More talks on malaria, la paludisme.
I have been taking my malaria prophylaxis medication every Thursday for the past three weeks and I have had “vivid” dreams every night I have taken it. My stomach felt somewhat irritated when I took it for the first time in JFK but otherwise no other complications. Nonetheless every medical session we have had sets every trainee in attention mode. Conversations head towards that ever so fun topic of parasites (worms), viruses (HIV/AIDS) or bacteria (E. coli). Finishing the session by demonstrating how to “lance” your finger to obtain a blood smear for analysis in case hospitals are closed for the weekend brings forth a lot of questions on the quality of Cameroonian health care. Or how to make sure you do NOT get malaria. These classes remind you that you are no longer in Kansas Toto.
On other note I have been assigned a local company to consult. It is the cable provider and I have been given the luck of the draw. While other volunteers have companies such as microfinance institutions, bakeries, cyber cafes or tailors (all of which have some ability to expand or to improve on their practices), I have the monopoly in town. I will head out with the technicians at some point to see what their door to door service is like. The company has already saturated the local market though, so I will have to think hard on how to create an incentive for the company to improve basic services. If anyone has any suggestions, I am all ears. A challenge is a challenge though, so I am looking forward to this new job.
My host family has been great. I have become very accustomed to the food, to the point that I now ask for spaghetti in my omelette (per l’italiani che stanno legendo questo, scusatemi però é buonissimo e sará l’unica volta che posso mangiare la pasta nel paese!). I have started helping out in the kitchen by learning how to cut and peel fruit and vegetables in such a manner as to ensure that I do not spread dirt and therefore parasite eggs (i.e. making sure no human excrement ends up on my food and gives me amoeba or other tasty morsels). Cold showers are no longer as bad as they were in the beginning. Washing clothes by hand is a novelty I could do without, but it gives me some time to let my mind wander as well as spend time with the family.
The night sky still takes my breath away. I cannot get used to how quickly night falls (or day breaks) here, but it is something I will get used to as the weeks go past and discover that seasons are from a different world. When it rains here, it rains seriously. I lay in bed listening to it and feel that rather than water drops falling from the sky it can sound like someone is pouring tonnes of sand on the roof. These storms stop as quickly as they start though and getting caught in one is an exhilarating experience. The mud it leaves behind is no joke however. It is an invasive phenomenon. It accumulates on your shoes. It spreads from one location to another by an innocent brush of a hand or sleeve. It comes out of the water mains. In short, it is everywhere and makes washing clothes by hand an extra nuisance. I am told that this is nothing. More of it is just around the corner.
As for my community, Banganté, it has been in the national news. The local football team, Les Panthères, have made it to the national championship finals. The town has gone wild without hesitation every Sunday. Rightly so too: they last Sunday they thrashed the team from the capital 4-0. I watched the game the first Sunday I was in town, and will leave an explanation of that for another time. It is however a funny story.
Hopefully internet will improve but I doubt that. Call me or send me mail though the latter may take months.
A +
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
First in-country post
It has officially been a week since I began this journey or maybe a month, depending on how you look at it. Having left Brussels, then Madrid, then Champaign, it all leads to Philadelphia on the 4th of June 2009. It is now the evening of the 11th of June and I am lying in bed in a room generously rented out to me by my host family.
Where to begin? Flying into Yaoundé with the Cameroonian national football team? Dining with the U.S. ambassadress? Actually making it to my training site and start living with my host family? Perhaps the beginning may be more appropriate for narrative’s sake. I arrived in Philly at 12:30pm on the 4th and made it to the Holiday inn in the historic district of said town by taxi. I entered the hotel and saw some of the volunteers who I would soon get to know. I could not check my bags in so I headed into town for a bite to eat. By the time I got back we started the meetings and filled out acceptations, life insurances and a whole load of other things that as it turns out in the grand scheme of the Peace Corps things is rather trivial (except life insurance perhaps). More sessions on values and meaning of the Peace Corps, scary stories regarding safety and health and introductions were done. By the time we were allowed to leave it was evening and the volunteers ran out into the city for Philly cheese steak sandwiches among other things. We got to know each other, somewhat giddy with anticipation, had some drinks, some talks, some bits of everything, and crashed.
The next morning was the departure for Cameroon via JFK flight to Brussels with the final destination being Yaoundé. Vaccinations were done for yellow fever and we started taking our weekly malaria prophylaxis pills. These do not ensure immunity from the parasite but should help notwithstanding. The beginning of vivid dreams! Afterwards we boarded a coach for JFK and spent an hour getting through Brooklyn. The flight to Brussels was not anything to write about, and therefore will remain so. Arriving in Brux I went straight to the bar and had a couple leffes, despite it being 8am. Spoke to the European family who wished me all the best and a safe journey, and headed for Yaoundé. We boarded with the Cameroonian national football team and everyone fell asleep at take off. I saw the Alps, a glance of Italy, the Mediterranean and Tunisia until I promptly fell asleep over the Sahara and woke up in the extreme north province of Cameroon. I saw the scrublands turn to mountains turn to forests and lakes. Yaoundé was a luscious green that I could not really fathom until then. The airport was a maelstrom of paparazzi and Peace Corps administrators who stand in for shepherds. Our customs were taken care of as were our bags. We piled into a couple of busses and headed towards the centre of the city passing by boutiques, vegetable gardens, corrugated iron and trees, an airfield and the local brewery. After arriving in the hotel, we unpacked, had dinner and had a couple of beers dreaming of what could lie in store for us the next day.
Not much in the end, or even afterwards. We stayed in that hotel for our security. They let us out into the neighbourhood for a couple of hours, but I took the opportunity to play Uno and other card games so as to get to know the other volunteers better. On Sunday we went to the Country Director’s house for dinner, even if it meant missing the last 10 minutes of the Cameroon – Morocco qualifying match which the former had to win to have good chances of making it to South Africa. It was a tie. We all met the U.S. ambassador to Yaoundé who certainly had some stories to tell. I will not tell them here, her résumé is online. The following week we would get up at around 6:30 to go to training for 7:15 which would start at 8:30 oftentimes. These were pep talks on health and security, cross-cultural classes and training for our job with the Corps. Got to know the Peace Corps house and use their internet (apparently the fastest in Cameroon found so far by other volunteers). More dinners at the hotel to get to know each other, picked up medical kits and water filters and French tests to get to know our level. I am at least high enough that I can start learning Pidgin English and Fufulde immediately it seems. Nonetheless the feeling of entrapment was constant because aside from one trip to get our residences all we were able to see were the Peace Corps office and the hotel.
So in the morning we left for the training site to live with our host families for the next 9 to 11 weeks. Correction: the afternoon. PC tries to stay attuned to US times, but lapses frequently to Cameroonian, though I am no one to complain about this particular point. We left around 1:30pm and got into town in the lqte afternoon, having gone through tropical forests, a hundreds of metres wide river and grassland. I saw a beheaded snake being sold at the side of the road, along with other delicacies... the trip was interesting. I met my host father with 2 of his children who took me to their home where I also met the eldest daughter and their mother. It’s a rather large house. I am given one bedroom outfitted with a bed, mosquito net, trunk, desk and chair, kerosene lamp, candles and water. There is a kitchen and living room, 3 other bedrooms and a bathroom (toilet, no latrine!) as well as a patio. I am close by to a couple of volunteers and the SED house, and everyone is in basic walking distance. I also met another volunteer hosted by my family who gave me a great impression of this family. At the same time the mother and the eldest daughter came in. They are a beautiful family who have made me feel more at home in these past 5 hours than the PC has in the past week. I unpacked and helped out with dinner. This consisted of fried plantains, avocado salad with vinaigrette, hedgehog in spicy sauce and fish with potatoes and green beans in another spicy sauce and a dessert of the sweetest pineapple I have ever tasted. Both parents, who are teachers at the local school talked with me about all sorts of things.
I went outside after this candlelit dinner (because electricity had gone out) and looked at the sky. The only artificial light came from a lone car in the distance and other amber windows with their own dinner scenes unfolding leisurely and unhurriedly. I turned my head up and I saw a cacophony of stars. The night sky was oozing with them. I heard a chuckle from inside my home and chuckled myself. I am going to make the best of this experience and this family.
I Promise.
Where to begin? Flying into Yaoundé with the Cameroonian national football team? Dining with the U.S. ambassadress? Actually making it to my training site and start living with my host family? Perhaps the beginning may be more appropriate for narrative’s sake. I arrived in Philly at 12:30pm on the 4th and made it to the Holiday inn in the historic district of said town by taxi. I entered the hotel and saw some of the volunteers who I would soon get to know. I could not check my bags in so I headed into town for a bite to eat. By the time I got back we started the meetings and filled out acceptations, life insurances and a whole load of other things that as it turns out in the grand scheme of the Peace Corps things is rather trivial (except life insurance perhaps). More sessions on values and meaning of the Peace Corps, scary stories regarding safety and health and introductions were done. By the time we were allowed to leave it was evening and the volunteers ran out into the city for Philly cheese steak sandwiches among other things. We got to know each other, somewhat giddy with anticipation, had some drinks, some talks, some bits of everything, and crashed.
The next morning was the departure for Cameroon via JFK flight to Brussels with the final destination being Yaoundé. Vaccinations were done for yellow fever and we started taking our weekly malaria prophylaxis pills. These do not ensure immunity from the parasite but should help notwithstanding. The beginning of vivid dreams! Afterwards we boarded a coach for JFK and spent an hour getting through Brooklyn. The flight to Brussels was not anything to write about, and therefore will remain so. Arriving in Brux I went straight to the bar and had a couple leffes, despite it being 8am. Spoke to the European family who wished me all the best and a safe journey, and headed for Yaoundé. We boarded with the Cameroonian national football team and everyone fell asleep at take off. I saw the Alps, a glance of Italy, the Mediterranean and Tunisia until I promptly fell asleep over the Sahara and woke up in the extreme north province of Cameroon. I saw the scrublands turn to mountains turn to forests and lakes. Yaoundé was a luscious green that I could not really fathom until then. The airport was a maelstrom of paparazzi and Peace Corps administrators who stand in for shepherds. Our customs were taken care of as were our bags. We piled into a couple of busses and headed towards the centre of the city passing by boutiques, vegetable gardens, corrugated iron and trees, an airfield and the local brewery. After arriving in the hotel, we unpacked, had dinner and had a couple of beers dreaming of what could lie in store for us the next day.
Not much in the end, or even afterwards. We stayed in that hotel for our security. They let us out into the neighbourhood for a couple of hours, but I took the opportunity to play Uno and other card games so as to get to know the other volunteers better. On Sunday we went to the Country Director’s house for dinner, even if it meant missing the last 10 minutes of the Cameroon – Morocco qualifying match which the former had to win to have good chances of making it to South Africa. It was a tie. We all met the U.S. ambassador to Yaoundé who certainly had some stories to tell. I will not tell them here, her résumé is online. The following week we would get up at around 6:30 to go to training for 7:15 which would start at 8:30 oftentimes. These were pep talks on health and security, cross-cultural classes and training for our job with the Corps. Got to know the Peace Corps house and use their internet (apparently the fastest in Cameroon found so far by other volunteers). More dinners at the hotel to get to know each other, picked up medical kits and water filters and French tests to get to know our level. I am at least high enough that I can start learning Pidgin English and Fufulde immediately it seems. Nonetheless the feeling of entrapment was constant because aside from one trip to get our residences all we were able to see were the Peace Corps office and the hotel.
So in the morning we left for the training site to live with our host families for the next 9 to 11 weeks. Correction: the afternoon. PC tries to stay attuned to US times, but lapses frequently to Cameroonian, though I am no one to complain about this particular point. We left around 1:30pm and got into town in the lqte afternoon, having gone through tropical forests, a hundreds of metres wide river and grassland. I saw a beheaded snake being sold at the side of the road, along with other delicacies... the trip was interesting. I met my host father with 2 of his children who took me to their home where I also met the eldest daughter and their mother. It’s a rather large house. I am given one bedroom outfitted with a bed, mosquito net, trunk, desk and chair, kerosene lamp, candles and water. There is a kitchen and living room, 3 other bedrooms and a bathroom (toilet, no latrine!) as well as a patio. I am close by to a couple of volunteers and the SED house, and everyone is in basic walking distance. I also met another volunteer hosted by my family who gave me a great impression of this family. At the same time the mother and the eldest daughter came in. They are a beautiful family who have made me feel more at home in these past 5 hours than the PC has in the past week. I unpacked and helped out with dinner. This consisted of fried plantains, avocado salad with vinaigrette, hedgehog in spicy sauce and fish with potatoes and green beans in another spicy sauce and a dessert of the sweetest pineapple I have ever tasted. Both parents, who are teachers at the local school talked with me about all sorts of things.
I went outside after this candlelit dinner (because electricity had gone out) and looked at the sky. The only artificial light came from a lone car in the distance and other amber windows with their own dinner scenes unfolding leisurely and unhurriedly. I turned my head up and I saw a cacophony of stars. The night sky was oozing with them. I heard a chuckle from inside my home and chuckled myself. I am going to make the best of this experience and this family.
I Promise.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Re-launch
What happened during the past 9 months?
Clearly, the aim of keeping this blog up to date took an "unprecedented" turn towards the grave. Nonetheless, I have had it in the back of my mind and need to revive it for its real purpose: to use as a journal and as a window for friends and family to be aware of my fortune and misfortune while I am away for 2 years with the Peace Corps. Here is a quick account of what you may or may not have missed:
I moved to Brussels towards the end of September of '08 to take courses with L'alliance Française with the goal of getting my French up to scratch in time for my possible acceptance into Peace Corps service towards the end of the year.
I was rejected by the Peace Corps in November '08.
I took a job as an accountant with Africalia asbl, a Belgian NGO that fund and promote African arts and culture in various African nations. I got headaches from trying to comprehend the exchange rates of the Zimbabwean Dollar (USD 1,200 : ZWD 18,000,000,000,000,000,000 at one point I believe), but the experience was enlightening and I thank the Africalia team once again.
In March of '09 I received an invitation from the Peace Corps. I was cordially invited to go to Cameroon in the capacity of a small business advisor in June of '09. I will be working in a bank somewhere in the country and within the field of micro-finance and credits. Frustratingly, not many more details were given. I will be attending pre-service training for 10 weeks, starting the moment I arrive in Cameroon. I will hopefully learn the tricks of the trade while I am there.
April and May of '09 I travel just a little bit too much. Starting with the Hague, I head out to London, Cornwall, Paris and Lisbon to see friends, take another stab at a UK driver's license and to go to a good friend's wedding. I enjoyed it all immensely and reacquainted myself with people that I have not seen in years. Towards the middle of May I headed back to Madrid to spend time with family and friends, some of which I may not see for 2 years. Hopefully I will see more in Cameroon.
It is now 2:57 am, 26th of May of 2009 and reckon that, though short, this is an appropriate update. 63 hours from now I will be on my way to Chicago to visit my American family. 11 days from now I will be on a plane to Cameroon and to new experiences, new acquaintances, new everything.
You will henceforth be hearing from me on a more regular basis. Either that or I will be receiving a lot of hate mail for not doing so.
Nick
Clearly, the aim of keeping this blog up to date took an "unprecedented" turn towards the grave. Nonetheless, I have had it in the back of my mind and need to revive it for its real purpose: to use as a journal and as a window for friends and family to be aware of my fortune and misfortune while I am away for 2 years with the Peace Corps. Here is a quick account of what you may or may not have missed:
I moved to Brussels towards the end of September of '08 to take courses with L'alliance Française with the goal of getting my French up to scratch in time for my possible acceptance into Peace Corps service towards the end of the year.
I was rejected by the Peace Corps in November '08.
I took a job as an accountant with Africalia asbl, a Belgian NGO that fund and promote African arts and culture in various African nations. I got headaches from trying to comprehend the exchange rates of the Zimbabwean Dollar (USD 1,200 : ZWD 18,000,000,000,000,000,000 at one point I believe), but the experience was enlightening and I thank the Africalia team once again.
In March of '09 I received an invitation from the Peace Corps. I was cordially invited to go to Cameroon in the capacity of a small business advisor in June of '09. I will be working in a bank somewhere in the country and within the field of micro-finance and credits. Frustratingly, not many more details were given. I will be attending pre-service training for 10 weeks, starting the moment I arrive in Cameroon. I will hopefully learn the tricks of the trade while I am there.
April and May of '09 I travel just a little bit too much. Starting with the Hague, I head out to London, Cornwall, Paris and Lisbon to see friends, take another stab at a UK driver's license and to go to a good friend's wedding. I enjoyed it all immensely and reacquainted myself with people that I have not seen in years. Towards the middle of May I headed back to Madrid to spend time with family and friends, some of which I may not see for 2 years. Hopefully I will see more in Cameroon.
It is now 2:57 am, 26th of May of 2009 and reckon that, though short, this is an appropriate update. 63 hours from now I will be on my way to Chicago to visit my American family. 11 days from now I will be on a plane to Cameroon and to new experiences, new acquaintances, new everything.
You will henceforth be hearing from me on a more regular basis. Either that or I will be receiving a lot of hate mail for not doing so.
Nick
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Information gathering
I arrived in Champaign six days ago.
The trip itself was the usual transatlantic flight; an inordinate amount of time on your hands which you want to whittle away. Heathrow was as usual more of a hindrance than a detail of the voyage. Chicago was actually good though. I took the train for a change, and that was refreshingly different. visiting the city itself was also pretty fun, considering I had only had a couple of hours of sleep the night before, and had been awake for about 20 hours already. But seeing the cityscape in the distance was inspiring enough, and making my way about Union station was interesting in that U.S. train stations bear no relationship whatsoever to their European counterparts.
The train itself was pretty funny. firstly, getting on the train was as bad, if not worse, than getting on a plane. for a nation characterised by that independent streak, Amtrak is surprisingly adverse to the whole DIY philosophy that one could find in the U.K. for example. Nonetheless it was the first time that I felt that I was travelling in style. The train services are actually named; mine was called "the city of New Orleans", simply because it is the Chicago-New Orleans service.
There is the coolest amount of leg room, the conductors are incredibly polite, the trains are double deckers (with the funny twist of luggage being held in the ground floor, and passengers chilling in the top floor), giving everything the peculiar feel of being taken back fifty or sixty years ago.
In any case...
back to the main point of the blog. I finally arrived here and can start taking care of all the medical, dental and optical records, files and examinations I have to take or submit for the peace corps. Since it all has to be in english, I have to have it all done by the 26th, thirteen days from now.
Some of the things I will have to do are standard: physical examination, dental X-rays, blood and urine tests. But me being me, what would generally be an easy process becomes convoluted through the intricacies of multi/trans/international lifestyles. I have to have medical records translated from spanish to english. Not only does this include my surgery report for when I had peritonitis fourteen years ago; in theory it also includes my immunisation history which by the end of this process will be brand spanking new and updated with the MMR, polio and Td "boosters" (making it sound like a video game). I probably have some of these, some others I do not, but I honestly do not have the foggiest idea at the moment.
In any case, I will be having the physical in three hours. I will soon find out the following: my height (feet/inches), weight (lbs), blood pressure (mm resting), pulse (bpm resting), hearing (whisper test or other gross test, which sounds pretty funny) and gross vision. They will also test for HIV serology, CBC, Hepatitis A, B and C, and the thrilling G6PD titer. All this gives Medicine the most byzantine of perceptions. In any case, being a thorough exam, I will soon find out if I have any of the above mentioned. I hope to high heaven I do not. In any case, any positive results will be extremely nasty surprises and in themselves rather ironic.
So this whole process has me looking back on my bodily history and remembering some pains and illnesses from way back when. Hopefully it will be worth it; I dont want to have to update it all with exotic and funny sounding tropical diseases by the time I'm through with it all.
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The trip itself was the usual transatlantic flight; an inordinate amount of time on your hands which you want to whittle away. Heathrow was as usual more of a hindrance than a detail of the voyage. Chicago was actually good though. I took the train for a change, and that was refreshingly different. visiting the city itself was also pretty fun, considering I had only had a couple of hours of sleep the night before, and had been awake for about 20 hours already. But seeing the cityscape in the distance was inspiring enough, and making my way about Union station was interesting in that U.S. train stations bear no relationship whatsoever to their European counterparts.
The train itself was pretty funny. firstly, getting on the train was as bad, if not worse, than getting on a plane. for a nation characterised by that independent streak, Amtrak is surprisingly adverse to the whole DIY philosophy that one could find in the U.K. for example. Nonetheless it was the first time that I felt that I was travelling in style. The train services are actually named; mine was called "the city of New Orleans", simply because it is the Chicago-New Orleans service.
There is the coolest amount of leg room, the conductors are incredibly polite, the trains are double deckers (with the funny twist of luggage being held in the ground floor, and passengers chilling in the top floor), giving everything the peculiar feel of being taken back fifty or sixty years ago.In any case...
back to the main point of the blog. I finally arrived here and can start taking care of all the medical, dental and optical records, files and examinations I have to take or submit for the peace corps. Since it all has to be in english, I have to have it all done by the 26th, thirteen days from now.
Some of the things I will have to do are standard: physical examination, dental X-rays, blood and urine tests. But me being me, what would generally be an easy process becomes convoluted through the intricacies of multi/trans/international lifestyles. I have to have medical records translated from spanish to english. Not only does this include my surgery report for when I had peritonitis fourteen years ago; in theory it also includes my immunisation history which by the end of this process will be brand spanking new and updated with the MMR, polio and Td "boosters" (making it sound like a video game). I probably have some of these, some others I do not, but I honestly do not have the foggiest idea at the moment.
In any case, I will be having the physical in three hours. I will soon find out the following: my height (feet/inches), weight (lbs), blood pressure (mm resting), pulse (bpm resting), hearing (whisper test or other gross test, which sounds pretty funny) and gross vision. They will also test for HIV serology, CBC, Hepatitis A, B and C, and the thrilling G6PD titer. All this gives Medicine the most byzantine of perceptions. In any case, being a thorough exam, I will soon find out if I have any of the above mentioned. I hope to high heaven I do not. In any case, any positive results will be extremely nasty surprises and in themselves rather ironic.
So this whole process has me looking back on my bodily history and remembering some pains and illnesses from way back when. Hopefully it will be worth it; I dont want to have to update it all with exotic and funny sounding tropical diseases by the time I'm through with it all.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
flux capacitors
2008 has undoubtedly been amongst the most chaotic and effusive of years. And we are only half way through it, so there is more to come, undoubtedly... Change has been the order of the day (or year).
The programme so far then:
March: The family dog passed away. She was fat. She had gender issues. She was damn cool.
April-May: Last time I did papers and exams for university. I studied pretty hard. Thought I would be scraping by.
June: The post-exam period (last one for a while at least) and finally, my goodbye to Warwick. And the U.K. and student life in general. Exam results. Turns out I did pretty damn well.
July: Day I arrive back in Madrid, I see my home. The new home and the old home. The main difference between them? the former has walls. The latter, does not. Spain wins La Eurocopa.
When I saw the grounds of the old home, I stumbled. It was there, and it was not. The garden centre is half there, hugging the north side of the original area, and changed. A new greenhouse has fallen from high heaven directly on top of the pool. All the orchids inside it survived the impact. A new greenhouse has been built on another one, based on Israeli designs. The fish have been transplanted from one pond to another. But the rest of the grounds were rubble.
I felt as if I were walking in a trance. It took me a couple of minutes to rearrange things in my mind. I attempted to recognise where things were in relation to the past state of this place and space that I had grown up in. The physical component of the memories of my childhood, all those good and bad memories enclosed in a cocoon of walls, ceilings, roofs, branches, trees and ponds, were all rubble. All that is left are the kitchen tiles caked in grease, and the stained wall that my window "looked out" onto.
But as I was told where things were and where things would be, my perception started to change. I stood on the ground formerly known as home. But at the same time it was something else; 60-odd years ago it was built with hands not my own. It was just the same process by which I would not bear witness to other cycles that would occur within that crossover between latitude and longitude on the map, formerly an area where I had spent a good deal of my waking life. I would not see what had occurred here in the past and I shall not see what will happen here in the future. Thus, the only thing I can lay claim to are the memories shaped in that amalgam of dimensions specified within the context of my self. It is that correlation of dimensions that I call my own, not the place, space or specific coordinate.
I am my own master, and more so the master of my memories. I am prepared to make new ones, and by far the best place to begin is with one's own home and garden stripped naked and laid bare, becoming nothing more than sand and stone; an ideal tabula rasa with which to begin.
A similar idea is that of places one has lived in, the various loci witness to my existence: Danville, Swisher avenue; Champaign, Countrybend lane; Madrid, El Garbanzal; Warwick University, Westwood Compton, Hurst; Leamington Spa, Brunswick street and the High Street; Pavia, Via della Rocchetta; Aalsmeer, Linnaeuslaan... Homes are the constructions of wood and stone. But they also travel with you, constantly. The phrase "broken home" does not refer to the building but to the occupants. Thus people come and go, as do buildings, cities, nations, etc...
We are our own flux capacitors
The programme so far then:
March: The family dog passed away. She was fat. She had gender issues. She was damn cool.
April-May: Last time I did papers and exams for university. I studied pretty hard. Thought I would be scraping by.
June: The post-exam period (last one for a while at least) and finally, my goodbye to Warwick. And the U.K. and student life in general. Exam results. Turns out I did pretty damn well.
July: Day I arrive back in Madrid, I see my home. The new home and the old home. The main difference between them? the former has walls. The latter, does not. Spain wins La Eurocopa.
When I saw the grounds of the old home, I stumbled. It was there, and it was not. The garden centre is half there, hugging the north side of the original area, and changed. A new greenhouse has fallen from high heaven directly on top of the pool. All the orchids inside it survived the impact. A new greenhouse has been built on another one, based on Israeli designs. The fish have been transplanted from one pond to another. But the rest of the grounds were rubble.
I felt as if I were walking in a trance. It took me a couple of minutes to rearrange things in my mind. I attempted to recognise where things were in relation to the past state of this place and space that I had grown up in. The physical component of the memories of my childhood, all those good and bad memories enclosed in a cocoon of walls, ceilings, roofs, branches, trees and ponds, were all rubble. All that is left are the kitchen tiles caked in grease, and the stained wall that my window "looked out" onto.
But as I was told where things were and where things would be, my perception started to change. I stood on the ground formerly known as home. But at the same time it was something else; 60-odd years ago it was built with hands not my own. It was just the same process by which I would not bear witness to other cycles that would occur within that crossover between latitude and longitude on the map, formerly an area where I had spent a good deal of my waking life. I would not see what had occurred here in the past and I shall not see what will happen here in the future. Thus, the only thing I can lay claim to are the memories shaped in that amalgam of dimensions specified within the context of my self. It is that correlation of dimensions that I call my own, not the place, space or specific coordinate.
I am my own master, and more so the master of my memories. I am prepared to make new ones, and by far the best place to begin is with one's own home and garden stripped naked and laid bare, becoming nothing more than sand and stone; an ideal tabula rasa with which to begin.
A similar idea is that of places one has lived in, the various loci witness to my existence: Danville, Swisher avenue; Champaign, Countrybend lane; Madrid, El Garbanzal; Warwick University, Westwood Compton, Hurst; Leamington Spa, Brunswick street and the High Street; Pavia, Via della Rocchetta; Aalsmeer, Linnaeuslaan... Homes are the constructions of wood and stone. But they also travel with you, constantly. The phrase "broken home" does not refer to the building but to the occupants. Thus people come and go, as do buildings, cities, nations, etc...
We are our own flux capacitors
Blog 2
Second attempt at blogging...
the first was a rather futile attempt made during university. Thing is, if I crash and burned during three years of undergrad mayhem (when time is actually at its most abundant), what will happen from now on?
Just wait and see...
the first was a rather futile attempt made during university. Thing is, if I crash and burned during three years of undergrad mayhem (when time is actually at its most abundant), what will happen from now on?
Just wait and see...
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