I've Never Heard of Senegal

Finding inspiration in a blood-red hotel room with gaudy fleur-de-lis-print carpet can be about as trying as a picking out Waldo back when I was an ambitious 8 year old who thought a nightly sit with Where’s Waldo? counted as “reading.”

He's right THERE...

The Senegalese hospitality has me feeling quite welcome, but my head is still reeling a bit as I grasp the concept of being thrown four hours into the future and on my two feet in Africa. Africa might as well be the moon for all I know; it’s a new land with new people and new languages – the things that make it all so exciting, yet daunting all at once. The soothing lulls of French roll from the tongues of everyone from the random taxi driver waving for my attention at the airport to the receptionist at my hotel, and I’m inspired to translate that warm feeling if I could only find the right way as to how.

Stepping into a new country where I do not speak the language is a new experience for me, and an uncomfortably frustrating one at that. It’s an inexplicable experience that truly flips my perception of life upside down while taking the already massive concept of what we call Earth and multiplying it by 10,000. If you think you’ve seen it all, met as many characters as you think you can in this lifetime, or tasted every spice your palette can handle you’re wrong. Throw a dart at a map, catch the next flight/boat/donkey out of town, and go. While it’s anyone’s guess as to whether what you find will be shocking, disappointing, or exhilarating, it’s undoubtedly going to be new.

Pangea?

And so it is in this foreign land that I find myself at a loss to do even the most elementary of tasks, like take a taxi to my hotel. I settle myself in to what now feels like my desk in kindergarten as I rely on my hands and fingers more than my words to strike an agreement with the driver. Four thousand of anything sounds mighty steep, but we agree on this fare and make our way. I know we agree because he mirrors a handful of four digits over his shoulder and gives me a smile in the rearview mirror. “Oui.”

Thankfully my knowledge of Spanish allows me to recognize many words, especially those scrawled in graffiti as we make our way along the Atlantic Coast and into the streets of Dakar. However, ironically enough, this same knowledge, that gives me at least a semblance of understanding as I eavesdrop on those all around me, is just another frustrating dead end keeping me from communicating with my new acquaintances. My knee-jerk reaction is to respond to all inquiries in Spanish, however, this is just as foreign as my English in Francophone Africa. However, as much as I feel like I’m really not getting anywhere, I manage to at least arrive at my hotel.

So, while I’ve seemingly been silenced by my temporary inabilities, I’ve gained a more powerful skill. Listening.

Listen to the world around you. Listen not only with your ears to the words others speak, but also with your eyes, your sense of touch, and your mind. Enhance your connection to the simplest sounds around you and allow no barrier of spoken word to keep you from the warmth that others radiate, which is spoken in thousands of different languages.

Happy Birthday Zack!

"Yeah, my name is Zack. Just like 'Zack, Zack, he's a Lego Maniac!'"

Pure 1990s, Zack the Lego Maniac

Any kid growing up in the 1990s knows this famous line of commercials just as well as they know the Bill Nye the Science Guy theme song or the Friday night lineup of T.G.I.F.

Not that Zack was such a foreign name to me that it required a helpful mnemonic or song in order for me to remember, but that was just the way you were. It certainly seemed like an odd way to make an introduction and begin our friendship, but then again I wouldn't have it any other way. I guess I am left to forever associate legos with you and our friendship.

It is yet again your birthday, my friend, reminding me all about the power of friendship and love. It's been nearly 2 years since you left us and I'd like to think I've continued to make you proud during that long hall of changes and growing. I've explored life in Guatemala, Perú, and El Salvador, found myself back in Washington DC once more, and am happily spreading the joys of laughter and music with all my closest friends - the same joys I know you passionately held dear.

I fondly reflect on our many memories on a daily occasion, and I hope you know that I did you proud just this past winter break when I beat the original Contra without dying even one time. A feat we used to spend hours trying to accomplish. Of course you know that though, you were watching and guiding me all the way - how else could I have possibly kept getting Spread?

Always have my back

Your Earthly body is gone, but you guide me every day, Zack. It's too dangerous to go alone.

I wish I had something great to give you this year for your birthday, but all I have is this darn pocket full of legos...

Set Free

Nothing has prepared me for this moment, but I feel as if I’ve lived my whole life for the very next 30 seconds that await me. The countless pairs of unfamiliar hands, which have nurtured me and brought me to this launching pad, now applaud my best efforts to crawl my way into this vast abyss they call my future.

Lead. I will follow.

Not a single soul, including myself, has any idea what awaits me, and despite the tumultuous waves collapsing before me like the brittle walls of a gingerbread home rotting in late March, I feel the serene repose of what lies deep beneath the ostensible turmoil. A deep emptiness lies before me asking me to fill it - and I will.

Costa del Sol, El Salvador

Something innate pushes me to the brink. Something intrinsic assures me that I am ready to take this plunge. It’s as if the millions of others who have come before me sing a sweet chorus in unison with the rhythmically swelling waters that hypnotically lulls me into the salty embrace of the ocean. You lead, I will follow. I am blissfully blind.

Beware: The Water

The weighty burden of each grain of sand upon my arms makes this otherwise simple task rather onerous. But upon second thought, what now seems to sap every last bit of energy as I maladroitly squirm to accomplish this Herculean task is but a small taste of the exhaustion that awaits me as I set out into this world of the unknown.

Palatial Castles

Convinced you’ve done the world a favor, I’ve finally made my way to the sea. An extra round of applause for yourself under the guise of your jubilation for my feats today, you take solace in telling yourself you’ve done something good; however, we all know I will be dead soon. You brought me here knowing that I would not succeed.

My, how the ocean has a peaceful way of soothing a guilty conscience.

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday El Salvador (and Guatemala, Honduras, Costa Rica, and Nicaragua)!

Like any proud American, I celebrate American Independence with great fervor. When asked by foreigners what exactly July 4^th is or how exactly our independence came about I can rattle off the highlights, main characters, and key points as if they were details from my favorite movie. Taxation without representation, King George III, the Boston Tea Party, George Washington and the Founding Fathers, the Battles at Lexington & Concord, the American Revolution, the Declaration of Independence, and all the other gems of American History.

Yes, Lightsabers were used.

I know these things because a) I love the United States and b) our public schools (for the most part) do one hell of a job making sure you eat, drink, and sleep this info. Initially, it’s rote learning stored simply for the regurgitation on your upcoming 6th grade social studies test, but with time and maturity it becomes who you are as an American. Further, and as corny as the cliché might be, “you can never know where you are going until you know where you have been.”

With this in mind I was shocked while chit-chatting with my students the other day when, in an effort to spark some conversation in English class, I was met with dumbfounded looks upon asking, “Who can tell me about El Salvadoran independence?”

A few mumbled words later and we confirmed the date: September 15, 1821. “Good, that’s a start…” I thought. However, when pressed for further details the most we established was that independence was proclaimed from Spain.

“Great!” I exclaimed, “But how? Why? Who played important roles? Tell me the story.”

*Crickets*

Determined to get the kids talking and to keep class moving along, I spoon-fed them questions that kept the storyline moving and gave their minds a mental workout. My favorite part of course being the fire in one student’s response when I put the issues of the early 19^th Century independence movement into today’s terms in an attempt to make history relatable. “Let’s say the country today is overtaken by the maras, or the gangs, of El Salvador. They control everything and all the common people are left to live how they dictate. What would you do?”

“I KILL THEM ALL!”

 These guys have chainsaws for testicles.

Perhaps my small class, mostly between the ages of 16-20, is made of students just at the perfect, apathetic age where no amount of prodding or excitement can get them to share their knowledge. I know they’re more concerned with deciding what to “like” on their Facebook accounts than who Manuel José Arce was, but I get the sense this goes beyond any apathetic disregard for being in class on a Saturday morning. I can see this isn’t about them being too shy or to lazy to give an answer. The proverbial light bulbs above the heads’ of even my brightest students go dim. They simply do not know the finer details of their independence. 

When the month of September rolls around, the country is in a fit of patriotism. Cars and buildings all around town don flags, blue & white balloons decorate doorways everywhere, and Independence Day sales draw in customers to every store. With such hoopla surrounding the holiday, I’ve given a lot of thought on how independence could be so prevalent in the populace’s mind yet its history so unknown by so many.

¡Viva El Pulgarcito (El Savlador)!

Perhaps I am searching for much more to the story than exists. With the American Revolution in mind, perhaps my expectations are skewed. Maybe there isn’t much more to really say about the independence from the Spanish Crown. Maybe with all the waves the American and French revolutions made around the world beforehand, the independence of Central America was an overlooked sideshow playing second fiddle on the second stage. Maybe the Central American countries were able to ride on the coattails of those movements with relative ease. With everyone else in the New World gaining independence and the Spanish Crown having already lost the bulk of its territory in South America, as well as finding itself bogged down by everyone's favorite Emperor (Napoleon), maybe it was just time for Spain to give up.

A world power cedes nearly all of its territory in the New World, leaving you – to this day – with a language, culture, DNA, and influencing who you are; and we’ll just chalk it up to them giving up? I don’t think so. Of course, the finer details are beyond me, but my point is this: shouldn't those living here now at least understand the gist of what happened? Maybe not everyone can cite the exact years, place, and people of these events, but at least build a general understanding.

It is paramount that a country and its people understand where they come from. It is a cornerstone of life and how we are molded to live it. It dictates how societies and the world have existed since the evolution of man, and will continue to dictate our societies until the sun explodes and takes us all down with it in a solar apocalypse. The lack of one’s history is not only troubling, but crippling to all of society.

I’m all for a barbeque, parades, and unfettered patriotism today, but starting next week I say we all hit the books.

"I Am Here"

A morning a person I am not.

Drudging myself from the warm, cozy confines of my bed only to attack (or be attacked by) the day that lies ahead can often, I find, not be worth the effort. Not to be a Dougie Downer for the rest of you who are high on sunshine, but I’d just as soon like to step back in time and meet the genius that perpetuated this “early bird gets the worm business.”

I’d give the guy an “A” for effort, a nice pat on the back for exhibiting such enthusiasm, but then I’d slip him some Xanax to take his life from a The-World-Is-My-Oyster-&-I’m-Gonna-Eat-The-Shit-Out-Of-It high to a much more appropriate I-Lead-A-Mediocre-Existence-That-Allows-Me-To-Live-Within-My-Means-&-I’m-OK-With-That reality. Come down from the rainbow infused, unicorn tear based, hippy drug of happiness with a side of dancing Oompa-Loompas that you’ve been free basing, and join the rest of us on this rock of cold, hard, Earth.

Yes, I see that the sun is up, but no, that alone is not reason enough for me to put a smile on my face and pretend that it has not done that same exact action each and every day of my 28-year existence.

That parlor trick has worn off, my friend. The sun hasn’t fooled anyone with that one since the days of Copernicus, so it’s about time for some new, updated material.  I’m ready to be inspired.

Heliocentric: represent!

Anyhow, the rant against morning people, geocentrism, and those not sharing unicorn tears with the rest of us aside; I find it very odd when I am met with a response to a question from someone that fails to make any sense, fails to even acknowledge that a question was asked, or even goes so far as to respond to my inquiry with yet another question.

Firstly, as far away from the morning spectrum of “chipper” as one can be, it takes a bit of effort and gusto on my behalf to eke out such salutations anywhere between the hours of 6 - 11 AM. Should I find the Herculean strength and Rocky Bolboan resolve to garner a “How are you?” the last thing I need is the confusion of a response, “Good morning.” Wait, you’ve failed to answer my question….or did you? I’m confused.

Ok, perhaps it’s my fault for jumping the gun and immediately using a question in my greeting as opposed to a simple salutation. After all, 99.9% of the time I ask this question I tune out the response as I am often, very simply, uninterested.

And perhaps I am exaggerating a bit; I understand the give and take between a friendly morning exchange of hellos, how-ya-doings, good mornings, and the like. Of course, a straight answer is not mandatory to an inquiry of one’s state, but I can’t help but feel as if it’s like I am asking something as simple as “What is your name?” and the best response mustered is an asinine, “Wicket.” Unless one were raised by croquet fanatics, avid cricket players, or maybe a pair of Star Wars faithful obsessed with Ewoks, I doubt your name is wicket and thus, you’ve failed epically to respond to my question. And don’t respond to my “How ya doing?” with a hearty, “How’s it going?” I asked you first, chief. You don’t want to get into that battle with me – it’s one you will surely lose.

Wicket the Ewok

All of this is to say that the subtly of simply ignoring your greeter’s query and responding with something a bit off-the-wall is not unique to English speakers. Over the years I have found many words, phrases, and sayings in Spanish to be just as entertaining, and a common phrase that one will hear often in El Salvador is among that list.

Question: “How are you doing?”

Response: “I’m here.”

I simply love it. It’s simple, it’s quick, and it about completely avoids the question. Of course, context considered, it is understood to be a neutral response, much like I might respond to the same question in English, “Oh, you know, just hanging around.” I haven't answered how I am feeling or doing, but in general there is nothing too exciting neither here nor there; things are a bit stagnant. Translated literally, however, the response always brings a smile to my face, and that might just be worth waking up for.