Here is a picture of a waterfall we found up the ribera (valley) outside of Ribera di Barka. It was about a 2 hour hike up the ribera on a REALLY hot day, but was well worth the effort. Freezing cold water falling about 150 feet from the top of a rock outcropping. Easily the best day Iºve had so far.
From the group in the picture, about 6 of us decided to stay overnight in Ribera di Barka. We ate tons of grilled chicken and fish, had a few beers at the local bar, and taught the kids some fun games. (Interestingly, none of knew the word for goose when we tried to teach them Duck, Duck, Goose, so henceforth on the island of Santiago, children will be playing Chicken, Chicken, Fish. Also, the children prefer to be able to run THRUOGH the circle when playing.
There was a fmaily there that had an extra house with a roof you could get to, so we all slept out there for the night. TXEU stars there, as there is absolutely ZERO light pollution. Amazing night of star gazing, story telling, and guitar playing. Also, there was a goat living on the roof.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
X-Rated Blog Entry
So, peace corps gave us a kriolu-english dictionary and I thought I would share the following entry, for your amusement :-)
sex- v. fazi seksu (polite); fazi amor (polite); moka (vulgar); mofa (vulgar); tra karepa; da krau; kebra koku (lit. break poop) (vulgar); kume kuza (lit. eat the thing) (vulgar); subi kama (lit. climb the bed) (informal); deta (lit. lie down/go to bed) (informal); fazi kuza (lit. do the thing) (vulgar); mopi kasarola (lit. dent the pot) (vulgar); fodi (vulgar); poi kuza na kuza (put the thing in the thing) (vulgar); subi na kabelu (lit. climb in the hair) (vulgar); xinta na pregu (sit on the nail) (vulgar); kumi kabesa (lit. eat the head) (vulgar); kumi kongu (lit. eat congo beans) (vulgar); fazi galu ku galinha (lit. do the rooster and the chicken) (vulgar); fazi kel kuza (lit. do that thing) (vulgar); fazi mal kriason/kriadeza (lit. do the bad thing) (vulgar); da un kuza (lit. give a thing) (vulgar); da katxor banhu (lit. give the dog a bath) (vulgar); da biota (lit. give housework) (vulgar); da fuliada (lit. give a throw) (vulgar); da fogu (lit. give fire)
I wonder what a list like this would look like in English.
sex- v. fazi seksu (polite); fazi amor (polite); moka (vulgar); mofa (vulgar); tra karepa; da krau; kebra koku (lit. break poop) (vulgar); kume kuza (lit. eat the thing) (vulgar); subi kama (lit. climb the bed) (informal); deta (lit. lie down/go to bed) (informal); fazi kuza (lit. do the thing) (vulgar); mopi kasarola (lit. dent the pot) (vulgar); fodi (vulgar); poi kuza na kuza (put the thing in the thing) (vulgar); subi na kabelu (lit. climb in the hair) (vulgar); xinta na pregu (sit on the nail) (vulgar); kumi kabesa (lit. eat the head) (vulgar); kumi kongu (lit. eat congo beans) (vulgar); fazi galu ku galinha (lit. do the rooster and the chicken) (vulgar); fazi kel kuza (lit. do that thing) (vulgar); fazi mal kriason/kriadeza (lit. do the bad thing) (vulgar); da un kuza (lit. give a thing) (vulgar); da katxor banhu (lit. give the dog a bath) (vulgar); da biota (lit. give housework) (vulgar); da fuliada (lit. give a throw) (vulgar); da fogu (lit. give fire)
I wonder what a list like this would look like in English.
Sign Up
Here is a picture of some kids from the meeting signing up to bring food and cleaning products...
Community Development Meeting
So tonight I had the Community Project Meeting in Txa di Tanqi and...it was a success!! (At least as far as I’m concerned.) I made an AVISO (sort of like an invitation) in Assomada last Friday, which was interesting because all written documents in CV are in Portuguese, and I only speak Kriolu. Anyway, I flubbed my way through most of it and taped them up all over town and put them in the hilux that run from here to Assomada (including the one I nearly barfed in).
Then came today, segunda feira (Monday). I got there at 5 to get things ready, the town professor showed up early and opened up the school for me and showed me how to work the generator to pon luz (make light). By 6 the sign-up sheets were posted, I’d gone over the frases util (useful phrases) I planned to use and I commenced waiting nervously for my first big speech in Kriolu. So the aviso said it would start at 7 sharp, and when there wasn’t a person in sight at 730, I’d pretty much chalked the whole thing up as a learning experience. (I am the world’s worst Community Development Mobilizer!!) When all of a sudden, what to my eyes did appear? Two of my neighbors, coming near! It was Rose (8 years old, precious, shy as can be and basically, since we talk on the same level, my second Kriolu professora) and Lena (17, whip-smart, sassy, practical and funny as hell)…basically the two people I feel most comfortable with in this entire country…and I felt better immediately. (I am NOT the world’s worst Community Development Mobilizer!!) Even better, more people were behind them and basically everyone was filing into the school around 7:45 (not too bad). There are, more or less as far as I can tell, about 1500 people in TdT (my village of Txa di Tanqi) and I was hoping about 15 or 30 would show, most of that number being my immediate neighbors and other PC volunteers living in the area. Instead I got…43!!!, and only one other PC volunteer! Fixi!! (I am the World’s Best Community Development Mobilizer!!)
Almost everyone that came was between the ages of 8 and 18 (my exact target audience, so around 815, I was so excited about the turnout that I ditched The Speech, and just started to papia ku tudus (talk with everyone off the cuff). I basically said “thank you for opening up your hearts and homes and making all the brankas (white people) feel welcome on the island” and then I asked if anyone knew what Korpo di Paz (Peace Corps) was and heard a lot of hilarious things. Dipos (after) I explained to them in Kriolu (using the word “explained” lightly here), what I thought Peace Corps was, what I thought my role in the community was, and then I talked for a little while about how I’d been out in the community talking with all the krianzas (kids) about what they want and need in the community, and about how the school here is in bad shape and about the importance of community building and working together and how I would go to the kamara (government office in Assomada) to request whatever assistance I could muster, and then finally laid out my master plan for the Dia di Limpa Skola y Festa Tanbe (Day of School Cleaning and Party Too).
The words flew from my mouth without effort. I was in the moment, pausing only for effect on the key messages, emphasizing and gesticulating, smiling, making eye contact and for a while, the frustration of foreign-language immersion was a complete thing of the past, a figment of my imagination. I was, for a brief and shining moment, an actual Cape Verdian. When I was done with my explanation (including a couple well received jokes) I asked if there were any questions and got…dead silence and blank stares. A fly buzzed around my face. A couple chairs creaked. Someone blew their nose, and one guy in the back got up and left. Utter devastation. As the sweat beaded on my forehead and I began to shift back and forth with nervous energy, my mind racing for a an answer to the silence. I could try again...where was The Speech…what happened to my frases util?...Did my translation of txuba txobe mean something more vulgar than what I intended? What would happen if I just walked out like the guy in the back? I finally settle on Nhos sta segura qi nigem tevi algo ki kre flanos? (Are there really no comments?) And then, like snow on Christmas morning, a shy little 8 year old girl sitting in the front, my neighbor, my professora, my Rose, raises her hand. I say...
-Sim Rosie? Bu kre flanos?
-Sim. Her tiny little snowflake voice making a question out of a statement.
-Enton… flanos.
-Ami n podi adjudao Kelli? Can I help you Caley?
-Claro Rosie. Claro. Obrigado. Of course you can. Thank You.
Rosie smiles, gets up from her seat in the front, takes ten long steps to me, takes my hand in hers, and melts my heart by turning to the room and announcing in a confident and excited voice…
-Ami n ta trazi nha saco pa poi lixu! (I will bring my sack to put trash in!)
She walks to the sign up sheet I’ve posted on the wall and she takes up a marker and scribbles along the bottom…
Rosie Fernandez - saco.
The whole room stares at her and I’m watching them and I realize that they all know her even better than I do and there are 42 melted hearts in the room.
The rest of the story tells itself. Within seconds people are up and talking and signing up to cook stuff and bring soap and mops and a couple guys in the front are telling me they can bring their brother from Assomada because he’s a carpintero (carpenter) and there are people discussing other possibilities amongst themselves…and now we’re on our way.
And I walk over to the corner of the room and take a seat near the sign-up lists and pull Rosie onto my lap and wrap my arms around her and we sit together in the corner and watch things unfold, and I’m reminded again of exactly why I’m here.
Obigado pa todo Rosie.
em>
Then came today, segunda feira (Monday). I got there at 5 to get things ready, the town professor showed up early and opened up the school for me and showed me how to work the generator to pon luz (make light). By 6 the sign-up sheets were posted, I’d gone over the frases util (useful phrases) I planned to use and I commenced waiting nervously for my first big speech in Kriolu. So the aviso said it would start at 7 sharp, and when there wasn’t a person in sight at 730, I’d pretty much chalked the whole thing up as a learning experience. (I am the world’s worst Community Development Mobilizer!!) When all of a sudden, what to my eyes did appear? Two of my neighbors, coming near! It was Rose (8 years old, precious, shy as can be and basically, since we talk on the same level, my second Kriolu professora) and Lena (17, whip-smart, sassy, practical and funny as hell)…basically the two people I feel most comfortable with in this entire country…and I felt better immediately. (I am NOT the world’s worst Community Development Mobilizer!!) Even better, more people were behind them and basically everyone was filing into the school around 7:45 (not too bad). There are, more or less as far as I can tell, about 1500 people in TdT (my village of Txa di Tanqi) and I was hoping about 15 or 30 would show, most of that number being my immediate neighbors and other PC volunteers living in the area. Instead I got…43!!!, and only one other PC volunteer! Fixi!! (I am the World’s Best Community Development Mobilizer!!)
Almost everyone that came was between the ages of 8 and 18 (my exact target audience, so around 815, I was so excited about the turnout that I ditched The Speech, and just started to papia ku tudus (talk with everyone off the cuff). I basically said “thank you for opening up your hearts and homes and making all the brankas (white people) feel welcome on the island” and then I asked if anyone knew what Korpo di Paz (Peace Corps) was and heard a lot of hilarious things. Dipos (after) I explained to them in Kriolu (using the word “explained” lightly here), what I thought Peace Corps was, what I thought my role in the community was, and then I talked for a little while about how I’d been out in the community talking with all the krianzas (kids) about what they want and need in the community, and about how the school here is in bad shape and about the importance of community building and working together and how I would go to the kamara (government office in Assomada) to request whatever assistance I could muster, and then finally laid out my master plan for the Dia di Limpa Skola y Festa Tanbe (Day of School Cleaning and Party Too).
The words flew from my mouth without effort. I was in the moment, pausing only for effect on the key messages, emphasizing and gesticulating, smiling, making eye contact and for a while, the frustration of foreign-language immersion was a complete thing of the past, a figment of my imagination. I was, for a brief and shining moment, an actual Cape Verdian. When I was done with my explanation (including a couple well received jokes) I asked if there were any questions and got…dead silence and blank stares. A fly buzzed around my face. A couple chairs creaked. Someone blew their nose, and one guy in the back got up and left. Utter devastation. As the sweat beaded on my forehead and I began to shift back and forth with nervous energy, my mind racing for a an answer to the silence. I could try again...where was The Speech…what happened to my frases util?...Did my translation of txuba txobe mean something more vulgar than what I intended? What would happen if I just walked out like the guy in the back? I finally settle on Nhos sta segura qi nigem tevi algo ki kre flanos? (Are there really no comments?) And then, like snow on Christmas morning, a shy little 8 year old girl sitting in the front, my neighbor, my professora, my Rose, raises her hand. I say...
-Sim Rosie? Bu kre flanos?
-Sim. Her tiny little snowflake voice making a question out of a statement.
-Enton… flanos.
-Ami n podi adjudao Kelli? Can I help you Caley?
-Claro Rosie. Claro. Obrigado. Of course you can. Thank You.
Rosie smiles, gets up from her seat in the front, takes ten long steps to me, takes my hand in hers, and melts my heart by turning to the room and announcing in a confident and excited voice…
-Ami n ta trazi nha saco pa poi lixu! (I will bring my sack to put trash in!)
She walks to the sign up sheet I’ve posted on the wall and she takes up a marker and scribbles along the bottom…
Rosie Fernandez - saco.
The whole room stares at her and I’m watching them and I realize that they all know her even better than I do and there are 42 melted hearts in the room.
The rest of the story tells itself. Within seconds people are up and talking and signing up to cook stuff and bring soap and mops and a couple guys in the front are telling me they can bring their brother from Assomada because he’s a carpintero (carpenter) and there are people discussing other possibilities amongst themselves…and now we’re on our way.
And I walk over to the corner of the room and take a seat near the sign-up lists and pull Rosie onto my lap and wrap my arms around her and we sit together in the corner and watch things unfold, and I’m reminded again of exactly why I’m here.
Obigado pa todo Rosie.
em>
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