Do Meu Cantinho Nova Iorquiano

Martin Luther King Day

2008-01-21T18:49:00.000-08:00

Kristy and I went to see The Great Debaters today, for Martin Luther King day--it's really powerful, I recommend it to anyone who hasn't seen it yet.

Also, Barack Obama delivered an AMAZING sermon at Dr. King's old church yesterday, in honor of Dr. King's birthday. Whatever anyone thinks of his politics, I hope there isn't anyone in the US today that doubts the power of Obama's rhetoric, or his speaking abilities. I have never heard another living politician that has the sincerity to truly to be inspiring the way he is. This man makes me proud to be an American.

Check out the text or video of the speech here.

Weekend of Cross-Cultural Awesomeness

2008-01-21T18:33:00.000-08:00

This weekend has been uber-cool--Friday night Kristy and I went with some friends to a Balkan dance night thingie up in Inwood (the northern tip o' Manhattan), with some really awesome local NYC traditional Balkan bands. It got me all excited for the exotic music possibilities o' New York that I haven't been paying too much attention to due to my job sucking in most of my time--apparently one of the bands that played Friday has a funk-infused alter ego called "Balkan Soul Party" that plays down in Brooklyn every few weeks. "Balkan Soul Party"? That sounds like Czech for PURE AWESOME.

Saturday we went to a really cool exhibit at the Jewish Museum on the art of William Steig, who was with the New Yorker for forever and also did some really awesome childrens' books, like Sylvester and the Magic Pebble, Shrek!, Doctor De Soto and the like. It was really cool to see his sketches, and get a better feel for his books, some of which I've got in my classroom. Ever since the beginning of the school year, I've started to fall more and more in love again with children's books. I can't wait to have some chilluns to share them with.

Bodily fluids and you

2008-01-16T19:14:00.000-08:00

I have learned the hard way that one should always believe a child when they say they are feeling sick to their stomach—even if in every other circumstance they tend to try to exaggerate or lie to get out of work. Because that kid, THIS time, might actually BE sick to his stomach. My classroom floor can testify to the reality of this hard, sticky, something-with-beef-in-it truth.

The janitor side of Mr. Straubhaar-the-4th-grade-teacher cannot wait for Martin Luther King day.

Back from the E-Dead

2008-01-14T18:14:00.000-08:00

So, despite all my best and naïve intentions during the summer to share all of my experiences with Teach For America via blog, I soon discovered a few weeks into Teach For America training that my life was soon to be sucked into oblivion. And thus it was. A very satisfying, chance-to-help-others, good-karma type of oblivion, but still. Especially during those first few weeks, it was hard enough to find enough time for five hours of sleep a night, much less blogging. And though in the time since then I've finished training, gotten halfway through my first year as a 4^th grade teacher in Washington Heights, prepared my kids for and led my kids through one of their big annual standardized tests (the English Language Arts one) and started preparing them for their second (the math one), and improved significantly as a teacher (through the throw-you-in-a-classroom-and-pray training method), it still took me a long time to even want to think about restarting a blog.

Not to mention the other amazing happening in the life o' Rolf, which most of you folks that read this should most surely know about—I got married to the most amazing person on earth, Kristy Money, an astoundingly loving, empathetic and caring woman, who for some reason said yes to me. She's the product of two academics as well, and has moved around a lot—she's currently a doctoral candidate in psychology from BYU. And did I mention she's the most amazing woman alive?

So yes. Time management over the last six months has not yielded much blogginess. But in the spirit of new beginnings (more so in terms of new beginnings as a married person than new beginnings with a new year—I never was much of a New Years' resolutions type), I am determined to try to remedy that.

Today I missed a couple of my favorite kids, who were absent today—especially Jaabar. Jaabar is about four feet tall, walks a kinda crooked line because he doesn't have very good balance, and is the most hilarious and mature 4^th grader you've ever seen. He's the kind of kid who forgets to bring his lunchbox home almost every day, yet has the most insightful questions of all when we're reading a book together. His handwriting is atrocious, but the ideas in his essays are the most complex in the class. And he's about the most endearing little duder ever. We give each other high fives a lot.

Kristy and I are ensconced in our New York apartment for a quiet evening in this Monday—we tend to have lots of those. Mainly because we don't have anything we'd rather do than be with each other. Married life is AWESOME.

Church in Jamaica

2007-07-22T21:48:00.000-07:00

Since I got here in Queens, I’ve mainly been going to the Jamaica 1^st ward (as in, Jamaica, the neighborhood in Queens. I don't move around that much). The Saturday before my first Sunday here, I just looked up the meetinghouse locator to try to find the closest ward to where I’m at, and the closest one I happened to find just happened to be the Jamaica 1^st Ward, which is absolutely amazing. First of all, it’s in a totally different-seeming part of the neighborhood—St. John’s (the Catholic university we’re being housed at during our training) and the immediate blocks around it are pretty middle- to upper-middle class, down to the street (Hillside) where there’s a subway stop. From then on, it slowly becomes more and more inner city, until you get to Jamaica Boulevard, which feels a lot like the main drags in cities I lived in in Brazil and Mozambique—full of street vendors selling everything from ice cream to falafel to halal food, and full of storefronts of those types of stores that sell a bit of everything, especially if it contains plastic or was made in China. And the crowds, too, especially after church—it just feels joyful, the huge groups of people, I love it.

And then there’s the ward itself—I’ve seriously never seen a more multicultural congregation in all my time in the church. There’s the Indian-descended guy from Guyana with his family (the ward mission leader), the Ecuadorian guy who speaks Portuguese and is really into capoeira because his wife is from Rio (he’s the young men’s president), the gaúcho bald white brasileiro with a goatee with his family (the ward clerk), the black Haitian guy in the bishopric, the hilarious Jamaican guy in the bishopric, the numerous Caribbean-sounding women, the very academic and smart man from Trinidad (who’s the High Priest rep in the ward), the older, frail-looking white woman with a German accent (who’s the bishop’s mom), the older man from Haiti who bore his testimony about feeling healed after a problem with his spine, the African-American guy who works in security who teaches Sunday School, and a number of other folks from all sorts of backgrounds (various parts of Sub-Saharan Africa, a lot more African-American and Hispanic folks). The first week I went, there was also a visiting black lady from London named Sylvia who’s a member and who sat next to me (she was in town visiting her brother who lives nearby, and got excited when she saw the chapel so that she knew where she could go to church). Seriously, it’s amazing what a melting pot this ward was. I love it—I remember thinking, on my walk back from church on that first Sunday here, this is the gospel, all of these different types of people together, working together and loving together and building Zion together. And above and beyond the diversity, there is the openness and the friendliness and the love that I feel there—more so than any other ward I can think of, it often seriously feels like a family. I can remember many leadership meetings where it was discussed how we could build more the feeling of “ward family”—well, this ward gets it. I have felt more loved, and welcomed, and accepted as family in this ward than I have in most (if not all) wards I can remember—seriously, especially my first Sunday I left it with that comforting and warm feeling I have only ever felt by being with family. How could you not fall in love with that? My only regret is that this isn’t where I’m going to be working, so I can’t transfer my records here. I would love to live in this ward—the familial feel of it is what I picture heaven being like.

I want you to prove me wrong

2007-07-22T21:47:00.000-07:00

I felt floored by a realization I had the other day.

As part of our training for teaching in the fall, we have diversity training sessions every Friday. This Friday’s session was amazing. We were talking about recognizing and dealing with bias, and we started off by doing some mental exercises that got me thinking. Scott (our curriculum specialist, who leads the sessions) asked us to write down, for each of a list of things, what the first mental image was that came to mind. He started his list: a student with behavioral problems, a student with a troubled home life, a student who is not a successful student—and it really troubled me that, at least for all of the categories I just mentioned, the image that came to mind was of a black boy.

I know I’ve thought a lot about bias, and racism, especially in the past few years—an experience I had in my last semester at Rice really got me thinking about it. It was spring of 2004, and one time at night I was heading to the library to do some studying. On the way there, I passed by a friend of mine from my dorm, a really nice upper-middle-class black guy with glasses and a Cosby-kid look to him, who I said hi to without thinking much of it. Soon after, though, I passed by another black guy who was wearing warm-up pants and sports clothes, and I remember just catching myself thinking, “This guy is probably here on a sports scholarship.” When I caught myself thinking that, I was shocked to have caught myself being so openly racist. It made me think of Mom’s Relief Society friend from Chicago that Mom always quotes as having said, “You can’t say that you aren’t racist. What you can honestly say is, Yes, I’m racist—but I’m trying.” And as I thought about that those years ago, I resolved to try my hardest to fight against those impulses towards racist assumptions that come scarily often.

Well, this mental exercise that Scott had us do really bothered me, because it reminded me that despite all the time I’ve spent thinking about this, and despite the many personal examples of amazing and successful black men that I’ve known, the dominant social assumption about black males is still the dominant image that comes first to mind when I think of troubled students. The fact that that is my kneejerk, instinctive mental image, despite all the thinking I try to do to the contrary—that infuriates me. It really infuriates me.

As I thought about it in that session, though, I realized that this rage I was feeling can be channeled. If I want to fight my biases, there is no better way to do so than to let the existence of my biases, and my frustration and rage at their existence, drive my performance as a teacher. Let it fan my flame, let it stoke my passion, let it keep me pushing myself and keep me pushing my kids—not just because I want them to dispel the stereotypes that are held against them, and not just because I want them to prove society wrong. Rather, at its root, because I want them, and need them, to prove me wrong.

As I thought about this, and realized how much I needed them to succeed, not just for them, but for myself, the quote came to mind: "If you have come here to help me, then you are wasting your time…But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together." The next two years will be an amazing chance to do just that.

Life and Times at P.S. 42

2007-07-17T20:14:00.001-07:00

Wow—it’s been a really, really long time since I’ve posted on here, and it’s crazy to sit down and realize that the reason for that is that this is the first time I’ve had a relatively free evening in the last three weeks. It’s been amazing, but very intensely amazing.

The schedule here is pretty insane, bringing back memories of the missionary training center—though this version is a lot less spiritual (not to say that there aren’t religious underpinnings to this work) and a lot less well-rested (most of us, myself included, are averaging about 4-5 hours of sleep a night, on a good night). Two weeks ago our training really started, when we were split up into schools where we would be teaching summer school—I’m at P.S. 42 in the Bronx. In order to break us into teaching slowly, we’re split into groups of 2, 3, or 4 teaching summer school classes collaboratively, switching subjects week by week (the first week I taught writing and math, this week I’m teaching word study and vocabulary, next week I’m teaching reading comprehension). I’m teaching a class of six third grade boys, along with two girls named Kelsey and Chrissie. We’ve gotten really close as we’ve been working together, as it’s been easy for all of us to get attached and invested to these kids, our first kids, the first ones that we are primarily responsible for in terms of their learning and their progression towards 4^th grade. And though six kids may not seem like a lot, we’ve gotten a pretty rowdy group of boys (I would kill to have a girl in the that room, just to offset the overpowering wanna-be-macho vibe in the room of 9-year-olds trying to be cool), who have sent me home more than a little stressed and wondering how I’m going to handle this several times, but who I feel more and more that I’m coming to really learn how to work with and who I’m getting more and more attached to. There’s Matthew, the peppiest and most smiley nine-year-old that Puerto Rico ever produced; there’s Danny, who has some serious trouble concentrating and likes to act tough but secretly loves being good and gets the biggest kick out of really getting what he’s being taught; there’s Bijon, who’s an amazingly advanced reader and talks the best smack I’ve ever seen; there’s John, an adorable big guy who I wish I could loan some deserved self-confidence to; there’s Shamar, who’s the biggest handful I’ve ever seen but is amazingly smart when you can get him focused; and there’s Christian, who is your secret confidence booster because he’s the kid that always gets it (and thus doesn’t leave you feeling completely inept at the end of the day, even when it’s a hard day). There have been some serious problems between them—with numerous fights and almost-fights and some really horrible racial epithets having been thrown around—but with time it really feels like it is getting better, as we address those issues as they come up and try to really build a sense of community in the classroom. The other day a lovely thing happened—Matthew and Shamar had had issues one day (which had gotten really bad, to the point of one calling the other the n-word), and the next day both of them really wanted to read something I had read on the board. I was afraid it was going to break out into some harsh words as they fought over who could read it, but before I could step in to diffuse anything, Matthew looked up with the sincerest look on his face and simply said, “It’s okay, Shamar can read it.” That effortless ability to forgive and forget and give up something you want for someone else that you know wants it, too—it’s no wonder Jesus said that children are examples of life in heaven.

Obama and unions and dripping wet kids

2007-06-29T22:00:00.000-07:00

The last two days have been pretty low-key—yesterday we heard the president of the NYC teachers’ union speak, which was interesting, but other than that and a few small meetings (yesterday was the last day of “induction”), it’s been pretty free. I’ve mainly been reading—most folks have gone out and partied yesterday and today (with probably more to come tomorrow), but since most of that has been pretty alcohol-related, I don’t feel like I’ve missed much that I wouldn’t skip out on anyway.

Today was a day off, basically—there were a lot of activities organized in the city that corps members could go to in order to get a taste of the city and get to know each other (including an Ozomatli concert that sounded pretty spiffy), but as boring as it sounds, I just felt like sitting around and reading. Well, I was also feeling a bit stressed to finish my TFA prep readings and responses (as I’ve heard we’ll be expected to turn them in Sunday or Monday) and finish my final report to Care For Life on everything I did there (which I’ve been owing them for a bit), so it was business as well as pleasure that was pushing me to stay home, but for whatever reasons, I stayed home, and really enjoyed it.

I started reading Barack Obama’s Dreams from My Father a few days ago (in the spare time that you always manage to find when you’re stressed and need it), and read a good fifty pages of it today (to the chagrin of my Teach For America readings). I literally had trouble putting it down tonight—I’m still in the section dealing with his early childhood, and alongside his discussions of race and racial origins, Obama captures in such sensitive detail all the moral dilemmas and questions faced by American children who are partly raised abroad and find their instilled American values ringing hollow or seeming surreally unrealistic in third world settings where power alone is the deciding factor in everything. In his discussions of race, too, despite the fact that his experience is such a radical departure from mine, he writes in a way that shows a desire and ability to understand where all of the people in his life are coming from, and that makes you feel like he could understand your past, too. I think that is what I love most about this man, and what I think most sets him apart as a man who could bring honor and understanding to the presidency—his empathy, his sympathy, his ability to place himself in others’ shoes. In Christian terms, his charity. Who could not be excited about the possibility of true understanding and charity entering into politics, especially at a presidential level?

One completely unrelated moment today was too hilarious to leave out—I heard a story that made me so, so excited to be working with elementary school children who still are young enough to have such potential for delicious ridiculousness. My suitemate was telling me about a friend of his who was teaching as a corps member in the Bronx, and who took her elementary school class on a field trip to the Bronx Zoo. In the stress of keeping all the kids together, she had lost track of one kid for several hours, who only showed up at the bus right when it was time to leave, inexplicably soaking wet. The bus was late and she had no time for questions, so she just herded him on to the bus with the rest of them and forgot about the whole thing until later that night. She then got a call from an aggravated principal, who had apparently gotten a call from an aggravated mother, who was wondering why, upon opening her son’s backpack after school that day, a dripping wet penguin had jumped out.

I love kids. I hope this fella’s in my class.

Lame orientation stuff and interesting speakers

2007-06-27T21:00:00.000-07:00

So a lot of this week has been kinda lame and filled with meta-discourse, instead of anything really substantive—our real training starts on Monday, and this week is organized more like an orientation week, or a week-long pep talk of “You guys can do this, guys, you really can, you’re gonna be GREAT!” Which is nice every now and then for say, twenty minutes, but a week seems like a bit much—especially when we’re only just starting, and we’re all full of greenie fire. This might be nice a couple weeks from now when we’re all hating life—but such is life.

I’ve met some really interesting and cool people—the other day I met an anthropology major from Stanford named Katy with whom I had a really long and interesting discussion about Mormonism, as she had had a friend who was a church member. I’ve had a few other cool religious discussions with folks here—they seem to come up when I tell people I studied at BYU. I dig philosophical and interesting discussions with interesting thinkers.

We’ve had a few interesting speakers, too—the other day Wendy Kopp, the founder of Teach For America, came to speak with us. I was curious how realistic or idealistic she’d be, and in my opinion she was a combination of both—glossing over some realities with idealism (in my opinion), but addressing others quite realistically. A personal question that took shape in my mind while she was answering questions, but which did so late enough in the question-and-answer session that I didn’t think there would be time for it to be answered if I asked it, which mainly was related to the debate of how much one should grow and expand a program vs. how much one should perfect one’s product or service before growing. It’s the same issue I had with João’s approach to the Family Preservation Program, on a certain level—he wanted to grow and spread the program pretty far and wide before we had even seen it finished in our first community, or in other words, before really being sure it’s successful or not. That really scared me, and after reading some stats the other day, I began to have the same concern about Teach For America—that it had focused on growing before really figuring out what it was doing. That is, up until very recently, only 5% (in New York City) to 13% (in the U.S. as a whole) of corps members were making “significant gains” with their kids (that is, reaching TFA’s goal, which is 1.5 years of progress in literacy and 80% comprehension of math skills), which is very, very frighteningly low. Those numbers are growing, have already grown significantly and look to be growing more each year as TFA gets their act together and learns better what they should do and how they should do it, but the question that was really bothering me was, What about the kids who are being taught by those teachers that aren’t making significant gains, in those “learning years” when the curriculum was being (and is still being) perfected? Are they being underserved? Is that just considered a necessary sacrifice for the learning curve, or what is Teach For America’s (or Wendy Kopp’s) thoughts on that?

My instinct has always been to do as much prep as possible to avoid that kind of dilemma, and I was curious to hear what Wendy Kopp thought about it—when I realized I probably wasn’t going to get a chance to hear an answer, I started thinking more about what I thought about it, because I still wasn’t quite sure. As I thought about it, I figured that the way I would do things, according to what I think and feel and know now, would be to try to perfect a program with a small population over time, staying with that population until the program had learned to serve them well. Then, when it is proven effective there, export it to a few more, and test its effectiveness in those communities, and then, when it is proven universally effective, export it everywhere. That may seem overly cautious, but in doing anything different, I would really be worried about denying the participants the full benefits of the program.

Within Teach For America’s model, I could understand their logic in their growth and such, and how within a few years nearly all teachers will be making significant gains if current trends continue, but my concern still remains, in the process of learning how to do things right, are we messing up any kids? I feel personally committed to make sure I don’t do that, but it doesn’t seem morally responsible for that to just be acceptable damage within the movement.

Even cooler than Wendy Kopp, today we had one amazing guest speaker—his name was Geoffrey Canada, and he’s the founder of the Harlem Children’s Zone, a controversial and fascinating project that combines urban reform and small-scale universal health care with charter school-type teaching in a particular geographic area in Harlem (there's a really interesting article on him available here). And he was amazing—so much of what he said resonated so strongly with me. When he was getting ready to finish his remarks, I wanted to leap to my feet as soon as he was done, and was hoping others would rise, too—I smiled so wide when, right after he finished, the entire auditorium jumped to its feet. This man personified the type of social change agent that I want to be.

Above all, what really resonated with me was what he said about boys, and about the particular challenges facing boys. Without apologies or exceptions, he condemned the evil effect of media, especially on boys, which until age 10 does little more than encourage violence and materialism, and which from age 10 on pushes little more than sex. He condemned the system and the cultural environment that teach boys that getting laid is more important than going to college. He condemned the infantalization of men, especially men of color, in modern American society, and I felt like shouting amen after nearly everything he said. To see someone come and speak out about the truth of that, in a way that most these days would seem to brush off as Religious Right rhetoric, to an auditorium of kids straight out of college who playfully enjoy a lot of what he’s condemning, and to see him get a standing ovation because of how powerfully and irrefutably he spoke, was amazing to me. It gave me a little more gumption to stand up for what I believe, morally speaking, even when in a social situation like this where saying I don’t believe in premarital sex or drinking or drug use might not seem too kosher. I don’t plan on wearing my religion on my sleeve—I don’t think I’ve ever really done that. But I have at times caught myself letting moments pass by where I could thoughtfully express my opinion because I didn’t want to be preachy or didactic—even though I know that I could express myself without being either of those, that thought becomes an easy excuse to let things go unsaid. To see a man do that so powerfully and beautifully helped me get a little more backbone, I think. This is something I’ve been thinking about a fair amount these last few days, as it’s been a while since I’ve been someplace where I’ve not had numerous members of my own faith around, and I think I’ve gotten a bit rusty in terms of how to act when I’ve become again the odd one out. It was powerful to see someone who has worked that out so beautifully.

I think a large part of what impressed me about Geoffrey Canada is that he framed the achievement gap in schools and the lack of economic and social opportunities in poor communities as a moral issue, one that can be preached against with a religious fervor (which he did, amazingly well—I wondered if he’s a member of an evangelical church, because the man can preach). That is how issues of economic and educational inequality have always been framed in my mind—religious conviction, the moral obligation I have towards my brothers and sisters, is a very, very large part of what drives me to be here doing what I’m doing. It’s a thrill to hear someone passionately profess what you feel so strongly in your heart.

At the end of his remarks he read a poem he had written, which I love, and which I found on the all-knowing internet—here it is:

Maybe before we didn’t know,

That Corey is afraid to go

To school, the store, to roller skate.

He cries a lot for a boy of eight.

But now we know each day its true

That other girls and boys cry too.

They cry for us to lend a hand.

Time for us to take a stand.

And little Maria’s window screens

Keeps out flies and other things.

But she knows to duck her head,

When she prays each night ‘fore bed.

Because in the window comes some things

That shatter little children-dreams.

For some, the hourglass is out of sand.

Time for us to take a stand.

And Charlie’s deepest, secret wishes,

Is someone to smother him with kisses

And squeeze and hug him tight, so tight,

While he pretends to put up a fight.

Or at least someone to be at home,

Who misses him, he’s so alone.

Who allowed this child-forsaken land?

Look in the mirror and take a stand.

And on the Sabbath, when we pray,

To our God we often say,

“Oh Jesus, Mohammed, Abraham,

I come to better understand,

How to learn to love and give,

And live the life you taught to live.”

In faith we must join hand in hand.

Suffer the children? Take the stand!

And tonight, some child will go to bed,

No food, no place to lay their head.

No hand to hold, no lap to sit,

To give slobbery kisses, from slobbery lips.

So you and I we must succeed

In this crusade, this holy deed,

To say to the children in this land:

Have hope. We’re here. We take a stand!

I dig ye olde NYC

2007-06-24T21:30:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s been a wee while since I’ve been blogging—mainly for lack of time and reliable internet access. Since Thursday I’ve been in NYC, and I’ve been loving life—spending days in Central Park (they have adult kickball leagues with tournament games! How awesome is that???), spending time at the Met, wandering around the other parks and the cool central Public Library, going out to fun little corner diners all over town, alternating between friends’ homes to squat in for a night or two. I ran into a random Brazilian with a Boi Bumbá t-shirt on the subway late at night the other day, and got talking to him. From São Paulo, now lives in Rio, and is in town visiting for a few days while in the States. Really nice guy—I love Brazilians, and I love the friendly feeling you get talking to a Brazilian, no matter where you are or how you met them.

Most of all, I’ve been enjoying the company I’ve been keeping—I’ve started dating an amazing girl named Kristy Money, and most of the aforementioned awesomeness has been with her. If you want details, call me or somethin’, ‘cause I’m not to the blogging point o’ exhibitionism to post that kind o’ delightful mushy stuff quite yet.

Today’s been an interesting day—Eric and I went to the Inwood singles ward for sacrament meeting before heading home and getting everything ready for our Teach For America induction in Queens, at St. John’s University, where I’m living now and will be living until the first bit of August. Ever since we arrived here at St. John’s, it’s been kinda surreal—I totally feel like a freshman in college again, arriving at orientation week. We got assigned roommates, suitemates, meal plans, ID cards, and all the rest—and they had a big welcoming barbeque for us outside our dorm. All the conversations tended to focus around “So where are you from? Where’d you go to school? Who are your roommates?”—it felt like I had somehow been transported back six years, which was both kinda exciting (‘cause hey, the beginning of college was kinda exciting) and really surreal. There’s also a bit of an age gap, ‘cause pretty much everyone here just graduated from college, and between the two years I was on my mission and the year I deferred after graduation, I’m about three years older than most folks, but such is life. It’s like being around a whole bunch of Chris’s, minus the zaniness.

It is a bit of a culture shock being surrounded by folks who aren’t Mormon and are active college-age drinkers and partiers again—this crowd tends to be a bit more discrete than the average college-age crowd, but there was still a false alarm fire alarm earlier tonight, and a bunch of folks went out to the bar. So college is still a little in the air.

I’m way pumped for all the activities this week, though, getting us more familiar with Teach For America, with the sites where we’ll be teaching, with alumni and other folks who can give us a better idea of what people have done after their TFA experience. On another level, to be honest I’m really excited to be back on a somewhat-isolated college campus—I have many treasured memories from both Rice and BYU (though Rice a bit more prominently, as it was a bit more isolated and quiet) of walking around campus late at night, finding one or two favorite spots where I can sit and think and read scriptures and sing hymns and talk with my Father. I did a bit of that tonight, and I loved it—I can already picture many treasured evenings like that to come. I tend to like most places, but I think I’m gonna like it here.

Leaving Tomorrow on the Proverbial Jet Plane

2007-06-20T21:52:00.001-07:00

I finally packed up my stuff for NYC today—packing for moves usually seems to be a combination of melancholy about leaving where you’re at and excitement about going where you’re going. Today it was a lot heavier on the excitement about going where I’m going, as home here in Austin, as much as I miss it sometimes, is something I know for sure I’m coming back to, unlike Mozambique, or my mission, or something like that. So most of my packing just got me steadily more excited for NYC, for Teach For America, and for a cool new chapter o’ life in general. Pumped? Yes, indeed. I am pumped.

Musings on Family and Fathers and Love

2007-06-20T00:09:00.000-07:00

This morning was my second school observation as part of my preparation for Teach For America—I observed Mr. Cruz, a 20-something English teacher whose style I really liked. He gave a lot of trust to his students, but gradually, as they earned it, and as a result he had a pretty mature group that was able to do independent work without too much policing and that also was growing in its ability to think critically about literature and life. It was cool to see that in action.

After observing, I dropped by Zilker Park, as I’d done last Friday after my first observation, to do my scripture reading in a scenic place, and also to take a nice nap under the trees (beats a bed any day). I love Zilker Park, it’s been nice to spend some more time there during this visit.

This afternoon and evening I went to Julia and Sam’s house, as I’d gotten word that Julia was really sick with the flu, and Sam and Dad were busy at work and not able to watch over her (and Mom was home sick herself), so I headed up north to be with until Sam got home from work. Though we both did some serious napping, it was just nice to be with Hoolia. When time with siblings and family gets as short as it does these days, any moment or time together is more than appreciated. And then Sam came home and we watched Bride and Prejudice, which I’ve been wanting to watch for a long time. It seemed kinda backward, seeing this movie after having seen a number of real Bollywood movies, when it seems like most folks see this one as a kinda gateway drug to real Bollywood, but it was really well made and funny and fun, so who cares? I loved all the cross-cultural bits, like the gospel choir and the lifeguards and surfers singing in one musical number in LA. The Darcy could’ve been better, but oh well. Still some pretty serious awesomeness.

In thinking about family, and especially with Father’s Day on Sunday, I’ve thought a couple of times about a wonderful moment in church that happened a week ago Sunday, my first Sunday back here at our home ward after arriving in Austin. It was a few minutes before sacrament meeting was supposed to start, and I saw a Down syndrome girl slip away from her family to sit with the Lopez family. As she slid up next to them, Brother Lopez just grinned this wonderful huge grin, put his arm around her and hugged her close, listening to her as she whispered in his ear and then whispering something back, something that made her smile a mile wide. Still smiling, she looked back at the folks I think are her parents. As I just sat enjoying being a passive observer of all this, it seemed like this might be a regular thing, her sitting with Brother Lopez, and Brother Lopez showing her a level of love that makes her smile so wide. It felt like being on holy ground just to watch all that—as I sat there watching, I could only think, that is charity. There is a real man—an example of the level of love that Christ, the perfect man, has for that same girl, and for each of us. Watching Brother Lopez for those three or so minutes was one of the most powerful lessons I learned in church that day.

Monday Rememberings

2007-06-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

Today I spent most of the day reading for Teach For America. I also said hi and hung out with some of the ladies from church who came over to visit Mom (the Relief Society is being wonderful about supporting Mom after her surgery), took time out tonight for a nice FHE, talked to a dear friend on the phone who had to put up with my post-readings brain-fried-ness, and drummed a bit when the stress got kinda crazy. I had forgotten how amazingly cathardic it is to drum when stress is getting to you. It’s amazing how quickly it all just disappears—more people need to beat on things now and again, and we’ll all feel better.

I was responsible for the lesson tonight for FHE, and I gave it on Elder Jensen’s talk on remembering from this last conference. While preparing it, I thought of an experience of Elder Eyring’s that I read about in one of his books, that then reminded me of a recent experience of my own. The Elder Eyring experience is cited in his book To Draw Closer to God, in which he talks about a day when he was on a spiritual high after having a meeting with the First Presidency as a member of the Presiding Bishopric, and really feeling inspired in some of the solutions he presented to various problems—but then, when he got home, because of that spiritual high he was rather arrogant and dismissive in how he spoke to his wife regarding a problem they were dealing with. He had let his positive spiritual experiences lead him to arrogance, because he hadn’t fully remembered where the inspiration for those experiences had come from in the first place. I did the exact same thing a week ago Sunday—I had an amazing and almost overpowering spiritual experience during church, in which I felt answers to something I had been praying about for weeks flood over me, and I felt more strongly than I have in months if not years that I was okay before God. But that same day, I found myself putting off my scripture study during the day until I found myself doing my daily study late at night, just before bed, when I was already a bit sleepy and not nearly as in tune with the Spirit as I would have been had I studied earlier in the day. The problem was that I, like Elder Eyring, had experienced a high enough spiritual high to mistakenly start thinking a fair bit of myself, and I had let myself coast. I hadn’t remembered and dwelt upon the true source of those feelings and answers that I had treasured. Studying Elder Jensen’s talk tonight was a welcome reminder of the same principle: “Remember, o man, and perish not.”

Father's Day

2007-06-17T23:19:00.001-07:00

Today was father’s day, and though it was kept pretty low-key, it was a very nice day spent with my folks, chatting and napping and just hanging out and enjoying each other’s company. Dad made us waffles for lunch after church, in keeping with the long-standing Straubhaar family tradition of having waffles or pancakes for Sunday lunch/dinner/whatever—he then made us the free-range steak we’d bought yesterday at the Farmer’s Market for dinner. We had a couple really good conversations, especially right after the waffles, as we sat around and talked about a few conference talks that had mutually touched us several years ago (April 2004), and especially about the vision they gave of eternal progression as a winding staircase which can be taken a step at a time, each step building upon the last. It’s a hopeful image that’s really helped both of us put things into perspective—and it was really cool to realize that the same ideas and concepts had touched both of us independently but powerfully, in a way that had kept with both of us. Goes to show you that parents and children often have a lot more than just rugged good looks in common, neh?

Truly, though, I really am grateful for my father—he has always been a very good and sincere man, and I’m proud to have him as my father. I love you, dad!

Farmers' Markets and Burma!

2007-06-16T23:48:00.000-07:00

Today’s been a nice day—dad and I went to the local Farmer’s Market this morning and got some great tomatoes and peaches, along with some free-range steak that we’ll grill up before I leave town. It was a lot of fun—it felt almost like a carnival. Or like a really clean and well-organized feira. Then of course there’s the produce and meats—mmmmmmmmmm, free-range steak…

This afternoon a few treasured old high school buddies came over, Susan and Janika—I don’t think I’ve seen either of them since right after I got home from my mission, back in 2003. It was awesome catching up, and especially awesome to see that they’re still the amazing folks they’ve always been. Mom and Dad and I also watched a video on Burma that I’d received from US Campaign for Burma, a really well-made piece from PBS’ Frontline on the current political and social climate/situation in Burma. I can’t believe that more people don’t know about the situation there—if it hadn’t been for my amazing buddy Thelma, I never would have known, either. Anyone looking for a brief and really well-done history on the current bewilderingly and rage-inducing situation in Burma, please read here.

Sittin' in the back o' classrooms, just like junior high

2007-06-15T21:21:00.000-07:00

This morning I had my first of two school observations, as part of my Teach For America preparation—I sat in on a summer school chemistry class taught by Duke Willoughby, a really good guy and neighbor of my folks that I know through church. He has two T.A.’s with him right now that are in training to be Texas Teaching Fellows—I hadn’t known that Texas has a Teaching Fellows program, too (I’d heard of city-based Teaching Fellows programs, like the ones in New York and Oakland, both of which I have friends in, but I'd never heard of a state-based one). After looking it up, I found out that Texas is the only state with a Teaching Fellows program, but that similar programs have popped up in Chicago, Miami, D.C. and Philadelphia. It’s really cool to see these programs growing and flourishing, along with Teach For America. The more the merrier, no?

Speaking of Teach For America, I’ll be very happy early next week when I finish the prep exercises and readings required for the summer institute. A lot of them are wonderful and fascinating, but I’m beginning to burn out a little. Just a tad. A smidgen.

Bedtime!

Catch a Fire

2007-06-15T03:11:00.000-07:00

Tonight I watched Catch a Fire with Mom and Dad, a movie I’ve been meaning to watch for a long while now—it had a different flavor/pacing to it than I was expecting, but it was still a really good and interesting treatment of its subject (a mind-his-own-business-type South African man under Apartheid who was tortured, along with his wife, regarding an act of terrorism which he didn’t commit, and then turned to armed resistance against the Apartheid government afterwards as revenge for the way his family and friends had been treated). It also had a few really choice Bob Marley tunes in it, along with some ANC songs I recognized from Amandla!, and you can never go wrong with militant ANC songs or Bob Marley. It’s an interesting quandary, though, the one the protagonist finds himself in—how far one would be willing to go in terms of armed resistance when faced with a deadly enemy that threatens both you and your family’s well-being. I don’t think most people would think twice, though I think the gospel should lead you to at least consider the ramifications of one’s actions when turning to armed resistance. The more I think about it, the more I think I’d be ready and willing to take up arms in defense of family—though here’s still hoping that circumstances don’t lead me to put that to the test any time soon.

John Butler!

2007-06-15T03:07:00.000-07:00

Written crazy-late at night on a scrap of paper on Julia’s sofa:

I just got back from a really awesome John Butler Trio show with Julia (Sam had to get up early, so I he wisely decided to stay at home). The energy those guys have live is amazing—and bootlegs don’t do them justice in terms of their jamming, their improv, their technique. I was especially impressed by the drummer—everyone always raves about him, and now after seeing him live, I can understand why. Amazing technique and speed, that guy.

And now I’m gonna collapse on Julia’s sofa, ‘cause I’m beat.

P.S. I went to the dentist today, and that cleaning technician was hardcore. I vote they change the name from “cleaning” to “gum stabbing”.

Trying to learn to be purty-voiced

2007-06-13T00:57:00.001-07:00

Tonight was really nice—Dad went out and Mom and I stayed home and sang old songs that she’d collected. Though we sang as a family growing up, we never did much learning of harmonies, and so though I have a pretty good ear for harmonies if there’s a strong voice next to me that I can follow (the trick that’s gotten me safely through all the really nice ward choir experiences I’ve had up to now), I definitely don’t have an ear for just picking out and singing a harmony part like my mother has. So today we picked some easy-to-harmonize-on old songs and practiced. It was a bit frustrating at first, as expected, but we had some songs that sounded pretty spiffy by the time we were done. And if we continue to do stuff like that, I can that harmony is a skill I’ll be able to pick up—I just never made the time to work on it before. I’m glad that when I finally made time, it was close enough to my momma that she could be a part of the fixing.

Lazy time? Pshaw to you, lazy time

2007-06-11T21:04:00.001-07:00

I forgot to mention—yesterday was Mom and Dad’s anniversary. Julia and Sam came over and we had apple pie. And it was awesome.

Last night was also general priesthood meeting in the local stake here in southwest Austin. It was really nice, and very nostalgic—sitting there in the stake center surrounded by people who had been my ward leaders and temple prep teachers and home teaching companions and seminary teachers, sitting in the same building where I’d gone to early morning seminary five days a week at 6—lots of wonderful high school memories came flooding back. It’s crazy to think how long ago that was—which is why I’m not going to think about it. I’m not old. Nope. No sir.

Today I mainly sat down and planned out everything I’ve got to do while I’m home—and realized that my down time will be pretty minimal until I head to NYC. Of course, there will be moments to spend with family, but between prep for Teach For America and getting everything ready to move/leave, final reporting on my work with Care For Life, getting laptops fixed and going to dentists and all the rest, this week or so will be very much a working vacation. Which is fine—lazing about gets kinda boring, anyways.

Amazing Sabbath days

2007-06-10T23:15:00.001-07:00

Today has been an amazing Sabbath. Things have happened today which have reminded me powerfully of God’s love for me, and of the fact that He hears and answers all of my sincere prayers and petitions, albeit in His own way and at His own time. Today an answer came that has been a long time coming, and was all the sweeter for the waiting. It was yet another evidence to me of the powerful and eternal love of God, for all of us as His children, and specifically and personally for me. I’ve felt that, and I know that that love is real.

Saturdays with Sisters and Bro's in Law

2007-06-10T22:53:00.000-07:00

Written on a legal pad before sleeping on Julia and Sam’s sofa last night:

Today was a very fun and very typical visiting home day for me, at least in the pattern of what I’ve tended to do when visiting home for the past few years: hang out and talk for hours with Mom and Dad, go out to eat with Mom and Dad or Julia and Sam (or all of the above), go over to Julia and Sam’s and hang out, watch movies with the fam, talk about and play music with Sam, and so on. Today Julia came down with her dogs to Mom and Dad’s house, we all went for a short walk with them in the greenbelt, and then I headed up north with Julia to hang out with her and Sam at their house. John (Sam’s close buddy who’s in training/study to be a Catholic priest) was around, too, which was fun. We all went out to eat, and later we hung around their house and just enjoyed being with. Sam also played me some really, really good recordings he’s made recently, using a drum I loaned him to accompany his guitar and voice stuff—one of the recordings, a David Gray cover, I think is seriously the best thing I can remember hearing that he’s recorded.

I love being home and spending time with the fam. It’s awesomeness.

Being home! And fun flying times

2007-06-09T01:51:00.000-07:00

Yay for getting home safely! I’m now at my folks’ house in Austin, up at almost 4 in the morning thanks to the wonders of jet lag. It’s been awesome to be home—mom is recovering from surgery, so mostly we’ve been sitting on her bed or on sofas and talking for hours, but I wouldn’t want it any other way, as that’s exactly what I love about my family, our friendship and ability to just sit and talk for as long as we have time for talking. I feel deeply blessed to be able to count my family as some of my closest friends.

All my luggage is here, and all is right with the world—there are tons of little things to be done before I ship out for New York in a few weeks, but all of them are manageable so long as my several 3x5 cards covered in to-do lists don’t disappear.

I had amazing luck with all my flight connections and with customs—nothing took more than five minutes, and it all went beautifully. On the flight from D.C. to Austin I also got the most amusing flight crew I’ve ever had—here are a few snippets of their banter, which actually managed to keep me paying attention to the safety demonstration:

“For the sake of us keeping our jobs, please sit up and pretend to pay attention as my friend leads us through our safety instructions…”

”In case you haven’t driven a car since 1965, this is how a seat belt functions…”

(My mom told me about a better one she had heard from a flight attendant on Southwest: “Here is how a seat belt functions: however, if you don’t know how a seat belt functions, you probably shouldn’t be out by yourself”)

“In the case of a reduction in cabin pressure, oxygen masks will fall from the area above your head. When you’re done screaming, please secure the mask over your own mouth like so. If you’re accompanied by a child, or someone who acts like a large child, please only help them once you have secured your own…”

“Remember that this is a non-smoking flight. If you insist on smoking, we might have to ask you to step outside.”

“In the case of a water-landing, which is pretty much impossible as we won’t pass over a single body of water, but just for the sake of argument, there is a flotation device under your seat…”

“Please be careful while removing your things from the overhead compartment. The reason we ask to use caution is, well, **** happens.”

“Thank you for flying United Express. We hope you have enjoyed flying with us. However if you haven’t, then…thank you for flying Delta.”

Plane musings

2007-06-09T01:50:00.001-07:00

Written on a scrap piece of paper as I was watching movies in the middle of the night last night:

According to the flight map thingie on my little screen, we are now crossing over the last little bit of the Atlantic we have to cross before making our way over land to Senegal, where we’ll stop for gas before continuing on to Washington.

Only this morning, as I was packing my bag and then heading past all the familiar sights on the way to the airport, realizing I was going past them all for the last time, did it really start hitting me that I was leaving. And it was a crazy feeling—how could I leave the place that now feels like my home? I didn’t turn back, of course, but I became a lot more melancholy about leaving as it slowly became real, despite at the same time being excited beyond belief to head home and see the family and others that are dear to me. I’m just waiting for them to invent teleportation, so that all those I care about will be at arm’s length.

It’s a good thing we have eternity, right?

2007-06-06T17:54:00.000-07:00

It’s weird to sit here at night and think that today was my last full day here in Beira. It was a good, full, long, productive and fulfilling day—I ran around town on my bike this morning taking care of everything that was still floating undone (or felt like it), like changing money and developing photos to give to people and resolving church things and shopping for last minute souvenirs for folks back home. And lots and lots of bike riding. I know there’ll be bikes in the States, but I’m still gonna miss riding my bike here—something tells me that even with bikes, it won’t be the same without the fields and mud houses and sellers carrying the day’s wares on their heads. Unless movies have lied to me, New York’s a bit different. And we all know movies never lie.

This afternoon, before the work day ended, there was a really cool surprise—the field officers and everyone called me in for a little farewell, where we sang all of the songs we’ve gotten most used to singing in meetings and such, and then anyone who wanted to was given a chance to say a few words, ending with me. I always have trouble knowing what to say in moments like that, but it was really sweet and sincere and I couldn’t help but feel touched by the love of these people that I have grown to love so strongly back. They gave me an awesome present, too—a white shirt that all of them had written personal little notes and farewell messages on. It was awesome.

At night Solomon arranged a dinner, with several of the missionary couples I’ve come to know best, all the American Care For Life folk that are in town, and João. Warner Woodworth’s in town for a few days checking out the Family Preservation Program, and he was along, too—it’s been interesting and cool to chat with him and get to know him a bit better after having read a lot of his writings and heard so much about him around BYU campus. It’s been great to have had Eric around these last few weeks, too—we talked for a long time after we got home tonight, and I realized as we talked and as I sat and thought after he went to bed how grateful I am to have had him in my life since we first met in SID back at BYU. I’m a much, much better person thanks to him, and it’s tough to say goodbye to a dear friend and true brother. Really, at each of these little farewells, it was tough to say goodbye. Still, though, above all I’m thankful for the chance I’ve had to have been here. I love these people, and I’ll miss all of this. It’s a good thing we have eternity, right?

Days o' Celebration

2007-06-05T16:42:00.000-07:00

Today was beautiful—it was celebration day in Mbatwe, one of the communities we work in (celebration days happen every six months, basically big parties meant as a celebration of the progress all the families in the community have made through their family goals during that time). It started kinda slow, as it was raining off and on HARD this morning, while we were supposed to be having all our activities and distributing the prizes people had earned for their work, leaving us running around to find big pieces of black plastic that we could jerry-rig up as extra roofing to hold everyone while all the formal ceremonies took place. My job was to make sure water didn’t build up in big puddles anywhere on the impromptu plastic roof, so as to keep it from breaking and falling on everyone—even though that still happened two or three times (hey, it was a big roof). So lots of mud and wet togetherness—but the awesome kind. I’d much rather be outside doing that than inside the community center listening to the boring formalities that organizations around here are so fond of.

After the rain ended around one in the afternoon, the day became gorgeous—Care For Life had brought a stereo and started playing music, so while all the prizes were handed out, everyone else got down. Especially the kids—so there was a good few hours of dancing with big groups of little kids to Mozambican dance music. In other words, pure awesomeness.

As it moved on towards late afternoon, I had one of those moments where I just wished the relaxed happiness of that hour or so could last at least another week. The late afternoon sun was on everyone, just strong enough to be comfortingly warm after the hottest part of the day is already gone. People were milling about all over the place, dancing, waiting to pick up their prizes, and just being—kids were playing, teenagers were trying to do tricks on their parents’ bikes, people were sitting and chatting all over. Everyone was out and around, and happy. It was like a summer barbeque, or like one of those afternoons with kids playing around in the spray of a street fire hydrant. It personally reminded me of summer nights when I was in grade school in Michigan, with the sun only setting at nine and all of the out and playing until then, with parents sitting on porchs and chatting while making sure the kids didn’t hurt themselves. It was one of those amazing moments of communal happiness, when life just feels good and even better because you’re surrounded by good people who are feeling just the same way. Sitting in the sun, listening to the music, talking to friends, people-watching everyone else wandering or sitting about—the first thing it reminded me of, actually, was Friday afternoons back during my time studying at Rice. Every Friday afternoon one of the nearby dorms would blast music from loudspeakers on their roof, and especially in the spring and fall months we’d be sitting on the benches and swing out in front of our dorm just chatting and sitting and enjoying life. I love these moments. It made me all excited for potential school activities next fall.

More goodbyes

2007-06-04T16:00:00.001-07:00

Tonight, after waiting a bit to see if some of the adult Care For Life-related folk were coming over for FHE or not, and then holding a short one just with us young folk, I went to Ana Maria and Joaquim’s house to visit and say goodbye to them. It was a bit late for around here (around 8:30), but they were luckily still up (though the kids were a bit groggy), and we sat around talking and just enjoying each others’ company for a good time before I headed home. I’m glad I didn’t give up on visiting them just because it was a bit late—when I considered going tomorrow because of that, I felt a little nudge to go tonight, and I’m glad I did, because it was great being with them and I’m glad I was able to keep my word (I had told them I’d come by tonight). Moments like that, even if they are bittersweet because they’re goodbyes, are moments I wouldn’t want to let slide by.

Bidding farewell with Brazilian pizza

2007-06-03T15:46:00.001-07:00

Tonight was lovely—I went over to the house where João is staying, where we met up with Salomão and his wife Amalia (who’s in town for the weekend) and had João’s famous Brazilian-style pizza. During our months living together, he made it all the time, but hasn’t for a while because things have gotten pretty busy and stressful around here—but he did tonight in part as a thanks and goodbye to me for my time here. I’m going to miss João, and Salomão, and so many people—that’s the one problem with going to so many beautiful places and growing to love so many beautiful people, is coming to the moment when you have to say goodbye.

Risk and an awesome case of small-world syndrome

2007-06-02T15:27:00.000-07:00

This morning I went over to Mounga’s house, as he and Cebola had invited me one last time to go over to their neighborhood for Risk and lunch. We did this a few Saturdays in a row when I first got back from Christmas and brought Mounga a copy of Risk (he’s loved this game since his mission—the moment when I gave it to him was beautiful, he looked like a five-year-old on Christmas morning), but we haven’t done it for a while because Institute started up on Saturdays. As a going-away chance for good times, though, we did it today, and it was mucho fun. Risk was mainly an excuse to get together—I really love Mounga and Cebola, they’re some of my favorite people here. Plus, Cebola’s wife Isaura (who I met for the first time today) made an AMAZING lunch. Just FYI, a little bit of goat makes beans about 100 times more delicious, if that’s at all possible. So today was awesome.

Tonight I had an amazing small world moment, too—I was talking to the Violins, a Brazilian missionary couple here from Florianópolis (big city in southern Brazil), and as we were talking about my mission and Manaus and the temple, Elder Violin asked me if I knew a guy named John Lennon (not the Beatle, but a member of the church named after the Beatle). I couldn’t believe it—when he mentioned that John had a sister named Patrícia, I almost yelled (though I tried to restrain a bit, I mean, we were in the church), “You know them? I baptized their mom!” It’s true, and crazy—John and Patrícia (and their mom Hariolanda), who I had known from the time I was working in São José in Manaus on my mission, had moved down to Florianópolis and now lived in the same ward as the Violins. I had known they’d moved to Florianópolis, but still that’s so crazy, and so awesome—I love the small-world syndrome you get among Mormons, and I love how it applies no matter where you are in the world. Apparently John’s married now to a really nice girl he met at church, and Patrícia married André, an awesome guy from their ward in Manaus (who I knew from my mission, too) who she had dated for forever before his mission. Man—hearing about people I care about, and hearing that they’re so happy and doing so awesomely—there aren’t many better feelings. Those are the kinds of presents we should figure out a way to be able to give on Christmas morning.

Rain, rain, stick around

2007-06-01T14:43:00.001-07:00

It rained a lot this afternoon and tonight—and I mean rained. It hasn’t really rained in weeks, but today it poured, to the soaking point where an umbrella doesn’t really help too much. I really dig that kind of rain—the morning after one of those really feels like a rebirth, like a communal baptism. All the different smells of rain remind you of all the pieces of the earth you’d forgotten or taken for granted. I love rain.

Ignoring hunches

2007-05-31T23:37:00.001-07:00

Tonight I felt horrible about a moment in which I’d lost my temper today—today I typed up a paper João Zeca from church had written for school, as a favor. I did it a bit grudgingly, because I only found out when he brought it over that it was 11 pages long—but I didn’t want to go back on my word, so I did it anyway. When he came to pick it up today, before saying thank you, he asked me if I had been able to make a cover page for it, and as much as I feel embarrassed about it now, I kinda blew up at him, asking him why he didn’t say thank you before anything else, and telling him he needed to learn to be more grateful. Even if I was partly right, I was much harsher in the way I said it than I needed to be, because I was angry—and after he had apologized and thanked me and left, I felt that I should go after him and say I was sorry for reacting so harshly. But I didn’t follow the prompting, and let the moment go. This evening, my embarrassment about this was multiplied over again, as I found out that João Zeca’s mother died Tuesday. He hadn’t even been able to be home when she died—he had been at a leadership training for church (one I had been at, too). When I heard that, I felt like the biggest scum on earth for chewing him out as much as I did when he had the best reason in the world to be a bit out of it and not exactly concentrated on manners at the moment. I felt so petty and spiteful for what I had done, and especially for not following my prompting. It was the second prompting I had not followed in as many days, as last night I had felt a prompting to ask Alan to say a nightly prayer with me (we went to bed about the same time, after everyone else, and I think they had already prayed), and had decided that it would be bothersome and that I wouldn’t. In both cases, I felt a sinking in my stomach knowing that I had ignored the guidance and advice of the Lord—especially in this case, when I had yelled at a good man who’s busy grieving for his mother. I can’t wait to see João Zeca again, because I need to apologize to him—I can’t let this slide, or I don’t know what I’d think of myself.

Manaus temple announcement is official!!!!!

2007-05-31T12:26:00.001-07:00

I found out today that it’s official—the Manaus temple has been announced!!!! João, my immediate boss and good buddy here, has a friend that’s a Seventy in Brazil, and he forwarded to João (who then forwarded to me) the email/letter from the First Presidency announcing it.

“We are pleased to announce that a temple will be constructed in Manaus, Brazil. We are confident that this will be a blessing to the many faithful Saints in this and surrounding areas who have had to travel long distances to enjoy the blessings of the temple.”

AMEN!!!! Oh man oh man oh man this makes me soooooo happy—how long so many members in Manaus (and returned missionaries) have been waiting for this!!!!

“We commend the Saints for their devotion and faithfulness, and are thankful for the blessings that will come to them through the construction of this new temple.” Signed, The First Presidency.

Oh man—the more I think about it, and about the specific people I know who will be rejoicing so much at this news and who will make such good use of this temple, the more joy I feel. I can’t WAIT to be there for the dedication!

America's potential for greatness

2007-05-30T15:52:00.001-07:00

I read up a lot more on Barack Obama’s campaign today, and watched a couple of segments with him (like his appearance on This Week with George Stephanopoulos and David Letterman), and like has happened several other times as I’ve sat down for a few hours to read his speeches, or his writings, or to research his positions, the more I watched, the more I grew to love this man and be so thankful that he’s around, to run for office and to bring hope for change to this country. He is the first candidate that has inspired real hope of serious change in Washington that I can remember in my lifetime—it feels like what I imagine the atmosphere feeling like around Robert Kennedy in the late 60s, or JFK in the early ones. A feeling of possibility for real statesmanship and reason and understanding in the Oval Office—a feeling of potential for America to become great again. It’s an amazing feeling—I can’t wait for the chance to feel proud of my country and what it is doing in the world again.

Prayer

2007-05-29T14:00:00.001-07:00

I listened to Elder Scott’s talk on prayer several times while running around downtown this morning on several work-related errands. It’s amazing how much insight there is to be gained over time about something as simple-seeming as prayer. It seems like these basic principles that are principles of action, like prayer and scripture study, are the principles that there is more to learn about than any other—but it’s the type of learning that can only come with experience. Only experience with prayer can help me come to know my Father and develop a rich and deep relationship with Him—no amount of studying can do that.

Good work days

2007-05-28T14:36:00.000-07:00

Today was a work-hard-physically-and-leave-you-feeling-satisfactorily-exhaused-type day—which especially after lying prone on my back with malaria for a good chunk of last week, felt amazing. I was mainly running around town getting the paperwork necessary to print up and bind a whole bunch of copies of the curriculum I wrote, so that all the Care For Life staff (as well as myself) can get copies and be trained in them before I leave. Way satisfying—both to be doing such a last-pillar-of-my-work-here type of thing, and also to be out and about all day in the Mozambican sun on my bike. Mozambique, if nothing else, has instilled in me an eternal love for the bicycle.

It’s been a good day.

Brushing up to theft

2007-05-27T13:56:00.000-07:00

Wow—so the last hour or so has been pretty intense. I was just sitting with Eric and Alan on the sofas in our living room and we were talking while I was eating dinner (they’d already eaten, while I was on the phone was Kristy), when we heard the door open behind us. I figured it was one of the Wheelers (the couple from BYU that’s here as interns and are living out back—he’s doing financial audits for Care For Life, and she’s doing data entry), but my back was the to the door and I couldn’t tell. Alan, who was on the sofa facing the door, looked up and didn’t look like he recognized whoever was there—he said, “Tudo bem?”, but the door shut quickly and he and Eric were running out back before I had really processed what was happening. It turns out it was a thief, who then scaled the wall (with broken glass on the top) to the neighbor’s yard while Alan yelled “Mbava!” (thief in local dialect). After hurting himself pretty badly on the glass, the thief made it into the neighbor’s yard, where the neighbor’s guard started fighting with him. Our guard on duty, Carlos, who had been out front, ran around at this point and scaled the wall after him (thankfully not hurting himself too badly). We mainly heard fighting at this point, and then the thief apparently started getting away before some people on the street stopped him. The Wheelers, Alan and I were still in the backyard, not really sure what to do, when Eric ran off to see what was happening, and ran back into the house for rags, as the thief had been caught and handcuffed by Carlos, but was apparently bleeding really bad. So I went out to where everyone was with the thief on the street, in front of the bread store next store, with more people gathering around by the second (as always happens around here). The next few minutes were very tense, as we were trying to get a hold of someone from Care For Life who could come and take the thief to the police station (we were finally able to get a hold of Solomon, who came), while Eric was trying to keep people from further hurting the thief. Theft is very, very socially discriminated against here, which in a sense is a good thing, except for that it also promotes a lot of vigilantism—lots of folks who were gathering around wanted to kill the thief. My heart went out to Eric, who was trying to defend him and keep people from further hurting him—one guy came up, said, “Listen, white, this country’s full of thieves,” and kicked the thief on the ground as hard as he could straight in the face, opening a huge wound on his forehead. We were lucky to keep Eric from starting a fight with the guy right there. Luckily, Solomon came before anything bad happened, and he and Carlos took the thief off to the police station. We’re now locked up inside, a bit jumpy, but safe behind really huge grates and locks. I hope this guy doesn’t have friends who come back later and jump Carlos for revenge, or anything like that. This is the first time this has happened since I’ve been here—it definitely makes you realize your own vulnerability and humanity a lot more.

BEST NEWS EVER

2007-05-26T16:01:00.001-07:00

I heard some amazing news today that I’m UBER-CRAZY-EXCITED ABOUT and afraid to believe at the same time, because I haven’t heard it from any official sources—at the same time, though, I’ve heard it from two completely independent unofficial sources, so I have already begun rejoicing. THE MANAUS TEMPLE WAS ANNOUNCED!!!!! I was so excited I ran out into the house looking for someone to hug, and almost toppled poor Alan (the new guy who’ll take care of the volunteers and came here a few weeks early to get things ready for them). I then ran outside, where my buddy Amude was on guard duty, and when I told him the news he knew me well enough to rejoice completely, picking me up and carrying me around on a victory lap of the backyard as I hooted and hollered my lungs out. It was a glorious moment. Oh man—TEMPLE IN MANAUS!!!!!!!! I’ve been waiting for this day ever since I first arrived on my mission—they’ve had the land for that long, and have just been waiting to have enough faithful members to make it worthwhile. I’ve been crossing my fingers every General Conference since I got back, hoping they announce it—AND NOW THEY DID!!

TEMPLE IN MANAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Trivial and not-so-trivial debts to padres

2007-05-25T14:44:00.000-07:00

I rediscovered how much I really love the Temps and Motown up through around ’70 today. I guess you can thank Dad and all his Hitsville USA CDs for instilling that—ah, where would I be musically without my parents? Not to mention the whole actual-physical-body part.

I was able to DO stuff today!

2007-05-23T17:22:00.000-07:00

I got a good chunk of the Portuguese curriculum more fully grammatically refined today, so that I can print it up and take it around to shop for orders for printing it in large numbers tomorrow. I’ve got enough strength that I’m working again! Wooooooooot! I’m excited to get that done. I also got an email back from Joan (my professor who got me here in the first place) today telling me what she thought of it after having read from the beginning through the health sections, and she had very strong praise, which make me glow with pride, coming from her. Really, that made me feel like a million bucks. However a million bucks must feel. Papery, I suppose.

We keep getting new folks by the day around here who are going to be here for three month-ish stints during the summer—thankfully they’re not all staying here, or I would have no bed. I like beds. Hammocks more, but when hammocks lack, I dig beds.

Anyhow, it’s been a productive day! WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!!! I’m not lame anymore!!

Stoned job interviews—Good thing he couldn't ask for a urine sample over the phone

2007-05-22T17:14:00.001-07:00

Tonight, I had my second and final interview with South Bronx Charter School, and though I’m still fighting off the final grogginess of my malaria treatment, I think I hid it pretty well and I think it went off pretty nice. This one was with the Executive Director of the school, whereas the last one was with the principal—I’ll admit I like the sound of the principal a lot more (a lot more energetic and dynamic, even over the phone, and a lot more engaging—whereas the Executive Director kinda reminded me of Ben Stine, only not funny). To be honest, I think I’ll probably get called for the job, but if I do, I’d like to find out some more before taking it, because as the school is so new (just established last year) and its website is still pretty basic, there’s a lot I still don’t know about it that I would like to know before joining their team. Anyhow, even the half-stoned Rolf knows how to win friends and influence people! Success!

A Malaria-Induced Vacation

2007-05-22T07:53:00.000-07:00

So I've had a little hiatus from blogging, as a couple folks have emailed me about, and the biggest reason is that, since last Friday, I've been slowly getting a worse and worse case of malaria. A pretty bad one, too—I got four little cross-checkmarks on my malaria test, which was apparently bad enough that they said if I wasn't able to keep my pills down, I'd have to be hospitalized. Luckily, I was able to keep my pills down.

As much as I'm very much not dead, and as much as I in a sense feel much more like I've arrived at "true" adopted Mozambicanness, I still wouldn't recommend malaria to anyone anytime soon. It's kinda like the worst symptoms of the flu, for at least a couple days straight. That part's over with, at least (in large part supported by the amazingly kind help of Eric and Solomon, who between them have checked in on me at least once every two hours during the last few days, bringing me anything I might like and not looking at me the way I'd probably look at them if they rolled part of their blanket into a yogurt—really, those two men are saints).

Also on the positive side, one really amazing thing happened, yesterday—I've had some really weird patches of non-lucidity (one in which I apparently asked Eric to bring me some dust to eat), but I've also had some really amazingly clear moments of insight. For example, yesterday while I was reading the Book of Mormon, as much as I've loved Alma 32 for a long time and have some very dear personal associations with it, I felt like it came alive for me as I was studying yesterday, and I almost couldn't put it down. I studied for about an hour and a half, scribbling notes like crazy, and then trying to transcribe and organize them later in something that resembled sanity. It was the most amazing feeling while I was studying—but I'm very curious as to how understandable the end result is. So, Rolf's malaria-driven musings on faith, 1 2 3 go:

Faith gets a bit of a simple-minded bad name these days, to the point where it can start influencing the way even people of faith see their faith. I’ve noticed this in myself—even though I’ve felt a strong dedication to my religious beliefs from a young age, I can think of times when I’ve overemphasized the logic or reasoning behind my beliefs in order to make them feel more justified in certain company.

However, especially what I’ve been studying recently has reinforced strongly to me the truth that not only is faith not just for the simple-minded—but that true faith leads to true knowledge through a path that requires the sacrifice and struggle to help us fully appreciate it.

I started thinking about this while studying Alma 32, especially when I started studying verse 18, in which Alma explains the difference between knowledge and faith. His explanation is simple: knowledge isn’t faith, because “if a man knoweth a thing he hath no cause to believe, for he knoweth it.” This may almost seem like a cheap dismissal of knowledge, but to me it seems more like a dismissal of knowledge easily acquired. When one starts with faith, acting on that faith requires incrementally growing trust—and not blind trust, but thoughtful, informed, analyzed trust, like the kind of trust that you see build incrementally in the children of a good, loving parent, as he or she is consistently there for them. That trust over time is tested, and there is stretching, reflection and struggle—and, in the end, knowledge (to follow the same example, after years of building trust, you not only trust, but know that your mother or father is there for you and loves you). However, that end product of knowledge, without the process that was required to reach it, seems empty—if you know your father is trustworthy, but that knowledge never was tested or proven, will that knowledge lead you to be as loving, loyal and trusting to him as you would be if you had reached that same point by faith? Really, starting at faith seems like the only way to imbue knowledge with the dedication and passion that make it useful. This type of faith seems to me to be the regular starting point not just for the religious person, but for any passionate person in search of truth—in other words, all knowledge in its truest and fullest sense is reached by starting with faith. Seen in this context, it is he that dismisses the faith-driven path of a seeker of truth as the path of a simpleton that seems truly simplistic.

In verse 19, Alma explains how this difficult and struggled path from faith to knowledge demonstrates the love of God for His children: “And now, how much more cursed is he that knoweth the will of God and doeth it not, than he that only believeth, or only hath cause to believe, and falleth into transgression?” Because those who know Divine truth (or some aspect of it) and don’t practice it are more condemned than if they didn’t know it, God has prepared a way so that those who do come to know a portion (or more) of Truth are those who will have already shown their dedication to Him and It through the time and sacrifice they have made to seek It out. These—those who have sacrificed, and struggled, and who value the Truth they have found—these are they who shall be allowed to truly know, because these are they who can be trusted to live It.

Then we get to the famous definition of faith: “faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.” A similar scripture can be found in the Bible, in Hebrews 11:1, where Paul says that faith is “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” However, Paul’s version lacks something which you see here—a hope for things which are not seen, that are true. Once again, we see reason to cut the tie between Faith and Simple Minds (as much as I love 80s pop): it doesn’t take a stupid or simple person to believe in things that are true. It only takes a sensible one. Also, it’s important to note that neither Paul nor Alma says that this hope is based in nothing concrete—they only say it isn’t based in anything seen. Though somewhat harder to measure objectively, feelings can be quite concrete and identifiable—and when especially powerful, can far outweigh the memory of sights or sounds. Even more appropriate, then, that most personal experiences of faith begin with concrete feelings.

However, once those feelings are felt for the first time, the knowledge is hardly complete. The person in question must “experiment” upon what they have heard and “exercise” (Alma 32:27) their faith—faith is a principle of work, not blind acceptance. And that work is rewarded, with more and more concrete feelings: feelings of swelling, of something sprouting, of the beginnings of growth (Alma 32:30). These feelings may seem small, but they are nonetheless distinct, and can be identified as something good that comes of God. I love the simplicity of Alma’s litmus test in that sense: you can easily identify light and truth, because “whatsoever is light, is good, because it is discernible, therefore ye must know that it is good” (Alma 32:35). You might not be able to take it out and show it, but you can feel it and discern that feeling, which cannot be denied.

However, the process hasn’t stopped here, either. Knowing that something is true is not the same as knowing how and why it is true, steps which must also be taken for knowledge to become full and mature. To stop here would be like stopping after learning that electricity is an energy source, without bothering to learn how it functions or how it can be harnessed or what it can be used for. As Alma puts it, “now behold, after ye have tasted this light is your knowledge perfect? Behold I say unto you, Nay; neither must ye lay aside your faith, for ye have only exercised your faith to plant the seed that ye might try the experiment to know if the seed was good” (Alma 32:35-36). In other words, once it has been discerned, it can’t be abandoned—it must be fed. In that sense, faith is like any other living, organic thing—once you have given birth to it with those first feelings you had, once it has been given the spark of life, it must continually be fed so that it may grow big and strong.

“And behold, as the tree beginneth to grow, ye will say: Let us nourish it with great care, that it may get root, that it may grow up, and bring forth fruit unto us. And now behold, if ye nourish it with much care it will get root, and grow up, and bring forth fruit” (Alma 32:37). And not just fruit, but “a tree springing up unto everlasting life” (Alma 32:41). This is the point at which faith matures. It must still be fed (with great care, no less), just as a mature man must still be fed if he’s expected to keep on being a man, but it has become, through experience and dedicated discipleship, wise and understanding. At this point, your faith becomes more than a means of gaining knowledge, because that knowledge has already been strengthened and confirmed—it has become yours. But at this point, it also becomes a means of work, or an enabling power. Your faith becomes a vehicle of social change. Because you have reached this point of complete knowledge, and because you have reached it through faith, in a way that has made it a precious part of you for which you have sacrificed, your passion for this newly acquired knowledge will drive you to expand it. You will see the fruits of your personal growth not only in yourself, but in the lives of others. This type of faith has no limits—it can grow as much as you’re willing to believe it can. In this perspective, the words of Christ take on a much fuller meaning: “If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me” (Moroni 7:33).

Those I-Have-Arrived Moments

2007-05-18T16:38:00.000-07:00

So the power’s gone out again a few times in the last few days (hence no blog yesterday)—something I dig in part because it makes you look for much more immediate ways to occupy yourself, but which is a bit frustrating when it gets to be about that journal-writing time o’ night, and your typing speed is a whole lot faster than your writing speed.

Yesterday had one huge high point when we were visiting in Inhamízua (another of the communities where we work)—Ana Micas, the teacher/coordinator who’s easily had the hardest time learning the interactive methodology that I was sent here partly to teach (FAMA, by ProLiteracy Worldwide), did an amazing job with her class. It was the best I’ve ever seen her teach. I had seriously the biggest high after that—she’s in charge of the health classes, an older lady who’s been a nurse for most of her adult life, and though she knows everything there is to know about all of the most common diseases and maladies here and has an amazing motherly bedside manner when visiting sick people, she is very, very much not a teacher, and I’d almost given up on her learning the teaching techniques we’ve spent a few days a month learning in trainings. But today, man—she was just on. It was amazing. She followed the FAMA steps of discussion, but did so so fluidly you would never guess she was following any sort of pattern or technique. She looked as gracefully in her element as a dolphin going for a morning swim. It really made me feel, especially after all I’d been thinking about the day before, that with all the flaws and fall-backs of what I’ve done here, I have accomplished something. I seriously felt like I had just run a half-marathon, that they-should-make-an-inspirational-poster-of-this-moment feeling. Amazing.

In other cool news, I have a second phone interview with South Bronx Classical (a charter school that I’d interviewed with before) next week with their Executive Director/founder (last time it was with the principal), which will be the deciding point of whether they want me or not. I be pumped.

Big Question Musings

2007-05-16T15:40:00.001-07:00

As I was sitting and doing some gospel study in Mungassa today (one of our communities), I was reminded of another visiting day in Mbatwe, when I was studying the story of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife, and while I was Celestino came up to me and asked me what I was doing. When I told him, he asked me to tell him the story I was studying, and so I talked to him a bit about the story and about the principles it teaches of chastity and self-control. I remember him smiling as I did so, and feeling like I’d really communicated something.

It was a nice memory to have in that moment, because all morning I’d been thinking over the Family Preservation Program in my mind, and wondering if this program that I’ve invested a lot of my own energy in really is making a positive difference in the lives of the people in these communities, or if it’s worthwhile in the long run. I’m not sure—because a lot of the things I’ve seen when following up with community members and talking to them seem to indicate that most people are still only changing their behavior because of the incentives they’re receiving, and I’m worried that that behavioral change won’t continue past the time we’re in these communities. I’m worried about the possible negative effects when we pull out after three years. I’ve spent hours worrying about all of these things before, but I think especially as I get close to leaving, I’ve started wondering a lot more reflectively whether this was a project I should have gotten involved with or not. There’s no denying some of the positive effects of what we’re doing, especially the part I’ve been working with most directly, the community classes being taught—there’s no denying that people are learning things in those classes that they might not have known otherwise. But there’s also no way of knowing yet whether the bigger changes we’re seeing now thanks to the program as a whole will be sustainable in the long term. And a lot of anecdotal evidence I’m seeing makes me doubt that it will be.

There’s also no denying the fact that this has been an amazing experience, and that I’ve learned a ton—lots of practical experience working with NGOs, lots of experience training and teaching, lots more experience writing lesson plans and planning out classes and teaching moments, lots of organizational experience as I’ve been Care For Life’s monkey boy. Not to mention all the wonderful experiences I’ve had in the church here, in my calling and in home teaching visits and in other things. And even more so, there are the relationships that I’ve developed with people that I consider dear friends and near-family. But I really don’t feel like my own personal experiences and benefits are enough to say my time here has been worthwhile or not—my purpose for being here is to help Care For Life’s efforts to empower people to change their own lives, and I’m not sure whether I’ve done that. There are so many aspects of the way Care For Life does their work that I absolutely don’t agree with, and that’s made me wonder about the worthwhileness of what I’ve done for them—it’s made me wonder if I’ll ever be completely happy with any development work that I might do that I don’t organize myself. In the end, I’m still not sure—I know I’ve loved my time here, but I’m still not sure if I’ve done all that I could have done to help people here.

As I was thinking about all this sitting in the Mungassa community center, waiting for classes to start, a few things happened that reminded me of what I love about this place, though—first there were a few little kids that came in and started showing off to me, dancing a dance they’re dancing in the children’s club here and singing a few of the children’s club’s songs. Then Chimica, one of my good friends and one of the local leaders in Mungassa, came over to where I was sitting, handing me a few tangerines and sitting down next to me. We sat and chatted and ate tangerines for about a half hour—mainly about buildings in the U.S. (Chimica refused to believe that a building could be a hundred stories tall). Peaceful, good times spent with good people, people that care about me and that I care about—even if the organization I’m working with isn’t all I’d like it to be, I don’t feel like I could rightly go without recognizing amazing blessings like these.

Mozambique, I can see why Bob Dylan wrote a song about you

2007-05-15T15:44:00.000-07:00

Today was the first day in a loooooooong time that I’ve been able to be in one of the communities we work in for most of the day (it was Mbatwe), and it reminded me of most of the things I’ll miss most when I have to leave Beira in less than a month.

Around 1 PM, after spending the morning in Mbatwe and then leaving for a bit to take care of some business downtown, I was walking back when I noticed a very mischievous-looking grade schooler walking the same direction I was. He was walking about the same pace, ambling home with his backpack in his hands and bouncing off his knees. So I took my iPod headphones out and said hi. After five minutes had passed and we were best friends (in that trusting, almost-instantaneous way that grown-ups tragically forget how to do), he took me off the road a bit to show me a monkey that lives with a nearby family. After a few minutes of monkey-bonding, we continued on our way to Mbatwe and ran into another friend of his, coming back from a different school. A few adult folk that we passed on our walk looked at us three chatting and smiled—it felt kinda like being a less-malicious-and-musically-inclined pied piper. In the best of ways.

The classes that Care For Life taught and that I oversaw today had all the prototypical aspects that I’ve grown to love so much—dozens of mothers were listening, with their babies wrapped to their backs and staring at me with their still-bulging baby eyes. Dona Maria was there, an amazing old lady who was still making everyone laugh with her not-quite-old-lady-seeming comments from the back of the grass community center. A few other very strong ladies kept speaking up every few minutes, reminding me of what I love and admire about Mozambican women. A little kid that used to be afraid of me and cry whenever he saw me was holding on to one of the wooden pillars of the building and intently spinning around it with that level of focus that seems to be reserved only for three-year-olds and those boat-in-a-bottle-making guys. Kids outside were playing jump rope and running around with their little cars made out of spare wire. A few others were playing soccer with a ball the size of an apple. All of the meetings and classes began and ended with songs (I love the songs here. Why wasn’t I born with a natural gift for harmony? Not fair, I tell you).

After and before the classes, a lot of kids were hanging around the community center, smiling whenever I would look at them and beckoning for me to come play—I tried to resist interrupting the class while it was going, but it’s tough when there are so many smiling little kids to chase around and play airplane with. I love walking up to each of them to shake their hand and hearing them laugh when I shake their arms all up and down and around. I love being called Tio (literally uncle, but used pretty widely as an affectionate title for an adult that’s not related to you). I loved seeing one kid grab another’s hand and try to shake it, saying, “No no no, the white guy does it like this.”

I love my life.

Teach For America is gonna be amazing

2007-05-14T17:02:00.000-07:00

Tonight I finished this really, really cool little book that Teach For America has as the first part of its self-training program that they ask you to do before entering the formal training they do starting in June—it’s the retold story of real a TFA elementary school teacher going through her first four years of teaching. And it’s amazing—I mean, yes, I am a total sucker for inspirational teacher stories, and always have been, but part of what made this one so touching is that it’s not a retelling starring Michelle Phieffer or the Boys Don’t Cry girl, even when those are based on true stories. It’s real. The kids who completely turn around their achievement are real. This woman and everything she did is real. I dig things that are real—because they much more vividly lead you to remember real amazing stories from your own life, and are so much more inspiring in terms of showing you what is really possible with a little idealism and genuine love for your fellowman.

It’s interesting that prepping for Teach For America feels a lot like prepping for a mission—not just because of the anxiety or sense of limbo you feel going into any major life change, but because both are hard things that you only do if you want to do them, and both are focused on people. Both are experiences that can be amazing and life-changing for you and those you work with, if you put in the effort to make it so. I think one of the reasons this is on my mind is because I ended up talking online for a while with Hana, the preteen daughter of Marcelo and Edite, one of the families I got closest to on my mission—and like it always is with them, I just got on the biggest high from hearing about how amazingly well they’re all doing, and from giving and feeling once again that level of love that you only feel with family, or those that are family in everything but blood. I can’t wait to get to New York and plunge myself into the twitchy little grade schoolers who I hope will be the newest addition to that group.

I dig relieving society

2007-05-13T04:09:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I was the priesthood supervision for a Relief Society activity—the first time I’ve ever seen that happen to a single guy under 25. It was really, really cool, though—it was a rather belated celebration of the anniversary of the Relief Society (March 17^th), and a couple sisters gave amazing talks. One sister talked about equality in marriage, about walking side by side with your husband—someone very, very desperately needed here (though I think the husbands tend to need to hear this more than the wives). One Brazilian sister who’s here with her husband as a missionary said something that I loved, because I feel the same way—she said, “I really admire you Mozambican women. Without you, this country wouldn’t exist.” When you think about all that the women do here, holding up both the family and the family income, it’s amazing to think about the strength and capability of these women. Whoever said women are the weaker sex, aside from being a complete cretin, has never been to Sub-Saharan Africa.

Next week I'm gonna look into the process for getting a walking license

2007-05-12T01:41:00.000-07:00

After the time I’ve spent abroad in developing countries, I’ve gotten to the point where I expect a certain amount of bureaucracy when doing just about anything involving the government. But today was a high point of how funny and just plain ridiculous bureaucracy can get. I might’ve found it frustrating if it wasn’t so hilarious.

So a few months after I got here, and after riding my bike a whole lot, I found out that it’s illegal to ride a bike here without a bike-driving license. That’s right, a bike-driving license. I remember laughing the first time I heard that. And mainly because it all seemed so ridiculous, I didn’t really take seriously the idea of getting one for most of my time here. But then, a couple months ago, as much as I’d already gotten most of the use I would get out of my bike, I realized that I wouldn’t feel quite right unless I did my part to “obey, honor, and sustain the law”, and so I started trying to make time for the process to get a bike license. And today, I did it. First I went to the city government building, where I had the usual series of papers to fill out and take to different windows to get stamped and paid for (As anyone in the fam would probably say about now, or anyone else who’s seen Asterix and the Twelve Tasks, “You have to go window 838 to get the pink form, but before that you need to go to window 827 to get the green form in triplicate,” etc etc etc.). I then learned that I had to have two photos, which I actually knew already and had already taken, but left at home—so I had a hour (the driving test was scheduled to start at one in the afternoon, and it was noon) to rush back to my house on the other side of town, grab the photos, and run back. When I got back, about 15 minutes late, I had another form to fill out, and then I was sent to take the test at the Fire Department about 10 blocks away. When I got to the Fire Department, as opposed to seeing what I might have expected to see (a group of people heading off to take the test, which I might have to beg a little to be able to join, having come late), I found about three or four firemen kinda hanging around. When I asked about the test, one of ‘em got up to poke around a bit for me and find out what the process was (something seemed to tell me that this “the test is only offered Friday and Tuesday at one” bit wasn’t exactly a hard and fast rule), and I found out that the guy that gives the bike test is eating lunch. So, after trying to politely decline an offer to just have my papers signed and let me be on my way without taking the test, I sat down to wait for the testing guy.

When he showed up, he kinda reminded me of a 5-foot-one version of George C. Scott in Patton. Very shined shoes, the best pressed uniform you’d ever seen, and a face that said “Those who have attempted to give me crap are buried under the fire truck”. At this point, I gotta say I was pretty curious as to what would be included on this test.

Which is part of what makes the test itself so hilarious. I never once had to get on my bike—the test consisted of four questions, said with the straightest the-toilet-just-blew-up-in-my-face face you’ve ever seen:

Question #1: What is a bicycle?

I mean, c’mon—questions about traffic signs, yielding to cars, whatever, I might have been expecting it. But what is a bicycle?

Question #2: How does a bicycle work?
My answer: Um, your legs give it the power to go?
[Insert I’m-gonna-kill-you pause and stare right here]
Toilet-face-man: With your legs? Don’t you push it with your feet?
Me: Um, aren’t your feet part of your legs?
Toilet-face-man: [Cue look of utter disgust and shaking of head and “Tsk, tsk, tsk”]
Me: OK, yes, that’s exactly what I mean, with the feet.

Question #3: What does it mean to have priority on the road?

Apparently, I soon learned, there are tons of intersections with no stop or yield signs, and when four cars or vehicles meet at one of these, the law dictates that one of them must decide to let everyone else go first, and that that driver will make sure that everyone else crosses in an orderly fashion. So traffic laws here are built on the scientific assumption that there will always be one very kind, patient driver out of every four. ….yes.

Question #4: What is an intersection?
My answer: A place where two roads meet.
Toilet-face-man: Just two?
Me: Um, no I suppose not—a place where two or more roads meet.
Toilet-face-man [said dead serious]: WRONG! [Pause for dramatic effect] …It is the meeting-place of two or more roads.

I had some serious trouble keeping a straight face during this oh-so-thorough examination. Especially when I found out another guy who arrived after me failed on the What-is-a-bicycle question. If anyone is ever looking for any material for a Danny-Kaye-style slapstick comedy, I know a fireman they need to meet.

Remind me never to take a job as a translator

2007-05-10T15:10:00.000-07:00

Today was a day of awesomeness. Why? Because I finally finished translating the curriculum I’ve been working on into English. I've had a working draft of it in Portuguese for a while, but as of today, it is available for the whole English-speaking world to see. Today I proofread it again, looked over it, and felt the most satisfied that I’ve felt in months. DUDE! DONE! How awesome is that?? Eric and I watched Muppets from Space to celebrate. It was pure awesomeness.

P.S. If anyone who reads this hasn’t gotten a copy and wants one, I’m looking for all the extra proofreading eyes I can get.

Who knew a high five could mean so much?

2007-05-09T15:46:00.000-07:00

I talked to Ryan (the intern that just left a few weeks ago) for a few minutes today, and when I asked him how life back in the States was, he said, “I never know when I’m being funny or not”. That really made me laugh, ‘cause I can totally picture the same thing happening when I get back—one of the things I think I’ll most sincerely miss when I leave here, in terms of just day-to-day personal interaction bits o’ culture, is the way people respond to jokes here. When you make a funny joke, people not only laugh, but they put out their hand for you to slap, high-five-style (though usually down low, so it’d be more of a low-five). I gotta say, funny jokes are a lot more satisfying when followed by some real from-the-gut-laughing and a high-five than they are when followed by the polite smiling and eyebrow-raising we Americans seem to be more fond of. After getting used to big reactions like that, I could easily see myself wondering if people got it if all my jokes brought was the American eyebrow raise. Don't worry Mr. Ryan, I’m gonna try to bring the hand-slap over. We'll start the biggest fad since tight-rolled pants.

Don't telllllllll me, it's not worth dying fooooooooooooor

2007-05-08T16:15:00.000-07:00

Solomon told Eric today that he looked like Bryan Adams. A reprise of the Robin Hood love theme was unavoidable.

Why can't we just forget ourselves and go to work?

2007-05-07T16:18:00.000-07:00

One thing that’s been making me really sad here recently is to see Gil Vicente, the director of the program I’m writing the curriculum for within Care For Life, playing a whole bunch of power games against Solomon, who’s the national director of the organization (i.e. Gil’s boss). Gil interviewed for the big boss job at the same time as Solomon, has more experience in NGOs than Solomon, and is older than Solomon, and I think is very jealous that he didn’t get the national director job, because he keeps talking bad about Solomon and pointing out his faults and errors behind his back, and doing all kinds of really stupid power play things that really make me frustrated and mad, especially since these types of things are exactly what messed up and effectively paralyzed Care For Life back when Augusto was here doing the exact same thing with João. It’s really sad to see this type of fight-for-the-big-dog-spot ego crap happen, especially in a non-profit organization like this that targets helping disadvantaged people empower themselves—I mean it really blows my mind, how could you go into this kind of work to advance your own ego? If that’s what you want to do, why couldn’t you go into business or something, where at least that dog-eat-dog crap seems more fitting? It’s really sad to me—like when you see people coming into the Church here for the same reasons, not because they really feel like they have found the LDS Church as a means to draw closer to God, but because they see it as a big rich American organization with benefits to offer. I talked to Solomon about this for a while this afternoon, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Gil Vicente leaves Care For Life in the next little bit—whatever the chosen solution is, I really hope to not see or hear about Care For Life going through the same time-wasting internal power politics that were such a waste when I got here.

Rolf Digs Animals

2007-05-06T10:33:00.000-07:00

So Friday morning, Eric, the Hobsons and I left Beira early to go to Goronghosa National Park, the biggest safari park in Mozambique. We actually went past Goronghosa (the city and the park), trying to get to another town further north where one of the Hobsons’ missionaries from Cape Verde is going to school and studying to be a teacher (she’s the only one of their Mozambican missionaries that they hadn’t had a chance to see yet during their time here). We didn’t make it the whole way—we made it to a city a few hours away and needed gas, not having stopped because we hadn’t seen any gas stations, not realizing that the collections of yellow plastic buckets that you’d often see with a guy sitting on them were, in fact, the local gas stations. We finally stopped at one of these to fill our tank (basically, pouring gas from one of the buckets into a siphon made from an old two-liter into our gas tank)—I also bought some honey in an old 20-ouncer that a kid was selling on the side of the road. Way tasty. Unfortunately the gas wasn’t quite as good as the honey, and we ended up having car trouble and were lucky to make it back to Goronghosa (the city outside the park, with the same name), where we got it fixed. The saddest part was that we weren’t able to see the Hobsons’ missionary—but we were all mainly grateful that we weren’t stuck with a broken-down car by the side of the road in the middle of REALLY-nowhere, Mozambique. So we headed to the park, and by the time we got into the park and the camp, it was dark, and the Hobsons were pretty tired from all the trouble, so we called it a night.

And yesterday was our big safari day! Well, very-fun-even-if-not-big safari day. We did a lot of driving around, and saw a fair amount of cool animals, interspersed by extended periods of grass-watching. It was really fun, though, kidding aside—especially just for the chance to chat with the Hobsons and Eric the whole time, who are all people I love and love talking to, made even cooler by being in such a peaceful, beautiful place, and seeing a number of God’s most beautiful creatures. I think I would be bored out of my mind to be on the staff here, and I think I could live the rest of my life happily without even going on another safari, but it’s been a very nice thing to do once. If there were a way to do it not in a car, hiking or biking or something, I think I’d love it. Too bad that with lions and elephants and hippos and all that might be, y’know, fatal.

We didn’t see any elephants or lions or leopards—we did see a hippo from way far away, a couple small different types o’ cats, and tons of various and very pretty gazelle-related things and very amusing-looking warthogs. At one point on one of the roads, Brother Hobson saw a few piles of elephant dung and got very, very excited. Once he ran over it and got very excited when it squished, going, “Ooo, look it’s fresh!” It was kinda hard not to laugh. Later we went on a night drive after dark, led by some of the two of the park guides (a Zimbabwean blonde surfer-ish dude and a Mozambican girl), who had a series of rather amusing old-married-couple-with-only-one-remote-control-type spats over who held the floodlight. During the course of the whole day, a number of times I felt impressed by the sheer beauty of the place, which is a very lush and pretty green place—it made me think of the Creation (we actually had a really interesting conversation in the car in this sense about the endowment ceremony), and our stewardship over the earth. For the first time, my mind made a connection between that stewardship and D&C 121:39—“We have learned by sad experience that it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority, as they suppose, they will immediately begin to exercise unrighteous dominion.” In that context, it suddenly made so much more sense way people feel so free to exploit the environment—because our natural impulse in any situation of power, if we do not control ourselves, is to exercise unrighteous dominion. It’s a depressing realization, but it makes a ton of sense—and helps as a reminder of my need to keep tabs on the natural man within myself.

We took a break in the middle of the day, while the Hobsons rested a bit, I read my scriptures, and Eric wandered around a bit. I was wondering where he was until I turned my head a bit while reading, and saw him out of the corner of my eye near a building that some local workers were knocking down. He had asked for one of the hammers, and was taking a turn knocking down one of the walls himself. I couldn’t help thinking that that is the epitome of Eric: looking around until he finds some way to do something and help. I love that guy.

Today we took our time getting up at Goronghosa, as we weren’t in much of a hurry, and after eating a small breakfast and packing up and such, we headed out on our way home. We talked a bit to Mario, the sculptor who makes the stuff for the gift shop, who I had talked to a bit the night before and become friends with—my only regret about meeting new good people and sharing experiences with them is when you realize you have to leave and you can feel that the person will miss having you to talk to, even if you barely knew each other. That’s how I felt this morning.

Before we left the grounds, we went to a lookout spot called Bué Maria (which means “Blessed Maria” in Sena—like Bua Jesu in the traditional evangelical song we sing a lot at work). It was a really pretty spot, and one thing I liked even more on the drive back from it is that we stopped at this overgrown old chapel on the side of the road. Eric and I tried to look around inside, and it was a bit hard, as it was really grown over, but as we were leaving, I felt an impression to go back inside and say a prayer, to simply give thanks for the chance to spend, on the Lord’s day, at least some of my time in a house dedicated to His name. As I said that prayer, and really felt that gratitude to be where I was, a feeling of peace and comfort and warmth came over me. I’d been anxious since yesterday about the issue of staying overnight at the park into Sunday, not being able to go to church, and having to pay people to work on the Sabbath day. But as I stood in that overgrown old church and prayed, I felt the most comforting peace and warmth in my chest—it felt like the Lord was telling me, “It’s okay. You’re okay.” Moments like these remind me of why people give so many thanks and sing so many praises for the comfort and, specifically, the peace of the gospel. I felt that peace today.

On the drive back, we had some great conversations—really, at least half of what’s made the whole weekend great have been the conversations we’ve had in the car. It’s really reminded me of the long and thoughtful conversations my family would have on our summer month-long car trips to visit family out West. This weekend we talked about race, social class, cross-cultural issues, Cheney speaking at graduation, tons of things. I was reminded of family, and that made it all the more awesome. Like life. Life is awesome.

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away

2007-05-02T15:21:00.000-07:00

This afternoon a girl who started working with Care For Life on Monday, and who no-one knew was pregnant, started suffering while walking around in Mungassa (the village we were visiting today) and had a miscarriage. I had gone to the morning meeting in Mungassa, but afterwards I had gone back to the office to continue translating the curriculum, and the first word I got of all of this was around 3:30, when Gil Vicente called me telling me what had happened, saying the girl had been rushed to the hospital, but that the fetus was still in Mungassa wrapped up in someone’s backpack, and needed to be taken to the hospital for follow-up tests for the mother. About a half an hour later, after a lot of confusing back and forth about who was out with one of Care For Life’s cars and who could possibly go pick up the other workers in Mungassa and who could take the fetus to the hospital, I found myself speeding to Mungassa in one of Care For Life’s pickups, still stunned by what seemed simultaneously so tragic and so surreal. The woman turned out to be okay, and everyone got to where they needed to be, but as I drove home, especially, I couldn’t get the child off of my mind. As much as the rational part of my brain kept telling me that this was nothing new, and that children all around me in this country die daily from malnutrition and disease, it was as always the sudden proximity to tragedy that now made it all so real. I’ve been thinking a lot about my own future children lately, and as I thought about how it might possibly feel had that lost child been mine, it seemed too painful to even consider. Several people I know here came to mind—Luiza, who can’t be much over 30 and has lost three children. João, the kind old man who was the first Mozambican to feed me lunch, who had lost five. As I thought about these good people, it seemed like the only appropriate response was to let myself be humbled by the capriciousness of death, and realize how much each moment of life is like a fortune in my hands.

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy

2007-05-01T15:30:00.000-07:00

I feel like I just need to take a moment, or several moments, or as many moments as I can, to just sit quietly and drink in what a beautiful day this has been. In the last several hours, I have felt overwhelmed with blessings—firstly, there’s this morning. Today was International Labor Day, and Care For Life had a party after the big parade downtown for all of its employees. There wasn’t a stereo around at first (and I wish one hadn’t shown up), so we started by singing some traditional local songs, some religious, some which I had never heard before, all amazing. I caught myself, dancing and singing praises to God in Sena and Ndau, and was just flooded with a feeling of how at home I felt, and how much I love this country. It’s been nearly a year now, and these songs and dances that a year ago had me watching jaw-dropped and wishing I could be a part of them now were a part of me. As the group would open a circle for dancers to enter and strut their stuff, I now felt excited rather than anxious to be pushed in the middle, only to laugh together and clasp hands in congratulations with those around me as I would eventually step out for another to enter. After the songs eventually wore us out to where we could only sit and look satisfied, people started telling jokes and stories and riddles, one jumping up to tell his as soon as another was finished, with each one feeding off of the energy and joy-of-company brought by the last. As I stood up several times to throw out my own, hearing the laughter of these friends that are so dear to me and sitting down with a smile on my own face, I felt at home. I felt that feeling of homeness that you so rarely feel outside of your actual home, that feeling of belonging and love and pure enjoyment of the company of good people that feels like what heaven must feel like.

Then, this afternoon, my good and dear BYU friend Eric arrived, here to work with Care For Life’s family gardens over the summer. It was so good to see him, and it’s so good to have him here—he’s a dear friend and a kindred spirit, and I’m so happy to be able to spend this last month with him before I leave.

Then later this evening, I was reading through some training materials I had been sent by Teach For America, and as I’ve often felt since signing up with them, I felt excited for the chance to learn more about the logistics and practical aspects of effectively teaching disadvantaged groups to overcome their disadvantages in impossible-seeming situations, from a group that draws from such an amazing pool of experience, from thousands of teachers over more than a decade. I was reminded of why, along with a rather visceral desire to give back to the system that helped me become who I am today, I joined Teach For America in the first place. But as I thought about this, I was also struck by a rather unsaid-but-felt sentiment I’ve noticed from most of the TFA people I’ve worked with, which is a sort of unspoken assumption that, in fighting educational inequality, our focus must be in the U.S. Granted, I’m sure that if any of the people who are helping me prepare for TFA were asked to compare educational inequalities in the U.S. to educational inequalities on the international level, especially in developing countries, they would say that Oh yes, of course it’s worse out there. But to recognize that, without doing anything about it—Wendy Kopp (the lady who founded Teach For America’s) has consistently used in her rhetoric the argument that it is a moral imperative for us to provide equal opportunities for all children, everywhere. How could we not want to take something like this well of practical experience and eye-lighting idealism that Teach For America has harnessed and try to use it internationally? I started thinking about the possibilities for Teach For America-type programs in Brazil, in Mozambique, all over the world, with idealists in every country fighting for their children’s rights to equal opportunity, and once again I couldn’t help but feel that fire, but feel blessed, blessed to have my life, to have this time, to have these opportunities to help facilitate or enact change.

Then there is my mother—I was just checking my email, and learned about the amazing effort she’s thrown into something as seemingly unimportant as a dentist’s appointment for me in the weeks that I’ll be home in Austin, and I felt, like I’ve felt so many times, just how much my mom loves me. No son could ask for a more amazing mother.

I think about today, and about my life, and I understand why people invented hymns, as a weak human attempt to try to display their gratitude and their love to God, because I feel like singing. But at the same time, I feel like that wouldn’t be enough—like I said at first, it almost feels like the only appropriate reaction to so many blessings is a reverent silence. Like Shakespeare said, “Silence is the perfectest herald of joy”. Or like Ammon said, “I cannot say the smallest part which I feel.” My cup runneth over. Glory to God in the highest.

Eternal Dadship

2007-04-30T14:53:00.000-07:00

Rachid and I had a really nice home teaching visit tonight—it was one of those nights where the lesson really feels spiritual, not just being an obligatory part of the visit. Plus, I just love Joaquim and Ana Maria and their kids—they’re wonderful people. And their little baby Jeshua is seriously adorable, and the most playful little guy you ever saw. He’s particularly fond of noses, ears, and glasses. And climbing.

Today, while headed downtown to buy a new cell phone battery, I was listening to a really interesting archive mp3 of a BYU Devotional by Bruce Hafen called “Women, Feminism, and the Blessings of the Gospel” (for those that are curious, you can get all kinds of amazing old devotionals and talks here, as mp3s, PDFs, whatever). One thing I like about Elder Hafen is that, even when there are details in his talks and speeches that come up that one might not agree with, he’s such a thoughtful man that you’re able to see that you agree on the big picture and thus are able to let some things slide, just in the same way as you would hope he would let it slide should you be the one talking and him the one disagreeing ever so slightly with a particular word choice or phrasing.

Anyhow, one of the things that I started thinking about as he was talking was a man’s role in the home. I started thinking about the doctrine that our role here is to strive to become more like our Heavenly Parents—and that got me thinking about what I know of my Heavenly Father and His priorities. He’s created worlds without number through His endless power—and yet, His preferred title for Himself is not “Heavenly Creator”, but “Heavenly Father.” The Man that it is my purpose in life to try to become, more than anything, lives for His family, and does everything within His grasp that He can for the eternal well-being of His family. When you think about how so many LDS men simplify their roles, and focus on the provider aspect, that seems like such an amazing robbery that these men are pushing on themselves. God is not our Heavenly Provider—He’s our Heavenly Father. He has power to do amazing and good things, much more illustrious than the ones that tempt us (being able to whip up a new solar system makes getting a promotion to mid-management seem rather crass), but, that’s not His focus. His focus is us. The work that is most important to Him is our immortality and eternal life. It really brings to mind a quote my dad often cites from an old Michigan friend, that “Mormon men should have jobs, not careers.” This is something I’ve already thought a lot about and have really felt passionate about for a few years now, but today I feel like I was taught to understand a bit more deeply the “why” behind it all. And (though little Jeshua might’ve also had something to do with this) I’ve never felt more excited to become a dad. Y’know, whenever that happens.

Bikes = Awesome. Cheney = LAME.

2007-04-29T15:26:00.000-07:00

Today's been a day of much biking, thanks to a whole bunch of different church responsibilities that all had stuff happening today. I dig bikes. And the buffness and satisfied sweatiness they bring.

P.S. If anyone is on the hunt for evidence of Cheney lameness (not that this is a fact that it takes much to prove), check out here.

Jealous. JEALOUS, I say!

2007-04-28T14:30:00.000-07:00

Man—especially after looking at all the photos I could find online, as well as reading Gabe Dominguez’s entry about the commencement on his tour blog and all his comments about meeting Nader and Jack Healey, and even more so hearing a first-hand account of it from one of my favorite folks, I’m officially very, very jealous that I wasn’t at BYU’s Alternative Commencement on Thursday. Officially. Very jealous. Man, it makes me so happy to see all this happening and bubbling up in Utah County, a community I love so much exactly because it’s a place where you can meet more internationally aware and politically engaged Mormons who are internationally aware and politically engaged because of their faith, than anywhere else in the world. To see that community really coming together and speaking with a voice, as it did Thursday—that’s beautiful to me.

Today’s been a busy day—preparing a talk for church tomorrow this morning, traipsing around my rural neighborhood home teaching this afternoon (and man, it’s still pretty hot considering we’re in the “cold” season around here) and then going to at Institute at my local branch, then a phone interview with a really cool-looking charter school in the Bronx (which was interrupted twice by power outages—man, that principal is a patient fella), then talking to Mom and Dad and some favorite folk on the phone. It’s been a pretty long day—but an awesome one. I dig awesome.

I think the phone interview went really well—he said I should hear back in about two weeks after he’s talked to all the other candidates. I won’t be too worried if I don’t get it, but I’m feeling pretty good about the interview, so who knows?

My buddy Amude got robbed today, about half of his monthly salary. Especially considering how little he gets, and how many people he supports (his mother and most of his siblings), that’s huge. I really hope he’ll be okay this month. For those of you that pray, keep him in your prayers.

You Just Keep Getting Smaller, Mr. Global Village

2007-04-27T15:59:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I catch myself thinking about how different life must have been, even 25 years ago, around the time I was born. It’s amazing to think how gloriously interconnected the world is now. How else could I, in one day, talk over an interview prospect over the phone with Teach For America, take my boss to the airport, listen to Dick Cheney’s BYU commencement speech and read Pete Ashdown’s alternative one, translate part of a curriculum, take a training on New York state child abuse laws, trade favorite songs with a dear friend, watch this Wednesday’s episode of Lost, start downloading the complete audio to BYU’s alternative commencement and still also take a nice long bike ride around town and enjoy this country on the other side of the world that I’ve grown to love so much? All I can say is, the internet’s awesome, and the world’s a much smaller place.

The Power of Change

2007-04-26T13:51:00.000-07:00

It’s been a thoughtful day and evening. There wasn’t anything too groundbreaking about today—I spent it translating more of the curriculum into English. But as I was going, and especially this afternoon and evening, I’ve been thinking a lot about a few things that have been on my mind over the past few weeks. A few weeks ago, I thought about a few people I hadn’t treated with the respect they deserved back in high school and right after it, before my mission. These were things that I felt that I had dealt with already and remembered trying to make compensation for and leave behind years ago, but for some reason they just weren’t leaving my mind. Today after work, I was studying some church articles and conference talks, and I felt a prompting that I’ve felt several times over the past several weeks—that I needed to contact these people again and sincerely apologize to them for the way I had treated them.

I hadn’t followed through on the prompting yet because I truly remembered having dealt with all of that already, and a part of me felt like I had already put all that behind me, and so I was wondering what it was that was left unresolved. This has been bothering me for several weeks, and it’s reopened more so than I think I ever felt at the time the remorse I feel for treating these people I love in the wrongful way that I did. As I’ve thought about it, I think therein lies my answer—if there’s anything that was still unresolved about all this, it was that I hadn’t really let the full weight of my bad treatment settle in on me at the time. I hadn’t really fully considered the feelings I had hurt and the sorrow I had caused—in my more immature spiritual state back then, I was more worried with getting the whole repentance thing over with than actually paying full penance for what I had done. And I think these last few weeks have given me a new vision in that sense—they’ve helped me to much more fully realize the respect that I should give to all people, because I’ve felt more deeply the sorrow of not having done so. They’ve given me a new vision of the eternal worth and preciousness of the people I’d hurt, as I realized more fully the impact of my actions on them. In general, they’ve helped me change into what I hope is a better, more loving, more respectful, more Christlike man.

Because really, at its heart, that is what repentance is for—a means to make us better people. A means for us to learn from our mistakes and grow as eternal individuals, a teeny step closer to our full potential. Tonight I wrote emails to these people I had hurt, and while doing so, more names started coming to mind of others that I had treated badly, and the list of emails to write kept growing longer. But at the end of the evening, I felt peace—I felt peace having sincerely told so many of my old friends (and in some cases almost lost friends) how much I loved them and how sorry I was that I had treated them with less than the respect they deserve. I felt peace knowing that I had sincerely treated a few more of God’s children according to their eternal worth. This, to me, is the glory of repentance—so many people talk about repentance and sin in the Church as something which pins you down with guilt, which feels like a chain around your neck. And I can understand how some people might interpret things that way. But to me, repentance is the one thing that has given me the most hope and joy and love in my life—it is the facilitator that has helped me overcome my mistakes and become bit by bit more of the man that I hope to be. It is what makes it so that my life isn’t a dreary, hopeless existence. It, and the sacrifice of Christ that has made it possible, is the greatest gift I’ve ever been given. I know that the power of change available through repentance is real—I know because I’ve felt it. I know because I’m feeling it right now. I know that Jesus Christ is real, and that He is my Savior, and that through Him I can become clean and more like Him. I feel the truth of that in my heart.

A Brazilian pastor—my alter ego

2007-04-25T13:19:00.000-07:00

I like being mistaken for people or things that I’m not. Like a week and a half ago at Rachid’s wedding—all of his wife’s visiting relatives referred to me as “Pastor” and asked me to say a prayer at the beginning and another before we ate. Later on when they had some dancing, I was outside talking to some of the relatives when Rachid’s mom sidled up to me and said, “What, pastors can’t dance?”, pulling me in for a slow song. Moms can’t resist my clerical hottness.

It reminded me of a time when I was walking down the street by the beach in Salvador, Brazil a few summers ago, wearing my Palmeiras soccer jersey (they’re a soccer team from São Paulo). A guy who was parking cars waved at me all friendly-like, and came over as if he wanted to talk to me. After all the normal warm baiano (person from Bahia, the state Salvador’s in) greetings that even strangers get, he complimented me on my shirt and asked me if I wanted to trade. He said he had a Bahia jersey (one of the two main local teams in Salvador) at home, and he wanted to know if I was willing to swap with him. I was a bit reluctant, as I was kinda attached to my Palmeiras jersey, but he insisted, adding, “C’mon, please—a favor from a paulista (person from São Paulo) to a baiano! You can get one when you go back home!”

Now, mistaking me for a priest or a pastor is funny and makes for a good story, but mistaking me for a Brazilian? This fella knew his way to Rolf’s heart.

I still didn’t give up my jersey, though.

2007-04-25T13:18:00.001-07:00

“I’m asking you to please give me that one!”

2007-04-24T14:08:00.000-07:00

So Ryan flew off today around two, and now we’re down to two here at our apartment (Solomon and I—João’s currently in the States to present some info on our program to the American Board of Directors and go to his son’s graduation at BYU). As much as it’s a bit quiet without our other boys, I love Solomon (the new national director of Care For Life, who moved here a few months ago and who's living with us until he can find a house and send word for his family to move here)—he’s such a genuinely good, honest and caring guy, and hilariously quirky. One example: yesterday Ryan, Solomon and I were all lounging about at night and chatting, enjoying Ryan’s last night here, and I was snacking on some discounted Easter chocolate I’d bought at the supermarket downtown. To be polite, I offered each of them an egg each time I’d grab one, and each time Solomon very politely said no thank you. After that happened about five times, I figured he didn’t like chocolate in general, and set about eating the rest myself—when I got down to the last one and was about to put it in my mouth, though, his eyes got huge and he stuck out his hand at me, anxiously almost yelling, “I’m asking you to please give me that one! Please give me that one!” It caught me so off guard I just started laughing, especially because my first thought was, “That is so Solomon.” Oh man, I love that guy. Whenever we’re talking someone starts laughing.

Gulabojabo

2007-04-23T17:36:00.000-07:00

I discovered the name the other day for a little dessert donut-hole type thing that I really like—Gulabojabo. That makes me like it even more—I mean really, they're just donut holes, but the name just brings it to a whole other level. Anything with a name like that is instant awesome.

Gulabojabo!

I love Sundays

2007-04-22T15:29:00.000-07:00

Today was the second and last day of District Conference, and it was amazing, too. Early this morning there was a special session for new members in the Church and for people just getting to know the Church, and as I sat listening to the good messages being shared, a thought I’ve had a number of times before came back to mind: when discussing the LDS doctrine of the pre-existence, that we all existed as spirits before being born into this life and that we lived with God, the Father of our spirits, and that our actions there were a strong factor in determining where we would be born here, one of the things that has most aggravated me is to hear people twist or contort that doctrine to mean that those born into poor or humble circumstances, or those born outside of the Church, are born into those circumstances as some kind of punishment for their actions in the pre-existence. As I’ve thought about it, what makes most sense and feels right to me is to assume exactly the opposite—those that were strongest and best and brightest in the pre-existence are those that have been born into the humblest circumstances, and are those who have been born outside of the Church, with the responsibility to find it for themselves, because God knew that they had the strength within them to triumph in those circumstances. Whereas when looking at myself, it’s easy to think that God was being nice to me in letting me be born into the Church and into such a comfortable financial position, because he knew I would need that cushion. Well, I don’t think I would feel comfortable trying to apply this idea to all the people who have been born into the Church or into comfortable financial positions—but I know I would definitely apply it to myself.

Another moment in the conference had me thinking similar thoughts: Elder Barreto, a Brazilian missionary who’s about to go home in two weeks, spoke for a short time in the general session of conference today, telling the story of his maternal grandfather and his father, both of whom were people who found the Church for themselves as young men, served missions, and brought their families up in the Church. After telling a bit of both their stories, he talked about how proud he felt to be able to stand up today and represent this legacy that he has been given by the strong men that have gone before him in his family. As he spoke, I thought of several families I taught as a missionary, Marcelo and Edite’s family, Manoel and Maria’s family, and how beautiful the day will be when I’ll see their children and grandchildren serving missions and giving thanks for those that went before them. I thought of my own children, too, but more so than anything in that moment, I felt a swell of gratitude for the chance I’ve had to see and be inspired by the strength of so many good people who have converted to this Church on their own. The fire in their eyes feeds mine.

It should be a crime to feel this happy

2007-04-21T14:25:00.000-07:00

Today has been a spiritual feast. It was the first day of District Conference today, and ever since meetings started this morning, it’s been a flood. President Packard, the mission president, is the visiting authority who’s been presiding and been the primary speaker in pretty much all the meetings we’ve had today. As much as a part of my pride might’ve wondered why, I’m really glad they didn’t ask me to translate this time (President Packard doesn’t speak Portuguese), because I was able to get sooooooo much more out of what was said, especially by President Packard.

The thing that most stuck with me was what he taught about false traditions, and the need to leave them behind. He taught very directly and very powerfully against some false traditions that are common here in Mozambique, especially the tradition of lobolo, or the traditional ceremony in which you basically pay for your wife. As he was speaking, though, I felt a very strong personal push to sit down and think about and make a list of all of my own false traditions, my American ones. I thought a lot about President Kimball’s talk, “The False Gods We Worship.” I realized so strongly how all people, no matter where they live, have false cultural traditions that interfere with and separate them from the purity of the gospel, and how urgent my need is to map out, recognize, and confront those same false traditions and barriers in my own life, just as the members of the Church here or anywhere need to do.

There were more insights than just that, a flood really. But above all, in general, especially in the meetings tonight, what made today so sacred was how it brought to mind so many amazing spiritual feasts that I’ve had in the past, in the Church, in the tropics, at night—the broadcast of the Nauvoo Temple dedication when I was in the Rio Negro stake center in Manaus, the missionary fireside we had one Sunday night when I was serving in the small river town of Itacoatiara, the temple fireside I went to with mom and dad when we were all in Salvador at a stake center right on the ocean, the mission conferences all over Manaus that would sometimes extend into the night, the sacrament meetings I’ve been to at night both in Manaus and in Salvador—there’s something about hearing divine truths in such a tropical paradise, with the moist air wrapping around you like a Father’s embrace and all His creations filling the sky above you, that makes it all even more vivid and even more sacred. When I think about it, I’m not quite sure why that is—but I do know it’s yet another part of what’s pushing me to want to spend my life in places like this.

I put nickels in the oven, and it makes mooooosic

2007-04-20T14:00:00.000-07:00

A good friend sent me a few songs today, and it sent me on a music-listening stint—I love those. I love going through all my music and rediscovering all the people I love but haven’t listened to in a while. I love listening to a band or singer or group I love for the first time in a year or a couple years and feeling like I’m listening to them for the first time. I love finding excuses to listen to music for hours on end—especially when it’s making a mix CD for someone I care about. Or mix tape, even better. Ah, mix tapes—so many frozen-moment memories of junior high and high school are crystallized by my old mix tapes. To this day, when I put in one of those, after one or two songs I’m already back in whatever semester I made it in, remembering drives around Provo in winter with Camilla and Jessie, or record-shop-hunting with big sis Hoolia, or rocking out with Chris on the drive between seminary and Johnston High in Austin, or freaking out Harrison my old buddy and bass player by too-energetically getting my groove on while driving. Seriously, mix tapes capture those moments like nothing I know. And when a high school crush came along, there was no better way to break the awkward pubescent ice than by making a mix tape.

Okay, fine, that’s it—I’m making one now. Who needs sleep anyway?

Children of Royalty

2007-04-19T15:59:00.000-07:00

In my Book of Mormon daily study I’m in Alma right now—today I was in chapter 22. Ammon’s relationship with Lamoni and his people never ceases to touch me as I read these chapters (from 17 to around 27)—despite the fact that Lamoni and his people had lived all their lives hating and seeking the destruction of Ammon’s people, Ammon’s first reaction when he met King Lamoni was to offer himself as a servant. He did everything Lamoni asked of him (Alma 18:8-10), and continually abased himself before Lamoni (Alma 18:17), even after showing that he had access to strength from the Lord that far surpassed any power Lamoni had (Alma 18:21).

Even before Lamoni and his family and household converted to the gospel, Ammon already showed them the greatest love and respect. As I was reading this time, Ammon struck me as an amazing example of fealty at its noblest, of pledging one’s life to the service and desires of a royal (and hopefully just) man. As I thought about that, it seems like that’s a really cool way to look at how we should treat everyone—we should give them fealty as sons and daughters of God, as people with a divine and royal birthright. Not fealty in the sense of swearing an oath to do whatever the people around us might order us to do, but fealty in the sense of respect and recognition of worth—respecting and recognizing each person around us as the king or queen their divine inheritance gives them potential to be. Whether an emaciated street cripple or a prime minister, all of us are children of royalty. Thinking that way makes it easier to understand why the worth of each soul is great in the sight of God (D&C 18:10).

In Human Potential We Trust

2007-04-18T13:21:00.000-07:00

I’ve been thinking lately about some of the ideas that struck me most strongly when reading Paulo Freire’s The Pedagogy of the Oppressed back at BYU—most of all the principle that those who would help to liberate the oppressed must work with and trust in the ability of those they are trying to help.

"Certain members of the oppressor class join the oppressed in their struggle for liberation….Our converts, on the other hand, truly desire to transform the unjust order; but because of their background they believe that they must be the executors of the transformation….A real humanist can be identified more by his trust in the people, which engages him in their struggle."

"Attempting to liberate the oppressed without their reflective participation in the act of liberation is to treat them as objects that must be saved from a burning building."

"It is necessary to trust in the oppressed and in their ability to reason."

"At all stages of their liberation, the oppressed must themselves as people engaged in the vocation of becoming more fully human. Reflection and action become essential. True reflection leads to action but that action will only be a genuine praxis if there is critical reflection on its consequences. To achieve this praxis it is necessary to trust in the oppressed and their ability to reason. Whoever lacks this trust will fail to bring about, or will abandon, dialogue, reflection and communication, and will fall into using slogans, communiques, monologues and instructions."

In the time I’ve been here in Mozambique working with Care For Life, it’s been easy to note tons of examples of outsiders both trusting and not trusting locals—and it’s struck me how it’s often the same people who are trusting in one moment and not trusting in the next. When working through an NGO or other development organization, or even in the work that needs to be done in the Church, it’s easy to be schizophrenic with how much you’re willing to trust and put power in locals’ hands. I’ve always kind of prided myself on being a big believer in the capacity and ability of all, but then I’ve found myself in a lot of moments where it’s a lot easier to make an executive decision, or where, for whatever reason, despite all I’ve said about letting locals make the decisions, I don’t, often in situations where in retrospect it would’ve made all the sense in the world to have done so. And I see the same thing all the time in others, too (it tends to be easier to notice in others :) ).

As I’ve thought about that, I think that’s why this theme is one that Freire returns to again and again in Pedagogy of the Oppressed—because it is a principle that, to be effective, must be implemented completely. In helping people to liberate themselves, there is no halfway point of trust—there is either trust (in their ideas, in their reasoning, in their ability to raise themselves) or there is lack of trust. The more I think about it, the more and more I realize that I have a lot of trusting to do.

Let Me Stand Next to Your Fire

2007-04-16T13:19:00.000-07:00

This evening before FHE I went to visit Ana Maria, a new member in the church (she was baptized about six months ago) who’s the Relief Society president here in my branch and one of my home teachees. She’s been called to give a talk in District Conference this Sunday, and she had asked me to give her some ideas about where to start with her talk, as she’s never spoken to a group that big and is feeling kind of intimidated. It was an awesome visit—first of all, I straight up love Ana Maria and her fam (her kids and her husband), they’re so good to each other, which is so much rarer than it should be, and such great people. As I was thinking about her and her family tonight, I thought of the part in Alma that I’m reading now in my Book of Mormon study, about the house of King Lamoni among the lamanites and their conversion to the gospel. I love both that scripture story and the parallel stories you see throughout the Church today, especially in all the developing world countries where the Church is growing so much. These peoples’ lives are proof that the Church is no old boys’ club, but the Church of Christ available to all that believe—and I think especially generational or older members of the Church need that proof. It’s easy to think of oneself as a little overly special when raised in the Church, and seeing the fire of excitement and faith in new converts eyes, and their fidelity to the gospel (which often outweighs the more jaded attempts of some old-schoolers) puts us in our place, I think, and helps relight that fire in us. At least, I know it does for me. I think that’s a big reason of why I love Church perhaps even more when I’m someplace where the Church is new(er), like here or on my mission—because when you’re in a place like this, it’s so much easier to constantly see the gospel with the new and fresh and excited eyes that we should have for it always. I love that—and just like when I was nearing the end of my mission, I already know I’m going to miss it.

Marriage Mozambican style

2007-04-15T16:51:00.000-07:00

My best buddy here, Rachid, performed the traditional side of his wedding this afternoon. That is, he performed the traditional ceremonies required by his wife's family to formalize his marriage. For a while he’s been pushing to get his life in order so that he can be civilly married, as the church teaches, but one thing that’s gotten in his way is his wife’s (Olivia’s) father’s family. Olivia’s mother and father are separated, with her mother living her in Beira and her father living in Maputo. Rachid and Olivia have been together for more than five years, and when they first got together he had fulfilled the traditional obligations required by his wife’s mother—but they hadn’t done anything with the father’s family, as he hasn’t really made any effort to stay in contact with her or do anything for her since she was around 18. But then, a few months ago, her father’s family had contacted her, visited, disapproved of the low living standard Rachid was providing for her, and almost forced her to move out and come back to live with them in Maputo. Rachid traveled to Maputo and was able to convince them to not do that, and with time, was able to convince them to let him fulfill all of their familial traditions and stay married to her. So today was the day that they had all come up from Maputo (and some of them from South Africa—Olivia’s family is originally from South Africa) to fulfill these traditional ceremonies. And Rachid invited me to come along, an invite my inner anthropologist was all too happy to accept, as I’ve been very curious to understand traditional marriage more profoundly here.

The ceremony itself was really fascinating—the main people present who played a part in the ceremony were representatives from the two families, Rachid’s uncle and some male relative of Olivia’s. Rachid’s uncle started the ceremony by asking for a plate, on which he first put the money for the lobolo (traditionally here, the groom’s family must pay a certain bridewealth, or lobolo, however much is asked by the bride’s family). He then pulled out a piece of paper on which the bride’s family had written all of the other aspects of the lobolo—that is, specific presents they had asked to be given in exchange for the bride. In this sense, from what a few people present were telling me, Rachid had gotten off a bit easy, as the bride’s family sometimes asks for really expensive things, like several full suits for male relatives and expensive dresses for female relatives, cows, and things like that. In Rachid’s case today, he was asked to buy presents for four relatives (his wife, both her parents, and her stepdad), and they were all relatively small things: blouses, skirts, pants, shirts, shoes, and some wine and beer. After Rachid’s uncle finished going over the list, unwrapping and showing each present as it was listed, Olivia’s family sat and debated whether they would accept it or not. They did accept it, but the ceremony wasn’t over. Rachid’s uncle came and placed a small bill on the plate, asking for the bride (Olivia wasn’t in the room yet). The family brought a girl from another room, but it wasn’t Olivia, and Rachid’s uncle said that this wasn’t the bride, and, placing another bill on the plate, asked for the real bride to be brought in (a friend told me that, if you’re smart, you’ll change all your money into small bills, because during this part of the ceremony the groom’s family has to put down another bill at each step, and if you’ve only got big bills, that gets pricey really quickly). This time they did bring Olivia (though, I guess in theory, they could continue to bring in fake brides just to get more money, though that seems pretty sneaky), and Rachid’s uncle placed another bill on the plate, asking for the right to dress Olivia in the clothes she had been given as a present. Her family agreed, and a female member of Rachid’s family went with Olivia into another room to dress her in the clothes which they had bought. The same process was followed for Olivia’s mom, dad, and stepdad—Rachid’s uncle would come forward and put a bill on the plate asking for the person to be brought forth, and then place another bill asking for the right to dress them in their new present clothes.

After finishing all of that, Rachid’s uncle put another bill on the plate, asking for the right to put the ring on the bride. As they did, the representative from Olivia’s family told her to always remember that this ring is a sign to her that she belongs to someone, and that she must act accordingly. Having finished, Rachid’s uncle asked if the bride was theirs now, or if there was anything else missing. The representative from Olivia’s family said everything was in order, and that the bride was now theirs.

During the whole ceremony, I was really struck with how it seemed to be a commodification of the woman involved—but then, as I thought about it more, I realized more and more how much the tie between engagement diamonds and self-worth is a subtler version of the same thing in traditional American society. So yeah—we all commodify our women. Isn’t humanity wonderful.

On a less fatalistic note, my buddy Mounga, who’s also really close to Rachid and was at the wedding today, said something pretty funny, in a cross-culturally surreal kind of way—he’s a return missionary, and a bit more exposed to odd American LDS church culture, and leaned over to me at one point and said, “This really reminds me of Johnny Lingo.” It was at a rather quiet part of the ceremony, so I tried not to guffaw.

At the end, several of the people from Olivia’s family danced to celebrate—there was one lady with glasses who could really shake it. I love this dance you see people do a lot here (and apparently also in South Africa, from what I’ve seen in a few films) that’s mainly a shaking of the shoulders as you extend your arms out. It looks mad cool.

Kurt Vonnegut has become unstuck in time

2007-04-14T16:31:00.000-07:00

I know it happened a few days ago, but I couldn't let the passing of possibly my favorite author, as well as one of the funniest, most insightful and most compassionate men that America has ever produced, slip by without some form of in memoriam. So here are some of the Vonnegut insights that have been dearest to me over the years:

“Beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before ... He is full of muderous resentment of people who are ignorant without having come by their ignorance the hard way.” (Cat’s Cradle)

“What should young people do with their lives today? Many things, obviously. But the most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured.”

“People have to talk about something just to keep their voice boxes in working order, so they'll have good voice boxes in case there's ever anything really meaningful to say.” (Cat's Cradle)

“Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops.” (Slaughterhouse-Five)

“Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.”

“Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.” (Cat's Cradle)

“Human beings will be happier - not when they cure cancer or get to Mars or eliminate racial prejudice or flush Lake Erie but when they find ways to inhabit primitive communities again. That's my utopia.”

“There is no reason why good cannot triumph as often as evil. The triumph of anything is a matter of organization. If there are such things as angels, I hope that they are organized along the lines of the Mafia.” (Sirens of Titan)

“Those who believe in telekinetics, raise my hand.”

“Perhaps, when we remember wars, we should take off our clothes and paint ourselves blue and go on all fours all day long and grunt like pigs. That would surely be more appropriate than noble oratory and shows of flags and well-oiled guns.” (Cat's Cradle)

“There is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre.” (Slaughterhouse-Five)

“I, mud, sat up and saw what a nice job God had done.
Nice going, God!
Nobody but You could have done it, God! I certainly couldn't have.
I feel very unimportant compared to You.
The only way I can feel the least bit important is to think of all the mud that didn't even get to sit up and look around.” (Cat's Cradle)

I'm asking everyone I can think of, but does anyone have a copy of Cat's Cradle handy where they could look up the bit describing the soulmate couple that John meets on the plane to San Lorenzo? That's seriously my favorite description of love, anyplace, ever.

Rolf loving life

2007-04-14T16:02:00.000-07:00

Long story short—the last two days have been amazing.

Long story long—yesterday Ryan and I left Beira early, around 7:30, to head out to Manica (the closest city to the Penha Longas). We didn’t really know where we would go when we got to Manica, because we couldn’t find any trail maps or travel details online. We had seen photos, like I mentioned, and they looked beautiful, but we really knew squat. We wanted to hike ‘em, though, so we just decided to head out, planning on asking for directions when we got there.

The drive there was beautiful, especially for the last few hours. Really, really green, rolling hills, trees—I t reminded me a lot of the greener mountain-y parts of the U.S., like the Pacific Northwest, or parts of Utah and Colorado after a good rain or snow melt. Some bits really reminded me of the Texas Hill Country, too. Really, really pretty—even just on the drive there, I could feel my batteries recharging just from all the beauty around me.

And when we got to Manica, after asking around in a few places, we discovered there were a number of good mountains, only one of which is called Penha Longa, and that it apparently had a little privately owned area for tourists. So, we headed out towards that, climbing altitude as we went, getting excited as we felt the freshness of the mountain air, made even more delicious from a touch of humidity that you never get in Utah’s mountains. And the view just kept getting more and more gorgeous.

Then, when we got there, I was totally blown away at how beautiful this privately owned land was. Seriously, it felt like something unreal, out of an epic poem or Tolkien novel—it was too beautiful for words. There were a number of groves of a huge, hundreds-of-meters-tall aspen-looking tree that grew in bunches—I kept trying to take a photo to do them justice, and it kept not working. Seriously breathtaking—I wanted to live there. It felt too beautiful to be real, but exactly because of that, I couldn’t think of a happier place to live than one which celebrates so fully the beauty of God’s creations.

On the way up the mountain, I was surprised to see half a dozen houses with families living in them, most of the way up the slope. Definitely a beautiful place to live, but I wondered how often they needed to make the trek down to the city for supplies. It’s a very pretty trek, at least. Also, at least in one of the houses, it didn’t seem like they saw too many white folks too often, as we became a huge hit and attraction with all the kids just by walking through.

One humbling thing was the two groups of Zimbabweans we ran into, hiking the mountain to cross over into Zimbabwe. All of them were carrying heavy loads—some 50 pound bags of rice (and I thought it was already a tough hike with just my backpack on). We talked to one of the men in one group for a bit, and he said they made this trip every two weeks or so to buy things, because there’s no affordable way to buy food in Zimbabwe. That whole trek, every two weeks, a good chunk of the ways on foot, just to buy food—a humbling reminder of the conditions in Zimbabwe right now.

The whole way up, the hike was gorgeous—when we got to the ridge we found a place to sit and sat down to eat, take photos and just take in how beautiful it was. I can’t imagine a more beautiful hike.

We spent the night in a town about an hour closer to Beira called Chimoio, and this morning we got up way early (5 AM) in order to try to hike Cabeça do Velho (a small mountain outside Chimoio—the name means “Old man’s head”) at sunrise. We got some pretty conflicting directions, but after hunting around for a while we found the road there—and soon discovered that this must not be a big tourist spot, as the road was about five-feet wide and so full of brush and tall grass that I was surprised our car wasn’t a lot more beat up by the time we got to the foothills. There wasn’t really a walking trail to the mountain itself, either—we walked through a whole bunch of very dew-y grass and underbrush to get there, effectively taking our morning shower as we walked along. When we got to the foot of the mountain, there wasn’t really a trail, and it was pretty steep, so in many ways it was more like free-base rock climbing than hiking. Way pretty, though. Definitely worth the effort.

After that we hurried and started the drive back to Beira, as I had to be at the chapel at noon to help prepare for a young single adults activity that went on tonight, which was that activity I mentioned going to the rehearsal for earlier, where they asked all the kids who knew how to play anything to come and put together some songs. It ended up okay, considering—some of the songs were even kinda catchy. This afternoon we had the last rehearsals and set everything up—and despite some stressful worrying about how bad it might turn out, it turned out fine, and way fun. Other people danced and things, too—I ended up playing Bon Jovi’s “Living On a Prayer”, just to be funny, though I don’t think they really got the joke (Holla to my Hoolia!).

All in all, it’s been a crazy busy couple of days, and it looks like it won’t slow down too much (tomorrow I’m speaking in church, and then in the afternoon I’m going to Rachid’s traditional wedding)—but I couldn’t have asked for a more fulfilling one, at least up to this point. Especially the trip—I’m so glad we went. It was exactly what I needed. The only downside is now I want to live in Manica. :)

Photos forthcoming! Probably on facebook, since I haven't figured out how to effectively post photos on this thing (I've tried using the little pop-up window, but it doesn't work. So it goes.).

You know what has me excited beyond belief?

2007-04-12T15:02:00.000-07:00

Ryan and I are going on a two-day trip to the Penha Longa Mountains, which are right next to the Zimbabwe-Mozambique border, about four hours from here. We’ve both been itching to get out of Beira for a while, especially me, as I haven’t really spent much of any time outside of this city (as much as I love it). I’ve seen photos of these mountains (you can see a few here), and they look beautiful. And more than anything, I’m looking forward to just being there in the mountains. I’ll admit, I really miss the mountains in Utah—I miss the spiritual closeness I feel when I’m in the mountains by myself, hiking or reading or just being (as ridiculously dangerous as I know it is to do those things by oneself). I can’t wait to feel that again.

Amandla!

2007-04-11T15:39:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I watched Amandla! again, this time with Ryan, as he hadn’t seen it before. Though I’m the type who usually doesn’t like watching a movie so much as twice, this must’ve been at least the fifth time I’ve seen this movie—I really can’t get enough of it. Every time it touches me, and every time it leaves me with that sense of urgency to act.

One of the parts of the film that most got me thinking tonight was when they talked about the MK, the militant arm of the ANC and the anti-apartheid movement in the 70s and 80s. It reminded me of my only personal memory of apartheid: when I was about 8 or 9, I remember seeing a photo in the newspaper at home of a Zulu rebel on the ground in an urban street, in the midst of an attack. I remember asking my parents what was going on in the photo, and they said that there was fighting in South Africa, and that it was sad because there were people dying on both sides. I didn’t really understand the context—all I understood was that people were fighting each other in South Africa and that people were dying. As I remembered that and watched the film, I wondered if I would have fought for the MK, in those circumstances and at that time. To be honest, I don’t know—I know I would have done something, but I don’t know if I would have become militant. I hope that I wouldn’t—that I would be able to focus myself and my energies in non-violent protest and not fall into eye-for-an-eye logic. But that’s a lot easier said than done when your friends and loved ones are dying.

Mad birthday skillz

2007-04-10T16:05:00.000-07:00

Tonight was Elder Cox’s birthday, and a bunch of folks from church threw a surprise party for him. It’s really kinda cool, there are a couple church folks who have gotten in the habit of throwing surprise parties for everyone that has a birthday—it started with mine back in August, and there’ve been at least five or six since. Tonight’s was a bit different, though, as Elder Cox is a pretty old fella (he turned 70 today), and when he turned on the lights and we first started clapping and singing, he jumped so bad I was afraid he was gonna have a heart attack. Our ninja hiding skills are a bit too honed, I suppose.

I've got the powa

2007-04-10T03:45:00.000-07:00

So our power went out last night around 10, and didn’t come back until this morning around 10—and then burned out again, and came back for (what seems like) good about an hour ago. As much as I had been looking forward to the daily blog and chance to write a certain someone, I dig power outages here. It takes away all your opportunities for distancing yourself from the moment by not giving you the opportunity to do anything besides be here now, where you are, with who you are.

And thus, I groped around in the dark for the guitar and a Bob Marley sing-along ensued. Life’s awesome.

Risen in truth

2007-04-08T15:10:00.000-07:00

A good friend of mine and amazing fella from BYU named Nate Rasmussen served his mission in the Ukraine, and on several Easters I’ve heard him talk about a tradition practiced among Christians in the Ukraine on Easter morning. Instead of greeting someone normally, asking how they are and how their family is and all that, upon greeting another Christian, you say, “Christ is arisen.” To which the other responds, “Risen in truth.”

I think that only over the past few years have I really come to appreciate Easter, in a more-than-chocolate-and-backyard-hunt-in-jammies sense. Today was an especially amazing day—the speakers at church gave amazing talks, we had a delicious Easter dinner with our official adopted grandparents, the Hobsons (a missionary couple here), a church leadership meeting that I had to go to this evening went wonderfully, a lovely chance to talk in the evening with a dear friend—even though as I think about it I can’t think of any specific event today that made it more sacred and Christ-centered than usual, it was. And I loved every minute of it. It was a normal Sunday in most senses of the word, except for where my mind was centered and what my heart was celebrating. “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” At least for today, in a way I hope to be able to say of many days to come, the Savior was my treasure. This day was for Him.

Christ is arisen—risen in truth.

Yes, another thought from conference—what can I say, 'tis the season

2007-04-07T15:20:00.000-07:00

I was studying Elder Uchtdorf’s talk this afternoon from conference, and loving it even more than when he gave it. One of the things that struck me most strongly was how he talked about the love of God, and how strong it is for all of us as His children. I remember an Ensign article by Elder Nelson a few years ago that sparked some controversy, because people said it put forth the argument that the righteous were more loved by God than the unrighteous—as I’ve thought about that, though, it seems more like the question is one of access to God’s love. God loves all of us equally, but as we become more and more righteous, we open ourselves up more and more to be able to feel God’s love for us. The love He has for us is there, waiting for us, and He wants to give it to us, but we through our choices sometimes limit our own ability to feel that love. On the eve of Easter, that thought becomes a lot more poignant, that the love of Christ which He showed so fully in the atoning acts we study on this day is something I often choose to deny myself, to whatever degree and for whatever foolish reason.

Good Friday

2007-04-06T16:09:00.000-07:00

It’s Good Friday today—a holiday we Mormons tend to avoid because of some folks’ apparent allergy to Catholicism, but one which I think would really do us good to honor. I assume the lack of recognition or focus is based on the same reason why Mormons don’t use the cross, because we want to think of and focus on the living and resurrected Christ as opposed to the dying One. And that’s something I can totally understand—but I feel that sometimes, by not taking more time to appreciate His death and His sacrifice, we cheat the miracle of His Resurrection of some of its power and make it somewhat less sacred. That Sunday was only so glorious because that Friday was so dark, and I think if we focused on the latter a bit more, we’d appreciate the former more strongly for the miracle that it is. Granted, I didn’t live up too well to what I’m preaching today—I went out to dinner with my roommates, watched Spider-Man 2 with my boss’ family, and played airplane with his five-year-old daughter. Nothing too pensive or deep there. Which is why I think I’m speaking to myself as much as anyone—you can count my vote for bringing Good Friday back into LDS religious discourse.

Conference Part Deux

2007-04-05T15:57:00.001-07:00

The text of the conference talks was posted online today, and I was just studying some of the talks from priesthood session, as I wasn’t able to watch that one here since it’s not transmitted over the internet. I’ve been loving President Hinckley’s and President Faust’s talks as I’ve studied them, especially President Faust’s. I love this bit where President Faust was talking about professions:

“How you provide for your family is your decision. Acquiring a skill is a good way to pay the bills, but there really ought to be something more in terms of personal involvement. Do not become so preoccupied with the material things of life that you lose the essence of your humanity. You may recall Dickens's character Jacob Marley, who lamented his obsession with work when he exclaimed: ‘Business? . . . Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business.’ Each of us ought to play some role in strengthening society, especially in doing the work of God.”

Amen, brother. I hope to be able to live up to that. I hope to be able to grow up, as President Faust says, to be “a man of God.” My mission president used that phrase a fair amount, to refer to men like Nephi and the Prophet Joseph. As I would listen to him speak during mission conferences, I couldn’t think of anyone that I considered more a Christlike, humble, loving man of God than my mission president. I can’t think of a compliment that I would treasure more dearly than to be able to be considered like he is—to be a man of God.

The Mozambican Mark Twain, Still Waiting For the Conditions To Cue His Entrance

2007-04-04T15:58:00.000-07:00

Tonight after District Presidency meeting, I was talking in the car with President Domingos and Armando and João about books and asking them if there were any great Mozambican novels or authors that I should look into, and as much as in retrospect I feel like it maybe shouldn’t have struck me so strongly, it really did surprise me how few names came up. The conversation turned to literature and books in general, and how ridiculously hard it is to even afford to BUY a book here, much less one by a Mozambican author. As we talked, a number of people started coming to mind, friends of mine that I’ve met through work and church who have proudly talked about having many books at home, and their having said that took on a new level of meaning—even the act of owning multiple books here is a status symbol, almost irregardless of what books they are. I thought of how many great minds there must be here in Mozambique for whom the only reason they aren’t scholars or writers or educated statesmen is a lack of means for them to get there, both financially and intellectually speaking. There isn’t a public library in Beira, either—as I thought and thought, I realized that I probably have more books in my room that I brought with me in my luggage than 98% of this city has in their homes. Again flooded over me the abundance-of-riches shame that comes when you realize how ridiculously over-privileged you are in relation to so many of your just-as-worthy brothers and sisters. Again flooded over me the motivation that made me want to go into education in the first place, to do whatever is possible to reduce that gap.

Mmmmmmmmmbatwe!

2007-04-03T13:06:00.000-07:00

Today I went with all the Care For Life field staff on our regular visiting day to Mbatwe (one of the villages we work in), something I haven’t had the time to do in a while because of all the organizational work that I’ve needed to do with the curriculum these days. Man, I missed it—I missed the people. A really sweet and funny thing happened while I was playing with some kids that I sometimes play with while waiting for community classes to start—Celestino came over and was playing with them, too, asking them questions to see who could answer quickest. He asked them their mother’s names, the names of their favorite aunts, and then the names of their favorite uncles. When he asked one of them the name of his favorite uncle, the little guy said, “Rufo!” You have no idea how big that made me smile.

Churchhouse Rock

2007-04-02T16:07:00.000-07:00

Tonight was fun—Gimo, the young singles’ leader in the Church here, has been planning an activity for Church members to get together over a few weeks of practices with borrowed/rented instruments and put together some original songs to perform on the 14^th. It’s the kind of thing that could either turn out way fun or ridiculously horrible, and so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but I’d told Gimo I’d participate ever since he found out I play drums, and so I wasn’t about to back out. Tonight was our first practice, at an evangelical church down near the chapel (we’re renting the instruments from the church). It was the first time I’d ever played drums in an evangelical church before—there was a disappointing lack of Hallelujahs. It was me on drums, a funny punker kid name Zé on guitar (who’s a great guitarist, so long as you want to play Nirvana or Blink-182) and a friend of his on bass, and an interesting collection of young folks singing lyrics they’d written. Easily my favorite and nominee for most surreal was a love-song-style tune by one guy with lyrics all about the Law of Chastity, and a few references to manslaughter thrown in for good measure—“The Law of Chastity isn’t respected/ and shedding innocent blood is a big sin in the eyes of God”. I should copy the real lyrics down next time, I really don’t think I’m doing them justice—I mean, I agreed with them 100%, but you just don’t usually have too many tunes that have lyrics like that accompanying James Blunt-y cheesy love chords. Surreal, yo.

For FHE, Ryan and I listened to the last session of General Conference from yesterday, which we hadn’t been able to finish watching thanks to our sketchy internet connection—and it was, as expected, amazing. I loved the focus on repentance, and the hope for redemption and second chances that repentance brings. There have been a couple times in my life when I can remember feeling really, really strongly the confirmation that I’m not a lost cause—that despite all the stupid things I’ve done, there is hope for me through the Atonement of Christ. Tonight was one of those warm, comforting times when you feel those truths confirmed, when you feel the reassurance settle on you like a blanket that His grace is sufficient for you. I love General Conference.

Official Church Statement on Cheney's Commencement Speech

2007-04-01T08:30:00.000-07:00

I’m really, really glad that the Church released the official statement that they did regarding Cheney’s speaking engagement at BYU’s commencement—I think, above all, that such a statement was what I wanted personally. I was willing to give the Brethren the benefit of the doubt in terms of their motives for extending the invitation, but I also really wanted personally to understand why. And I think their statement perfectly expressed that.

As they say in the first paragraph, “[this] invitation is seen by the university’s board of trustees as one extended to someone holding the high office of vice president of the United States rather than to a partisan political figure.”

That’s not how I see Dick Cheney—and that’s not how I think most people see Dick Cheney, especially given the current political climate—but looking historically at how the Church as a governing body has approached and dealt with other standing political officials from the around the world, I can understand how that is the way that the Board of Trustees sees this visit.

As far as I know, the Church has never allowed any Church building or Church official to officially endorse a political candidate in the name of the Church—but very often the Church as a body has recognized and Church leaders have visited with and respected standing political officers, out of respect for their office, even when the individuals themselves have been completely morally despicable. Pinochet comes to mind.

I don’t think that I could (or should) take such a stance towards political figures personally, but I think that’s exactly the point—in recognizing standing political leaders, the Church is acting as the organization of the Church, and acting in a way that is necessary to further the greater mission of the Church, which is the preaching of the gospel of Jesus Christ (or as it’s called in the statement, the “central mission” of the Church). In the case of Pinochet and Chile, and East German leaders when East Germany was still Communist, and many other similar cases, the Church has had to recognize (solely on the basis on political office) many morally corrupt leaders in order to gain permission for the gospel to be preached in those countries, furthering the mission of the Church. Though some might consider it more appropriate and morally correct to not recognize such leaders, looking from a spiritual perspective, such a stance would have prevented all of the people in these countries from hearing and having the chance to accept the gospel. I can understand that as a not-ideal-but-necessary stance for the Church as an institution to take in order to complete its greater, eternal mission.

Thus, as the statement says, “To engage in partisan politics or to take up every social cause would be to divert the Church from that mission.” However, as the statement continues, “There is also another side to the neutrality policy, apart from prohibitions. The Church ‘encourages its members to play a role as responsible citizens in their communities, including becoming informed about issues and voting in elections.’ … Further, the Church ‘expects its members to engage in the political process in an informed and civil manner.’”

In that sense, I feel perfectly willing and able to accept the Church’s neutral stance towards not only Dick Cheney, but all international leaders, because I understand that any other position is a role the Church as an institution is not really in a position to take—however, as an individual, as both a concerned citizen and someone striving to live the life of a disciple of Jesus Christ, I can and should make my voice heard. If I disagree with the actions of Vice President Cheney on moral and spiritual grounds (which I do), then it is not only my right, but the expectation of my Church that I respectfully stand up for those things.

In that sense I think it’s easier to understand why BYU has officially sanctioned protests against Cheney (note: not against BYU or against the Board of Trustees) to take place on BYU campus—because it recognizes the right and duty of students who don’t agree with Cheney to be able to respectfully express themselves. In that sense, I hope that all of us who disagree with Cheney find ways to respectfully make our voices heard, through protest, through letters to the editor, or through whatever means we are able to find—not only is that our right, but as individuals who have covenanted to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that [we] may be in” (Mosiah 18:9), I think it’s our duty.

Power outages and General Conference

2007-03-31T15:52:00.000-07:00

Until about one this afternoon, the power here in our house was out because there was a problem with our power meter—it was great, though, because it meant that after I got home from home teaching, I spent a good while on the roof studying the scriptures and listening to conference talks and BYU devotionals on my iPod. I’ve done this sometimes before, but as I was sitting there today, looking out over the fields behind our office and the train tracks that pass by, with so many people walking one direction or the other along them, I really felt that I needed to do this more often. Sitting there reminds me where I am—the view from there helps me to appreciate the beauty of this country. Sometimes after work it’s easy to get trapped inside the house, reading or editing something for work or writing emails—I need to take more time out to really appreciate this place, and just be. I think that’s still missing in my life.

General Conference started tonight (well, tonight for us in Mozambique—first session was at 6 PM, second at 10), and so far it’s been amazing (General Conference being the twice-annual LDS meetings when the Prophet speaks and all the other General Authorities of the Church). It hit me between sessions how much I’ve grown to really love and look forward to General Conference—it’s like a spiritual feast twice a year, two days in which the feeling of the Spirit is almost continual, and inspiration and insight into my own life just pours out. I love having the chance to hear the words of the Lord’s servants. I love studying the talks as they come out afterwards, but there’s something about the first time you hear them live, about the insights that come and the personal bits of revelation regarding my own life that come, that don’t come nearly as often when reading them afterwards. It’s like what I picture it would be like to be present during one of the revelations received by Joseph Smith, or during King Benjamin’s address, sitting at the feet of spiritual giants and having the chance to drink in of their wisdom and the words of the Lord that come through them.

The Church released an official statement on Cheney’s graduation speech the other day, but though I sat down with it for a long time yesterday to mull it over and think about it, it’s a bit late to talk much in depth about that—that’ll wait ‘til tomorrow.

List of things to do before I die

2007-03-29T12:48:00.000-07:00

A good friend recently made one of these, and it made me realize that although I have always had plenty of things that belong on a list like this, I’ve never sat down to actually make one. So here goes:

-Learn to play the congas/pandeiro/tabla/more hand percussion in general

-Learn to play the piano (soul-style—like, being able to play Stevie Wonder or Sly Stone songs)

-Learn to play the guitar well

-Learn to ably sing tenor, baritone and bass/be able to create or find the harmony to any given song

-Record an album with a band I am in (that is, I’ve recorded EPs with bands before, but never a full-blown album, complete with liner notes and all that stuff)

-Become adept at recording in a recording studio/work in a recording studio

-Record music from all over the world, especially songs of struggle

-Become fluent in an indigenous African language

-Become fluent in Spanish

-Become a really good soccer player, learn how to play futvolei (the Brazilian version of beach volleyball where you can only use your feet)

-Live/work in Brazil for an extended period of time

-Live/work in South Africa, or another English-speaking southern African country

-Live/work in India, or one of the Pacific islands (not because they’re at all similar, but because they’re about on equal levels of priority)

-Get a doctorate (most likely an Ed. D.)

-Get married in the temple

-Be actively present at the birth of all my children (preferably not in a hospital)

-See my children go on missions and get married in the temple

-Learn my family’s ancestral Swiss-German dialect and travel to our ancestral homeland again, being able to communicate with the people (already did this once with the family, but my German skills, much less Swiss-German, were nil—also I think I was a bit young to fully appreciate it)

Yay yay TFA

2007-03-28T14:39:00.000-07:00

So I’m a wanted man. That is, in the good, professional sense of the word. There’s a charter school in Brooklyn that’s contacted me through Teach For America and wants to set up a phone interview in the next week or two—I talked to my TFA advisor this afternoon and she was giving me the scoop on their program and what to expect in the interview. I’m really pumped, as I’d really like to work for a charter school, in an environment where there’s a team effort towards pushing student achievement—it seems really, really ideal. The stricter dress code/uniform would mean no more Birkenstock-hippie-professor clothes options for me, but I think I can handle that. Good thing this here body’s more than rainment.

Goodnight Moon

2007-03-27T12:42:00.000-07:00

Salomão’s gotten into the habit of asking me to play him a few songs on guitar while he lays on the sofa right before going to bed. The lullaby jukebox—this is a new role I’m starting to really dig. As much as Salomão (the Care For Life national director, in his 30s), is a bit old for the part, it seems like a pleasant foreshadowing of lullabies with little Rolfs to come.

The inner anthropologist wants out to play

2007-03-26T13:50:00.000-07:00

As I was riding the chapa (minibus) today, I had a couple of those aspiring-anthropologist moments where I just wish I had a couple months to spend as the guy collecting fares, or the driver, or something, because there’s altogether too many interesting things going on in a chapa for them all to go unrecorded somewhere. The people with chickens or big bricks of soap or 20-packs of little Cheeto-y snacks that they bought downtown and are taking home to their peripheral neighborhood to sell; the people who manage to fit a piece of aluminum siding or about 10 pipes under peoples’ feet for a construction project at home; the teenage guy with his earphones on, blasting some music that’s trying to compete with the trance beat the radio’s pumping out; and me.

I love chapas. How could you not want to study such an amazing little microcosm of Mozambican society?

I’d also love to have an extra year or two just to really throw myself into learning the local indigenous languages, Sena and Ndau—I know how to greet people in both, but because of all the work to be done at Care For Life and at church, I haven’t really had the time I’d like to really throw myself into them. And then there’s the mud-brick house I’ve been dreaming of building in one of the villages we work in every since I got here…why’s life gotta be so full of stuff that there’s never any time for the most intriguing bits?

America, the land that never has been yet, and yet must be

2007-03-25T13:32:00.000-07:00

I've loved Langston Hughes since high school, but I only quite recently did I really begin to study or appreciate this poem. I love finding treasures like this--there are few feelings as satisfying as finding art which manages to express feelings that you've felt so strongly but never quite been able to quite put into words.

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

Worried about things here and there

2007-03-24T06:47:00.000-07:00

I’ve been following all of the budding controversy over Cheney’s speaking appointment at BYU’s commencement this year, both in the official news articles being circulated about it and in the explosion of debate about it online (especially on Facebook, in the various groups organized in opposition to or in support of him coming), and it’s really gotten me thinking, not just about this particular case of collision between what could easily be perceived as a mixture of religious and political interests, but about my various levels of loyalty to my God, my church and my government in general. Even though this Cheney incident doesn’t affect me personally all that directly, it brings up all the same issues about religious and political loyalties that I’ve run into before and still feel like I’m sorting out in my head. As I was reading over various people’s comments and seeing the whole Cheney debate get more and more heated, it made me really feel like sitting down and working out for myself my list of priorities in terms of my loyalties—so that’s what I ended up spending the last few hours doing.

Above all, there is my loyalty to my Heavenly Father and my Lord Jesus Christ—before I’m considered an American, a liberal, or a Democrat, I would hope that I could be thought of as someone trying to be a disciple of Jesus Christ and live as He did. And that leads directly to the LDS Church, which I wholeheartedly believe to be Christ’s church, and the Kingdom of God on earth. Through the covenants I’ve made, I profess to be willing to sacrifice anything in my life to the going forth of the work of this Church, and I hope and pray daily for the strength to do that. As a result, there is my loyalty to the leadership of the LDS Church, which I truly believe to be chosen by God, and in the case of the Prophet, President Hinckley, I truly believe him to be the mouthpiece of God on earth. I remember being touched by one time when my mission president said that he would step in front of a train if President Hinckley told him to, and I think the reason that touched me so much is because as he said it, I could feel in my heart that I wanted nothing more than to be the same way. Christ said “he that receiveth my servants receiveth me” (D&C 84:36), and I really believe that.

Second, there is my loyalty to my family. My family is the only thing that I can carry with me from this life, and the relationship I have with these people I love is sacred to me. Second only to my hope that I can live as a disciple of Christ is my hope to be able to honor the name of those who have brought me into this world and given me so much.

Third, there is my loyalty to the family of God, all throughout the world. Before looking at the peoples of the world as Americans, Brazilians, Mozambicans, Iraqis, Israelis, Chinese, Indian, Burmese, French, or whatever, I hope that I look at them as my brothers and sisters in the family of God. I hope that my loyalty to them, and my desire to do whatever I can to help promote justice and peace and happiness among any and all of them, transcends my loyalty to the country I happened to be born in.

Fourth, there is my loyalty to my country. This is easily the one I have struggled the most with—as much as I know I owe a debt to my country and the privileges it has granted me, there are so many times when I can remember feeling more shame than pride in being an American. As much as current events in my lifetime have triggered that, though, I continue to love and respect and even desire to defend the ideals upon which America was built. Ever since 9/11, when the prospect of being called upon to take up arms for my country suddenly seemed a lot more real, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering how willing I would be to do so. On the basis of my religious beliefs, I toyed with the idea of being a pacifist for a good while, and considered the possibility of petitioning for conscientious objector status if I ever were called upon to serve in the military. As I have studied out and thought hard about those same religious beliefs, though, I have felt that because of them I couldn’t turn down a call to serve my country. I know it would be really, really hard for me to deal with the ramifications of doing so (I can already imagine myself practicing to be a bad shot in basic training so as to avoid the chance of actually hitting anyone), but I really don’t think that I could feel right with myself if I weren’t willing to defend and possibly give my life in thanks to a country that has given me so much. And I know that if my family were ever in real harm, I could never sit by and let them be hurt without standing up to defend them.

This may seem to be coming out of nowhere, but every time something like this Cheney situation comes up, where I’m forced to sit down and think about where my loyalties lie in terms of God (and church) and country, it bothers me when I feel uncertainty in myself, when I end up wondering where my loyalties do lie. It gives me peace to think these things out, as much as the particular solutions in each situation are never easy to pin down—which is why, as much as I sincerely consider Cheney to represent the worst of what America offers to the world, I still don’t really know what specific course of action I would choose to act on those convictions if I were still at BYU right now.

There’s also enough going on around here to keep one from feeling like there’s lots of time to think about problems so far away—on Thursday some old Soviet arms kept in storage in Maputo since the civil war days exploded, killing 93 people (or at least that’s the count so far, there’s 300ish wounded, and with Mozambique’s medical capacities the number of dead will probably keep rising). Even though Maputo’s a day’s drive away, that feels very close to home. For whoever read this, please include the victims in your prayers.

My prediction is PAIN

2007-03-23T15:58:00.000-07:00

I don’t think I ever would’ve guessed that I would be spending a Friday night in Mozambique watching a pirated-Rocky-movie marathon with my roomies. We only made it to Rocky 3, but my gut tells me we should stop here, because there’s nowhere to go but down after Rocky fought Mr. T.

Quit yo jibba jabba.

A chance for Utah County to get shot in the face

2007-03-22T15:12:00.000-07:00

So according to the Salt Lake Tribune, Dick Cheney is the tentatively scheduled speaker for this April’s BYU Commencement Exercises, a speaking position usually occupied by an apostle of the LDS Church.

Dude.

DUDE.

If I were graduating this April, I think I’d be exploding about now, but as it is, it’s something more along the lines of complete and utter disbelief. What planet am I on?!

My head asplode

2007-03-21T15:31:00.000-07:00

I feel about equal parts deep respect and complete bewilderment towards people that are secretaries and enjoy it. Like, for a living and stuff. I mean, even just doing it part-time for the district presidency folks in church a couple times a week making phone calls and doing paperwork and taking notes on meetings tends to make me kinda go bulgy-eyed and produce Gaaaaah noises.

So yeah, you secretarial folk should feel no threats to your job security coming from my direction. You can do your thing and have your official day in late April—you have my blessing.

Done—DONE, I say!

2007-03-20T13:57:00.000-07:00

Today I finished the first rough draft of this ginormous curriculum! 156 pages, DONE! Well, fine, first-draft-done, in need of hours and hours of revision and editing, but still—DONE! Feeling of accomplishment, you are MINE.

I spent a good chunk of my evening reading Barack Obama speeches off of his official campaign website, and with each one I fell in more and more manlove with that man. Especially this one here detailing his stance on the Iraq War—it’s exactly how I feel on the subject. I can’t remember the last time I’ve read or heard a living politician’s remarks and felt that way, ever.

The biggest thing that I note in him is his integrity. He is genuine, sincere. He is who he is, you don’t have to guess who he is from back behind his politics. I think people will notice that, and be drawn to it. I can’t wait for 2008.

The Walking Man Walks

2007-03-19T15:24:00.000-07:00

That title can be referencing James Taylor or Shake Your Peace, I'll leave that up to y'all (though I'd personally side with Shake Your Peace).

I had to go downtown today, and I got off the chapa (van/microbus) about halfway there ‘cause I felt like walking. It was a really nice walk. Feet are definitely underrated.

Night Smell

2007-03-18T15:11:00.000-07:00

I love night smell—not dry Utah night smell, but warm, damp, slightly windy night smell. I smelled it tonight as I was spending some thinking time outside, and it made me think of Manaus, and Texas, and Michigan, and all the places where night feels like a warm blanket.

St. Patrick's Self-Improvement

2007-03-17T14:18:00.000-07:00

I made a St. Patrick’s Day resolution today—not that my resolution was particularly Irish, but since I happened to make it today I figured there was no good reason to leave the Irish out of it.

I’ve been realizing lately that over the last couple of months, particularly since I got back from spending the holidays at home, I’ve tended to be a lot more negative and critical in my general outlook, especially with regards to work and the foibles of my co-workers (especially João’s), and that has really, really grown to bother me. It’s gotten to the point where I’m much quicker to spot errors and flaws than recognize what’s good and well-done, and I think my attitude has begun to affect my co-workers, too. And I hate it—I hate seeing that in myself, especially when for most of life I’ve prided myself on striving to be the opposite. Granted, things are pretty stressful here right now with everything that’s pushing to get finished in the next bit (the curriculum, the operational plan for our whole program), and there are a bunch of new administrators getting trained (Gil Vicente, the new program director, Solomon, the new national director for Care For Life), and lots of things start falling apart a bit both at work and in the church as João (who’s both the big dog at Care For Life and the top lay leader in the church here) feels overwhelmed and starts forgetting things, so it’s easy to feel overwhelmed sometimes and feel critical of João when I’m expected to pick up the slack, but that’s no excuse for the way I’ve used that as an excuse to focus on the negative.

Tonight was an example of that, when there was a church leadership meeting that was supposed to happen, and João canceled it at the last minute because he’s been getting really sick—something I hadn't heard about until arriving at the church after leaving another meeting early to make sure I arrived on time. Between having had to ditch what I was doing and not having enough money on me for transportation home (I was counting on riding home with João), I started getting really mad at João, for getting sick I suppose, as ridiculous as that sounds. And as I got madder and madder, I realized just how ridiculous I was being, getting mad at him for getting sick—and I thought of a talk I’d been studying today by Elder Bednar (LDS church leader), and how getting mad, or getting offended, is a choice that I was making. As much as I already understood this logically, I began to realize how much energy I was wasting on resenting and complaining, energy that wouldn’t accomplish anything good or positive or useful. I ended up walking a good part of the way home to give myself time to think and cool down (and listen to that particular talk again on my iPod—good ol’ technology, as much as I don’t love it as much as Kip does), and as I thought, I resolved to change. I realized really don’t want to waste my last few months of Mozambique stewing and stressing. So, starting today (Thanks, St. Paddy), I’m ditching the negative funk. I’m choosing to be the Rolf I want to be.

Of all the restaurants, in all the world....we go out again for Chinese

2007-03-16T17:25:00.000-07:00

I can’t get over the irony of how the only restaurant João (my crazily-picky Brazilian boss) agrees to go to in all of Beira, a city with at least 10 really interesting and good Mozambican-cuisine-style restaurants that I can think of, is a mediocre Chinese place where he always gets the sweet-and-sour chicken. Bleeeeeeeeh. I will never cease to get a kick out of their elevator-style mood music, though—it’s a whole bunch of early 60s tunes from old Westerns and the Everly Brothers, played on wind pipes and Chinese zithers. Pure awesomeness.

I’m palpably close to finishing this ginormous curriculum. And very, very excited about it.

Rice and beans? You mean nectar of the gods

2007-03-15T13:16:00.000-07:00

Before getting all deep n’ stuff, I just felt like saying—I love rice and beans. I could eat rice and beans for the rest of my life. I can’t wait ‘til Nikki (another intern, and a veggie) gets here in May and it’ll be easier to facilitate regular veggie meals, ‘cause the times when they appear are like little oases in a sea of red meat. Chega de carne, cara.

I love how close I’ve been able to grow to the Care For Life field officers here, working closely with them, getting to know them personally, feeling like a friend and confidante to them just as much as a supervisor/coworker. I was thinking about that today after hanging out and talking to them during lunch, and I think I could really settle down and have a very happy life here, over time being able to become more and more a part of this place and its people. A big part of me, the part of me that pushed me into anthropology, would love nothing more than that—as much as no outsider can really completely get inside the head of someone who’s grown up and spent their whole life in another culture and another way of thinking, the greatest level of love that I can imagine is trying as hard as you can to do so, to spend your life trying to understand as best you can the situation and life of your brother, to get as close as you can to true empathy and understanding.

The thing is that by doing that completely, I’d by force have to separate myself from my family, my friends and my life back home—which I would never want to give up. But I think there’s a nice findable balance in between there somewhere.