Get lost!

Basically my life.

I used to be fairly organized. And in that sense I mean know what was going to happen and when, etc. I’ve slowly been changing to an “Eh, whatever happens happens” kind of person. Don’t get me wrong, I still have my freak-outs, but for the most part I consider myself to be pretty chill in most aspects of life.

South Africa acted as a major catalyst for my “Eh, whatever” attitude towards life. Everything was real chill and easy going. The concept of time blurred in my mind and worries faded. (Maybe I’m making some of this up and some of you are laughing reading this and thinking about me as a person but I think I’m a little more relaxed than I used to be.) Anyway. My metamorphosis in SA continues in Turkey. Here’s what my life has basically been for the past two+ weeks:

• Thought: I have nothing to do today (don’t make a plan)
• Leave house and explore area (or take bus to area/destination I want to explore)
• Just walk
• Find good places to eat
• Find interesting sites
• Walk some more
• On occasion, get lost (get excited I’m lost because it’s not easy for me)
• Find self in semi-sketchy neighborhood
• Start thinking aloud and in English how I don’t know where I am
• Realize everybody around me knows I’m foreign when I speak English aloud
• Keep walking in the direction I think something I will recognize is till I get my bearings

I like being lost. I tend to think I have a fairly good sense of direction. Generally if I go somewhere once, I can find my way back again so long as it’s not too complex or too much time has passed since I’d been there the first time. So it’s fun for me to get lost in this big, new city and to be able to find my way back to Besiktas eventually.

If I’m not by myself, I’m with others who generally don’t mind having a plan and that’s fine with me. I like things that happen spontaneously. When Courtney and I went to the Old City a couple weeks ago, we only really knew how to get there. When I went with Courtney and Nathan to the Spice Bazaar, we really only knew that’s where we were going. On Spring Break in South Africa, we had a few solid plans but for the most part played everything by ear. And found ourselves in some really amazingly terrifying yet still awesome situations. I imagine the same will be true for this spring break and when I have friends who come visit.

Let’s also just break this down: when I signed up to come to Istanbul, I had only a slight idea of what to expect. It was kinda on a whim. When I got here, I had nowhere to live and got on Craigslist to look for an apartment. When I signed up for classes, I didn’t know if I’d get a good selection or not. Maybe it’s a generational thing, but I tend to think my own is pretty lax when it comes to, well, life. We play it by ear and tell each other everything will be okay and for the most part is usually is. Our parents worry, but we have hope for the better. I can only hope that that will continue in my life and in the life of my friends. It’s worked for the past 21 years, so why not longer?

“Jump first, fear later” is the motto for becoming an intern with my favorite non-profit and group of idealists, the Invisible Children roadies and crew. In high school, my friends and I had a hypothetical situation we would propose at random times that was about jumping in a large black hole that you had no idea where it led. It could end up that you fall forever and ever, end up in your favorite dream, or the depths of your darkest nightmare. You had no idea, but the question was always posed: would you jump?

More and more, I am jumping first and fearing later. I usually have no idea where these holes will lead, but way more often than not, they usually end somewhere REALLY nice.

So I get lost in life. And try not to fear about the future.

Hopefully this isn’t all me being the 8th dwarf, Idealisty, and I get hit by the reality truck any time soon. Even if I do, it's whatever. Why should we not take risks in life? To make it safely to death? No, thanks.

The first week (but not really).

That’s a little over how long has passed since I left ‘Murika. Again. I’ve been slacking on the personal journaling yet again because, well, let’s face it… I’ve been exploring this AWESOME city. I mean, really, I fell in love immediately but with time it’s just gotten better/worse.

I’ll skip ahead…

On Wednesday the 2^nd on the way from the airport to Taksim Square where I met fellow Sooner, Peter, the bus passed by mosques, shops, the Sea of Marmara filled with ships ready to enter or that had just exited the Bosporus, Hagia Sophia (Ayasofya), the Blue Mosque, kids playing in public parks, and so many more beautiful indescribable things.

Peter met me in Taksim Square and we took a taxi to the Besiktas (pronounced BESH-eek-tosh) neighborhood of Istanbul where Peter lives to drop my bags off. After that we headed up to the Bogazici University campus (Bogazici is pronounced boh-AZ-ih-chee and means Bosporus in Turkish). Peter showed me campus as we headed for the university doctor. Turns out Peter had been bitten by one of the many stray dogs that Istanbul has and wanted to make sure he didn’t have rabies or anything. Good idea, right? Anyway, we walked around the beautiful campus, made it to the doctor, and the doctor referred him to a hospital in Sisli (SHISH-lee/li combo). We got lunch and I had my first Turkish meal – chicken curry. Peter took Intro to Turkish last semester soooo he kinda did all the talking for me. We headed for the bus stop and went to the Sisli hospital where Peter received a rabies vaccination. GOOD TIMES. I’m more than happy to report that he will live. Peter, Peter’s roommate, Julia, and I went for dinner and then waited for Courtney to get here. Which she did. We stayed in the rest of the night and talked.

Peter and Julia graciously left us their flat to stay in and left the night of the 3^rd for Lebanon and will be back the 9^th. In the meantime, Courtney and I, n00bs to the city, were left on our own to explore and get acquainted with Istanbul. Much like in Pretoria when Brooke and I decided on a whim to walk to the Union Buildings one of the first days we were there, Courtney and I decided to take the public transportation Istanbul has to offer to the historic “Old City” one of the first days we were here. On the 4^th, we took a bus to Taksim and the subway to the Old City, where we got off at Sultanahmet where the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia are located.

Pictures don’t do these places justice. Istanbul itself has an atmosphere all its own. East meets West, old meets new. It’s the only city in the world to straddle two continents and appropriately the atmosphere is just as unique. The Muslim Call to Prayer, which is comparable to Christian church bells (but much more beautiful sounding than inanimate pieces of metal, if you ask me), started going off as soon as Courntey and I had entered the Hagia Sophia grounds. This only amplified the atmosphere that the area already had. If I’m lucky, I wake up to this five-times-daily hymn in the morning and hear it in the evening around dinnertime. Otherwise I hear it go off at some hour of the day just walking around the city. Minarets dot the landscape and there are so many mosques in Istanbul that you usually get to hear more than one Call to Prayer at once, which is more than fine with me. Have I mentioned I love the Call to Prayer? And Istanbul? Kgood. Anyway, Courtney and I enjoyed the atmosphere and looked around Hagia Sophia for awhile. (I’ll put some pictures here but more can be found on Facebook.)

After looking around the beautiful 1,500 year-old church, we headed across the way to the 400 year-old Sultan Ahmed or Blue Mosque. As we accidentally attempted to enter the Muslim entrance (and where Courtney attempted futilely to be culturally sensitive and obtain something to cover with her head with), we were directed to the tourist entrance where we took off our shoes and went in. It was so pretty inside and it became apparent why westerners call it the Blue Mosque. It was covered in blue tiling on the inside.

After snapping some pictures, we headed to the Bazaar that is Grand (Not to be confused with the Bazaar of Spice, or any local neighborhood bazaar. Mine is the Besiktas Bazaar.). It’s easy to get lose in this place. Lots of alleys with vendors to walk down. So we walked around for an hour, had some cay (chai), and played the “offer ‘impossibly’ low prices for knockoff everything” game. “I give you good deal. 40 lira.”

“Umm, 15 no higher.”

“You’re crazy. Go away.”

THROWBACK TO CHINA where we played the 20 kuai game and were told to go away or that it was impossible every time. May have pissed a few people off there in the Silk Market.

Anyway, Courtney scored some stuff and I acquired yet another scarf. Oooooops. #somanyscarves

NOW comes the time where I admit that I started typing this particular entry almost a week ago but I’m lazy and explorative and busy and am just now getting around to finishing it. A LOT more has happened since I started it though. More will come later. If I’m feeling ambitious.

Sometimes the Universe has different plans.

Get ready for an incoherent rant about my life/the beginning of this adventure.

Once upon a time I was leaving for Istanbul on February 1^st, 2011. Then once upon that same time, Mother Nature had different plans. A blizzard was sent the way of the entire Midwest the night before my planned departure. I began to panic. Then, at the suggestion of my friend and fellow world traveler, Shayna, I called Delta Airlines and tried to re-schedule. “Call in the morning,” they said. So I did. I called this morning (January 31^st) at 8:30AM and was told that I could leave at 1PM or 6PM. Obvz more time to pack means more time to pack, so I took the 6 o’clock flight out of Tulsa. At least I was supposed to.

I got to the airport with my parents at 4PM, as per the suggested two-hour advance check-in by TSA. It was already delayed till 7:45 when we got there, but why not just do it anyway? Trying to check my baggage was another problem. For international flights, you’re supposed to be able to check two fifty-pound bags free of charge. Well, since I had re-scheduled my flight, I was no longer connecting to an international flight but rather flying to Atlanta, staying the night there, and then checking in again for my Istanbul flight. This is what I was told. After a three-hour delay in Tulsa, we finally got off the ground. I sat next to a kid from Grove whose mom had picked him up after school and said they were going to Disney World rather than being trapped at home for days on end. I love spontaneity. You go, kid’s mom.

So, I get to Atlanta, ask a guy at the desk what to do, and hesitantly confirms what I had been told in Tulsa. Pick up bags, check in again, sleep in terminal.

I picked up my 38 and 50-pound bags (along with my carry-on backpack and messenger bag), and don’t rent a $4 cart to push everything around (because, let’s face it, saving money and getting a workout in the mean time is always a win) and head for the Delta counter way at the other end of the terminal.

I get to the counter, where I find my Disney World-bound friend again, and wait to check back in. The lady at the counter tells me that TSA doesn’t allow baggage scanning until at least 4:30 and that Delta has a 6-hour-prior check-in policy. So. Not much I can do about either of those. So I lug my 90+ pounds of belongings back down the terminal and I currently find myself sitting in Atlanta Bread in the Atlanta airport. Sleep may come. But not till I’m completely exhausted and the floor zamboni thing stops cleaning and flashing.

Mainly I’m glad I got out of Oklahoma before the sky decided to freeze everything like the dark side of Pluto. The next twelve hours will probably hold lots of time on my trusty computer and doing absolutely nothing productive. Good thing I like the unexpected, right?

Next blog comes from Istanbul. At least, that’s the plan as of now.

Five.

The last time I wrote a blog entry, I was in South Africa and it was titled with numbers. This time I’m in America and have also titled in numbers. I have five days until I leave for Istanbul, Turkey. When I started this blog, I had no idea that I would be spending a year of my life in different countries. I thought I’d be documenting my then ongoing experiences in South Africa. But while there I had the idea to study in Turkey as well. Why? I’ve always wanted to go to the Middle East and while I realize Turkey is more Westernized than, say, Syria, Saudia Arabia, Oman, Egypt, or others, Istanbul is also a city that has been inhabited for millennia and has a rich culture as well. Turkey is the only country and Istanbul the only city to straddle two continents: Europe and Asia. As a result, it also straddles two kinds of cultures and is completely unique in that sense. From west to east, Turkey is, well, more western and eastern. I won’t go into everything now, but will instead leave the Turkey topic there and reflect on my time in South Africa.
Since being back, I have realized a few things.

First of all, America is home. That is for sure. Not only did I miss all my friends and family while I was gone, but I missed the culture of America. I missed the orderliness (of every day life, the government, the people), individuality, diversity, technological accessibility and many other things.

Secondly, I am beginning to see life and everything to do with it in spectrum-terms. For most of my intellectual life, I have known there is a political spectrum. For most of my adult life, I have known race and ethnicity are a spectrum, especially living in America, the melting pot. In recent years, I have known human sexuality and gender are a spectrum. And more recently, I am beginning to realize patriotism is also a spectrum. While I may have missed and enjoy the above qualities of America, let’s say I’m still not a huge fan of the inequalities I see in human rights through domestic and international policies, American materialism, or some views Americans hold of religion, science, and politics. (I’m going somewhere – bear with me.) Patriotism is a spectrum. I have listed likes and dislikes, and while these describe me, they certainly do not apply to everyone in the US. For some, certain qualities in America, whether governmental, belief, or lifestyle-wise, may be perfect. For me, both yes and no. I am beginning to see that no country is perfect. For some, America (or Sweden or the UK or Uruguay or wherever) is as close to perfect as they want. Still others yearn for something more and emigrate elsewhere. Others put up, settle, or vocalize discontent. Patriotism is a spectrum.

Thirdly, I miss South Africa. I miss the genuineness of the people. I miss taking it easy. I miss the simplicity of either being with people or being by yourself. In the US, with the Internet at your every turn, cell phones going off, and TVs bombarding us with information, it’s easy to be “with” someone all the time. In South Africa, Internet and cell were limited, and TV to me was basically non-existent. I was either with people or I wasn’t. Back at home, when on coffee or lunch dates or what have you, someone’s phone is always out on the table. I remember in South Africa, phones stayed in pockets during conversations and when you were with someone, you were really with them. I connected with people faster and deeper than I almost ever have at home. It’s not that technology is a crutch or a hindrance on the American people – it’s just the society we live in. It’s a fact of life.

I was going to continue here with some thoughts on technology – but after typing a couple incoherent lines, I decided against it. In summary, America is home for the most part. I missed you all for sure. And I missed aspects of my life here at home. But I also have gained an appreciation for simplicity.

Istanbul calls louder with every passing day. I already miss you all but am so excited to tell you about everything that happens in the coming months. Soon.

Two and seventeen.

Those are the magic numbers as of 11:21AM GMT+2, Wednesday, November 24th, 2010. Two days until I say goodbye to Pretoria and hello to Swaziland and seventeen days until I say hello to America and everyone I love (give or take a few days).

My time here has been everything I wanted and (this makes sense in my mind) more and less. It’s hard to believe that after my last exam (they call finals exams here and mid-terms are tests) on Friday, I will have just a few hours in Pretoria before a bus full of people I don’t yet know whisks me away to Swaziland where I will be volunteering in the town of Belembu for two weeks. My fellow Sooners/Americans Brooke and Madison left almost a week ago and with the exception of Carmen and some others, most of the other international students have left as well. It’s hard to believe, actually. Everyone has these analogies but it really does seem like just recently all the exchange students were meeting each other and having our first braai. It also doesn’t seem like our trip to Durban was three months ago and our attempt at Swaziland and epic spring break were months ago.

Brooke and Madison are home, and while I’d like to be, I definitely don’t want to be at the same time. I feel like I have unfinished business here (and I’m fairly certain those feelings aren’t from finals and having signed up for Swazi). I’m someone who can’t sit still. Long and short term. I want to go home but am also so excited for next semester in Turkey. After that I have two years at OU that I plan on enjoying thoroughly. I’m getting more homesick and more comfortable here at the same time. Walking on the right hand side of the sidewalk feels wrong now. Seriously, I tried it today and my brain was like “Wait. What are you doing? What, what, what are you doing?” I’m used to walking everywhere and have adopted “Howzit,” “is it,” “as well,” (instead of too) and other mannerisms like a thumbs up as a greeting and am getting better at the extended handshakes people like to give here (I’ll shake your hand like a South African when I see you in ‘Murrica). There’s the deeper cultural stuff that I’m also accustomed to now but I’d rather tell you about that in person.

I have learned so much here, but I’d like to share all the good, deep things with you all in person when I get back. Even though I already have blogged about some of them before. If you’re reading this, I want to see you when I get back. If you’re not, I want to as well. I start packing today. Packing? Really? That doesn’t seem right. Granted it’s not to get on a plane, but I will probably never see this room again. It just seems weird. Other things that are weird: the weather here is becoming increasingly Oklahoman. Big storms and cloud cover. It’s summer and the rainy season but South Africa seems to want to have its transitions to try and re-acclimate me to Oklahoma weather. I’m fine with that.

I’m sorry this post was short and jumpy, but I’m sleep deprived from finals and my thoughts are going everywhere in preparing for Swazi and going home. This will probably be my last post until February. See you in 17 days or just a few more? Good.

This is strictly political (and historical).

I can’t believe I’m writing this after I literally just got back from writing that exam, but here it is. This post relates to some things I’ve learned in my South African class on apartheid. Yes, I’m about to relate aspects of apartheid with ongoing political issues in the US. I’ve considered several potential reactions to this post that include but are not limited to: outrage, agreement, empowerment, enlightenment, or any combination of the above.

As I studied and read for my Apartheid final last night, I couldn’t help but draw several parallels with ongoing political issues in the US. With regard to social apartheid in informal relations (sex) between ethnicities, I drew a parallel to women’s health in the US and with regard to petty apartheid (the segregation of waiting rooms, elevators, etc.), I drew a parallel to marriage equality. First, social apartheid and women’s health.

It should be noted that in the apartheid system, there were various pieces that affected the populations including the social, governmental, educational, territorial, and other aspects. Social apartheid mainly sought to legislate the private lives of South Africans and safeguard the “racial integrity” of whites. In addition to the prohibition of mixed marriages which was passed by law in 1949, the government under the National Party passed the Immorality Amendment Act of 1950, which was an extension of a 1927 law which forbade informal relations between blacks and whites. The 1950 Amendment extended that law to include interactions between ethnicities (blacks, whites, coloureds (that’s actually not insensitive/derogatory here), Indians, etc.). According to one of my books,

“There was a weak type of Italian immigrant on the mines of the West Rand, declared one delegate to the Transvaal congress of the National Party, who were particularly mischievous. To tantalise the police, they ‘walked through parks on Sundays arm-in-arm with Native women, and the police were powerless to act.’ Though Minister of Justice, Swart, found mixed associations disgusting and had in fact addressed a meeting on the issue in Hyde Park 30 years previously, there was little more he could do. Unfortunately, he said, it was not practicable by law to prohibit white and black consorting other than what had already been done under the Mixed Marriages and Immorality Acts. ‘To do so would be to land yourself in a maze, where you would not know what to prohibit and what not to prohibit.’”

Here’s where the parallel comes in. The debates between pro-life and pro-choice advocates are that one wants to protect the life of an unborn fetus and the other side wants to protect the rights and health of the woman, respectively. You’ll probably be able to guess my opinion after I make my arguments, but here goes nothing anyway. The parallel is that “you would not know what to prohibit and what not to prohibit” with regard to abortion. Pro-lifers advocate the overturn of Roe v. Wade, which legalized abortion decades ago. Most pro-life advocates if asked, wouldn’t know what to make illegal or what punishments to establish if their goals were realized. Arguments I’ve heard include punishing the woman or punishing the doctor (really the only options I can see) if an abortion is performed. Will this really solve the problem and stop abortions from happening? Probably not. With this desired prohibition comes the problems that came before Roe v. Wade. These problems would undoubtedly once again present themselves if pro-lifers had their way. So, just as with the “problem” in South Africa, what do you prohibit and what do you not prohibit? Maybe this was a stretch caused by my ongoing sleep deprivation, but there’s my two cents regarding social apartheid and abortion.

On to petty apartheid and marriage equality. Petty apartheid (compare with grand apartheid [economic, educational, territorial]) involves well, the petty aspect of apartheid: segregation of water fountains, waiting rooms, train cars, etc. In 1949, the National Party government

“sought to impose separation of the public facilities used by whites and people of colour… the Railways and Harbours Act was passed which empowered the government to reserve train accommodation for the exclusive use of persons belonging to a particular racial group. The act was challenged in court. In Rex v Abdurahman in 1950 the appellate division held that a regulation which reserved a portion of all trains for whites but did not restrict them to those sections led to ‘partiality and inequality in treatment’ which was not authorised by the Railways Act of 1916.”

“Partiality and inequality in treatment”. Remind you of separate but equal? Women’s suffrage? The Civil Rights movement? How about the ongoing struggle by the LGBTQ community? Obviously the LBGTQ community isn’t as oppressed as non-whites were under apartheid or women or blacks were in the US were in their fights, but the key phrase here is “partiality and inequality in treatment.” I’m going to let you do most of the thinking for yourself on this with regard to that phrase and the LGBT community but let me say a few things first. America is not a theocracy. In fact, the First Amendment to the United States Constitution explicitly states that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion…” The only argument against marriage equality in the US I’ve ever heard of are religious in nature. Additionally, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, federally non-recognized social security benefits between spouses, and harassment, violence and employment non-protection, among other things against LGBT people is further evidence of “partiality and inequality in treatment.” Yes, that phrase came out of a South African court decision but whatever happened to “liberty and justice for all”?

So there’s my South African learnin’ being applied to real life situations in the US. I guess I don’t have much else to say other than to promote the other post I’m about to write and publish today that follows this one. Hopefully I didn’t piss anyone off too much. But I warned you.

Source (yeah, I’m bein’ all academic n’stuff on my blog, so what?):

Liebenberg, B.J. & S.B. Spies (eds.), South Africa in the 20^th century, pp. 322-24

(Dis)organization

Before I get to the blog/event stuff, I’m going to get a little personal here. (Please feel free to skip over this and on to the next paragraph.) When in doubt, I distract myself. I get online, wasting my air time, I start texting people at home, I try (and fail) to read a book, I Wikipedia stuff I don’t know about but am interested in, I take a shower or eat. But in today’s instance, I write a blog. Sometimes I doubt myself. I doubt who I am as a person, and why anyone would want to form and maintain a relationship with me. These thoughts quickly breeze over and I segue into the future. Will I be forever alone? The phrase “there are plenty of fish in the sea,” is to me, frankly, bullshit. How many people in the world (not even the world, as I realistically don’t have access to the world at large – really only where I live, so, in this case, Tulsa and Norman) will I be attracted to on a spiritual, emotional, romantic, and physical level and will they in turn be attracted back on these levels? And when these handful or less of people come along, will we be able to maintain something… Forever? Maybe I think about the future too much. I need to live in the present. But I’ve gotten to the chronological and emotional age where settling down sounds nice, so long as that someone and I will be able to continue to have fun and travel together with our potential family. By no means am I actively looking for someone thinking “holy shit, my time (for finding someone) is almost over.” I realize that at twenty-one I am in the prime of my life, but it’d be nice to have some kind of reassurance. Right now, my reassurance is with The Fray.

Anyway, now that that’s out of my system (sorry for that public display of humanness, but I do feel better – sometimes it takes talking to someone else my own age who feels the same and has the same worries, and sometimes it helps to just type it out for a blog when nobody around the world is online and hope people skip over it) I can move on to event stuff. I’ve decided to skip over the rest of spring break, realizing my laziness in that a week trip took me over a month to blog about and another weekend trip didn’t even make it into my personal journal. In fact, it’s been almost a month since I’ve written anything in my journal. I finished the one my friend Jami gave me before I left, wrote some pages in a new South Africa-bought one, and quit – pathetic. Life moves on and so will this blog.

So, earlier this week my friend Mark from OU who’s in SA independently now texted me asking if Brooke and I and the other international students would want to volunteer at a boys’ shelter this weekend. The shelter had organized with about eight other shelters in the area to put together a sports day for all the kids. Having nothing else to do Saturday morning and loving children, we said yes. We were picked up about a half hour later than expected (what they say about African time is true) and headed to the home on the southwest side of the city. We arrived to a field full of kids, boys and girls alike, just kinda sitting around in their own groups while we waited for instruction. We all stood around until we were told to move into the gym for orientation. Several people spoke about the day while some of the kids from the shelter in Pretoria that Mark knew played with Brooke and I in the back of the auditorium. Or rather, played with our phones. After the speaking and during the phone-playing, a traditional African song and dance was performed by two of the shelters’ kids. I love it when I get to see traditional African stuff performed. It reminds me that I really am in South Africa, on the African continent, and not in a completely Westernized part of the world.

This is Mesach. He pretty much sat on my lap and played with my phone during the whole orientation.

After orientation and the performance, we moved back outside and, again, waited around for about a half hour while the coordinators of each shelter collaborated on what exactly to do. A schedule had been typed up, but we were already an hour behind and nothing had really been organized. Brooke and I talked about life here and at home, about African (dis)organization, and compared cultures. After awhile, cones for track and field races were set up and Brooke and I decided it was time to move off of the field. We took a seat on the bleachers and watched a couple of races while simultaneously observing an adorable little Indian boy cuddle with a dog. It was probably only in the mid-80’s outside, but we were also in the African sun (which shines so differently and much more intensely here) and I felt myself starting to burn. I moved to the shade.

After a quick sit and cool-down, the lady “in charge” of the whole event came over to me and asked if I could supervise traditional games and chess which was being played back in the auditorium. Chess? Kids are interested in chess? No way. I don’t want to do chess. Chess is boring. Kids need to run around. Also, chess = a traditional game? Not really. Whatever. I had nothing else to do, agreed and followed her inside. There was one chess set and about twenty-five older boys who wanted to play. There was supposed to be a competition going but with only one set and so many competitors, I could already tell this was going nowhere fast. So this lady asked the other adults in the room what was going on and after a good five minutes of conversation we finally decided on something. Kind of. She counted kids interested (twenty-four) and coordinators (adults – four) and assigned six kids to each coordinator. “Register these children for chess,” she said. I was confused. Register them? This is a one person job, tops. “Oh, and we have these,” she said, picking up a grocery bag with about a dozen tennis balls in them. “Can you do anything with these?” “Wall Ball,” I thought. But I didn’t know how to play Wall Ball. I always just observed on the playground in elementary school. My friends and I were the ones who stood around and talked during recess. (I’ve always been a little different, I suppose.) “I don’t know if I can do anything with these, I’m sorry.” I said to her. She told me to get creative and that she would go get a marker so that I could label the tennis balls as king, knight, pawn, etc. What? 12ish tennis balls + no giant tennis-ball-chess-board + sixteen pieces in a real game = chess tournament? DOES NOT COMPUTE. She left and I pulled out the schedule I had been given earlier to start writing names down for registration, but had no pen. The kids around me (and ones with the other adults) began to disperse back to observing the chess game at hand. I also left but in search for Brooke, my fellow American who possibly knew how to play Wall Ball, wanting to be able to do something with the tennis balls turned chess pieces I had been shown.

I found Brooke near the shade tree I had sat by before I was called to do nothing and asked her if she knew how to play Wall Ball. “No, I used to in elementary but don’t remember how anymore,” she said. I felt a little defeated but was glad to be back outside. Brooke and I talked and played with some of the kids (Mesach, and some others. It should be noted that Meshach is from DRC and also has brothers named Shadrach and Abednego.) while waiting on something do to, of which that something never materialized. As I lugged some of the kids around on my back and tossed them into the air, I had flashbacks to childhood at my grandparents’ house in Oklahoma City and my cousins and I being launched into the deep end of the pool by my dad and uncles. I can’t wait to be able to do that with my own kids some day. After some play, a dance, and some more lounging, it was time to head back, as most of us international students had other stuff to do that day. We said goodbye to the kids and seven of us piled into two cars of Mark’s friends, and headed back to Tuks.

Abednego and me

While we literally did nothing to help out the whole time we were there (with the exception of Anna and Liu, who cut vegetables for lunch in the kitchen while we were outside), I’m so glad I went. I loved being with the kids and experiencing the ridiculousness of the (dis)organization at hand. The one thing I’ll miss about this place when I return home in a little over a month is the entertainment value of the society. That may sound nationalistic, but I truly to love the differences. And deep down, the disorganization.