning. I do remember having a couple of vivid anxiety dreams, including one in which my sister and her best friend were telling me how stupid I am.

Continuing my languid theme for the day, I spent the afternoon on the Terrace with K., splitting a pitcher of Spotted Cow and contemplating what we would do if we quit grad school. A bunch of sailboats were out on the water; I'm anxious to get started on my lessons!

On the Pile

2009-05-18T13:21:00.000-07:00

Now Reading
* Charm City by Laura Lippman. I started reading Lippman a few years ago and got hooked on her Baltimore-based mysteries. Now I'm going back to her earlier books and the start of the Tess Monaghan series. Charm City is the second in the series, and I can start to see some real progression in Lippman's writing. Not sure if she just became more skilled and confident or if her publisher hooked her up with a better editor, but the first book in the series---Baltimore Blues---was sort of dreadful. Charm City is getting better, if still a bit overwrought and redundant. I also have Lippman's latest book---Life Sentences (not in the Tess Monaghan series)---on deck.

* The Social Construction of Reality by Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann. According to the reviewers who read my various grant proposals, I have a great topic (voluntourism) but a weak theory (exchange). And unfortunately, I think I have to agree that my theory is a poor fit for my research questions. So I'm in search of a new theory and think (hope?) that constructivism might be a better fit.

* The End of Overeating by David Kessler. My weight has gotten completely out of control this past year. The pants that I swore would be the highest size I would wear are starting to get tight. I'm embarrased by my appearance. And I can feel how the weight is weighing on me: I get tired and out of breath easily; I can't stand for more than a few minutes before my feet get sore. And much of the problem is my overeating, which has escalated this past year as I've turned to food to cope with the increasing stress and frustration of grad school. So I thought I'd give this book a try. Kessler, a former FDA commissioner and respected public health advocate, seems more credible than most diet gurus. But so far I haven't found any great insight: The food industry manipulates the levels of salt, sugar, and fat in the food to make it more palatable so that we'll want to eat more. Well, duh.

On Deck
* Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie; King Leopold's Ghost by Adam Hochschild; Nuer Dilemmas by Sharon Hutchinson; and Understanding Contemporary Africa by April and Donald Gordon. I'm the teaching assistant for an African survey class this summer, and these are the course texts. A lot of reading for a four-week course.

* Regarding the Pain of Others by Susan Sontag. I've been trying to read this since about September, but I keep putting it aside for more urgent readings. It's only 126 pages; maybe I can finally finish it now.

* Life Sentences by Laura Lippman.

* Tools for Teaching by Barbara Gross Davis and Teaching First-Year College Students by Bette Erickson, Calvin Peters, and Diane Strommer. My co-advisor recommended these to help me survive my first time as a teaching assistant.

Added to the Pile
In addition to a long list of books on media theory and African media, I checked out a pile of books from the public library:

* Deaf Sentence by David Lodge. My favorite satirist of academia.

* Gang Leader for a Day by Sudhir Alladi Venkatesh.

* A Good Man is Hard to Find and Other Stories by Flannery O'Conner. I somehow never read O'Conner in school, and all the press around her new biography has made me feel like I should really fill that gap.

* The Stories of John Cheever by John Cheever. Ditto.

* Netherland by Joseph O'Neill.

* Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth by Margaret Atwood. Proving that I'll read anything Atwood writes, even if it is on financial systems.

* Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn.

And I have issues 18-24 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 8.

Wish List
Because I can never have enough books . . . .

*Dying Inside by Robert Silverberg.

* Once a Runner by John Parker

* The Fortune of the Rougons by Emile Zola. One of my summer projects is to read the Rougon-Macquart cycle. Unfortunately, neither the university library nor the public library has all the books in the cycle.

* Voluntary Madness by Norah Vincent. I'm 16th out of 19 requests for this book at the library.

* Script and Scribble: The Rise and Fall of Handwriting by Kitty Burns Florey. I've already read---and loved---Florey's history of sentence diagramming. So of course I'm psyched for her treatment of penmanship.

Friday Five: The Resurrection

2009-05-15T13:29:00.000-07:00

1. So I've been thinking about resurrecting this blog. Although I have no idea what I'll post about, and I'm fairly certain I've lost my measly few readers (not that any of you are measly, just the number of you). But I miss having a more substantial outlet than Facebook for my random thoughts, musings, rants, and reviews.

2. On that note: I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm watching The Fashion Show. It's Bravo's half-hearted attempt to steal back some of the Project Runway audience now that PR has defected to Lifetime, where it is truly doomed to a sad, painful death. I'll be interested to see which is the bigger trainwreck. Right now, TFS has set a high trainwreck bar. Not only is the show a second-rate knockoff, but even the contestants are cheap imitators. I can almost hear the casting sessions: "Fabulous, large gay guy: Check. Christian Siriano wannabe: Check. Vapid blonde who thinks she's edgy: Check. Dowdy geek who turns out to be a fashion maven: Check."

3. But I'll need something to fill my time this summer. I'm staying in Madison this year, which I'm sort of happy about, sort of not. I'm glad to have a few months "off" (I'll be TAing for a month, then working parttime while I write proposals and preliminary exams, so not totally slacking), but I already feel like I'm losing momentum to finish this degree. A couple months of downtime could be deadly to my hopes of actually getting the doctorate. Or some downtime---reading, sailing, hiking, drinking way too much beer---might be just what I need to re-energize.

4. In any case, I'm done with this term. Sort of. I took an Incomplete for an independent study because I ran out of time and energy to get the paper done. More the latter. This term has been a huge struggle: not getting along with my advisor, being rejected for all my grant proposals, barely getting by in Swahili, not being excited about any of my coursework, and becoming increasingly tired of the grad lifestyle of never enough time or money. And trying to imagine another three or four years of this before I (maybe) get a faculty position and can finally settle into some sort of a normal, adult life.

5. I'm going this afternoon to Ground School for the University's sailing club. About a million years ago, when I lived in Northern VA, I sailed on the Potomac in the summers. I'm looking forward to getting back to it.

Oscar Thoughts

2009-02-23T07:27:00.000-08:00

How completely adorable were the kids from Slumdog Millionaire? Even if the nitpicking cynic in me thinks that their presence was a bit of a PR stunt to offset criticism about how they've been treated since the film was released and that they could have been given a little more recognition by those accepting the many, many awards for the movie.

And how completely awkward was Tim Gunn doing interviews on the red carpet? Yikes. I was pained watching Tim try to do small talk with the actors and fail miserably.

And why exactly was Jessica Biel there, and presenting no less? Her last film was two years ago. I think even she was wondering why she was there---that dress, the hair---she looked like she rolled out of bed, wrapped a sheet around herself, popped a Valium, and wandered down the carpet. (On the same note: Melissa George? What has she done lately, besides avoid anything with calories and sunlight?)

Most of the other dresses were nice enough, although I'm a little over one-shoulder, fish tails, and draping. I thought Marisa Tomei's dress looked way too fussy, and Penelope Cruz's was a bit too bridal for my taste. But, as much as it pains me to admit it, I kind of loved Miley Cyrus's dress, and Sarah Jessica Parker's grown-up version of it. And I agree with the Fug Girls that Taraji Henson and Viola Davis were rocking it last night. I disagree with them on Frieda Pinto; I thought her dress was elegant and lovely. But let's face it: Pinto could roll out of bed, wrap a sheet around herself, and wander down the carpet and still look gorgeous.

The awards: I picked correctly in 7 of the 12 categories I posted. And the ones I was wrong about, I was mostly happy to be wrong about because the awards went to the film I actually wanted to win, rather than the one I thought would win.

Oscar Picks

2009-02-21T13:00:00.000-08:00

I've only seen a few of the movies that are nominated in the major categories. So most of my picks are guesswork based on personal preferences and what I've read about the movies.

My predictions are in bold.

Best Picture
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Frost/Nixon
Milk
The Reader
Slumdog Millionaire

I actually did see Slumdog Millionaire and absolutely loved it. So I'm hoping that it will continue its award winning streak. But I am worried that it might be a little too edgy for Academy voters.

Best Actress
Anne Hathaway, Rachel Getting Married
Angelina Jolie, Changeling
Melissa Leo, Frozen River
Meryl Streep, Doubt
Kate Winslet, The Reader

I saw RGM, and I thought Anne Hathaway was great as the lead in it. Until I saw I've Loved You So Long, which was basically the same movie but better. And I'd love for Melissa Leo to get the award, even though I haven't seen Frozen River (it's at the top of my Netflix queue, though), but because I've seen her in so many other things and think she's such an underrated actress. But I'm going with the odds on this one.

Best Actor
Richard Jenkins, The Visitor
Frank Langella, Frost/Nixon
Sean Penn, Milk
Brad Pitt, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler

Of these, I've only seen The Visitor (and I highly recommend it), but I think both the movie and the actor are too understated to get the award.

Best Supporting Actress
Amy Adams, Doubt
Penelope Cruz, Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Viola Davis, Doubt
Taraji P. Henson, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Mariso Tomei, The Wrestler

I was torn between Penelope Cruz and Taraji Henson (I haven't seen either movie), but I think the voters will want to give something to The Curious Case of Benjamin Button just because it is nominated in so many categories.

Best Supporting Actor
Josh Brolin, Milk
Robert Downey Jr., Tropic Thunder
Philip Seymour Hoffman, Doubt
Heath Ledger, The Dark Knight
Michael Shannon, Revolutionary Road

Haven't seen any of the movies in this category, but Heath Ledger seems a good bet.

Best Director
Danny Boyle, Slumdog Millionaire
Gus Van Sant, Milk
Ron Howard, Frost/Nixon
David Fincher, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Stephen Daldry, The Reader

I'm rooting for Danny Boyle, but I think David Fincher also has a chance.

Animated Feature Film
Bolt
Wall*E
Kung Fu Panda

Again, I haven't seen any of these, but based on buzz, I think Wall*E is a gimmee.

Documentary Feature
The Betrayal
Encounters at the End of the World
The Garden
Man on Wire
Trouble the Waters

Another category in which I'm purely guessing.

Writing: Adapted Screenplay
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Doubt
Frost/Nixon
The Reader
Slumdog Millionaire

Writing: Original Screenplay
Frozen River
Happy-Go-Lucky
In Bruges
Milk
Wall*E

Music: Score
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Slumdog Millionaire
Defiance
Milk
Wall*E

I think Slumdog Millionaire should win, but Benjamin Button probably will win. Wall*E has a good chance, too.

Music: Song
"Down to Earth," Wall*E
"Jai Ho," Slumdog Millionaire
"O Saya," Slumdog Millionaire

I like Jai Ho more---I can't seem to get it out of my head, and I've decided that all movies should end with a dance routine---but O Saya was more integral to the movie.

What I Got Myself for Valentine's Day

2009-02-16T13:19:00.001-08:00

Because Rowen's a cheap bitch and I haven't yet figured out how to request a tall, blonde cowboy through the library, I had to take matters into my own hands.

Behold:

Hey, at least it's red!

So now I need lots of good slow-cooker recipes. Any suggestions?

Oh, Michelle

2009-01-20T19:12:00.000-08:00

Michelle Obama is a gorgeous woman. But she really needs a visit from Tim Gunn. She never seems to get her style quite right. She's young(ish), tall, strong, beautiful, and confident. Her clothes, however, are too often a poor fit, both physically and figuratively.

You would have thought that she'd learn her lesson and hire a decent stylist after the critical drubbing she got for that awful dress she wore on election night:

She did better with her inauguration ceremony suit, although I'm not sure her attire was appropriate to her husband's speech, which emphasized the need for sacrifice and service during hard times. Not that she has to show up in drab, off-the-rack duds---she is the First Lady---but perhaps she could have gone with something a little more subdued than gold brocade.

But then there was the ball gown. Oh, Michelle. You are a tall, strong woman. You should be wearing a well-tailored gown with clean lines in a strong, bold color. Instead you chose this overwrought, frou-frou mess in boring off-white.

Boo. You can do better.

Happy Inauguration Day!

2009-01-20T06:35:00.000-08:00

I'm bummed that I didn't go to DC for the actual event. I thought about it, but I would have missed the whole first week of classes. But I am skipping my morning class today to watch Obama's swearing in and speech.

Friday Five

2008-11-14T13:50:00.000-08:00

1. Rowen is all better---except for the bald spot on her foreleg. The anesthesia took about 24 hours to wear off, but she's back to her normal, crazy self.

2. I'm off to San Francisco next week. I'm presenting a paper at an anthropology conference. I'm completely freaked because I think this may be when the truth finally comes out: I'm a complete fraud and no nothing about anthropology, voluntourism, or Malawi.

I read a draft of the paper at a graduate student workshop last week, but the attendees were all friends, and as great as they are, they are all big liars. I wrote the first draft of the paper in the wee hours, after finishing three proposals that were all due the same week. I was completely incoherent both when writing and when presenting the draft.

At least I still have a week to try to fix it!

3. I can't believe that we're in the middle of November already. I made it through my "hell week": three grant proposals and a conference paper draft. But I'm losing steam, and I still have four weeks of classes to go and two papers to write. One of the papers is in Swahili, and the other is a major literature review on the political economy of development.

4. Today, I got a big box of yarn to make things for my sister's baby. So, of course, I want to dive right in and ignore the book I have to read and write a response paper on, the stack of exams I have to grade, the Swahili essay I have to write, and the tower of books on political economy of development that I was supposed to start reviewing about a month ago.

5. I also went on a small book binge right after finishing my grant proposals, including buying the new Toni Morrison.* And it's a cold, overcast afternoon. And I really, really just want to make a cup of tea, snuggle under some blankets, and read the Morrison novel.

*sigh*

Maybe I'll pour myself a stiff drink and tackle the exams instead.

*I'll post an "On the Pile" update soon!

Paging Dr. Dolittle

2008-11-10T19:54:00.001-08:00

Rowen went to the vet today. I took her to get her rabies vaccine, but when I was checking her in, the pet nurse noted that she was due for her 6-month comprehensive exam and a dental cleaning. They had an opening for the afternoon, so I went ahead with the exam and cleaning.

By all accounts, she was a model patient. They didn't even have to tranquilize her to get the IV in before the dental cleaning. But they did have to shave part of her leg, so now my baby has a bald spot and a bandage.

For the dental cleaning, they put her under a general anesthesia. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe the instruments freak out the animals. I know I'd like to be put under anesthesia for my dental cleanings!

But now Rowen is very groggy and not feeling so great. She keeps pacing around and crying. And I don't know what to do to help her, which just completely breaks my heart. Especially when she looks at me with her big brown eyes---all red and teary from all the procedures she had done today---and seems to be saying, "Please, make me feel better." And then she limps off when she realizes that I can't do anything to help her.

Thank Goodness!

2008-11-04T21:42:00.001-08:00

I Voted!

2008-11-03T11:56:00.001-08:00

I went to City Hall today to cast my early vote (technically an absentee vote). I only had to stand in line for about an hour---not too bad.

Keeping my fingers crossed---but my hopes in check---for an Obama/Biden victory!

Friday Five

2008-09-12T11:59:00.000-07:00

1. I've started taking a yoga class. I've been practicing at home for a few years, but I really had gotten into a rut---the same 15-minute sequence in the mornings. So I signed up for a trial period at a studio near my condo. The first class I tried was Power Flow.

Oh. Dear. Lord.

I had a bad feeling about the class from the moment I walked in (late because finding the entrance to the parking lot was a bit challenging). All the other students were hardcore, advanced practitioners devoid of any body fat. While I panted and wobbled and flopped, they moved effortlessly through the series.

I made it through the class, but I couldn't lift my arms above my shoulders for the next three days.

Last night, I tried a Bikram class. I wasn't the only newbie in the room and a few of the women looked like they had been in the vicinity of a sandwich at some point in their lives, so I felt a little more comfortable (or did until the instructor admonished me rather loudly for not bringing a bottle of water). I still struggled with several of the positions, especially the balance ones, but I think I fared better than I did in the Power Flow class. And I'm planning to go back next week. The hot room will take some getting used to, though. By the end of the class, I looked like I had just jumped into a lake fully clothed. I don't think I've ever sweat that much.

2. So, Sarah Palin. Seriously?

3. Classes have started. I'm two weeks in and about two months behind. All the work I was going to do before classes began---writing grant proposals, typing my fieldnotes, transcribing interviews, revising a paper? Yeah, none of that actually got done.

A nice, long stay in a padded room with large doses of strong medication seems like a really great option right now.

4. I have a fruit fly infestation. Any time I keep any fresh fruit at home for more than 15 seconds, I get fruit flies. Anyone have any suggestions for preventing/eliminating them? Other than never having fresh fruit at home?

5. I am convinced that Bank of America has an entire division dedicated to finding new ways to fuck up my credit.

A few months ago, I set up an automatic payment for my credit card so that I wouldn't miss my payments while I was in Malawi. I set the payment for a little more than my monthly minimum payment (which was a consistent amount because I hadn't used the card for more than a year; I was just paying down the balance).

No sooner did I get on a plane to a place where I'd have very limited Internet access (and no secure access), then Bank of America increased my minimum payment. So about a week after I get back, I get a call from a customer service representative telling me that I'm late on my payments because my automatic payment was insufficient. I explained that I was out of the country and unable to check my account and the representative said that she would remove the late fees and that if I adjusted my automatic payment amount online for the new amount I'd be fine. So as soon as I got off the phone with her, I went online and changed my payment amount.

Several weeks later . . . I go to the Bank of America Web site to check my account. And, yes, the late fees were taken off. But now there's a new late fee. So I call the customer service line. Apparently when I made the change to the payment amount, I did it after 3.30 p.m. EST, so I missed the payment that was due on the day that I talked to the representative. Do you think the representative could have told me while I was on the phone with her that I had a payment due that day and that I needed to make the payment for the new amount by phone to avoid another late fee? Apparently not. Because that would have violated the protocol for fucking up my credit.

So after some snarking and crying, a different representative "offered" to remove the new late fee "as a courtesy," a phrase that she insisted on repeating---with emphasis---several times to make sure I clearly understood that she was violating the fuck-up-my-credit protocol and that providing customer service was outside her responsibilities as a customer service representative.

Bank of America is evil.

The Birthday Skirt

2008-09-01T07:53:00.001-07:00

So I actually finished the skirt! It's just a simple A-line, ankle-length skirt made from a light-weight cotton, and it has a drawstring waist. I made my own pattern based on instructions from Sew What! Skirts.

C., K., and I all wore the skirts that we made together for our joint birthday party this past weekend. But I still have a few adjustments to make. I need to take in the sides (I padded my measurements a little too generously) and redo the hem, which is completely uneven and messy.

Next up: I think I'll try making an apron.

Friday Five: Goodbye Summer

2008-08-29T12:04:00.000-07:00

1. So I'm back in Madison. I've actually been back for about three weeks. I've just been super-lazy and unmotivated since I've been back. I've mostly been sleeping, watching reruns on television, binging at the bookstore, rebonding with Rowen, and spending time with friends.

2. I've also been attempting to relearn how to sew. And realizing that I absolutely, positively cannot do anything that requires a straight line. I can't draw a straight line. I can't cut a straight line. And I certainly can't sew a straight line.

My sewing experiment was spurred by my friend, C. She wanted a particular type of skirt but couldn't find what she wanted (a dilemma I know all too well). She has done some sewing---made her own slip covers for her couch---so I suggested that she make the skirt she wants. Then I foolishly suggested that we could both make skirts.

So far, I've managed to make a pattern and cut the fabric. But I can't get myself to attempt fitting and sewing the skirt. I did a couple of practice pieces with some fabric I bought a year ago to make dish towels. The practice pieces were a disaster. But C. is coming over this afternoon so that we can finish our skirts.

3. As I'm sure you are all aware, this week was the Democratic National Convention. I feel like I should care about the convention. I should have watched the major speeches, at least. But I just don't care. Perhaps I'm overly cynical, but I really don't get excited about a bunch of politicians delivering empty rhetoric. Nothing they say is going to change my mind about how I'm going to vote or how I feel on the issues that are important to me (most of which are being ignored during this election cycle, so I'm even less inclined to care).

I'm going to vote for Obama, but not because I think he'll make a good president. I just think he'll do less damage than McCain. And one issue I do care very deeply about is a woman's right to choose what happens to her body, so I definitely don't want McCain appointing as many as three new Supreme Court justices.

4. To prove I'm not entirely a cynic: I've been reading Cormac McCarthy's "The Road." And I keep wondering why postapocalyptic imaginings are always so negative. And, okay, the existence of a postapocalyptic world means that we've had an apocalypse, which is generally not a good thing (although some days I think the world could use a do-over). But why do postapocalyptic stories (almost) always imagine "good" or "moral" people as the minority in a world overtaken by cruel, violent gangs? Is this tendency indicative of a generally cynical, pessimistic view of the world (i.e., that immorality, cruelty, and violence are already overtaking morality, kindness, and compassion)? Is it an egotism on the part of the author and audience? We're supposed to identify with the moral heroes standing against overwhelming forces of evil; we the few are better than them the many. Or is it just a function of entertainment (i.e., a need for dramatic tension, suspense, conflict)?

Can anyone recommend an optimistic postapocalyptic work?

5. And finally, some happy, wonderful, fantastic news: I'm going to be an aunt!

I've actually known about this for a couple of months, but my sister wanted to wait until the end of the first trimester before we spread the news far and wide. The baby is due in early March. I'm so excited. I've already started knitting baby stuff!

Hope everyone enjoys the long weekend. I'm back to classes on Tuesday. This term is going to be crazy---four classes plus working on grant proposals, field statements for my dissertation, a conference paper, . . . . I think I'll go hide under the covers now.

I Really Should Have Packed Some Sweaters and Sanity

2008-07-17T01:26:00.000-07:00

To recap: I went into the field, but I found more questions than answers. A bad case of homesickness and the return of the biting ants had me doubting my future as an anthropologist.

I still miss home in a powerful way---both the comforts and the people. Although I'm rarely alone, I'm often lonely. The people around me---at the language center, at the house where I'm staying---are certainly welcoming. But I'm acutely aware that I'm just a visitor in their lives. They are friendly, rather than friends.

Language continues to be a challenge, both in my research and in my acculturation. Even for those Malawians who are fluent in English, Chichewa (or one of the other local languages) is the preferred language (although they frequently code switch between English and the local language). So they tend to lapse into Chichewa in most situations, often seeming to forget that I'm present. I'm beginning to be able to have short exchanges---mostly basic greetings and simple questions---in Chichewa, but I'm far from being able to follow extended conversations that involve multiple speakers, rapid speech, slang, and environmental distractions (such as a television or traffic). I try to tell myself that exposure to the language in such natural contexts will benefit me, even if I can't understand what is being said, but much of the time, I just feel isolated and frustrated. And sometimes very annoyed when a conversation that begins in English turns to Chichewa, leaving me sidelined.

Yet even as I feel very isolated, I also feel very exposed. As I've noted before, Zomba (and Malawi in general) has plenty of azungu (white people). I see them in the grocery stores and at Tasty Bites, a local restaurant that caters to Western appetites. But somehow I continually find myself in situations where I'm the only white face in the crowd and drawing much attention. One Saturday, I went with my host's brother---Amos---to a football (soccer) match at the community center to watch two local club teams. Not only was I the only mzungu in the crowd, but also one of only a few women attending the match. It didn't help matters that Amos chose to sit in a relatively empty section of the stands (not that I had any hope of blending into the crowd anyway). I enjoyed the match, but I was constantly aware that all my actions were being scrutinized. Then on that Sunday, a well-intentioned priest invited all visitors at the church to stand up for a welcome. Knowing full well that I was the only “visitor” in that church, I stayed firmly planted on the pew, while my face flamed red. Of course, not standing probably just drew more attention to me because, again, I was the only mzungu there and everyone's eyes went to me at the priest's invitation.

The tables turned, however, on Monday, when Amos and I walked to the top of Zomba Plateau. We both had Monday off from school for Malawi's Independence Day, and I decided to finally call Amos's bluff on walking to Ku Chawe. The walk is supposedly 7 km. I think someone needs to remeasure that road. We took nearly three hours to reach the top, walking nonstop at a slow but steady pace. We did stop briefly at Mulunguzi Dam and took a detour to the Trout Farm (which we didn't go into because it charged admission; I've since been told that I really ought to see it).

When we did finally reach the top, I suggested that we go to a hotel that was supposed to have spectacular views so that we could sit and have sodas with the peanut-butter sandwiches that I had packed. The hotel is on the high end for Malawi (although moderately priced by U.S. standards) and so the others on the veranda were all azungu like me. For once, I felt comfortable and confident, whereas Amos seemed a bit out of his element.

I felt a bit conflicted afterward about having chosen that spot to rest. The views were spectacular, and Amos and I both seemed to enjoy the afternoon. But I wondered if I had made Amos feel uncomfortable. At one point, he asked me how much the sodas were, and I very reluctantly revealed that they were K150 ( a little more than $1)---inexpensive by U.S. standards but very pricey by Malawian standards (I usually pay K50 at restaurants in town or K35 at the grocery store). We both noted that the sodas were expensive, but that I could afford them without problem.

And here begins more mental contortions: I'm very obviously not Malawian and very obviously don't share their standard of living. I try not to flaunt my relative wealth, but I can't hide the obvious differences in means between me and my Malawian counterparts. Neither my host family nor my peers have asked me for anything, but when I'm with a Malawian, the assumption is that I'll pay any expenses. I've had to dispel a few myths about the U.S. standard of living (we don't simply throw away our cars when we're bored with them; we don't all live in mansions), but overall I've had to agree that we are, overall, wealthier. But I often feel as though I'm living a dual identity: the anthropologist living in situ and the azungu carrying the privileges of her race and nationality. I think I perhaps felt more awkward than Amos did about blending those two identities by bringing my Malawian friend to an “azungu” hotel. Was I being selfish in (potentially) placing him in an awkward situation? Or am I racist/elitist by erecting walls between my identities as an anthropologist and an azungu? Without delving too deeply into my own navel, I'm wrestling with the uncomfortable implications of my own behavior.

Back into shallower waters: You may have noticed that I said that I was in church. Although I've become a lapsed Catholic at home, I've been attending services here to appease my host family---and everyone else I meet. Religion is huge in Malawi. Most people belong to a religious organization and attend every week. Public spaces---stores, offices---are littered with religious mottoes and symbols. Muslim prayers are called over loudspeakers in towns and villages (I hadn't noticed that on my previous stay in Balaka, but I'm not sure if I just didn't hear the call or if the Muslim population was too sparse to have a call). Politicians regularly invoke religious---particularly Biblical---references in their public rhetoric, and a coalition of clergy are acting as the mediators in a political standoff between the government and the main opposition party. And one of the first questions that I'm asked---after my name and nationality---is what church I attend. At first, I tried to explain that I don't attend church because I don't believe any one church is better than another and I really haven't found a religious organization that fully expresses my personal spirituality. But that answer hasn't satisfied most of the people I've encountered here. So after a couple weeks of being invited to attend services and being questioned why I'm not attending a service, I decided to tag along with Amos to the Catholic services. The service is in Chichewa (I'm much too lazy to make the 6.30 a.m. English service), but after thirty years of attending Catholic mass, I can follow along.

I specify that religion is huge in Malawi because I'm not sure how much that corresponds to actual faith or spirituality. Just as in the United States (and probably much of the rest of the world), religious affiliation doesn't necessarily correspond to personal practice. Sometimes the contrast is stark, such as polygamists who attend Catholic mass. Moreover, almost every Malawian whom I've met believes strongly in witchcraft. Even if they wouldn't practice it, they won't deny that it exists. (The belief in witchcraft in Malawi is so strong that the newspapers even report on it. One of my favorite stories from the newspaper has been one titled, “Witch Crashes to Death,” with the story of a woman whose “flying witchcraft” failed, causing her to fall onto the roof of a house and sustain fatal injuries. Interestingly, although the newspaper presented the story with the straightforward assumption that the woman was indeed a witch and had been flying, if she had lived, she would have been charged with “pretending to be a witch,” not with actually being a witch.)

So the church seems to fulfill as much a social need as a moral or spiritual need. One of my teachers explained that belonging to a church is important because it becomes the community on which you can rely in times of crisis. As he put it, those are the people who will attend your funeral, a function traditionally fulfilled by extended kin and clan members. Although religion isn't part of my current research project, I'm tucking away questions about religious identity---as well as other identities---and how identity formation is potentially shifted by modernity and changing social patterns.

To segue to my research project: I'm finally starting “official” (i.e., review board-approved) research on my topic. I've gotten a few interviews with volunteers, and I'm trying to line up some others. The more I transition from language classes---where I generally feel incompetent---to research---where I'm more in my element, the better I feel about being in Malawi. Of course, that feeling could have something to do with my interviews being largely with English speakers and (for now) mostly with other white Westerners. But I also think that I'm feeling re-energized by spending time on a topic that I'm interested in, and I feel like I have more of a purpose rather than being such an outsider.

I've got less than one month left to go, and I think I'll be a busy bee during that time. I have a long list of interviews that I want to arrange and places that I want to go. While I'm on the road, my Internet access will likely be a lot less regular than it has been up to now (I've definitely been spoiled by having almost daily access to a computer and the Internet), but I'll try to post another update soon.

Until next time . . .

ETA: So if you've known me for more than five minutes, you know that I have an unhealthy attachment to my dog. Probably the hardest part of coming to Malawi was leaving Rowen behind.

What you may not know about me is that I am a world champion in jumping to conclusions. So even though I left Rowen in the care of a responsible, trustworthy person, I began to worry when I didn't hear any news about her for several weeks. That worry grew to monumental proportions this past weekend, culminating in my being convinced that Rowen was dead and everyone I knew---friends and family---were part of a vast conspiracy to hide her death from me until I returned. I began to seriously consider getting on the next plane back to Madison, no matter what the cost, or calling the Madison police to have them check on Rowen (really).

Well, Rowen is fine. And I'm feeling more than a little ridiculous. But I'm very anxious to be home with her.

Twenty Questions (and then some)

2008-07-01T03:48:00.000-07:00

To recap: I've found a nice place to live, started my Chichewa classes, and discovered that the “Warm Heart of Africa” isn't always so warm.

For my first two months, I'm focusing primarily on language lessons: six hours a day, five days a week. On the weekends, however, I'm starting to get out to the nearby villages to visit some development projects. I have a self-appointed “field assistant”---a young man who works for a Malawian wildlife conservation organization---whom I met on my second day in Zomba while eating lunch at a hotel near the language center. Although azungu (white foreigners) are hardly a novelty in Zomba, we are still a source of much curiosity, and a white woman, particularly one on her own, attracts quite a lot of (often unwanted) attention. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the lack of anonymity and privacy that comes with being a white woman in Malawi. D., my field assistant, was actually one of my less intrusive encounters. He had come to the hotel to have lunch with his 1-year-old nephew for whom he is the primary caregiver (both parents have died). Like many Malawian children, the nephew looked at me with a mixture of wonder and fear. I smiled and tried a few Chichewa greetings, which only confused the child but impressed D., who was then curious about where I had learned Chichewa and why I was in Malawi. Remembering that I'm here as an anthropologist, I put aside my natural aversion to chatting with strangers. I explained that I had come to Malawi to study international volunteering and development. D. said that he knew some international volunteers in the area and offered to put me in touch with them. So we exchanged phone numbers.

I thought that he would simply pass on my number to the volunteers or give me their numbers, but when he contacted me, D. said that he had arranged some meetings and would take me to the volunteers himself. Well, D. hasn't exactly followed through on that plan (so far, I've only had a brief meeting with two volunteers). But he has been helpful in taking me to visit what he terms the “real” Malawi and to speak with villagers about current development efforts.

Over the past four weekends, I've visited about a half dozen villages in the wider Zomba area. Although these field trips haven't exactly pertained to my research project, I've been gathering some useful background information. As I write this, I'm struggling to summarize some of that information, both because my interviews have left me with more questions than answers and because I'm wary of making any generalizations based on just a handful of visits.

What has emerged for me is a rather messy knot of various strands of discourse (pardon the jargon) on development and poverty. The Malawian government, and its ruling party the DPP, are intent on promoting Malawi's success as a developing nation---particularly its move in the past three years from food-aid recipient to food exporter---and downplaying any problems. In the media, the government has been strongly countering claims of an impending famine, although it did acknowledge about two weeks ago that some Malawians still experience hunger. Still, the government claims that the famine “rumors” are being spread by its political opponents and by vendors who want to inflate the price the maize.

Most of the local villagers with whom I've been speaking, however, are adamant that they are on the verge of famine and that conditions are only going to get worse next year because of rising prices for food and fertilizer. Their rainy season harvest, during which they plant their largest fields and on which they rely for the bulk of their food for the coming year, was largely a failure because of heavy rains that swept away the fertilizer and soil. Moreover, they say that the much-tauted fertilizer subsidies, which have been given much of the credit in Western media for Malawi's turnaround, came too late in the planting season to be of any use. Interestingly, these villagers don't doubt that Malawi is producing plenty of food, but they say that the food isn't being distributed to those who need it.

Of course, just as the government has a vested interest in promoting its view of Malawi's development, these villagers have their own agendas in promoting their views. The cynical scholar in me constantly questions whether I'm getting a hyperbolic tale of hunger in hopes that I'll be moved to give money or whether some people have just become so accustomed to saying that they are poor and hungry that the narrative comes from rote (much like the moaning of the “poor” graduate student---pace my fellow grad students). But then, twisting myself into mental knots, I wonder whether my cynicism is the product of a neoconservative, neoliberal Western mentality that has seeped in against my will or a defensive mechanism from my guilt that I'm asking a lot of questions about development and poverty but not actually doing anything to solve the problems.

When I ask the villagers what they need to prevent famine and to improve their lives, almost all of them tell me the same two things: fertilizer and access to markets (or training on how to access markets). Although I don't doubt that fertilizer and access to markets are important for rural development, I'm intrigued that so many people have given identical answers and I wonder what is shaping their ideas. Which then leads me along another set of strands in the knot: the development agencies and their program agendas.

Many of the villages that I've visited have implemented irrigation projects. (I don't have a sense of how widespread irrigation is; irrigation seems to be a pet interest of D.'s and he has been steering me toward these villages.) The irrigation projects usually center around agricultural “clubs” that have been formed and trained by either the Malawian government or the European Union's development program. The projects seem to be succeeding in at least bridging the gap between rainy seasons (although I've gotten opposing answers to whether the irrigation plots are sufficient to make up for the poor harvest this year, and the plots are generally too small to produce enough for both consumption and sale). Several of the projects have maize (chimanga) that will be ready to harvest in July or August (as well as various vegetables---but only maize is considered “food”), and most of the farmers I spoke to planned to do another planting right away to get another harvest just before planting for the rainy season.

The irrigation projects seem promising, but again, I'm led to more questions: Is this a location-specific solution? (As I noted in the previous post, Zomba has plenty of water from mountain streams, but other areas are much further from reliable water sources.) Can it be implemented on a larger scale or would that lead to diminishing returns (i.e., if more people tapped into the streams for irrigation, would the distribution of water become too small to sustain the projects)? What are the effects of irrigation on water supply for other household needs? How will local communities negotiate water rights in a large-scale irrigation system?

I'll allow myself one generalization from these visits: The more I visit various development projects, the more I realize that achieving small-scale, short-term improvement in rural development is relatively easy: take a village, provide some basic agricultural inputs (fertilizer, irrigation, hybrid seeds), and voila! But as one economist I spoke to argues, none of these projects are succeeding in really moving people out of poverty. The people in that village will have enough to eat so long as they receive free or subsidized inputs, but they still aren't able to generate the income needed to participate in the market or to achieve economic independence and mobility. And they are still very vulnerable to even small shocks---heavy rains, drought, pests---that threaten to push them from survival to famine. Furthermore, the development of that village does not benefit anyone outside of the village; localized projects don't have spillover effects.

The ever-vexing, billion-dollar question remains: How do we raise income levels across a substantial portion of the population so that people in Malawi, as well as other developing nations, are able not just to survive but to thrive? How do achieve large-scale, long-term economic development, rather than small-scale, short-term humanitarian interventions?

Despite Jeffrey Sachs' grand proclamations, I don't think we've found an answer yet.

This post really took a much more depressing turn than I had intended. And I have to admit that my gloomy outlook on economic development might be colored more than a little by my current gloomy mood. Nearly five weeks in (almost half way!), I'm having another bad case of homesickness and really wondering how I'll cope with a full year in the field. The biting ants have returned several more times---each time in greater number---and they are being joined by grasshoppers and cockroaches seeking shelter from the cold. And the little, everyday inconveniences and annoyances are building up: not having enough hot water for a really decent bath; not being able to get my hair really and truly clean; not getting a decent night's sleep because I'm worrying about ants coming in the windows or lizards falling from the ceiling (yes, one did) or the monkeys are being loud; eating the same horrid foods day after day---and not really having much choice in the matter (although on the plus side, I'm losing weight!); not having any truly clean clothes; and so on and so forth. And I know that these are really petty complaints and that as an anthropologist, I'm supposed to be living like a Malawian and embracing the social and cultural differences---trying understand how these differences in lifestyles shape and are shaped by differences in perspectives, attitudes, beliefs. But much of the time, I'm just counting the days until I get home to hot showers, snuggles with my dog, vast supermarkets, reliable communication networks, cable television, a washing machine, and a strict division between me and the insects.

And, so, in addition to my research questions, I'm struggling with some personal ones: Is anthropology the right field for me? If not, then what? Should I find a new research topic? Can I still pursue this one but in a different way? (I am really excited about my research topic---I'm just not thrilled with spending a year in Malawi to do the research.) Am I a bad anthropologist or just human?

Update from Malawi

2008-06-20T06:22:00.000-07:00

To recap the previous post: After a very long, very tiring flight, I decided that I definitely don't want children and that I need a new research topic. A couple of restful days renewed my will to research, but a sleepless night on my own left me again questioning whether I really want to spend an entire year in fieldwork in Malawi.

The morning after my first sleepless night in Zomba, I packed my bags, determined to find a better situation, and found my way with minimal problems to the Center for Language Studies. Part of the University of Malawi's Chancellor College, CLS was originally mandated to standardize and promote the Chichewa language. Former President-for-Life Dr. Kamuzi Banda was a member of the Chewa tribe and wanted to promote the Chewa language and culture as the national language and culture. After Banda was removed from office, CLS began to study and teach other major Malawian languages, including Citumbuka and Ciyao. CLS staff, composed mostly of graduate students in linguistics, map language use, publish dictionaries and grammars, provide translation and interpretation services, and teach language courses, as well as conducting their own research projects. CLS will be my homebase for my first seven weeks in Malawi. I have six(ish) hours of instruction each day---a heavy load that usually leaves me exhausted at the end of each day. Unfortunately, I'm the only student in the class, so I have to stay alert and participate all day. No hiding in the back row! I'm making quick progress on learning the grammar, thanks to my Swahili classes at UW. The languages, both Bantu, share a common structure. I, however, am not catching on to the vocabulary as quickly. I have so many new words thrown at me every day that I can barely remember them from day to day, and I'm usually too tired in the evenings to do much review. But I'm finding that if I can even get out a few words in Chichewa, people appreciate my effort and try to help me along. I've had a few Malawian friends tell me that many foreigners stay in Malawi for years without bothering to learn even the basic greetings. Although I'm not sure whether they are saying this just to ingratiate themselves or whether it is true, I have frequently heard this criticism about the Chinese (who are not well-liked by the Malawians whom I've encountered).

But back to my story: When I arrived at CLS, I met with Jean C., who had arranged my lessons. Jean had previously offered to have me stay at her home, but knowing my history of not living well with others, I had opted for the motel. But the prospect of two months of lonely nights in a seedy motel made me rethink my choice. Fortunately, Jean's offer was still open and we arranged for me to move my things to her house that night. Although I often miss the quiet and independence of living by myself, I'm very glad that I'm staying with Jean.

A bit about Zomba: Say what you will about colonists, they knew what they were doing when they settled in Zomba as the administrative capitol for the colony (the capitol was later moved to Lilongwe by Banda, ostensibly to locate it in the center of the country, but also conveniently in a majority-Chewa region). In the southern region of Malawi, Zomba is surrounded by mountains and plateaus with lush vegetation. It tends to stay cooler than much of the rest of the country. Indeed, right now we are in the “cold” season, and the nights do get rather cold. For possibly the first time ever, I underpacked, and I've been wishing that I had brought a heavy sweater or two (and some more books---I'm going through them at a rapid clip). Zomba also tends to have a more reliable water supply from the mountain streams (although without irrigation systems, that water isn't much use to most of the villagers). And it's just beautiful here (although deforestation is a big problem; huge swatches on the mountainsides are almost entirely stripped of trees).

Jean's house is about 3 kilometers outside of the main town of Zomba, along the hill that leads to Zomba Plateau. Her neighborhood, called Mangasanja, is mostly former colonial homes that have been converted to university housing or hotels. Jean's house is one of those former colonial homes, a large, single-story white house with a wide porch and stepped landscaping. Besides the house, the original grounds included a brick garage at the foot of the driveway, a gardener's shed, and quarters for the house staff. Fifty years ago, I can imagine that the house made a very nice home for a British bureaucrat and his family. Today, it's fallen into serious disrepair. The paint is dingy and peeling; the plaster is cracked; panels are missing from the ceiling; mold grows on just above every surface and in every crevice. It's the sort of place that an optimistic realtor might call a “fixer-upper,” hoping for a romantic young couple gullible to think that a small investment and some elbow-grease could turn it into their dream home.

All that said, I'm lucky to be living there. We have electricity and running water. I even get to have a hot bath several times a week thanks to a water heater (but no showerheads so washing my hair requires a bit of contortion). The kitchen has a stove/oven and a refrigerator. Jean has a television with satellite (our channel selection is limited, though, and random---we can get the Botswana station but not the Malawi station) and a DVD player if we want to rent movies. I have my own room, furnished only with a full-size bed, and attached to a bathroom that I share with Jean's half-brother, Amos.

Amos does most of the cooking and cleaning. He's a student at a technical school, training to be an automechanic. I get the impression that Jean pays the bills and Amos earns his keep by taking care of the housework. Apparently they used to have a houseboy, but he received sponsorship to attend a technical school, and Jean wants to be cautious about hiring someone new. In any case, I'm definitely spoiled in this situation. I do cook about once a week, partly to contribute and partly to get some “American” food. I've made pasta, pizza, and---of course---cookies, adapting my recipes to the local ingredients and the kitchen supplies, which requires some experimentation and invention (using flat pot lids as cookie sheets and an empty soda bottle as a rolling pin!).

Although only three of us are currently “residing” at the house, a constant stream of visitors keeps the place full. Jean's door is always open to friends and family, and we've rarely had a night when just three of us were staying at the house. This week, her boarding school roommate, a professor at the nursing school in Mzuzu, has been staying with us while she is supervising students doing their practical work in the mental health hospital and community outreach. Last week, her college roommate, a state's attorney, was visiting from Lilongwe.

We've also had some less welcome visitors: invasions of soldier ants. Last week, I was heading to bed when I noticed ants on my bedspread. As I started to brush them off, I realized that they covered nearly a quarter of the bed, as well as the floor, the wall, and the windowsill. Even worse, I realized too late that they bit! And that they were running up inside my clothes! I called for Jean, and she woke Amos, who had gone to sleep without realizing that his room was also being overrun by the ants. We spent nearly two hours shaking ants off my bedding and moving me into Jean's room for the night (she sleeps on the opposite side of the house from Amos and me and was spared the invasion). The ants have mostly stayed out of my room since then, but this week they took over the kitchen and the walkway to the house.

Fortunately, the cold weather has kept the mosquitoes away. I haven't even put up my mosquito net yet. But I'm still taking my anti-malaria medicine just in case!

That's probably more than enough for this installment. Stay tuned!

Update from Malawi

2008-06-13T07:45:00.000-07:00

Two weeks down. Eight to go. And I'm really starting to think that I might need a different dissertation topic. And maybe a different academic discipline altogether.

One thing that I do know for certain: I will never have children. As if spending 16 hours crammed into an economy seat with a broken video set wasn't bad enough, I spent those 16 hours sitting in front of a fidgety, cranky toddler who spent the entire flight shouting, crying, and kicking the back of my seat. I kept thinking that he would eventually wear himself out to sleep. And he did. For about an hour. Unfortunately that hour was when we were refueling in Senegal and had to get out of our seats for safety inspectors to come through.

My overnight in Johannesburg turned out, then, to be a bit of a blessing in disguise: I had a chance to sleep, clean up, and get some (sort of) decent food before I arrived in Malawi.

My arrival in Malawi was much less stressful this time. I had more of an idea what to expect. And I was very grateful that one of the sisters with whom I had worked at the school in Balaka came to the airport to greet me, gave me a place to stay for a couple of nights in Lilongwe, and helped me get settled with changing money, setting up a cell phone, and finding the bus to Zomba.

Thanks to Sr. Evelyn, my first few days in Malawi were relaxed while my body adjusted to the new time and new environment. The villagers in Kanengo Parish, about a 10-minute drive outside the city of Lilongwe, were also helpful in reacquainting me with the language and culture. The women of the parish were having a three-day retreat, and they invited me to participate in some of their activities, including dancing and a discussion of marital relations. Some of the women took turns interpreting for me so that I wouldn't feel excluded or lost. I also had a chance to interview the head of the community volunteers, a group of local women who provide home-based care for those with HIV or AIDS. She had some great insights into conditions in Malawi. But she also asked me a tough question---one that I've been asked since by several others: Why is the AIDS rate in America so low but it is so high in Malawi and other African countries? I've ventured a few guesses: public education on condom use, more rights for women, better health overall. But I'm not sure any of those, even together, are really an adequate explanation.

After my two days of rest, I had a long but uneventful bus ride to Zomba. (A geographic note: Lilongwe, the political capital of Malawi, is in the central region; Zomba is about four hours to the southeast.) I should make note though of my own embarrassing “azungu” (white person) mistake. As noted, Zomba is about four hours from Lilongwe. But the actual bus trip takes much longer because the bus stops in almost every market town, where the bus is surrounded by hawkers trying to sell snacks, drinks, produce, cell phone cards, and other goods. At one stop, I bought a small bag of masowa (similar to very small crabapples). A few stops later, a beggar came up to me to say that he was hungry. When I told him that I didn't have any money, he gestured toward the bag of masowa, so I gave him a couple of handfuls. Which he promptly threw on the ground, much to the amusement of the others on the bus, while I fumed---more at myself than at him. A rookie mistake to give food to a roadside beggar.

My first night in Zomba was a bit rough. Based on the recommendation of my contact at the language center where I'm studying for seven weeks, I had arranged to stay at a motel in town. The first room that I was shown was like something out of a horror movie: dirty, stained linens on a tiny, sagging bed; cracked walls; a dark, dank concrete shower; thin curtains that offered no real privacy. But I wasn't sure where else to go, so I took the room and went to find a late lunch. At lunch, someone told me that the motel had “executive suites” that were a bit nicer and more private than the single rooms. The “suites” were only a few dollars more per night and were indeed nicer---although still very basic---so I moved into one. And stayed there for the whole night, not even leaving to get dinner, because I discovered---to my dismay---that the motel restaurant turned into a noisy bar at night. Between the noise from the bar, which quieted only at the Muslim call to prayer, and my own sense of vulnerability at being in a motel room in Malawi by myself with a rather flimsy door with a single lock as my only protection, I got almost no sleep that night.

My situation took a turn for the better the next day.

To be continued . . . .