The Joshua Generation

Well folks, it's been awhile. I decided that if I have time for Facebook, I have time for blogger, and it's likely a better use of time and energy anyway.

Today I'd like to tell you a little about our whirlwind three-day trip to Washington, DC for President Obama's Inauguration. As many of you know, I was a reluctant participant in that event because it involved repeating the cross country travel extravaganza that turned so disastrous over Christmas. (But I got a $200 travel voucher from Southwest Airlines after I wrote them a Dear John letter which the customer relations personnel found "entertaining to say the least." More on that later) Rachel and I booked our travel on November 6th, before everyone else had the same idea. We also booked a return flight on Tuesday at 6 pm and then in the proceeding months we realized just how difficult it would be to move from the Mall to BWI by 4 pm. After many phone calls to United and Expedia, we learned that if we canceled or changed our flight it would cost us about $400 so we just decided to go and hope for the best.

We arrived, without incident, into Arlington at 11 pm on Saturday night. Eileen and John kindly picked us up from the airport and then we drove around the monuments and the Mall to check out the pre-Inaugural scene. I remembered just how beautiful DC is, especially on a clear winter night (from a car or other warm space). The creamy monuments contrast against a black sky to create an austere city, which on that night was electrified with parties and planning. We drove by the Canadian Embassy, whose columns had three large banners flapping in the wind: "Congratulations. Barack. Obama." I'm pretty sure I did not see any such salute for Bush's first or second Inauguration. There were flags everywhere, and toilets. People, I have never seen so many port-a-pottys in all my life. There was no need for fences or barricades--there was a small army of green, plastic, 8-foot structures preventing access to critical points of the Mall.



As soon as we got in the car I was so glad we made the trip. After a most wonderful meal (which, true to form at E and J's lasted until 3 a.m.) we went to bed, where we were serenaded by the celebratory cheers of the Adams Morgan revelers. The next morning we went to All Souls Unitarian Church on 16th Street for a celebration of the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, JR. The previous week I'd seen President Obama on George Stephanopoulos's show, and he mentioned wanting to find a new church community. I immediately thought of All Souls, though I'm sure the President would be ridiculed for attending a Unitarian church. All Souls is one of very few churches I've known that is not part of the "most segregated hour in America;" its members represent every hue, every fashion persuasion, every generation, and its pastors match that diversity. The best thing about the church, other that its commitment to social justice and creating a safe spiritual haven for all people, is its fabulous choir. I never left that church without feeling moved to tears by the choir, which often sings old gospel songs like "Wade in the Water" and "Motherless Child," so I knew I was in for a stirring hour and a half in the pew.

The church was filled to capacity, and a few people sat on the floor or stood in the aisles. The choir opened with a South African freedom song, "Siyahamba" as they danced their way to the front. The pastors were dancing, as were the congregants, and the energy and enthusiasm were palpable. On the eve of Martin Luther King day, we were also celebrating the achievement of Barack Obama, in a room full of people who never thought they'd live to see it. The pastor welcomed the congregation, and at first mention of the historic day awaiting us on Tuesday, the congregation erupted in cheers and stood. Words fail to describe the joy and the importance of the occasion. I spent most of it in tears, watching the the tiny octogenarian in front of me nod and clap and sing in her purple suit and matching church hat.

The pastor chose a celebratory but cautionary story from the Old Testament, in which God takes Moses to the mountaintop to show him the Promised Land he will never enter. The pastor, like so many of the congregants, felt doomed to linger on that last page of Deuteronomy, in which the Promised Land has been spotted but not yet entered. This year, the pastor felt like turning the page. In the first chapter of Joshua, the people enter the Promised Land, but they do not kick up their heels and relax, having arrived. Instead they continue on in their labors, and this is what was asked of us--that we not see President Obama's election as cause for rest but instead find a way to keep working toward a better life for all people. The hard work lies ahead, the work that requires standing shoulder to shoulder, taking up a cause that is not necessarily one's own except by virtue of membership in the human race. The pastor likened us to the Joshua Generation; we've crossed over, but the work is not finished and history will wait to see what we do after the crossing. The service included several beautiful songs, including "MLK" (by U2) and "Lift Every Voice and Sing" and many moments pregnant with joy and celebration in addition to a few that were devoted to remembering the people who worked toward, but did not live to see, the election of an African American President.

After church I took the Metro to Union Station to meet Maurice for lunch. I have never seen Union Station so crowded, and I've never seen so many ways to sell one man's image. In about ten minutes, I saw Barack Obama's name or face on the following items: charcoal drawings, quilted purses, afghans, flip flops, magnets, key chains, lanyards, shot glasses, beer glasses, sweatshirts, t-shirts, jean jackets, posters, photographs, plastic dolls, fans, postcards, pins, pens, books, and flags. It was bizarre. And people couldn't get enough of it. There were crowds around every kiosk selling this stuff. Additionally, Pepsi had decked the halls with signs that said "Oh Boy!" and "hope, hope, hope" on which the letter "o" was replaced with its logo. I tried to navigate my way through the station without hitting any bewildered tourists, and without disrupting the Latino Inaugural Ball, for which there was a 20-person band playing.

On Sunday night we had some friends over for dinner, and then watched a little bit of the concert on the Mall (which we did not attend because we figured standing still in the frigid air with hundreds of thousands of strangers is something that really only needs to happen once). When Obama spoke we all ran into the living room and sat in perfect silence listening. I snapped a photo which failed to capture the moment, but it was one I won't forget because it reminded me of old movies that take place during war times, and you see the whole family gathered around those old radios (and usually the mom is knitting or mending socks)...On Monday we tooled around the city some more, and happened upon a large balloon George Bush at which we were invited to throw one of the hundreds of shoes that were scattered in front of him. A band was playing, and people were thrilled to give George his well-earned goodbye party. We went to Buffalo Billiards, where we enjoyed some overpriced adult beverages, and socialized with (read: took photos of) the original "Rednecks for Obama" who gave us some free bumper stickers.

On Tuesday we awoke at 6 a.m. and scurried to assemble our supplies for the day which included: toilet paper and hand sanitizer, fruit, water, energy bars, Julia's Empanadas, instant hand and toe warmers, and foot-sized cardboard pieces to stand on. We each had on at least four layers of clothing, and each carried a supply pack and a camera. We actually left the house by 7 which was nothing short of a miracle, and we headed down Columbia Road toward Connecticut. While we walked in Adams Morgan, we saw a few others walking with a purposeful stride, but as we approached Dupont Circle, we saw more and more people headed toward the Mall. By the time we reached Farragut Square, we were absorbed into a mass of people all walking the same direction, taking over one of the largest streets in DC, and surrounded by police. Eventually we were barricaded into the route to the Mall by string of Metro buses that blocked every intersection and corralled us all into a crowd that seemed to have its own irreversible momentum.

We walked toward the Capitol until we could not move any further, which placed us fairly close to the Smithsonian Castle. It was about 8 am. It occurred to us that we were going to be very bored for the next three and a half hours. Luckily the Inaugural Committee had the brilliant idea to replay the free concert on the jumbotrons, so at least we had something to look at besides the shoulders of the person in front of us. After about two hours in the 17-degree weather, I felt completely frozen. I could no longer feel my feet, and no cardboard or instant toe warmers could reverse the process. After the concert we watched the procession of who's who (and who's that?) and Marcus provided us with many laughs by loudly shouting "Hey, there's that guy!" whenever someone unfamiliar appeared on the monitor. As time passed, my personal space decreased, and this discomfort failed to at least provide me with additional warmth. However, it did provide an exemplar of a crowd on its best behavior, and that was nice to see. I expected people to fight and get territorial, but I saw none of this.

The crowd was increasingly vocal as the bigger political celebrities were paraded out to the stands. Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter got big cheers, as did the Clintons. Former President Bush was neither booed nor welcomed. But oh, when President Bush was sighted, the crowd began singing "Nah Nah Nah Nah, Hey Hey Hey, Goodbye!" and I'll admit, I felt kind of bad for the man. This was of course, followed by the Michelle, Sasha, and Malia sightings, over which the crowd went wild! But when we first glimpsed P-E Obama, the crowd erupted in screams and a flurry of cell phone photographs. The woman behind me said she thought she might faint and I got ready to absorb her impact. She pulled through, but cried softly and kept repeating "I never thought I'd see this day."

I'll never forget the screams of the crowd and the sheer enthusiasm expressed by people willing to stand still in frigid temperatures to watch something they could have seen better at home on television. I felt so fortunate to be able to participate in such a momentous national occasion, and it's a moment that will sustain me when my faith in our country is shaken again, which will undoubtedly happen. Barack Obama is just a man, and he is a politician. He is not a miracle worker, or a god, or a saint. But he managed to make people believe in their government and in the power of democracy. He stirred something in our collective unconscious that motivated us to vote, to campaign, to watch debates, to stand in the freezing cold to wave signs and register voters, and to witness a moment in our nation's history, together. His election makes me hopeful that the next time I venture beyond our borders I won't find myself apologizing for being American.

I hope we will work shoulder to shoulder from this moment forward. I hope we can capitalize on our momentum and do great things. I hope.

Caucusing in the other Washington

well, thought I'd tell ya'll a little about caucusing, since many of you won't have the chance to participate in one any time soon.

Around 12:45 pm we left our house, and could see dozens of our neighbors walking to caucus sites around the neighborhood. There was a pretty palpable energy among all the caucus goers. We lined up outside of the democratic location, a local elementary school, and noted that there was no line outside of the republican site! In the line there were lots of families and couples, young and old, though mostly white middle class (that's the demographic of my neighborhood). It was neat to see everyone with their kids, and taking photos of the children at their first caucus. Once we got inside it was pure chaos. We were shuffled into the cafeteria, and there was a much larger than expected crowd so we barely fit. Several precincts chose to meet outside or in an adjacent gym as it was difficult to hear anything.

Upon finding our precinct group (finally) we signed in on a registration sheet and wrote down our names, address, phone number, email, race (optional), disability (optional) and sexual orientation (optional)--the last three are to determine how well minorities are represented by the caucusing process, b/c there is much concern that minorities and disabled folks are not well represented. Then we wrote down which candidate we came to support.

At 1:30, we recited the pledge of allegiance and then a script was read to explain how everything would work. Then our precinct had to elect a captain, secretary, and vote tallyer. I was the secretary because I was sitting next to the guy appointed captain, who was appointed only because he was somewhat willing and had been to a caucus before unlike the other 65 people in our precinct. So the ad-hoc leadership team moved to the front of our precinct crowd of 66, and tried to figure out what to do. We read through all the instructions in our envelope, and figured things out as we went along. Our first count of the votes showed 53 for Obama, 10 for Clinton and 3 undecided. We announced those, and then I figured out that Clinton needed 7 more voters to win a second delegate. We announced that.

Then we split into 3 groups, according to designated candidate and elected one person to give a one minute speech about the candidate. After those speeches, we chose to spend 10 minutes respectfully talking with neighbors about the candidates. Everyone swarmed the three undecided voters, and I stood guard over the sign in sheets because I didn't want them to go missing in all this chaos. I should say that in the same room, at least 5 other precincts were going through this same process, which made things pretty kinetic. After 10 minutes, we had to practically remove the Clinton supporters from the undecided voters. Then we opened up the sheets for revision, and one undecided person switched to Obama; also two late comers were allowed to vote in the final count, so we ended with 56 Obama, 10 Clinton, and 2 undecided. Then we elected delegates to represent each candidate (5 for Obama, 1 for Clinton) at the district level convention in April.

We left around 2:45 and I have to say it was a very unique and engaging voting experience. I do think it marginalizes some folks, particularly people who do not speak English proficiently, people who are low income and/or working on weekends, parents of young children, elderly folks, and people with disabilities. So, I can't say that I think it is a very fair way of doing things. For example, Bryn had to work today, and I doubt that her employer (Whole Foods) allowed her to leave to participate in this two hour process. I don't know that yet, but you can imagine that most people working minimum wage or hourly jobs with no benefits are not going to be able to participate in this process--I don't think that is fair. So, while I had a great time participating, meeting neighbors, and feeling the energy of the crowd, I couldn't help but think about those that the process excludes.

I did put my vote down for Obama. Why (you didn't ask...)? It's not that I think he is perfect, but I do think he has an incredible way of inspiring people to get involved and interested, not only in politics, but also in the country and the local community. I think he has a way of getting people to be passionate about change and passionate about actively doing something to make this country a better place to live, work, and raise a family. I can't say that I really vote based on what a candidate says about his or her policy ideas, because I think those rarely line up with what takes place after a candidate is actually elected. And I don't think the lack of follow through can always be blamed on the candidate; we do live in a democracy and the President / elected official cannot always do what he or she promises to do, because we have a system of checks on executive power. Anyway, so I think for me the biggest draw to Barack Obama is his relatively clean slate (again, he's not perfect; but none of them and none of us are, either) coupled with his ability to truly inspire people, especially young people. And those young people did come out today to vote for him, so it goes beyond just being a celebrity to actually moving people to action. I think that young people need to feel inspired by their leaders, we need to feel hopeful that what we do and think matters to someone. We, as the future of this country, are facing many obstacles: graduating and entering the workforce during an economic crisis, a shrinking middle class (and it really is shrinking; I've done that research), a world that is full of conflict (some of which are perpetuated by our national policies), the dim prospect of social security for our generation, a huge national deficit, overseas competition for jobs we are qualified to perform, a tarnished image in the international political arena, the destruction of our environment, and the rising cost and declining value of a college degree. I don't mean to sound doom and gloom, but I do think that those of us who are in the generation that must push for these issues to be addressed--if we want a comfortable middle/old age and a comfortable life for our children and grandchildren--need to feel like someone can help us find the solutions to these issues. And I think that Barack Obama is that person. Amen.

Why this has been the best summer ever

Seattle weather, my first beautiful summer
I have never lived the months of July, August and September without suffering from an oppressive, sticky, wet heat. Seattle has made me love, rather than dread, the summer months. I cannot describe the exhilaration of a bike ride on a midsummer’s day, or a game of tennis at 3 pm on a perfectly sunny, breezy day. It’s new to me, and it really does make the months of rain (the misery of which is exaggerated, in my opinion) totally worth wading through.

Cooking
I’ve rediscovered my love of cooking. Having been in Africa and unable to cook for myself for three weeks, which means being unable to choose my food for three weeks, I really have a new found love for cooking. Rachel has breakfast duty, and I’ve been making our lunches and dinners, and really loving it. During school I’m usually too busy to cook, and when I was working as a nurse full time, my legs hurt too badly to stand in the kitchen after work. Now footloose and fancy free, I love trying out new recipes (creamy lentils with celery root = significant work, insignificant results) and learning to time everything so it’s all ready at the same time. Previously, timing has always weighed me down. Despite my degree in science, and my continued work in that field, I am really not a very precise person in some ways, and my dinner preparations have generally suffered for it. I hope my love for my tiny kitchen continues when school resumes.

Two buck Chuck
Normally I am the only person in any given crowd of people (okay, save those at a snobby vitner’s convention) that fails to appreciate Charles Schwab wines. However, this summer, I happened upon a sign at Trader Joe’s announcing that their Charles Schwab Chardonnay had taken a top prize at the California state wine fair. So I decided to give it a try, especially given the low price (2.99+tax). I was truly amazed. It’s a refreshing (and refreshingly cheap) summer beverage.

Biking, kayaking, and tennis (Oh, My!)
So I’ve never been a sporty person. I am downright clumsy and always afraid I’ll die a klutz’s death (tripping and falling on an icy sidewalk, running and stepping on a shoelace, falling from a ladder – that sort of thing) and then people will laugh at me and remember me for my utter lack of coordination. But I have discovered my inner athlete, which is not a great one, but an athlete none the less. I mean, I can serve a tennis ball correctly about 35% of the time, and I can correctly steer a kayak in Greenlake’s relatively calm waters. That is progress people. And I hiked an elevation of 1,000 feet in about 40 minutes and didn’t die. This is really an accomplishment for the girl who was always chosen second to last, back in the days when they let kids choose their teams for gym class.

Africa
If you’ve been reading this blog since May I don’t really need to expound upon this too much. Suffice it to say that I conquered some fears (some necessary, some superfluous), I did something useful, and I visited our (yes, all of us) ancestral homeland. It wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even all I thought or hoped it would be. But it was still great, and still life changing, and for that I’m really grateful.

Chicken chasing
I’ve gotten a large chunk of my capstone finished, which will serve me well when school (and hopefully work) starts up in full force in September. I’ve learned quite a bit about poultry, farming, Islam, Enumclaw, and how to walk the line between pestering and persistence. I’ve also mostly gotten over my fear of cold calling people and asking them to donate their time to my pesky little questions.

Buffalo, New York
I finally met my friend Jill’s husband, Carlos. It was so nice to see them together, to be visually and undeniably assured of their happiness together. And I got to see my friend’s roots – meet her family and friends, see her hometown, go to the places she’s always loved. I also got to stand outside the hallowed studios of Righteous Babe Records, and get soaked at Niagra Falls.

Enjoying my new town
Summer brings many more opportunities to explore my new(ish) city and its surrounds. I’ve been going to Golden Gardens beach for picnics with Rachel or with friends, and to the beach at West Seattle. We’ve also been hiking on Mount Peak in Enumclaw, and biking through the arboretum. Throw in a little road or ferry trip here and there (to Bainbridge Island or to Bellingham, say), and I feel like I’m on permanent holiday.

Reading
I finally finished Orhan Pamuk’s Nobel Prize winning book, Snow, and after that tortuous ride I’m reading Moon Palace, by Paul Auster. Next up is Collapse, by Jared Diamond. I should also mention the 15 or so books that are sitting by my dining table, with such titles as The Global Threat: Preparing for Pandemic Flu, The Cockfight, Philippine Cockfighting Stories, A Field Guide to Qualitative Research, Avian Flu: Everything you need to know to prepare for the next pandemic, and the list goes on and on in a similar vein.

Planning more trips
I like planning my trips about half as much as I like going on them. Really. I love thinking about all the things I will see and experience, and while I am not really one to plan out every moment of every travel day, I do really like to get starry eyed thinking about all the prospects. We are currently planning trips to Yakima Valley WA for Rachel’s 30th, for a bike tour through Washington’s wine country, to DC for Thanksgiving and an early celebration of Adithya’s first birthday, to Louisville for Christmas, and maybe to France for my 30th birthday.

Seeing friends and family
Right now I am in Kentucky, where yesterday it was 105. EEK! But, I get to see my college roommates and their children, my family, and Ezra.

My peers around the world

I thought some of you might be interested to see what my classmates are doing in other parts of the world. Right now we have students in Peru, Ghana, Tanzania, East Timor and the West Bank. Here are some links to their blogs.

http://www.derielpeters.blogspot.com"

http://www.adventuresintimor.blogspot.com

http://www.palestinejournal.blogspot.com
(multiple people write for this blog; my classmate's name is Cindy Sousa)

Photos

Correction: I was able to post a few pictures here, with many thanks to my classmate. Apparently I just needed to switch browsers. But I took many more photos than I can post here, so if you want you can still check out the photos at Ofoto (link below).

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=13i87hgc.klmfodw&x=0&y=hlo2ci

What Africa Taught Me

I am now sitting at Entebbe airport, surrounded by a cacophony of languages, announcements, and ring tones. I was just rereading some of the emails that I wrote and received during my three-week stay in Uganda. It was really nice to reread them, if not a little painful to read the raw emotion and exposure of my terror in the early days of the trip.

Mariska (Noah’s Ark volunteer coordinator) told me that if I was able to stay and finish my project, I would be really proud of myself. I stayed and I finished, but I don’t feel proud. I feel satisfied. I am satisfied by what I have learned about myself, and about how the most of the earth’s inhabitants live.

I value my education now more than ever. I value my life, my liberty, and my riches more than I ever did before because here I have seen how truly privileged I am. I think this new found sense of gratefulness is not simply owing to the contrasting African poverty but rather the chance to see just how helpful my ethnicity, nationality and education level are in navigating a completely foreign environment.

I came to Uganda because I thought I had something to offer. In retrospect, it was Uganda who stretched out her hand to me and enveloped me on a strange and terrifying journey. Now as I sit at my journey’s end, I am more knowledgeable and more powerful than I was 22 days ago. Now I am changed in small but lasting ways.

I feel as though a deep thirst has been quenched. I have always wanted to see Africa since reading National Geographic as kid. Now I have walked alongside her people and tried to tell what little I know of their story as accurately as possible. I have learned that I am stronger than I thought and braver than I could have imagined.

What little I had to offer is far less than what the people here need. Of course, I did not go with the idea that I could solve a problem or find a solution to end poverty and suffering. I guess it helps with my overall satisfaction that I did not come here with unrealistic expectations. But I do think that what I did here was meaningful, to the people with whom I interacted and to Noah’s Ark. I think it will make some small difference in guiding the direction of the health clinic that will be established here within the next year.

I am not finished, and that is also a satisfying feeling. I feel like this is just the beginning of my life, and the beginning of my own small efforts to improve the health of people who are suffering, whether in my own country or abroad. I can only hope that the rest of my life is as challenging, meaningful, and thought-provoking as these last three weeks have been.

Thanks for coming along for the ride.

Same Same...but Different

Unfortunately, I haven’t had the time or electrical power to respond to any of the comments posted by you, dear readers. But I was able to at least read them occasionally, and today as I got my last glimpses of Africa I was thinking about Jill’s question – whether I find more similarities than differences among us.

While I have been here I have heard this uniquely African way of describing similar things: “same, same…but different.” One might hear this phrase from a server who delivers orange Fanta rather than coca-cola, for example. Or when you want to purchase an orange shirt and the shopkeeper offers a black shirt instead. If you protest in either of those instances, your protest is likely to be met with “same, same…but different.”

When I think about this cultural mosh pit in which I have been thrown for the past three weeks, I am more impressed by our similarities than our differences. Westerners and Africans have the same aspirations, the same goals, the same dreams. The real difference lies in our ability to achieve them, and the tools with which we are able to realize our full potential.

African mothers want a balanced diet for their children. They want medical care that is accessible, affordable, and adequate. They want their children to attend school. They want their children to grow into productive citizens. These are the same goals that American mothers have. But, sadly I think African mothers are faced with many more obstacles and far fewer tools.

Sometimes the similarities are more striking than the differences, like when I watched a boy cutting grass with a long stick with a machete roped to the end. Or when I saw a man walking his goats along the road one evening at dusk. He was calmly strolling behind them, with a rope drooping between him and the goats. It really made me laugh at how normal it seemed to me – it was almost as though my mind transposed a mental image of a man holding a dog leash and walking his dogs in the park at sunset.

But the differences are also marked. Today I was learning to make samosas from Harriet, Anneke’s housekeeper. Harriet was surprised that I paid my own way here, and that I came here to volunteer. She talked about how she dreams of travel, and when I asked her where she would like to go, she replied, “Rwanda- I have friends there.” For her travel is unattainable luxury. She remarked that my ticket probably cost five months of her salary; she’s probably right. It was another quiet moment in which I was reminded of the privileged life I live. In terms of privileges, I think we are different; in aspirations, in values, and perhaps most importantly in capabilities, I think we are much the same.