Wrap-up

I was hoping to write more after coming back, but the truth is, having found my friends and family again, I don’t feel the need to write here anymore … except one last time. Just to wrap things up.  So here we go.

French Guiana was not easy. And I was also not the easiest person with whom to work. But I would never change that experience with anything in the world. I have discovered so much about myself, about others, and about ties that unite seemingly different peoples into one family. I’ve seen the power of words, of the Word, and of wordless communication. I’ve seen the devastating effects of illiteracy, and shared the joy of my friends when they discovered that, after months of work, they could string together syllables. I’ve experienced the freedom of washing and bathing in a small creek under the stars, and playing in a dusty field with children until dusk. Sang out loud and not cared if we were in tune or not. Encouraged girls and women that they do have a place in a world dominated by men. Shared prayers for healing, protection, mourning, and growth.
And, for a year … I felt useful.

This is a quote from a letter I wrote to some members of the Local Spiritual Assembly of Ottawa. I find it wraps-up my feelings quite well.

I am now a Master’s student at Université de Montréal, studying film scoring composition. It’s very exciting, and very heavy as far as course load goes (think 3 short videos to score within the span of 6 days, each having between 24h-48h to write them).  Here’s an example:

I have also been reunited with my good violin. He and I have had quite a few adventures already. I have stepped on a stage for the first time today since my return. I’d forgotten how much I love it. Thankfully, I haven’t lost too much of my technique, though my fingers are distinctively slower.

I now live in Montréal in a beautiful large apartment, high ceilings, wooden floors – my room is so big it could fit all of the family at PK-10 where I would stay during the weekends (this is still awkward for me …). Food is cheap. My new roommate is another fiddler – and we are currently fiddling together, and building a studio in our apartment, as she will be also studying in my program in January. We have wonderful neighbours, and there is a small sense of community in this building. There are many trees – we practically live on the top of Mount Royal and can see the whole city from our roof top (because we have access to a rooftop!).

Some have asked me if I had some sort of culture shock coming back: many white people, big cities, different values, different levels of honesty …. I’ve got to say: culture shock has been at minimal level (especially when you consider I flew directly from French Guiana to New York City). I had braced myself for things to have changed back home. And things have. And I was fine with it. (Again, though – I’m still in awe with the luck we had finding this apartment, getting into the film program, and how everything is just so … easy … except when it comes to paperwork.)

I have also somehow transformed into a more initiative, calmer, and flexible person. Not only people tell me – I feel it. I rarely feel rushed or stressed anymore. I spend less – I feel less like I HAVE to buy this and that and ooo that too … Of course I’m still extremely far from perfect, and will always be … but these are good changes.

I have also officially switched from coffee to tea, as tea was more available and affordable than coffee back at the Walker’s house. This may contribute to me being calmer …

I find myself being asked so many times the following: “SO! You were gone in South America! How was it?!?” … and not being able to answer (this, Sarah Windle has also experienced). So many things happen in a year. So many emotions, so many thoughts, so many decisions.  How can I wrap it all neatly into a two-minute answer? I see now that I can’t. So I must sift through many of my experiences and pick out small episodes that may interest some people. Even my new roommate has heard practically nothing.

I’ve reconnected with the Baha’i community of Montréal … I can’t believe how many artists, GOOD artists, there are … I’m now trying to get some artistic projects going: such awesome opportunities! I’m also volunteering at the Shrine of Abdu’l-Baha once a month as a guide, where I get to learn more stories of Him, and get to tell them in turn … (and learn how to make Persian tea … mmmmm, Persian tea …)

I got to communicate with the next Youth Year of Service which will be picking up the projects where we left them in French Guiana. She sounds very competent, and is starting up a blog of her own (http://dugoutcanoe.wordpress.com). Apparently reading this helped her get an idea of how it can be over there. If that is the case, then this blog has served its purpose, and I’m happy about it.

And lastly, today, I just gave my first children’s class in North America. Ever. Who were the kids? … a bunch of jovial kids, many having just arrived from Haiti and Africa this summer (with one little Québecois girl).

And for a moment, while the kids were clibing all over me in the yard … I was transported back in French Guiana.

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If for some strange reason, someone wants to continue reading about my ramblings as I go on with life as a film music student, you can find my thoughts on my other blog, which I’ve also had for a while in French Guiana when I wrote of things that did not involve my experiences there: http://randomivity.wordpress.com

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!

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.

Carving Progress

Well, guess I’m almost done …! Just a few finishing touches, such as cutting the edges straight and sanding, and voilà! Zee French-Guyanese chess board experience is complete!

(No, I’m NOT carving each individual little chess pieces!)

Click on image for more photos.

“Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snooooowww …”

Caroline, one of my 11 year old students, spoke to me a little bit after our lesson tonight.

Caroline: So … there’s snow in Canada, right?

Me: Huh? Yeah, sure!

Caroline: About … how high?

Me (thinking of this year’s enormous downpour and wanting to be impressive): About … (pointing at my head) this high, this year.

Caroline: WHA? How can that be??

Me: It happens every year. Snow falls.

Caroline: But … but isn’t that dangerous?

Me: Nah. We can navigate easily enough. We shovel our walks, and there are big trucks with huge shovels that clean our streets once in a while.

Caroline: But … (then gestures a huge 6-feet-high piece of snow falling all in one chunk)

Me: What? Wait, no! Snow doesn’t fall in one big chunk! Ack! That would be terrible!!

Caroline: Then how DOES it fall??

Me (really giddy, because it’s just so cool to get to describe snow for someone who’s never experienced it – ever – not even on tv … ): It’s fluffy, light … Like, rain … but softer … Basically it’s rain, but it’s so cold outside that the raindrops freeze before they hit the ground.

Caroline: Wait! Rain just freezes? Before it hits the ground?? So how cold IS it, then?

Me: Pretty cold.

Caroline: Like, how would you dress?

Me: AH! Ummmm, ok. Other than underwear? Pants, socks, shirt – then, boots, sweatshirt, scarf (Caroline’s mother: “What’s a scarf?” Me: “A thing that keeps your nose from freezing but strangles you.”), coat, hat, mitts … on the coldest days, that is.

Caroline: Wow … so, um … do you ever think of coming back to French Guiana?

Me: Well, I’m pretty sure I’ll visit within the next five years.

Caroline: Can you do something for me then?

Me: Yeah?

Caroline: When you come back, can you bring me a jar of snow?

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Note to readers: Caroline was aware that the snow would have melted by the time I reached the country. In her defense, I was considering bringing back a small jar of rain forest rainwater myself a few months ago.

A Goat Called Lola

And so the “dynamic duo” is reunited once again, as a friend put it. Sarah has landed in French Guiana (“I bet I’m the whitest person ever to set foot in this country!” – indeed, I should get a picture comparing our arms … ).

Despite the different climate, country, culture, and surroundings, having Sarah walk through my house door on Friday night seemed like the most natural and normal thing to me. She plopped on the sofa and we chatted like we were still in our tiny snowy Montréal apartment.

Well, to me, it felt normal, anyway. Most probably because I’m much more acclimatised, apparently. Sarah pointed out that she had to take a few seconds to realize there WAS oxygen in the air, and not just humidity, when she first walked out of the plane. I guess I easily forgot how the extreme humidity was the cause of my viola’s unglueing …

She is now living a little ways out, between my house and the village I visit every weekend. A short drive really. I therefore got to visit her and her new home for the next three months on Sunday.

They have a gazilion pets at that house. Two cats (I finally got my purring-kitty fix, after six months), two big black labs, many chickens, and … a goat.

Called Lola.

And the goat’s role is really just a house pet.

I was a little weary at first, but Sarah showed me how you could lean your fist on Lola’s horns and forehead, and she’d playfully push back. I obliged.

Goats are strong. It was really amusing.

What I didn’t realize was, once I was done playing, she wouldn’t want to stop. So after I removed my fist, she contented herself with leaning on, then strongly pushing, my knee cap.

Cute. Real cute.

Now I want a goat too.

Of Zen, Craftmanship, and Weekend Plans

I need to learn how to chill out. Seriously. I am, as a person, very nervous. Sometimes it blows out of proportion. I get scared for the smallest things, and I don’t realize the effect it has on my attitude, my self-esteem (and therefore my performance), and my sleep (and therefore health).

Sometimes stressful situations will roll off my back like water on a duck. Other times I’ll freeze out of fear. I still don’t know what makes me trigger, but it’s really getting on my nerves. I’m afraid that my nervousness and my fear comes through during some of my classes, and that maybe I end up destabilizing the kids. Isn’t the whole point of these classes for them to feel good about themselves and to have fun? Having a nervous and fearful teacher won’t give that effect. I need to zen-out.

That being said, I have another artistic outlet that I realized I haven’t explained yet.

I’m learning how to carve. Saramacca-style. They call that “Tembe”, which is interesting, as the word “tembe” is also used for any other craftsmanship, including hair-braiding. (Hair-braiding here is an art. Seriously.)

So for the past few months, I’ve been slowly designing a chess board with Saramacca designs on the edges. My teacher has been VERY patient with me. Wood-carving demands for precision and arm-strength. I’m definitely lacking the necessary arm-muscle, so it doesn’t take long for me to get tired! Therefore, I’ve been bringing my chess board home and working away at it little chunks at a time. I am now finished drawing and outlining everything with a thin cut. The next step that I’ll be taking today is sanding down the pencil marks, and then I start digging for real. (The 32 squares’ outlines have been dug out already.)

“In the Baha’i Cause arts, sciences and all crafts are counted as worship. The man who makes a piece of note paper to the best of his ability … is giving praise to God.” — ‘Abdu’l-Baha, The Divine Art of Living, p.65

This is something we’re discussing today with the older kids at PK-10.

Other items on this weekend’s menu:

• Kite-making
• Little celebration for the younger kids since they finished their “chapter” (which included putting a jewel on a crown every lesson – the crown is full, so they get to make themselves a crown – they’ve been looking forward to this …)
• Feast at the Doekoe’s house on Sunday night (“the Doekoes’” is the family with my adored five girls youth group – this is the first Feast they’ll be hosting in a long time, so in all, everyone’s excited)
• Sanding down my chess board
• Maybe getting my hair fully braided. We’ll see. Irène (friend at PK-10) has done a successful test last week.

Socio-Economical Reasons to Be Here …

As I look back to my previous posts, I realize that I failed to explain the political and socio-economical situation of my area in French Guiana. This information may help clarify the type of life and relations I have with the surrounding population, and more specifically explain the nature of the French classes I give (and as to why they’re not lessons given in a classroom setting with a predetermined curriculum).

Of course, everything I say is what I’ve either heard, noticed, or directly experienced. There may very well be articles out there contradicting what I say here, but I don’t feel like debating today, so I’m telling you straight up: if you want to verify my information, go right ahead – and if you feel there are things I should correct, feel free to inform me.

So, here goes.

French Guiana is an oversea department of France. Everything here is ruled by French laws. Everyone born within its borders can apply for French nationality, granted they can speak French and intermingle with the French population.

The currency used are Euros, and the prices are high, as everything sold here must be approved by the European Union. Even if we’re right next to the border of Suriname (previously known as Dutch Guiana, but who has claimed independence since … the 70’s? Not too sure.), where things are very cheap, French Guiana needs to import everything, from car parts to toilet paper, from Europe. So – high prices (and in Euros, to top it all).

The population here is widely mixed. There are Creoles, Native Amerindians, French/Europeans, Surinamese, and Chinese (Hmong), in general. The Surinamese (Maroons [a mix of African descendants of the slave trade], Guyanese, and Native Amerindians) are an especially large group in St-Laurent. This is for a simple reason: in the 1980’s and 1990’s, there was a civil war in Suriname. It lasted longer than anyone had anticipated, as I gathered (this impression comes from the fact that I heard many stories from people who were either attacked, involved, etc etc). So, the Surinamese fled to the closest border: French Guiana (more specifically, St-Laurent, my town, as it’s a border town).

For the first few years, the French government decided to ignore their presence in the department. Everyone figured the Surinamese civil war would stop soon enough. But it didn’t – and the refugees after a few years began their life anew in French Guiana. Unfortunately, it was done so illegally – no papers, no protection from the government. Just – go in the forest, build a new village, forage for yourself. The children born then were denied education in French Guiana as they were not official French citizens.

Recently, perhaps during the last ten to fifteen years, the French government had to admit that these families weren’t going anywhere. So, any minors born and/or living in French Guiana, either legally or illegally, were finally granted permission to attend school until they became majors. They would then need to apply for their French nationality. At this point, if they can prove they live and studied in the department and speak reasonable French, and have avoided any trouble with the authorities, their nationality is pretty much guaranteed.

The problem is with their parents. A whole generation has been denied education during the war (this generation being mine and the previous one). So these people, along with their parents and grandparents, cannot speak French – and therefore can’t apply for their French nationality. This is a problem because they are constantly under threat of being deported, they can’t legally work (and don’t have an education, so aren’t proficient for a lot of the jobs anyway), they can’t buy land or a house – their garbage can’t even be picked up by the city (basically they are denied all the rights of a citizen -all except hospitalization, thank goodness). So they build small shack-like houses around the city, and move whenever they have to. And St-Laurent, where I am, whose population used to be between 600-800 before the civil war, is now at 20 000, with 10 000 living around in those small houses. To give you an idea.

Back to speaking French: the refugees and immigrants need to ask for either a long-term visa or a French nationality in French. That means understanding what the office says to them in French, and replying coherently. Most of these people who have been denied education have never read in their lives, and don’t know how to study or learn subjects, nor languages. So for them it’s especially hard to learn French, unless they’re gutsy and throw themselves into the fire (and there are some I know who do this, which is great) – especially for the women, as they usually stay in their house all day and attend to their 5 – 10 children and cooking (which is a nice simple way of living, but it sucks if you’re afraid of being deported half the time). It’s therefore hard to integrate in the French society to learn the language if you don’t go out at all to intermingle.

That’s when I come in: all the French lessons I do are part of a non-profit organization, SuriFrance, that offers French classes to anyone who wants them – but for free. So I go around in those little camps and small houses by bike, set up a class time and location for their friends and neighbours (so these classes usually happen in someone’s house), and spend an hour or two per week with each group (which are mostly women). And part of the project is really making a program that’s aimed at that specific population, to teach them verbally things they would need to know to get around. Some are at the point where they want to learn how to read (syllable dictations can be fun, apparently). At this moment, I am now looking at how one applies for a visa and a French nationality so I can teach them what they may be asked, and how they should answer accordingly. No easy task.

But let me tell you, I’m going to feel damn useful if I succeed.

(For more general info on St-Laurent, click here)

(For more general information on the Suriname civil war, click here)