Suicide
So last week Beni and I were sitting down at the point just beyond the cemetery, which sits atop a 150 meter cliff and offers a spectacular view of sol ta txi na mar (the sunset). We’d been there about an hour and the sun had just dipped below the horizon when Manu, a neighbor of Benvinda’s showed up behind us. We said hello, but he didn’t say anything to us and looked sort of annoyed that we were there, and left just as soon as he got there. We didn’t think much of it.
The next night, at around 4AM, I was awakened by the sound of screaming and shout-ing and a lot of commotion in the street below my window. I dressed and went outside, where Thoma told me that Manu’s mom had discovered his crumpled body laying in the cane at the bottom of the cliff beyond the cemetery. Apparently she’s heard him leave the house around midnight and when he didn’t return she went looking for him. I don’t know how she knew to look for him at the bottom of the cliff, but that’s where she found him. Terrible. She was understandably distraught, and is even now under a doctor’s care in Povocon.
He had recently been left by his girlfriend, who just moved to Portugal after securing a student Visa. He was 25 years old. A suicide is a terrible thing under any circum-stances, but it’s impact in a twon of 400 people is immeasurable. It’s all anyone is talking about these days, and people are obsessed with the cliff beyond the cematary and the cane below. The littler kids from town, possessed with a morbid sense of curiosity I suppose, have been trekking down to the cane and scaring each other.
So obviously I’ll never know, but I feel certain that when Manu came upon Beni and I the night we were there watching the sunset, he had come to do exactly what he did the following evening, and it sends a chill down my spine to think about it. I can’t imagine ever going back there to watch the sunset again.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Temporary (but spectacular) Beach
So this beach does not exist for 10 months out of the year, but during July and Au-gust, it’s heaven. Miles from anywhere and almost always deserted, it’s like some-thing from a movie set. When I’m here I feel like I’m in that scene from the end of the Planet of the Apes movie. I’m just waiting to stumble upon the remains of the Statue of Liberty.
Its Been A Long Hot Summer
Its Been A Long Hot Summer
...Without A Drop A Rain.
So after 339 days without a drop of rain here in Txangreja, 2 weeks ago we got 2 days in a row. I think the moisture and precipitation that we got here eventually turned into the weak hurricane that recently hit the Texas coast before heading inland and dumping a ton of rain and flooding the entire town of Ruidoso, New Mexico, where my dad hap-pens to live. Small world huh?
Anyway, it started out as a heavy mist type of rain. Never hard enough that you could hear rain drops, but hard enough that the surfaces of everything did get wet. That went on for about 3 hours and just after sunset, the first real drops started falling. Throughout the night brufa (drizzle) fell on the dirt and sand of Txangreja. The next day looked even more promising, with some pretty thick dark clouds hovering over the mountain-tops just up the ribeira from town. Sure enough, at about 2PM, the skies let loose and we got 32 minutes of what I would call torrential downpour. Like the day it rained in Txan di Tanki when I was in homestay on Praia, people were out in the streets singing and dancing and drinking the rainwater. People were putting buckets and barrels and pots and pans out on the roofs, trying to capture every last drop.
The next day everyone was out on the fields planting their corn and beans, and Lalino and I spent almost the entire day bent over an enchada (garden hoe) digging holes in the dirt while Bele (Benvinda’s mother) dropped in the seeds. It’s backbreaking work (the enchada is about 35 centimeters long so you’re literally standing spread-legged and doubled over to dig in the dirt. I learned that people prefer to plant only when the ground is quart ded moljad (wet down to a depth the equivalent of the width of four fin-gers), but we were planting in only 2 fingers. Apparently last year most people waited for the second two fingers worth of wet ground...and it never came.
Anyway, rainfall here in Txangreja is almost non-existant and due to our location in the geographical context of our valley, we receive much less here than most of the rest of the island. The mountains, which offer such a terrific scenic backdrop, act as a wind block, so the precipitation that falls in most of the valleys to the West of us has trouble getting over. The problem is further exacerbated by the prevailing ocean breeze, which blows inland from the water and serves to contain the few clouds that do make it over the mountain, up in the top of the ribeira near Garca...which is where we get our water from. Thus, just an hour away on the other side of our mountains in Coculi, they can get monsoon type events with driving rain and wind, while here in Txangreja it’ll be completely clear skies and 90 degrees. Typically the only time Txangreja gets any significant rainfall (the last of which I’m told was August of 2003...when it rained for 4 days straight) is when txuva ben d’mar (rain comes form the direction of the ocean). This is rare because although the configuration of the rochas y boca di moch (mountains and the mouth of the valley) create a “wnd-eddy” (just like an eddy in a river bend), the pre-vailing Sahel winds actually blow West to East...or out to sea. (Don’t ever say that Troy Kimmel, the TV weatherman that also taught my Weather and Climate class at UT, didn’t teach me anything!)
So anyway, we’re thankful for the rain we got, and everyone is hopeful for more. In the past weeks, almost the entire Northern half of the island has volta verde (turned green) faster than you can imagine...as if the land was just waiting with baited breath for the rains. Keep you fingers crossed for those of us in Txangreja! (I’ll try and get some good green pics up soon!)
...Without A Drop A Rain.
So after 339 days without a drop of rain here in Txangreja, 2 weeks ago we got 2 days in a row. I think the moisture and precipitation that we got here eventually turned into the weak hurricane that recently hit the Texas coast before heading inland and dumping a ton of rain and flooding the entire town of Ruidoso, New Mexico, where my dad hap-pens to live. Small world huh?
Anyway, it started out as a heavy mist type of rain. Never hard enough that you could hear rain drops, but hard enough that the surfaces of everything did get wet. That went on for about 3 hours and just after sunset, the first real drops started falling. Throughout the night brufa (drizzle) fell on the dirt and sand of Txangreja. The next day looked even more promising, with some pretty thick dark clouds hovering over the mountain-tops just up the ribeira from town. Sure enough, at about 2PM, the skies let loose and we got 32 minutes of what I would call torrential downpour. Like the day it rained in Txan di Tanki when I was in homestay on Praia, people were out in the streets singing and dancing and drinking the rainwater. People were putting buckets and barrels and pots and pans out on the roofs, trying to capture every last drop.
The next day everyone was out on the fields planting their corn and beans, and Lalino and I spent almost the entire day bent over an enchada (garden hoe) digging holes in the dirt while Bele (Benvinda’s mother) dropped in the seeds. It’s backbreaking work (the enchada is about 35 centimeters long so you’re literally standing spread-legged and doubled over to dig in the dirt. I learned that people prefer to plant only when the ground is quart ded moljad (wet down to a depth the equivalent of the width of four fin-gers), but we were planting in only 2 fingers. Apparently last year most people waited for the second two fingers worth of wet ground...and it never came.
Anyway, rainfall here in Txangreja is almost non-existant and due to our location in the geographical context of our valley, we receive much less here than most of the rest of the island. The mountains, which offer such a terrific scenic backdrop, act as a wind block, so the precipitation that falls in most of the valleys to the West of us has trouble getting over. The problem is further exacerbated by the prevailing ocean breeze, which blows inland from the water and serves to contain the few clouds that do make it over the mountain, up in the top of the ribeira near Garca...which is where we get our water from. Thus, just an hour away on the other side of our mountains in Coculi, they can get monsoon type events with driving rain and wind, while here in Txangreja it’ll be completely clear skies and 90 degrees. Typically the only time Txangreja gets any significant rainfall (the last of which I’m told was August of 2003...when it rained for 4 days straight) is when txuva ben d’mar (rain comes form the direction of the ocean). This is rare because although the configuration of the rochas y boca di moch (mountains and the mouth of the valley) create a “wnd-eddy” (just like an eddy in a river bend), the pre-vailing Sahel winds actually blow West to East...or out to sea. (Don’t ever say that Troy Kimmel, the TV weatherman that also taught my Weather and Climate class at UT, didn’t teach me anything!)
So anyway, we’re thankful for the rain we got, and everyone is hopeful for more. In the past weeks, almost the entire Northern half of the island has volta verde (turned green) faster than you can imagine...as if the land was just waiting with baited breath for the rains. Keep you fingers crossed for those of us in Txangreja! (I’ll try and get some good green pics up soon!)
Mar Tranquilidad
Sunset in Tarrafal di Montrigo. This is Tarrafal, and the Mar Tranquilidad. If anyone back home wants to go to the end of the Earth and spend theor days in complete relaxation, this is the place to go. To get there from the States you’ll need to take a no less than three planes, three taxis, to busses, two boats and a three hour walk.
The Dangers of Power Outages
The Dangers of Power Outages.
So among the many challenges of life over here, is learning to live without power. Ac-tually, learning to live without power might be a little easier than learning to live with random and prolonged power outages, which is what is going on here. Two days ago, we had power for three hours...from 1PM to 4PM. The day before we had it for 5 hours, but they were randomly spread out throughout the day in one hour intervals. It’s wreak-ing havoc on my refridgerator, but I suppose I should just be happy to have a refrigera-tor in the first place.
I am mostly bald. (You’ll see how this relates to random power outages shortly.) So yeah...I’m mostly bald, and since forever I’ve cut my hair REAL short. I can’t stand to have it not shaved short...you can feel breeze in it when it gets too long, it looks all fuzzy and ridiculous. Anyway, in the States I used to cut my own hair at least once a week with a home trimmer, and I brought that with me here. (Over here its such a pain in the ass though that I usually go for about two weeks between haircuts...which really pushes the limits on the fuziness factor.) Well in a week the weird electrical current here exploded my haircutter (despite the converter kit I had it plugged into) and I brought a trimmer here at a Chinese loja. Contrary to every other experience I’ve had with a Chinese loja product, this little trimmer has been a champ. No problems whatso-ever, and I’ve been happily short-shorn since I’ve been in Cape Verde.
Then came last week. Normally it takes me I guess about 6 or 7 minutes to shave my head. (I do still have some hair around the sides and the back...its just the top that’s shiny.) Anyway, last week, after 2 weeks without a haircut, in the middle of the day, 3 and a half minutes into my haircut, the power went out. I know it was exactly three and half minutes into my haircut because exactly half of my head was completely shaved. (The driver’s side half...not that it matters.) That is not something you can hide. I have a hat here, a big one even, but even it won’t hide a half shaved head. You can still tell that something’s not quite right when you see only half of a neckline cleaned up...only one sideburn. Normally I would not be too panicked about the whole thing, and could just wait for the power to come back on, or might just elect to try to stay in the house un-til dark and then go out with a hat. Not an option on the day in question though, having had some turtle-related trabalho (work) in Cruzinha later in the afternoon. Basically there was nothing for it. I would have to take a walk of shame. I figured it would funny though, a good laugh for my friends, which it did indeed turn out to be.
One day would have been ok to suffer the humiliation, but that was not to be. The next morning, I got up as usual, had my porridge and brown sugar breakfast, and then promptly left the house to go down to Vuk Taref (just down the hill from Txangreja), hav-ing forgotten my predicament. (There is currently no mirror in my house, so it’s not like I can check myself out before leaving the house, and in any event I’ve completely gotten out of the habit of doing that.) Thankfully I caught Te having a good chuckle as I was headed down the hill and he said “es koisa di kabexa k’bo ten.” Ah yes...now I remem-bered. I immediately turned back to the house and plugged in the trimmer and flicked the switch and...no juice. The power was still not there. I waited. And waited. And waited. I shouted down to the mini precio at 11AM and asked Te if he knew when the power might be coming back on, and he said it had already come and gone...Txangreja having had power during the very useful hours of 4 to 8AM. I asked him if he though it’s be coming back on. He said “Kuas nao.” (Prolly not.) So I stayed close to or inside the house that whole day, grateful to not have any commitments in Cruzinha, and waited anxiously for any sign of power. Music from a radio or TV, a streetlamp, anything. It did not come that day. A second day with a half-shaved head.
The third day came and I was up early to check for power. I set the alarm and every-thing. Still none. I waited. And waited. And waited. Basically, standing in my kitchen (it’s the only available power outlet) with the trimmer plugged in and ready to go. At 10AM the light came on in the kitchen and I flicked the switch on the trimmer...and the damn thing exploded in my hand. There was smoke and everything. I said aloud, in English and to none at all….”You have got to be shitting me!” I wanted to hit some-one...preferably someone who worked at the power company or a chinese loja. Thoughts of another day with the ridiculous half head of hair, the stories that my neighbors would be telling, making the hour-long car ride to Povocon, possibly even making the hours long car ride to Porto Novo, searching through the various Chinese lojas for a new trimmer (they are hard to find and very expensive).
Some of you might quite rightly question why I didn’t just go to someone here in town who also had a trimmer and ask them to fix me up. At first blush a good idea, until you’ve been through Peace Corps medical training where they inform you that MANY Cape Verdians have that weird skin fungus on their heads (I’d say about half the kids in town have it...it looks like...and may in fact be...ringworm, but I’m not sure what it is. Also, conditions here are less sanitary than what we’re used to in the States, and there is REALLY no telling where a hair trimmer might have been. I’d hate to even speculate. Basically we were fairly warned to get hair cuts at barbershops at our own peril.
In the end, I went to Povocon with the big hat and lucked out by finding a trimmer in the third loja that I tried. I paid WAY too much for it, and it’s not nearly as nice as the one I had before. This one takes about 3 passes before it cuts even my meager and gossa-mer mane. I give it one more use before it bites the dust. I’ll be ready though...now I’ll cut my hair every three days, just in case.
So among the many challenges of life over here, is learning to live without power. Ac-tually, learning to live without power might be a little easier than learning to live with random and prolonged power outages, which is what is going on here. Two days ago, we had power for three hours...from 1PM to 4PM. The day before we had it for 5 hours, but they were randomly spread out throughout the day in one hour intervals. It’s wreak-ing havoc on my refridgerator, but I suppose I should just be happy to have a refrigera-tor in the first place.
I am mostly bald. (You’ll see how this relates to random power outages shortly.) So yeah...I’m mostly bald, and since forever I’ve cut my hair REAL short. I can’t stand to have it not shaved short...you can feel breeze in it when it gets too long, it looks all fuzzy and ridiculous. Anyway, in the States I used to cut my own hair at least once a week with a home trimmer, and I brought that with me here. (Over here its such a pain in the ass though that I usually go for about two weeks between haircuts...which really pushes the limits on the fuziness factor.) Well in a week the weird electrical current here exploded my haircutter (despite the converter kit I had it plugged into) and I brought a trimmer here at a Chinese loja. Contrary to every other experience I’ve had with a Chinese loja product, this little trimmer has been a champ. No problems whatso-ever, and I’ve been happily short-shorn since I’ve been in Cape Verde.
Then came last week. Normally it takes me I guess about 6 or 7 minutes to shave my head. (I do still have some hair around the sides and the back...its just the top that’s shiny.) Anyway, last week, after 2 weeks without a haircut, in the middle of the day, 3 and a half minutes into my haircut, the power went out. I know it was exactly three and half minutes into my haircut because exactly half of my head was completely shaved. (The driver’s side half...not that it matters.) That is not something you can hide. I have a hat here, a big one even, but even it won’t hide a half shaved head. You can still tell that something’s not quite right when you see only half of a neckline cleaned up...only one sideburn. Normally I would not be too panicked about the whole thing, and could just wait for the power to come back on, or might just elect to try to stay in the house un-til dark and then go out with a hat. Not an option on the day in question though, having had some turtle-related trabalho (work) in Cruzinha later in the afternoon. Basically there was nothing for it. I would have to take a walk of shame. I figured it would funny though, a good laugh for my friends, which it did indeed turn out to be.
One day would have been ok to suffer the humiliation, but that was not to be. The next morning, I got up as usual, had my porridge and brown sugar breakfast, and then promptly left the house to go down to Vuk Taref (just down the hill from Txangreja), hav-ing forgotten my predicament. (There is currently no mirror in my house, so it’s not like I can check myself out before leaving the house, and in any event I’ve completely gotten out of the habit of doing that.) Thankfully I caught Te having a good chuckle as I was headed down the hill and he said “es koisa di kabexa k’bo ten.” Ah yes...now I remem-bered. I immediately turned back to the house and plugged in the trimmer and flicked the switch and...no juice. The power was still not there. I waited. And waited. And waited. I shouted down to the mini precio at 11AM and asked Te if he knew when the power might be coming back on, and he said it had already come and gone...Txangreja having had power during the very useful hours of 4 to 8AM. I asked him if he though it’s be coming back on. He said “Kuas nao.” (Prolly not.) So I stayed close to or inside the house that whole day, grateful to not have any commitments in Cruzinha, and waited anxiously for any sign of power. Music from a radio or TV, a streetlamp, anything. It did not come that day. A second day with a half-shaved head.
The third day came and I was up early to check for power. I set the alarm and every-thing. Still none. I waited. And waited. And waited. Basically, standing in my kitchen (it’s the only available power outlet) with the trimmer plugged in and ready to go. At 10AM the light came on in the kitchen and I flicked the switch on the trimmer...and the damn thing exploded in my hand. There was smoke and everything. I said aloud, in English and to none at all….”You have got to be shitting me!” I wanted to hit some-one...preferably someone who worked at the power company or a chinese loja. Thoughts of another day with the ridiculous half head of hair, the stories that my neighbors would be telling, making the hour-long car ride to Povocon, possibly even making the hours long car ride to Porto Novo, searching through the various Chinese lojas for a new trimmer (they are hard to find and very expensive).
Some of you might quite rightly question why I didn’t just go to someone here in town who also had a trimmer and ask them to fix me up. At first blush a good idea, until you’ve been through Peace Corps medical training where they inform you that MANY Cape Verdians have that weird skin fungus on their heads (I’d say about half the kids in town have it...it looks like...and may in fact be...ringworm, but I’m not sure what it is. Also, conditions here are less sanitary than what we’re used to in the States, and there is REALLY no telling where a hair trimmer might have been. I’d hate to even speculate. Basically we were fairly warned to get hair cuts at barbershops at our own peril.
In the end, I went to Povocon with the big hat and lucked out by finding a trimmer in the third loja that I tried. I paid WAY too much for it, and it’s not nearly as nice as the one I had before. This one takes about 3 passes before it cuts even my meager and gossa-mer mane. I give it one more use before it bites the dust. I’ll be ready though...now I’ll cut my hair every three days, just in case.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Back Soon
So it´s been a while, and I´ve got a good backlog of Blogs that I´ve been writing out on papaer (does anyone do that anymore?). But, my new computer got here on Sunday, so I´ll spend part of this week typing them up and post them when I get back to Pocoçon, as there is still no internet in my town. I´ve got some great pictures of Ribeira de Torre and Mon Patraz as well, and I´ll get those up soon.
Things here are well´, although its hot and muggy and the flies are terrible. (Yes, I know its hotter in Texas, but they have air conditioning there.) Other than that, I´ve spent the last 2 days nursing Benvinda who has something approximating the flu. I can´t imagine surrering flu symptoms in these conditions (hot, muggy, sweaty, flies, no cold water, etc.). She seems to be feeling a little better today though, so that´s good. Amgiving a turtle and "environmental awareness" seminar next week in Cruzinha, and there is a festival on the beach there this weekend, with the big music festival in Sau Viçente the following weekend. Pretty busy month for me, before going to Praia for the month of September to teach the new volunteers Sanpadjudo kriolu. Looking forward to a change of pace with life on the big island.
I hope everyone is well, and thanks for the recent spurt of care packages. Very much appreciated!
Things here are well´, although its hot and muggy and the flies are terrible. (Yes, I know its hotter in Texas, but they have air conditioning there.) Other than that, I´ve spent the last 2 days nursing Benvinda who has something approximating the flu. I can´t imagine surrering flu symptoms in these conditions (hot, muggy, sweaty, flies, no cold water, etc.). She seems to be feeling a little better today though, so that´s good. Amgiving a turtle and "environmental awareness" seminar next week in Cruzinha, and there is a festival on the beach there this weekend, with the big music festival in Sau Viçente the following weekend. Pretty busy month for me, before going to Praia for the month of September to teach the new volunteers Sanpadjudo kriolu. Looking forward to a change of pace with life on the big island.
I hope everyone is well, and thanks for the recent spurt of care packages. Very much appreciated!
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