Hello all. Grad school has overtaken my life, and I've been a very bad blogger. I hope to get back into it after finals. For now, I ask you once again to put your money where your mouth is.
It's Christmas in a difficult economy and many of us are pinching pennies. Please keep in mind, that the bad economy and difficult times here in the US are not even comprable to the everyday life challenges many of the people I lived and worked with in Peru faced. I have kept in contact with my artisans in Huancavelica, and some are featured in pictures on the Partners For Just Trade Christmas web page. Please look through the gift ideas. There is something for everyone, and a new under $20 page. You can even buy supplies for the artisans in someone's name for a great gift.
Buying fair trade is supporting dignified labor for a living wage across the world. This website has more than just Peruvian products, and is giving us a chance to better the world one gift at a time.
God Bless and happy shopping!
Partners for Just Trade Christmas Gift Guide
Friday, December 04, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Oh Machete
The Machete Story
July 14, 2009; 6 am Atlanta International Airport
I study my immigration card. “Have you had any contact with livestock during your time abroad?” Yes, I have.
Do I check that?
If I check that, will they search my bags and find my machetes and Amazonian moonshine and confiscate them?
The machetes technically aren’t illegal to bring in, but the moonshine is.
Still, they’re impressive weapons.
I can always tell them they were used in our sacrificial alpaca rituals.
They’d believe me.
They’d never know.
Are alpaca and llamas considered livestock by US standards?
I’ve not had any contact with pigs, so no swine flu for me, I’m sure I can check this box honestly and still make it through with my contraband.
Maybe….
“Next”
I quickly check yes, because, well, I don’t want to bring any weird Andean illness into the US because that would really suck.
The immigration agent reads my card and sends me over to the long line…
…to the inspection line.
Grrreat.
Start thinking.
Which person will you get?
Which person would believe the sacrificial alpaca story?
Or should I go with the ‘my guide gave it to me as a gift’ story?
Or should I go with the ‘it’s way easier to use than an ax’, it’s just a normal tool theory? Or one of the 12 others I’ve come up with throughout the flight?
I must beat the system!
A new determination rises within me.
“Next”
The large man operating the giant super x-ray scanner calls me up and tells me to put my bag on the conveyor belt.
A simple enough task that I can’t physically do.
My bag is over weight.
My gimpy neck does not lift heavy items.
I flash my baby blues and ask for help with my best southern drawl and charming smile.
“No”
It’s a safety hazard for me to touch your bag.
You have to put it up on the conveyor belt yourself.
I thoughtfully examine the situation and decide to roll my giant orange floral duffle bag off the airport cart onto the conveyor belt.
It flips the first time onto the floor but is not too low for me to get enough leverage to flip it up onto the conveyor belt.
I decide to utilize my amazing leg strength and go into a deep squat to get the necessary leverage to roll the 80lb bag onto the conveyor belt
"Next"
riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip
my pants bust right down the back seam.
loudly.
I shoot upright like a bottle rocket with eyes as big as the Atlantic.
(Ironically my hands do not go to cover my backside. I am in too much shock.)
The Korean man behind me in line begins to laugh.
loudly.
the x-ray man looks at me with a glint of amusement and states, “Yo pants just ripped”
loudly.
I figure, oh well!
I squat down again to finish rolling my mammoth orange floral duffle with two machetes and a few bottles of Amazonian moonshine into the giant x-ray machine.
"Next"
The big dude manning the machines proceeds to initiate a game of ‘airport security telephone’
He passes along to everyone in security that my pants have split and my bum is hanging out.
As the word spreads, heads turn to share pass it on to the next person and not one eye looks at the monitor while my bags pass through.
As my bags exit the giant x-ray machine, a young, handsome airport security man offers to help me load them onto my cart reckoning they’re not toxic anymore.
He loads my bags onto the cart and says with the most ironic honesty,
“Sorry ‘bout yo pants, m’am”
I give him by best smile and thank him ‘so much’.
"Next"
With my cart loaded, machetes and moonshine and all safely stowed in my luggage,
I triumphantly, head up, hips swinging push my cart to recheck my luggage,
bum hanging out in all its glory,
and every security officer at customs and immigration watching me go!
I beat the system with an act of grace or humility (I’m still not sure which) And my brother was thrilled with his gift.
My machete now has an honored and slightly secret place in my room at grad school. Currently, I realize how dangerous an out-of-context machetes can be.
Still, in a slightly kidding fashion, I forewarn anyone who enters my room or house unannounced.
Baseball bats are for sorority girls and overly confident men. I have a machete, and I really do know how to use it.
I study my immigration card. “Have you had any contact with livestock during your time abroad?” Yes, I have.
Do I check that?
If I check that, will they search my bags and find my machetes and Amazonian moonshine and confiscate them?
The machetes technically aren’t illegal to bring in, but the moonshine is.
Still, they’re impressive weapons.
I can always tell them they were used in our sacrificial alpaca rituals.
They’d believe me.
They’d never know.
Are alpaca and llamas considered livestock by US standards?
I’ve not had any contact with pigs, so no swine flu for me, I’m sure I can check this box honestly and still make it through with my contraband.
Maybe….
“Next”
I quickly check yes, because, well, I don’t want to bring any weird Andean illness into the US because that would really suck.
The immigration agent reads my card and sends me over to the long line…
…to the inspection line.
Grrreat.
Start thinking.
Which person will you get?
Which person would believe the sacrificial alpaca story?
Or should I go with the ‘my guide gave it to me as a gift’ story?
Or should I go with the ‘it’s way easier to use than an ax’, it’s just a normal tool theory? Or one of the 12 others I’ve come up with throughout the flight?
I must beat the system!
A new determination rises within me.
“Next”
The large man operating the giant super x-ray scanner calls me up and tells me to put my bag on the conveyor belt.
A simple enough task that I can’t physically do.
My bag is over weight.
My gimpy neck does not lift heavy items.
I flash my baby blues and ask for help with my best southern drawl and charming smile.
“No”
It’s a safety hazard for me to touch your bag.
You have to put it up on the conveyor belt yourself.
I thoughtfully examine the situation and decide to roll my giant orange floral duffle bag off the airport cart onto the conveyor belt.
It flips the first time onto the floor but is not too low for me to get enough leverage to flip it up onto the conveyor belt.
I decide to utilize my amazing leg strength and go into a deep squat to get the necessary leverage to roll the 80lb bag onto the conveyor belt
"Next"
riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip
my pants bust right down the back seam.
loudly.
I shoot upright like a bottle rocket with eyes as big as the Atlantic.
(Ironically my hands do not go to cover my backside. I am in too much shock.)
The Korean man behind me in line begins to laugh.
loudly.
the x-ray man looks at me with a glint of amusement and states, “Yo pants just ripped”
loudly.
I figure, oh well!
I squat down again to finish rolling my mammoth orange floral duffle with two machetes and a few bottles of Amazonian moonshine into the giant x-ray machine.
"Next"
The big dude manning the machines proceeds to initiate a game of ‘airport security telephone’
He passes along to everyone in security that my pants have split and my bum is hanging out.
As the word spreads, heads turn to share pass it on to the next person and not one eye looks at the monitor while my bags pass through.
As my bags exit the giant x-ray machine, a young, handsome airport security man offers to help me load them onto my cart reckoning they’re not toxic anymore.
He loads my bags onto the cart and says with the most ironic honesty,
“Sorry ‘bout yo pants, m’am”
I give him by best smile and thank him ‘so much’.
"Next"
With my cart loaded, machetes and moonshine and all safely stowed in my luggage,
I triumphantly, head up, hips swinging push my cart to recheck my luggage,
bum hanging out in all its glory,
and every security officer at customs and immigration watching me go!
I beat the system with an act of grace or humility (I’m still not sure which) And my brother was thrilled with his gift.
My machete now has an honored and slightly secret place in my room at grad school. Currently, I realize how dangerous an out-of-context machetes can be.
Still, in a slightly kidding fashion, I forewarn anyone who enters my room or house unannounced.
Baseball bats are for sorority girls and overly confident men. I have a machete, and I really do know how to use it.
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Plane Ride Home
July 14, 2009.
Wow. I can’t believe that I am on an airplane. Going home. For the past year home has lingered as a distant memory of love, hugs, English, Lilah and all that encompasses North Carolina. In just a few hours, I will be landing in North Carolina honeysuckles and all. Foot to earth, James Taylor will no longer be a daily necessity. Carolina in my Mind and heart will be tangible. Yet, I have no idea what I will find and anxiety rushes over me. Family dynamics have changed. My friends have moved on, I have moved on and yet I am still me and they are still them. I have a deeper understanding and sense of myself than ever before, and I can already feel pressures and expectations new and old pushing and pulling at my heart…away from my new (or maybe just refined or intensified) goals, values and distracting me from all my ‘when I get home I’ll do ________’ isms.
Here are a few thought tangents that galloped through my mind on the plane ride home…they are extreme, chaotic and sometimes hilarious. However, I have toned them down in hopes of finding some sort of order in the chaos so you might glimpse the true emotion behind these thoughts. Maybe.
Hot shower. Ooooooooh how good that is going to feel. Today and tomorrow and the next day and the day after than and the day after that...delicious warm water of life will wash my hair, body and soul. No more muscle spasms from the cold, electric shocks from ‘plugging’ in the hot water heater, no more wearing hats for 9 days in a row so I don’t have to wash my hair. I can blow-dry it or curl it or straighten it. I can wear a dress or skirt and high heels and feel like a GIRL!
I can drive my own car wherever I want to whenever I want to go. I’ll be able to go out after dark and not be hypersensitive to all movements around me; I won’t need to carry a knife anymore! I’ll have a cell phone that I can use to call any of my friends whenever I want to! It’s gonna be like Christmas!
I’ll get to eat Bojangles, sushi and Mexican food. I’ll get to run outside and not be scared. I’ll get to go to the gym and work out. I’ll get to feel good. I won't have diarrhea more times than not and food poisoning will once again become a fluke occurrence.
I’ll be with my family. I’ll get to cook-out, go out, light-saber fight and hike with my parents and brother. How much I’ve missed them! I can’t wait 8 more hours!! Can't this plane hurry up!?
I can’t wait to send mail to my friends in Peru. I need to print out pictures and assemble a photo album for my artisans and Freddy and Cintia and and and and...
I’m going to grad school to learn about all the things I’ve been pondering since undergrad. I’ll be useful, productive and on fire! I’ll finally be equipped to teach social justice into the minds all my students and change the world!! Yeah!
I’m going to knit each night before bed and keep practicing all the stitches and designs I learned in Peru. I’m going to host a fair trade exhibit at my new school and people will buy tons of stuff and save Bridge of Hope from closing due to lack of funding and sales.
I may never knit with El Mercurio again. How can I be sure they’ll still know how much I love them? After a year immersed in fair trade artisan work, a public school system that barely functions, a country in transition and healing as well as my own demons, what am I thinking!? Why am I going home? Why on earth do I want to live a ‘westernized’ life again? Wouldn’t it be easier to live simply, knit stuffed llamas everyday and gently educate about personal hygiene, domestic violence and teaching methods? Why am I heading back to a society where I HAVE to drive a car to get where I want to be, where families don’t live together and often undervalue one another, where things are more important than the people who own them and God often seems so very far away?
Do I really want to live in a society where individual success is overpowering the general welfare of a country, a world and efforts to eliminate racism and create equality often make the gap larger? Where white, male hegemony dominates all other structures and everyone does their darnedest to blend in and become just another stepford American. The (possibly) most diverse country in the world beats the native culture right out of you creating a ‘melting pot’ of all things 'whites' deem valuable and ridicules anyone who goes against this social structure. Not that white people don't have good values, but where’s the value in diversity?
AND why on earth am I going back to somewhere that I’ll have to bathe? Seriously? Showering more than once every other week? That’s such a waste of water and time and energy. I’ll have to tame my mess of waves and curls with products and shave my legs. When was the last time I shaved my legs? March comes to mind…but I’m not sure! Gee…this could take a while.
I won’t be able to cover up my body in these delicious alpaca sweaters and I will be judged incessantly about my body, posture and presentation. All I want is to put on a chullo and go for a stroll through the market.
Lilah won’t be there. She is gone. Get ready. No woofing or doggy hugging or bouncing to welcome you home. No cold nose to wake you up. No more hiking buddy. I’ll have to hike with people. Darn. No more. And again, I start to cry. A hole has developed…in the place of a dog. Is this normal? Or am I overreacting?
Is it Lilah I miss or someone else? The number 1 person I called before I left is also no more. There was no death, only choice, which is raw. Who will I call? Who will it be that I can’t wait to share something with? Do I want to share?
Turn the plane around!
Hmmm. I have two machetes in my checked baggage. I have to go through customs. They weren’t expensive, but they’re very valuable to me! You just can’t find things like that in the US. (Why can we get guns but not machetes? At least machetes are multi-purpose tools!) Will they confiscate them from me? Will they even notice? If they take them from me, will I get interrogated and miss my other flight, or arrested? Where do they go if they get confiscated? You don’t want just anyone walking around Raleigh with a machete! How will I play it if they find them and question me about them. One, I could probably pull off but the second machete might make things difficult. What will I give my brother if his machete gets confiscated?
As you can see, my thoughts, emotions and whatever else one has were scattered as far as the sky was blue. Since coming home, some of the questions and anxieties have been answered, amplified or quelled. Words are something that I’ve struggled with in communicating this experience. There is more to come…the next episode will explain the ‘machetes and customs’ portion of my return-home flight experiences…and you really don’t want to miss that one!
Wow. I can’t believe that I am on an airplane. Going home. For the past year home has lingered as a distant memory of love, hugs, English, Lilah and all that encompasses North Carolina. In just a few hours, I will be landing in North Carolina honeysuckles and all. Foot to earth, James Taylor will no longer be a daily necessity. Carolina in my Mind and heart will be tangible. Yet, I have no idea what I will find and anxiety rushes over me. Family dynamics have changed. My friends have moved on, I have moved on and yet I am still me and they are still them. I have a deeper understanding and sense of myself than ever before, and I can already feel pressures and expectations new and old pushing and pulling at my heart…away from my new (or maybe just refined or intensified) goals, values and distracting me from all my ‘when I get home I’ll do ________’ isms.
Here are a few thought tangents that galloped through my mind on the plane ride home…they are extreme, chaotic and sometimes hilarious. However, I have toned them down in hopes of finding some sort of order in the chaos so you might glimpse the true emotion behind these thoughts. Maybe.
Hot shower. Ooooooooh how good that is going to feel. Today and tomorrow and the next day and the day after than and the day after that...delicious warm water of life will wash my hair, body and soul. No more muscle spasms from the cold, electric shocks from ‘plugging’ in the hot water heater, no more wearing hats for 9 days in a row so I don’t have to wash my hair. I can blow-dry it or curl it or straighten it. I can wear a dress or skirt and high heels and feel like a GIRL!
I can drive my own car wherever I want to whenever I want to go. I’ll be able to go out after dark and not be hypersensitive to all movements around me; I won’t need to carry a knife anymore! I’ll have a cell phone that I can use to call any of my friends whenever I want to! It’s gonna be like Christmas!
I’ll get to eat Bojangles, sushi and Mexican food. I’ll get to run outside and not be scared. I’ll get to go to the gym and work out. I’ll get to feel good. I won't have diarrhea more times than not and food poisoning will once again become a fluke occurrence.
I’ll be with my family. I’ll get to cook-out, go out, light-saber fight and hike with my parents and brother. How much I’ve missed them! I can’t wait 8 more hours!! Can't this plane hurry up!?
I can’t wait to send mail to my friends in Peru. I need to print out pictures and assemble a photo album for my artisans and Freddy and Cintia and and and and...
I’m going to grad school to learn about all the things I’ve been pondering since undergrad. I’ll be useful, productive and on fire! I’ll finally be equipped to teach social justice into the minds all my students and change the world!! Yeah!
I’m going to knit each night before bed and keep practicing all the stitches and designs I learned in Peru. I’m going to host a fair trade exhibit at my new school and people will buy tons of stuff and save Bridge of Hope from closing due to lack of funding and sales.
I may never knit with El Mercurio again. How can I be sure they’ll still know how much I love them? After a year immersed in fair trade artisan work, a public school system that barely functions, a country in transition and healing as well as my own demons, what am I thinking!? Why am I going home? Why on earth do I want to live a ‘westernized’ life again? Wouldn’t it be easier to live simply, knit stuffed llamas everyday and gently educate about personal hygiene, domestic violence and teaching methods? Why am I heading back to a society where I HAVE to drive a car to get where I want to be, where families don’t live together and often undervalue one another, where things are more important than the people who own them and God often seems so very far away?
Do I really want to live in a society where individual success is overpowering the general welfare of a country, a world and efforts to eliminate racism and create equality often make the gap larger? Where white, male hegemony dominates all other structures and everyone does their darnedest to blend in and become just another stepford American. The (possibly) most diverse country in the world beats the native culture right out of you creating a ‘melting pot’ of all things 'whites' deem valuable and ridicules anyone who goes against this social structure. Not that white people don't have good values, but where’s the value in diversity?
AND why on earth am I going back to somewhere that I’ll have to bathe? Seriously? Showering more than once every other week? That’s such a waste of water and time and energy. I’ll have to tame my mess of waves and curls with products and shave my legs. When was the last time I shaved my legs? March comes to mind…but I’m not sure! Gee…this could take a while.
I won’t be able to cover up my body in these delicious alpaca sweaters and I will be judged incessantly about my body, posture and presentation. All I want is to put on a chullo and go for a stroll through the market.
Lilah won’t be there. She is gone. Get ready. No woofing or doggy hugging or bouncing to welcome you home. No cold nose to wake you up. No more hiking buddy. I’ll have to hike with people. Darn. No more. And again, I start to cry. A hole has developed…in the place of a dog. Is this normal? Or am I overreacting?
Is it Lilah I miss or someone else? The number 1 person I called before I left is also no more. There was no death, only choice, which is raw. Who will I call? Who will it be that I can’t wait to share something with? Do I want to share?
Turn the plane around!
Hmmm. I have two machetes in my checked baggage. I have to go through customs. They weren’t expensive, but they’re very valuable to me! You just can’t find things like that in the US. (Why can we get guns but not machetes? At least machetes are multi-purpose tools!) Will they confiscate them from me? Will they even notice? If they take them from me, will I get interrogated and miss my other flight, or arrested? Where do they go if they get confiscated? You don’t want just anyone walking around Raleigh with a machete! How will I play it if they find them and question me about them. One, I could probably pull off but the second machete might make things difficult. What will I give my brother if his machete gets confiscated?
As you can see, my thoughts, emotions and whatever else one has were scattered as far as the sky was blue. Since coming home, some of the questions and anxieties have been answered, amplified or quelled. Words are something that I’ve struggled with in communicating this experience. There is more to come…the next episode will explain the ‘machetes and customs’ portion of my return-home flight experiences…and you really don’t want to miss that one!
Saturday, August 29, 2009
"Customs"
A new entry in coming through US customs will be up soon. It's in the works and almost finished. Patience please. Grad school and culture shock are in full effect and time for blogging has been minimal!!
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