Mom Gets Chocolates – I Get Pangys and Calebashes

I remember, ever since I was a little kid, when my parents would come back from school at the end of the year with a few arms full of farewell gifts from their students. To my utter delight, there would be so much chocolate that they were obliged to share with the whole family. And a lot would have to be given away: we couldn’t exactly eat 30 boxes of chocolate before they went stale, and let’s just say it isn’t the healthiest thing to scarf down in the span of a week (a concept that I did not understand until my late teens).

Every so often, a student would get creative and give a nice candle, or a funny t-shirt, or a sweet trinket (like an apple out of granite). Those still sit visibly in the house, and they are the ones I remember mom and dad complimenting on their originality. Ever since then, I try to make gifts a little more creative – if possible, I make them myself (those of you who have been on the receiving end know that sometimes it works … and sometimes it doesn’t … ).

Fast-track to the present. I am now entering my last week as a teacher in St-Laurent du Maroni, French Guiana. The French lessons have been becoming more and more structured, and to my delight, some previously illiterate women can now read their ABC’s and can read syllables. That, in itself, is enough joy to bring home as a gift.

I entered my first end-of-year party, where I was to give each lady their diplomas, and we were to cook lunch together (all 16 of us). Due to an annoying bug, a few of us didn’t make it – I hauled myself out of bed long enough to go see them, as it was the last time I’d see most of these ladies before I leave. I actually sent Philip in my stead for the lesson part, and he was a hit: he played French bingo with them, taught them a few new things, revised a few things, and gave out the diplomas, while half the group was taking turns cooking.

When I finally got there after a few hours, I was greeted with something I was warned to expect as a teacher: gifts.

But no chocolates.

I got pangys and calebashes. Which are the two traditional things women make here. But a lot of them. They are, in a way, the chocolates you give to teachers back in North America. Can’t go wrong with them, but you’re guaranteed you won’t be the only one giving them. On the other hand, no two is alike, as it’s all done by hand. Which in itself is wonderful.

This is a pangy:

This is a calebash (half a gourd with handmade carving, the only carving women were traditionally allowed to do until recently – made to drink water, or to hold anything else you can think of … loose change, chalks for class … whatever you want):

And THIS … the “non-chocolate” item of the batch … is a hand-embroided hammock.

Oh yeah. How cool is that.

Now my only concern is, how many other groups are planning to do this, and how much overweight luggage costs on a plane …

Long story short, I might have to share and give away some of these “chocolates” with friends and family.

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On an unrelated note, Sarah, Philip, Caity and I drove to Kourou to visit the European Space Center and its launch pads (notably the Arianne 4 and Arianne 5). This included a swim in the ocean in the morning (yes, after 8 months, I FINALLY went to the sea shore).

But this particular beach is in the current of the Amazonian river, which discharges a hunk of a load of debris … mainly Amazonian mud.

So we swam in half-sea, half mud. (click for more)

You can see in the middle where the mud stops and the seawater starts. The mud was heavy enough that it stayed at the bottom and you could swim in reasonably clear water … but it was low tide, so you had to wad through a good chunk of mud to get in and out … which explains why we were the only ones swimming that morning.

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Back to my comment of women not carving anything but calebashes until recently. This is my youth group during the Wednesday afternoon, the Doekoe girls – or more like, these are the carvings they produced.

Hurrah for open-minded teachers!

“Take Me With You!”

And so it begins.

I have started to remind my students, young and old, that in three weeks, classes will be over. This announcement has been, up to date, immediately followed by the question of why I won’t be there next school year. I hate this question. Oh so much.

I have to say, I’ve been divided on my personal feelings about living here. On one hand, I am completely blown away by all the new experiences I’m racking up – I’m learning so much here, about life, humans, culture, and myself, and I keep seeing new things that make me grin from ear to ear, or laugh out loud in amazement. I’ve even gotten used to the climate (as a lover of Autumn and snow, this is saying something). On the other hand, I had a friend ask me if I was more a roots or a wings person. I used to think I was wings.

…

Now I need to present another idea before continuing the roots/wings analogy.

I’ve been asked once too many times the following: “Why don’t you just stay in French Guiana with us instead of leaving?”

I first try to justify my leaving with my imminent studies.

Then comes the observation: “So you’ve only got two years left to study! You can come back after that, right?”

I then have to explain that I’ll be studying film music, and that there isn’t an industry for that here (“here” being in French Guiana). So, not much job option for me.

“But you can always come and teach music! We always need more music teachers!” (even though arts and sports are being cut like mad in the education system in France, and therefore here, but let’s not get into that right now).

“It’s … not that easy?”

“Why not?”

… Indeed, why not? I have been faced again and again to truly find my reason as to why I would not come back in French Guiana to live there after my studies and have a family here. I could continue developing the French program even more – the Baha’i community could use the extra hands – I’m starting to understand a little more how things work here …

So this is when I have to look back at my self-assessment of “wings”. I have to say that, for now, I’m not wings anymore. I’m roots, with a wish to have wings.

This means that, whenever I’m uprooted, though I realize in what a wonderful new environment I’m in, I can’t help but wish I was home. It takes me ages to really warm up to a new place and really feel like I belong there, and start growing roots. This happened to me when I moved to Montréal for my four years of studies. I kept wishing I were back in Ottawa. But in the end, I was able to make roots there too. Which is another reason going back there to study some more will be like going home, even though Ottawa’s where my family resides (and is my home home).

Problem is, I’ve noticed that I’ve grown little roots here too.

Which is why I hate the continuation of the “Why won’t you stay” conversation even more … very often it will be punctuated with a humourous comment of “Take me with you!”.

That’s when I see I actually grow my roots where the people are. Nevermind the geographical placement. People are my home. Were my friends and family randomly decide to move to French Guiana, suddenly it wouldn’t feel like I were uprooted anymore. This is something I’ve suspected for a while, and confirmed a little more ever since the arrival of Sarah last month.

“Take me with you,” indeed. I think that, once back in Montréal, I’ll be longingly thinking of my friends I’ll have left behind in French Guiana just as longingly as I’m thinking of my friends in Canada right now. That seems to be the price to pay for having wings, and I’m not sure I could cope with that too often, were I to keep living a life of wings.

Detachment comes in all kinds of forms. I guess detachment of friends and family is another one that I never really considered much until now.

…

Anyone’s got word yet on any kind of advancement in teleportation technology?

Carving Classes Jr.

I know I keep raving about this specific group of youth and pre-youth. But I’ll do it again. Because they’re awesome.

Up until now, the Doekoes have done the following:

• Wrote a song (together, within the span of ten minutes)
• Recorded so-said song
• Presented the song at an event
• Made paintings of Baha’i principles (see flickr pictures, they’re not far in the past)
• And now … requested a traditional carving class.

Seeing I just finished carving my chess board, I was all into this idea – but I didn’t want to teach them myself, for a few good reasons. 1: I’m still a beginner myself, 2: I know practically nothing when it comes to shortcuts and tricks of the trade, and 3: I am not Saramacca. I know basically nothing about the traditional art that goes on the wood, except for the few things I’ve seen.

So we found another Baha’i man who, may I say, is beyond awesome. He’s willing to teach a) young adults and pre-youth, and b) girls. (Carving is not for women here, except funny French women who seem to get pleasure out of learning things from different cultures)(I seem to fall in that category).

And man, was everyone enchanted.

Chris came with chunks of wood, sand paper, and rulers; I came with knives, pencils, and compasses. He impressed on everyone how important it was to learn this art: the cultural traditions have been dying as of late, especially with the kids’ generation. He told them briefly all the things they could do once they understood the basics of Saramacca carving. It took about two minutes, and everyone was in awe of him. He, on the other hand, was thrilled to see it was the kids themselves that had requested this workshop.

He then gave a small piece of wood and a knife to everyone and said “Go nuts”. I was a little taken aback – I expected a lesson on how to hold a knife, how to do patterns – but no. The idea was that everyone does anything they could think up of sculpting for two hours straight to see what they’re able to do, what they can’t do yet, and to get comfortable with the knife

I made a cute small leaf. On my own. Without having anyone explaining to me how to do it. *glows with pride*

THEN he sat us all down and showed us patterns, which everyone diligently measured and copied on paper. Everyone loved it so much that we’ll be carving for 4 hours the two following lessons, which is when we’ll stick our drawings on the larger pieces of wood and will carve out all of it.

I now realise why the act of sculpting is growing on me. It’s great to have a big chunk of something, then prune, and prune, and prune again until it becomes something entirely different. (Maybe that’s why I loved chopping away my own hair, sometimes with … interesting … results. But I digress.)

I’ll make a point of bringing my camera next time while all the young’ens carve. So. Focused. It’s awesome.

Ke Gangadu

So – the new group with whom I’m staying on the weekends. This is them. The nutty uncle that attacks people with flour and juggles babies is the drummer with the light green shirt.

I also DO have a few new pictures. We have a fun fun clothing relay race game for the lesson on the Bab (er … for those of you who sort of know the history of the Faith, and wonder how in the world a clothing relay race ties into lessons on the history: the Bab worked as a cloth merchant with His uncle as a youth … hence the clothing relay race … it’s a stretch, but it works …!)

Also: there is this particular tree here that has pretty pink puffs as flowers.

Quite a few of them, actually.

Just look at the mess.

Seven Months and Monkey Meat

I look at the amount of times I have posted in December and January, then in May, and notice I have more than a 50% decrease of activity on my posting. But life down here is not less exciting than before. So, to counteract the possible impression of banality in French Guiana, let me tell you why things are still exciting.

First: I only have three weeks and a half left with all of my classes. This is especially pertinent with my French classes, as my main side project here was developing a French-Second-Language curriculum for illiterate students. This, I have been working on all year long, and I have just finally figured out how to grade my students and with which criteria. (Now to figure out how to evaluate them fairly within the next three weeks.) (Remember: I’m trained in music – not pedagogy.)

Second: I’ve managed to arrange carving lessons for my girl’s group (the one I keep raving about). We’re starting tomorrow. And yes, I did finish my chess board. It’s going to be heavy in my luggage. Darn.

Third: Speaking of board games. Monopoly with improvised cards, such as “teach your right-hand neighbour how to play your instrument for 10 minutes”, “show Sarah how to fold a paper crane”, “Yell Marco: the fastest person to reply Polo gets 5000$”, “Make lemonade for everyone” … well, you get the idea. Philip, Sarah and I amused ourselves yesterday evening. I also got spontaneously challenged to a game of “Quarto”, which a man promptly taught me how to play (sort of a mix of chess, tic-tac-toe, and bingo, all in one). I may need to make myself a board of that too.

Fourth: My schedule has had an upheaval during the weekends, and I no longer stay in the village of PK-10 overnight (though I haven’t cut any of the classes I do there). I now reside in a new area to work on a couple of specific projects. This family’s … well … here: What do you say when you see the 14-year old girl walk out with flour hand prints all over her face, saying “It was Amoni!” (her uncle), then her uncle walking out, half-covered in flour, saying, “It was Sébastienne!” (his niece), and then seeing a hoard of little kids covered in flour tromping out of the uncle’s house? … Fun times lookin’ up. (This is also the man who juggles babies while standing on a slack rope. I kid you not.)

Fifth: Seeing a wild boar getting hunted during a class in a remote village, then seeing it getting decapitated, de-haired, and prepared for cooking, alongside a couple of baboons … reminds me how sometimes I’m not exactly home. (Details of this adventure have been stacked in the “to-draw-as-cartoon” list, which I haven’t been working on recently.) (No worries. The baboon and wild boar one shall not be graphic.)

Sixth: … I forgot to celebrate the 7-month mark! It’s been 7 months! Yikes!

Seventh: Without going into any details, let’s just say that I’ve also had to rethink how I understand the Baha’i Faith, or more like how I fit into it. This isn’t something that’s entertaining for you to read about, like the baboon meat (no, I didn’t eat any, if you were wondering) or flour-fights, but it’s by far what’s been weighing most in my mind and heart. I guess that’s everyone’s struggle and search, in a way: where they fit in the world. (Ok, so some people don’t struggle with it at all, but you know what I mean.)

So that, in a rather large nutshell, is what’s been going on these days.

As my classes wrap up, and final projects get accomplished, I’m pretty sure I’ll have a substantial amount of fun stuff to post up here during these last two months. Well, hopefully, anyway. I feel like if I don’t leave with a bang on my year of service, that somewhere I’ve done something wrong.

So expect an upsurge of pictures and videos and whatnot.