In Aachen we found a town with a beautiful old part, magnificent cathedral, shopping on Sunday afternoon, a huge fleamarket Sunday morning and www.carolus-therme.de.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Aachen
We spent the first weekend of April in Aachen (Germany) .. our last weekend away without baby :-)
In Aachen we found a town with a beautiful old part, magnificent cathedral, shopping on Sunday afternoon, a huge fleamarket Sunday morning and www.carolus-therme.de.
In Aachen we found a town with a beautiful old part, magnificent cathedral, shopping on Sunday afternoon, a huge fleamarket Sunday morning and www.carolus-therme.de.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Being an Indian outside of India...
An interesting article from Newsweek. I identified with a lot of what she is saying, and hope to pass on the Indian-ness my parents gave to me, on to my children, who will be half Indians outside of India!
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/11569225/site/newsweek/page/2/
My Two Lives
The Pulitzer-winning writer felt intense pressure to be at once 'loyal to the old world and fluent in the new.'
By Jhumpa Lahiri
Newsweek
March 6, 2006 issue - I have lived in the United States for almost 37 years and anticipate growing old in this country. Therefore, with the exception of my first two years in London, "Indian-American" has been a constant way to describe me. Less constant is my relationship to the term. When I was growing up in Rhode Island in the 1970s I felt neither Indian nor American. Like many immigrant offspring I felt intense pressure to be two things, loyal to the old world and fluent in the new, approved of on either side of the hyphen. Looking back, I see that this was generally the case. But my perception as a young girl was that I fell short at both ends, shuttling between two dimensions that had nothing to do with one another.
At home I followed the customs of my parents, speaking Bengali and eating rice and dal with my fingers. These ordinary facts seemed part of a secret, utterly alien way of life, and I took pains to hide them from my American friends. For my parents, home was not our house in Rhode Island but Calcutta, where they were raised. I was aware that the things they lived for—the Nazrul songs they listened to on the reel-to-reel, the family they missed, the clothes my mother wore that were not available in any store in any mall—were at once as precious and as worthless as an outmoded currency.
I also entered a world my parents had little knowledge or control of: school, books, music, television, things that seeped in and became a fundamental aspect of who I am. I spoke English without an accent, comprehending the language in a way my parents still do not. And yet there was evidence that I was not entirely American. In addition to my distinguishing name and looks, I did not attend Sunday school, did not know how to ice-skate, and disappeared to India for months at a time. Many of these friends proudly called themselves Irish-American or Italian-American. But they were several generations removed from the frequently humiliating process of immigration, so that the ethnic roots they claimed had descended underground whereas mine were still tangled and green. According to my parents I was not American, nor would I ever be no matter how hard I tried. I felt doomed by their pronouncement, misunderstood and gradually defiant. In spite of the first lessons of arithmetic, one plus one did not equal two but zero, my conflicting selves always canceling each other out.
When I first started writing I was not conscious that my subject was the Indian-American experience. What drew me to my craft was the desire to force the two worlds I occupied to mingle on the page as I was not brave enough, or mature enough, to allow in life. My first book was published in 1999, and around then, on the cusp of a new century, the term "Indian-American" has become part of this country's vocabulary. I've heard it so often that these days, if asked about my background, I use the term myself, pleasantly surprised that I do not have to explain further. What a difference from my early life, when there was no such way to describe me, when the most I could do was to clumsily and ineffectually explain.
As I approach middle age, one plus one equals two, both in my work and in my daily existence. The traditions on either side of the hyphen dwell in me like siblings, still occasionally sparring, one outshining the other depending on the day. But like siblings they are intimately familiar with one another, forgiving and intertwined. When my husband and I were married five years ago in Calcutta we invited friends who had never been to India, and they came full of enthusiasm for a place I avoided talking about in my childhood, fearful of what people might say. Around non-Indian friends, I no longer feel compelled to hide the fact that I speak another language. I speak Bengali to my children, even though I lack the proficiency to teach them to read or write the language. As a child I sought perfection and so denied myself the claim to any identity. As an adult I accept that a bicultural upbringing is a rich but imperfect thing.
While I am American by virtue of the fact that I was raised in this country, I am Indian thanks to the efforts of two individuals. I feel Indian not because of the time I've spent in India or because of my genetic composition but rather because of my parents' steadfast presence in my life. They live three hours from my home; I speak to them daily and see them about once a month. Everything will change once they die. They will take certain things with them—conversations in another tongue, and perceptions about the difficulties of being foreign. Without them, the back-and-forth life my family leads, both literally and figuratively, will at last approach stillness. An anchor will drop, and a line of connection will be severed.
I have always believed that I lack the authority my parents bring to being Indian. But as long as they live they protect me from feeling like an impostor. Their passing will mark not only the loss of the people who created me but the loss of a singular way of life, a singular struggle. The immigrant's journey, no matter how ultimately rewarding, is founded on departure and deprivation, but it secures for the subsequent generation a sense of arrival and advantage. I can see a day coming when my American side, lacking the counterpoint India has until now maintained, begins to gain ascendancy and weight. It is in fiction that I will continue to interpret the term "Indian-American," calculating that shifting equation, whatever answers it may yield.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/11569225/site/newsweek/page/2/
My Two Lives
The Pulitzer-winning writer felt intense pressure to be at once 'loyal to the old world and fluent in the new.'
By Jhumpa Lahiri
Newsweek
March 6, 2006 issue - I have lived in the United States for almost 37 years and anticipate growing old in this country. Therefore, with the exception of my first two years in London, "Indian-American" has been a constant way to describe me. Less constant is my relationship to the term. When I was growing up in Rhode Island in the 1970s I felt neither Indian nor American. Like many immigrant offspring I felt intense pressure to be two things, loyal to the old world and fluent in the new, approved of on either side of the hyphen. Looking back, I see that this was generally the case. But my perception as a young girl was that I fell short at both ends, shuttling between two dimensions that had nothing to do with one another.
At home I followed the customs of my parents, speaking Bengali and eating rice and dal with my fingers. These ordinary facts seemed part of a secret, utterly alien way of life, and I took pains to hide them from my American friends. For my parents, home was not our house in Rhode Island but Calcutta, where they were raised. I was aware that the things they lived for—the Nazrul songs they listened to on the reel-to-reel, the family they missed, the clothes my mother wore that were not available in any store in any mall—were at once as precious and as worthless as an outmoded currency.
I also entered a world my parents had little knowledge or control of: school, books, music, television, things that seeped in and became a fundamental aspect of who I am. I spoke English without an accent, comprehending the language in a way my parents still do not. And yet there was evidence that I was not entirely American. In addition to my distinguishing name and looks, I did not attend Sunday school, did not know how to ice-skate, and disappeared to India for months at a time. Many of these friends proudly called themselves Irish-American or Italian-American. But they were several generations removed from the frequently humiliating process of immigration, so that the ethnic roots they claimed had descended underground whereas mine were still tangled and green. According to my parents I was not American, nor would I ever be no matter how hard I tried. I felt doomed by their pronouncement, misunderstood and gradually defiant. In spite of the first lessons of arithmetic, one plus one did not equal two but zero, my conflicting selves always canceling each other out.
When I first started writing I was not conscious that my subject was the Indian-American experience. What drew me to my craft was the desire to force the two worlds I occupied to mingle on the page as I was not brave enough, or mature enough, to allow in life. My first book was published in 1999, and around then, on the cusp of a new century, the term "Indian-American" has become part of this country's vocabulary. I've heard it so often that these days, if asked about my background, I use the term myself, pleasantly surprised that I do not have to explain further. What a difference from my early life, when there was no such way to describe me, when the most I could do was to clumsily and ineffectually explain.
As I approach middle age, one plus one equals two, both in my work and in my daily existence. The traditions on either side of the hyphen dwell in me like siblings, still occasionally sparring, one outshining the other depending on the day. But like siblings they are intimately familiar with one another, forgiving and intertwined. When my husband and I were married five years ago in Calcutta we invited friends who had never been to India, and they came full of enthusiasm for a place I avoided talking about in my childhood, fearful of what people might say. Around non-Indian friends, I no longer feel compelled to hide the fact that I speak another language. I speak Bengali to my children, even though I lack the proficiency to teach them to read or write the language. As a child I sought perfection and so denied myself the claim to any identity. As an adult I accept that a bicultural upbringing is a rich but imperfect thing.
While I am American by virtue of the fact that I was raised in this country, I am Indian thanks to the efforts of two individuals. I feel Indian not because of the time I've spent in India or because of my genetic composition but rather because of my parents' steadfast presence in my life. They live three hours from my home; I speak to them daily and see them about once a month. Everything will change once they die. They will take certain things with them—conversations in another tongue, and perceptions about the difficulties of being foreign. Without them, the back-and-forth life my family leads, both literally and figuratively, will at last approach stillness. An anchor will drop, and a line of connection will be severed.
I have always believed that I lack the authority my parents bring to being Indian. But as long as they live they protect me from feeling like an impostor. Their passing will mark not only the loss of the people who created me but the loss of a singular way of life, a singular struggle. The immigrant's journey, no matter how ultimately rewarding, is founded on departure and deprivation, but it secures for the subsequent generation a sense of arrival and advantage. I can see a day coming when my American side, lacking the counterpoint India has until now maintained, begins to gain ascendancy and weight. It is in fiction that I will continue to interpret the term "Indian-American," calculating that shifting equation, whatever answers it may yield.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
Vira on the move
My salee, my sister in law Vira is staying with us since about three weeks. She is here for 5 months, it is really nice!! Few people know that Belgium and Australia also have a working holiday agreement. So far she had some great holidays in India and Portugal, and she promised to paint our hallway before her niece or nephew arrives.
Pictures on Vira on the move
Parul is in London for three days of training, pubs will close very early for her being 7 months pregnant, I hope she 'll be all right. Meanwhile I am going to follow a workshop that 'll make me superpapa as well as start a new job on Wednesday. Yep, I got a contract at Handicap international as communications officer, really happy, it's international, Belgian, development, and I 'll be doing Flemish stuff, all in one.
cheers
Jeroen
Pictures on Vira on the move
Parul is in London for three days of training, pubs will close very early for her being 7 months pregnant, I hope she 'll be all right. Meanwhile I am going to follow a workshop that 'll make me superpapa as well as start a new job on Wednesday. Yep, I got a contract at Handicap international as communications officer, really happy, it's international, Belgian, development, and I 'll be doing Flemish stuff, all in one.
cheers
Jeroen
Monday, March 06, 2006
Amy's pictures
Amy came to visit us last September, just when we found out that we are going to become mammy and daddy!
She put her best pictures from Belgium on this site , featuring a warm Belgium aftersummer, (which we dearly miss now that the wet snow keeps falling).
Thursday, January 12, 2006
our last week in Australia
Dinner at Bollywoord on the park, the Thursday night before we left. Did Parul eat too much ?
Rakesh in the kitchen
Ranjana stirring a yummy sauce
Parul outside Vira's office
Rakesh finishing off a Ganesh painting that we'll somehow transport to Belgium.
A walk with Tux the dog, who was really excited, sensing we were leaving once more.
Adolphe Sax is being honoured on this wall
The Belgian beercafe in Melbourne. The place had a huge outdoor space and a cycling club : )
The lady at the bar tried to get foam on the Hoegaarden we ordered and got told off by a colleague for trying to make a cappuccino, she did her best though to reproduce belgian beer serving! Some people actually call Belgium a beer paradise . Well, we are just particular about which beer we serve in which glass!
Sunday, January 08, 2006
X-mas
Holding Caitlin, Sharon and Garry's baby girl, at Pauline's birthday dinner. This was after our week in Kiama, staying with Parul's friends from Sydney.
We spent Xmas with Parul's family. After a Xmas eve dinner at home we drove down to Yannakie. Here is a picture on a walk along one of the wild beaches at Wilson Prom national park, close to Yannakie, South of Melbourne.
The beach at the caravan park in Yannakie where we stayed for one night.
Xmas day was colder and a lot more windy than expected.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
St Kilda
We went out for dinner at soul mama, a fanatic vegetarian restaurant full of normal people and with a beautiful view.
Sint Kilda ligt aan de baai van Melbourne, de skyline van de stad zelf zie je op de achtergrond.
Toen ik de foto nam was het nog fris en winderig, intussen is het warm en een heel eind boven de 25 graden. Wat valt me zo op in Melbourne?
Vliegen
Deze zomer zijn er uitzonderlijk veel vliegen overgewaaid vanuit de outback, je zit in een moderne stad en wordt op bepaalde plaatsen lastiggevallen door vliegen als een koe in een Vlaamsche weide.
Links houden?
Zelf in het zwembad trekt iedereen baantjes aan de linkerkant, Australie is een moderne en multiculturele maatschappij maar vloeit grotendeels voort uit de angelsaksische cultuur en dat zie je aan het schoolsysteem, de architectuur en de religie. Aboriginals zie je weinig in de stad. Eergisteren op een barbie (BBQ) bij Jeremy een vriend van Parul, raakte ik in gesprek met ene Paul die als leraar in een afgelegen gebied werkt in een dorp met Aboriginals. Hij geeft Engels maar hield een pleiddooi voor begrip voor hun non-kapitalistische cultuur en tegen OCMW-uitkeringen. Blijkbaar zijn die gemeenschappen helemaal niet mee met de moderne samenleving maar zijn ze er wel voor een deel afhankelijk van geworden. In het laatste dorp waar hij lesgaf wilden alle jongeren graag in de gevangenis geraken want daar hebben ze een groot fitness centrum en dan kan je met stevige armen terugkeren. Velen weten dikwijls niet waarom ze de gevangenis ingaan. Fascinerend moeilijk!
Groen
Er zijn veel bomen en in de meeste wijken is er een groene long met natuurlijke afwatering. Treinen en trammen lopen hier wel rond maar alles ligt ver uiteen en zonder auto is het niet eenvoudig, tenzij je echt in het centrum woont.
MATROESKA's
Geloof het of niet maar de Vlaamse misdaad serie die in de lente de kijkcijfers van VTM de hoogte in moest jagen loopt hier zowaar onder de naam Russian dolls. En ja, in plat Antwerps met ondertiteling. Zou de VTM dat uitwisselen tegen series van Flying doctors uit de jaren tachtig of worden ze hiervoor goed betaald? Ik voelde me eigenlijk plots fier op VTM.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
down under
Sinds midden december zijn wij down under. Na een vliegreis over Kabul en een voetmassage in Kuala Lumpur kwamen wij aan in Melbourne waar de lucht helblauw is en de schoonfamilie blij is.
Intussen hebben we ons tussen indische maaltijden, vrienden terugzien, Melbourne leren kennen en zwemmen in het zwembad en oceaan in een vakantiegevoel genesteld. De afgelopen twee dagen steeg het kwik boven de dertig graden, wat ook helpt al blijft Melbourne wisselvallig en momenteel heel winderig en onweersachtig.
Enkele indrukken:
In dit park zitten drie scoutsgroepen, jongens, meisjes en een schotse groep.
Intussen hebben we ons tussen indische maaltijden, vrienden terugzien, Melbourne leren kennen en zwemmen in het zwembad en oceaan in een vakantiegevoel genesteld. De afgelopen twee dagen steeg het kwik boven de dertig graden, wat ook helpt al blijft Melbourne wisselvallig en momenteel heel winderig en onweersachtig.
Enkele indrukken:
In dit park zitten drie scoutsgroepen, jongens, meisjes en een schotse groep.
Te voet onderweg door suburbia, de afstanden houden je gezond als je niet altijd over een auto beschikt.
Garry (op de foto naast Parul) and Sharon kregen twee weken terug een schattige baby.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Engrish
A friend sent me a wonderfully funny website www.engrish.com
My mum always had this joke about a chinese menu that offered "flied lice with lemon glass" and this website has many of those idiosyncracies and lots of "what the..?" moments (a.k.a Rove Live!)
This picture is one of my favourite ones:
My mum always had this joke about a chinese menu that offered "flied lice with lemon glass" and this website has many of those idiosyncracies and lots of "what the..?" moments (a.k.a Rove Live!)
This picture is one of my favourite ones:
Monday, October 17, 2005
Housewarming party on Saturday night- was a great night, lots of people and no major disasters!
Sophie, Kathleen and David, and their New Zealand sheepskin gift
At the bar
Mathijs, Dorien and Liesbeth catch up on university gossip
Fernando, Katrijn, Els and Stephanie
Dustbuster from work colleagues!
Chris the magnificent mojito maker
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
20 degree autumn
Parul and me are back at work after two days of biking around Amsterdam. Can't believe how many bikes with storage space: bakfietsen we saw there, we need one !!!
Monday, September 05, 2005
A warm, long, exciting and memorable weekend
Its Monday morning, and I am still recovering from the absolutely lovely weekend we've had.
Amy came to visit for four days, on her round the world trip, from Tokyo, and on her way to Zurich. It was great to see her and spend time with her, that didn't happen at the wedding last year. We chatted, walked, saw the sights, shopped for a wedding hat and a daypack, ate yummy things and baked in the sun. On Friday night Jeroen and I got good news, so the weekend was extra special. Saturday we had our favourite breakfast at the fresh food market and at night I had my first test run at Mmmmh. I noticed lots of mistakes, but the others were happy, so I guess it went well. The first workshop is on 26 September. On Sunday we went to Brussels for a Mussels and Beer festival... I think I am starting to appreciate mussels :-)
also met up with Karan and Alina (who are getting married in India in Oct 2006), Zoe and some of her friends. Amy had to leave for the airport at 4pm (after a mad dash to the train station, lost tickets and found tickets!) and we came back to Antwerp. The weather was still great, so we biked to Mortsel and had dinner in the garden with Jeroen's family.
A truly relaxed weekend :-)
Thursday, September 01, 2005
aftersummer
while everyone has been complaining about a lousy summer we are now treated with a very summery week. It is great to be able to have dinner outside in a T-shirt.
Yesterday Parul's friend Amy arrived from Japan, oblivious to the exceptional nature of this summer-wave. Hope it stays on for a while!
Yesterday Parul's friend Amy arrived from Japan, oblivious to the exceptional nature of this summer-wave. Hope it stays on for a while!
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Yay!
It worked!
Today is Wednesday, middle of the week, a good time to reflect on the first half gone by and the second half to come!
My boss is on holidays this week, well has been for the last two weeks, and though I had a lot of work to do, it has now all progressed to a stage where I need her input before finalising it, so twiddling my thumbs until she returns on Monday. Today I might start developing the template of a report due in December :-)
Yesterday we went to an AFS meeting where we picked up Kamilla, a Brazilian exchange student, who will stay for a year at Jeroen's parents. Poor thing was bloody nervous.. I wonder if I was the same when I was 17? Probably not :-)Should be interesting to see how well she fits in here...
This weekend I have a dry run for the cooking workshops I am going to give this year at Mmmmh! The dry run is for me to get to know the kitchen, the equipment and practice teaching to a group of people, though the group of people is other chefs teaching there, so not an easy crowd to please!
Sunday is autovrij zondag - Car free Sunday- in Antwerp. Will be fun if it doesn't rain.
Housewarming
Now that most of our boxes are unpacked, it's time to "warm" the house and do what I like best: throw a party!
The housewarming party is on Saturday 15 October. Hopefully we'll get some of the Londoners over.
I just discovered how to blog without having to post on the website each time! If this works, blog frequencies will drastically increase... inshallah!
Let's try this first...
Friday, August 19, 2005
Monday, August 15, 2005
Honeymoon
Honeymoon was great! We went to the Atlantic coast, 100 kms from Bordeaux, and it was a warm, breezy 30 C everyday. This area was surprisingly well equipped for bikers- the bike paths even has roundabouts! So we hired bikes for the week, biked lots, ate lots and generally unwounded after a month of working in our new house.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
I had to look up the address of the townhall in Berchem, where we have to register now and came accros the the colourful weaponshield of our new town. Apperently the three red stripes come from the king of Aragon, who gave them to the family Berthout who had protected him on three occasions.But we live in a safe neighbourhood, I really enjoy having moved away from the centre in the protection of a street full of nice families. (We moved last weekend but before that we had already recieved a bottle of liquor from our neighbours.) Living closer to the station makes commuting by train to Brussels also so much more pleasant (read shorter).
Monday, July 11, 2005
Lime paint or quince paint?
We started painting our house last week, as usually happens with renovations the work gets underestimated, so we spent the weekend just getting walls ready, plastering and sanding them. It is really satisfying actually to start touching up the place with the natural paint we selected. Here you see a trial in the bathroom, come and see which color made it.
The paperwork should be done end of this month so we can officially move in and start thinking of a housewarming party, this time in a real house.
We postponed the honeymoon plans because of our move, but latest plan is we'll take a week off in August and go to Bordeaux. Our wedding trip to India was planned a long time in advance so the honey moon destination remains open till the very end.
At home now relaxing after a nice evening at my parents place, we had dinner outside since summer has decided to come back after serious rainshowers and some cold days.
Going to join Parul who is ironing in front of the TV
toedels
J
Monday, June 20, 2005
Dadiji at our mehendi
I put this picture in memory af Dadiji, Parul's grandmother who passed away on Monday 19 June. Today there was a puja and prayer for her at the temple close to Parul's uncle's house in Delhi.
OBITUARY
| | WITH PROFOUND GRIEF WE INFORM THE DEMISE OF OUR BELOVED MRS.VEENA GOEL ON 20.6.05 a PRAYER MEETING WILL BE HELD AT “MATA KA MANDIR” NEW FRIEND’S COLONY, |
| 24.08.1923 – 20.06.2005 Jagdish Saran Goel (Husband) Rajiv & Rekha (Son & Daughter-in-law) Jaishree & Chandra Mohan (Daughter & Son-in-law) Rakesh & Ranjana (Son & Daughter-in-law) Smt. Rajni Goel (Devrani) Pradeep & Rachna (Nephew & Wife) Grand children and Great Grand children | |
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Antwerpen and the new court building
This is a view of the new court building, resembling the sails of the Antwerp harbour. Our appartment is in the left front corner of this picture. We live on Antwerpen Zuid
a nice neighbourhood however we are looking to move more towards Berchem or Zurenborg, which has a different charm (known for Art Nouveau) and from where it is easier to commute to Brussels by train. The house hunt may come to an end soon ...
Friday, April 29, 2005
The good thing about being in Europe...
is all the weekend trips you can do... slightly impractical in Australia.. unless you want to go to Philip Island or the Great Ocean Rd.. a weekend in Sydney is really stretching it- 10 hr drive time!
But here, in the middle of (western) Europe, all is possible- cheap flights, express trains and a trusted Rough Guide at hand. Last month we went to Spa, this month to Paris, and next month its Dublin.
We take the train in Brussels this afternoon at 3.40pm and we'll be in Paris by 5.30. Both Jeroen and I have been to Paris before, but not together. So it's a special trip :-)
Not strictly a romantic one- our hosts are Elaine and David. I went to school with Elaine for two years, in Singapore, and we were room mates for a year. So its great to revive this old friendship again.
Very excited also because there is a weather forecast for 26-27C temperatures this weekend! Feels like Christmas!!
But here, in the middle of (western) Europe, all is possible- cheap flights, express trains and a trusted Rough Guide at hand. Last month we went to Spa, this month to Paris, and next month its Dublin.
We take the train in Brussels this afternoon at 3.40pm and we'll be in Paris by 5.30. Both Jeroen and I have been to Paris before, but not together. So it's a special trip :-)
Not strictly a romantic one- our hosts are Elaine and David. I went to school with Elaine for two years, in Singapore, and we were room mates for a year. So its great to revive this old friendship again.
Very excited also because there is a weather forecast for 26-27C temperatures this weekend! Feels like Christmas!!
Thursday, April 21, 2005
What could go wrong...
I am reading 'The Family Way' by Tony Parsons. Its lite fiction, but with a strong mission to make the reader aware of everything that could go wrong when people plan to have a baby!
Physical problems, relationship problems and of course the affect a pregnancy and baby has on work, career, your social life and relationships with other family. Its quite depressing actually...
A quote that stuck in my mind- " Your parents ruin the first half of your life, and your children ruin the second half. " Hmm... well the first hasn't happened to me yet :-) So there is still some hope.
The story is about 3 sisters, mum left the family when they were kids, she couldn't handle motherhood, neither could Dad by the way. Anyway, they are all grown up now, and over the course of the book, each contemplates and attempts having a baby- some more successful than others. The book is full of diverse characters, of both sexes, and I guess Tony's intention was for each reader to be able to identify with a character. The book deals with IVF, miscarraiges, pre-eclampsia, morning sickness (which is not confined to mornings at all), vasectomies, reverse vasectomies, infidelity, adoption, Caesareans (when they open you up like a can of beans), premature babies in oversized woollen hats....
One man muses why women used to have a baby with the first man they met, now they have a baby with the last man they meet.
One pregnant woman realises that during the day as she walks about and carries on with work, her baby is rocked to sleep in her stomach. And they moment she lies down to get some sleep, the baby, no longer rocked, wakes up and kicks around.. great.
Lots to look forward too :-)
I haven't finished the book yet, but tonight is a long wait at the District office for 'Vremdelingen Zaken' i.e. Foreigners' Affairs- to get a new residence permit. So more on the book and concluding remarks tomorrow.
Physical problems, relationship problems and of course the affect a pregnancy and baby has on work, career, your social life and relationships with other family. Its quite depressing actually...
A quote that stuck in my mind- " Your parents ruin the first half of your life, and your children ruin the second half. " Hmm... well the first hasn't happened to me yet :-) So there is still some hope.
The story is about 3 sisters, mum left the family when they were kids, she couldn't handle motherhood, neither could Dad by the way. Anyway, they are all grown up now, and over the course of the book, each contemplates and attempts having a baby- some more successful than others. The book is full of diverse characters, of both sexes, and I guess Tony's intention was for each reader to be able to identify with a character. The book deals with IVF, miscarraiges, pre-eclampsia, morning sickness (which is not confined to mornings at all), vasectomies, reverse vasectomies, infidelity, adoption, Caesareans (when they open you up like a can of beans), premature babies in oversized woollen hats....
One man muses why women used to have a baby with the first man they met, now they have a baby with the last man they meet.
One pregnant woman realises that during the day as she walks about and carries on with work, her baby is rocked to sleep in her stomach. And they moment she lies down to get some sleep, the baby, no longer rocked, wakes up and kicks around.. great.
Lots to look forward too :-)
I haven't finished the book yet, but tonight is a long wait at the District office for 'Vremdelingen Zaken' i.e. Foreigners' Affairs- to get a new residence permit. So more on the book and concluding remarks tomorrow.
Who needs spellcheck anyway?
Something cool my Dad forwarded to me:
cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdianeg
THE PAOMNNEHAL PWEOR OF THE HMUAN MNID
Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.
Amzanig huh?
cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdianeg
THE PAOMNNEHAL PWEOR OF THE HMUAN MNID
Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.
Amzanig huh?
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Books I want to read
1. The 5 people you meet in heaven- by Mitch Albom
2. State of fear- by Michael Crichton
3. Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell- by Susanna Clarke
4. A salty piece of land- by Jimmy Buffett
5. The plot against America- Philip Roth
6. I am Charlotte Simmons- Tom Wolfe
7. The curious incident of the dog in the night time- Mark Haddon
2. State of fear- by Michael Crichton
3. Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell- by Susanna Clarke
4. A salty piece of land- by Jimmy Buffett
5. The plot against America- Philip Roth
6. I am Charlotte Simmons- Tom Wolfe
7. The curious incident of the dog in the night time- Mark Haddon
News from an aid worker in Chad
This update is from an Australian friend Andrew, who now works for the same NGO I worked for in Afghanistan. Makes me think of our time in Kabul, the same frustrations, practical challenges with the food, weather, social relations, as well as the mess within IRC. It also makes me think of an article I read soemtime ago about NGO workers and neo-colonialism...
Alive, but on what planet?
Well where to start?
I arrived in Chad last Friday at 4am after a couple of days in Ethiopia and was promptly bundled onto a UN flight to Abeche, a small town in the North-East (well I thought it was small, if only I knew where I was going to end up!). After dodging the police at the airport I arrived sleepless and filthy at the IRC office.
The best way to describe this part of Chad is hot, and dry. Coming in on the plane a landscape of sand stretched away to the horizon, occasionally broken by small rugged hills and small trees growing along wadis and dry river beds. The town of Abeche is the base for the NGOs working with Sudanese refugees, based in several camps, just across the border from the region of Darfur, where they have been forced out by the Janjaweed and Sudanese military. Its not much to look at - no paved roads just dirt/sand, and lots and lots of dust, kicked up by 4wds, pickups and motorbikes. At night the headlights make it look like you are walking through a cloud of mist. I hate to think how much african dirt is coating my lungs already. The houses are
mudbrick, generally with tin roofs, the front of the house or a wall surrounding a compound facing the streets. I'm not sure how often the electricity works, but the water for the lovely cold showers (that was sarcastic by the way) is on before 7am and after about 8pm. Not that you can
sleep after 7 anyway, as the heat gets you up a lot before then. And most people sleep outside, at this time of the year there are no mosquitoes. The second night I pulled my mattress outside to enjoy the cool breeze.
Actually I quite enjoyed Abeche. I spent the weekend there - drinks at a bar at the French military base - and the rest of the weekend with one of the local guys Abdul Raman - cruising around on his motor bike seeing the town (well until it got a puncture, then we were pushing it), and on sunday I spent the day with him and his wife, and their friends, eating, chatting and
playing cards. The Sudanese I have met in general are well educated, speak a couple of languages and have a great sense of humour. I felt quite at peace in the evening, when the sun had gone down and the temperature dropped, sitting drinking tea under the carpet of stars, listening to Sudanese music and chatting.
Then on Monday morning loaded down with supplies for the office, I was off to my final destination Bahai. The land beneath the plane steadily got dryer and dryer, I was near the edge of the Sahara now. I probably should have jumped back on the plane when it landed at the 'airport'. This consisted of a long strip of flat sand/dirt, a small shelter made of tree branches and
cloth shredded by the wind, and a small metal sign weathered by sandstorms with a lovely collection of dried bones underneath it. The sign might as well have said 'Welcome to the middle of nowhere'. And Bahai, the 'town'. It is just a collection of scattered buildings, without even dirt roads in between, just tracks on the sand from IRC and UNHCR's 4wds. In the middle, I
guess what could be considered the centre, Libyans and locals park their battered trucks and set up a market in the sand. Supposedly there is something like a bar somewhere, and the brothel is supposed to sell the most expensive beer in the world at 6USD/bottle, the other brothel services are probably cheaper. Small kids, donkeys and goats wander around in the sand and suprising amount of rubbish that accumulates wherever the wind is trapped. The profuse black plastic bag decorates the few trees like flowers.
The IRC 'office' is walled compound with a couple of sparse buildings around its edges and an open sandpit for the rest of it. There is no running water, no food, and only power when the generator is turned on. The housing compound, a couple of minutes drive from the office, looks a bit like some outback-desert motel, the kind that you would drive into and then drive straight out the other side without stopping. Like the office, the centre is dirt, at least this is relatively hard-packed. And there are rows of rooms, like a motel around the walls. Like the office there is no running water, just a couple of tanks that have been sterilized. Showering, or the new verb
I have introduced - bucketing - involves taking a bucket, filling it up from one of the tanks, getting a few scoops of hot water from a pot heating on a camp fire, and then washing off in the mudbrick room, conveniently located next to the long drop toilet, so you can enjoy the pleasant aroma while bucketing off. Well I don't mind all of that, it was the food that got me worried. Even in Abeche, fresh food is quite limited, and here it is even more the case, well there is no fresh food. I am applying the policy of eat first, ask later. Lunch today and yesterday consisted of some unidentifiable meat in broth with rice or pasta, and canned vegetables (carried over as
left-overs to dinner). Considering the only animals I have seen are goats, camels and donkeys I had a pretty good idea where the meat was coming from, although I hate to think of the hygene conditions where it was slaughtered and purchased. So I am happy to say that today I had my first camel pasta, ah it wasn't that bad. Better than the raw meat dish I had in Ethiopia on
the way here. So thats the living conditions, pretty sparse I must say. Probably the best
way to think about it, is to imagine that you are camping out in some sand dunes, then add some donkeys and goats, small black children, some guys wandering around on camels, 15,000 refugees and a small african military, and you doing whatever your current job is. Well at least there is internet at the office, I have a laptop (until the sand kills it) and a satellite phone. And some local ladies wash our clothes, although I put all of mine out for them today, and they seem to have disappeared, hmmm. So it could be worse, I could be one of the refugees, it really sucks for them.
I realise that this email is getting long, but I wanted to write about my work as well. And its not like there is much else to do here at night anyway. My job title is protection manager. I am responsible for the security and human rights of the 15,000 refugees who are based in a camp
about 30 mins drive from here. Its a pretty huge place, a tent village really, in the middle of a flat sandy plain. I have 3 staff who I manage directly - one of whom is responsible for community patrol teams, one for community services and another for information officers and registration of refugees. All in all that's about 100 people. So what I have to do is monitor what is happening in the camp in terms of violence, sexual abuse and exploitation etc etc and then work with the UNHCR and Chadian security forces to address it. Although as for the latter I am responsible for keeping the army and police out of the camp as well - not so easy considering it doesn't have any walls. Add on to that trying to prevent violence and abuse against women, and ensuring the protection of children (it seems I will be managing a guy who just got employed to look at this too) and I have a pretty full plate. Oh yeah and I am supposed to make sure that the relations with the Chadian community don't create any security problems, and at some stage look into gathering testimonials for any international tribunals or human rights mechanisms that need them. It is somewhat difficult because the person who was doing my job previously, left
several months ago, and it seems bugger all has happened since then.
Actually it seems in general that things are a bit disorganised, but I am still forming my impressions of that. The positive part is that I have a lot of responsibility, and can pretty much develop the program as I see fit. The negative - well like I said its disorganised, the living conditions are dismal, and I'm not sure how much support I will get. And the social interactions look pretty strange - I guess working and living with a small multi-cultural group of people in such an intense and difficult environment makes it hard. Well I like the guy that I am sharing a room with temporarily - a heavy drinking sudanese guy called Montasa.
So that is life, from this desolate corner of the planet. Of course there is so much more to write in terms of impression and feelings about country, but I think that is enough for the moment. Overall I am feeling okay, relatively comfortable about the work I will be doing, although my feelings fluctuate a lot, and I feel very very far away from the world and all of you. Its the
kind of place that would be easy to get depressed in, so I am going to stay positive and busy, and try to come up with ideas to keep myself entertained. I heard that there are regular camel races near Abeche, where you can gamble and even buy the winning camel - so I will try to get out to them. Maybe I'll even get a camel of my own :o) And I am waiting to experience one of the promised 3-day sandstorms, when everything shuts down. Oh and I am contemplating growing a beard, well it is more growing itself. And finally, every 2 months, the IRC (www.theirc.org if you want to check it out), give me $1000USD to get the hell out of here for some R&R to another country, so I'll make some plans for that.
Okay, I hope that life is treating you well, whatever you are up to and wherever you are. If you email me, I will be able to reply so I look forward to hearing from you, please use this email address for me.
Take care
Andrew
p.s. please feel free to forward this email to anyone I might have missed
Alive, but on what planet?
Well where to start?
I arrived in Chad last Friday at 4am after a couple of days in Ethiopia and was promptly bundled onto a UN flight to Abeche, a small town in the North-East (well I thought it was small, if only I knew where I was going to end up!). After dodging the police at the airport I arrived sleepless and filthy at the IRC office.
The best way to describe this part of Chad is hot, and dry. Coming in on the plane a landscape of sand stretched away to the horizon, occasionally broken by small rugged hills and small trees growing along wadis and dry river beds. The town of Abeche is the base for the NGOs working with Sudanese refugees, based in several camps, just across the border from the region of Darfur, where they have been forced out by the Janjaweed and Sudanese military. Its not much to look at - no paved roads just dirt/sand, and lots and lots of dust, kicked up by 4wds, pickups and motorbikes. At night the headlights make it look like you are walking through a cloud of mist. I hate to think how much african dirt is coating my lungs already. The houses are
mudbrick, generally with tin roofs, the front of the house or a wall surrounding a compound facing the streets. I'm not sure how often the electricity works, but the water for the lovely cold showers (that was sarcastic by the way) is on before 7am and after about 8pm. Not that you can
sleep after 7 anyway, as the heat gets you up a lot before then. And most people sleep outside, at this time of the year there are no mosquitoes. The second night I pulled my mattress outside to enjoy the cool breeze.
Actually I quite enjoyed Abeche. I spent the weekend there - drinks at a bar at the French military base - and the rest of the weekend with one of the local guys Abdul Raman - cruising around on his motor bike seeing the town (well until it got a puncture, then we were pushing it), and on sunday I spent the day with him and his wife, and their friends, eating, chatting and
playing cards. The Sudanese I have met in general are well educated, speak a couple of languages and have a great sense of humour. I felt quite at peace in the evening, when the sun had gone down and the temperature dropped, sitting drinking tea under the carpet of stars, listening to Sudanese music and chatting.
Then on Monday morning loaded down with supplies for the office, I was off to my final destination Bahai. The land beneath the plane steadily got dryer and dryer, I was near the edge of the Sahara now. I probably should have jumped back on the plane when it landed at the 'airport'. This consisted of a long strip of flat sand/dirt, a small shelter made of tree branches and
cloth shredded by the wind, and a small metal sign weathered by sandstorms with a lovely collection of dried bones underneath it. The sign might as well have said 'Welcome to the middle of nowhere'. And Bahai, the 'town'. It is just a collection of scattered buildings, without even dirt roads in between, just tracks on the sand from IRC and UNHCR's 4wds. In the middle, I
guess what could be considered the centre, Libyans and locals park their battered trucks and set up a market in the sand. Supposedly there is something like a bar somewhere, and the brothel is supposed to sell the most expensive beer in the world at 6USD/bottle, the other brothel services are probably cheaper. Small kids, donkeys and goats wander around in the sand and suprising amount of rubbish that accumulates wherever the wind is trapped. The profuse black plastic bag decorates the few trees like flowers.
The IRC 'office' is walled compound with a couple of sparse buildings around its edges and an open sandpit for the rest of it. There is no running water, no food, and only power when the generator is turned on. The housing compound, a couple of minutes drive from the office, looks a bit like some outback-desert motel, the kind that you would drive into and then drive straight out the other side without stopping. Like the office, the centre is dirt, at least this is relatively hard-packed. And there are rows of rooms, like a motel around the walls. Like the office there is no running water, just a couple of tanks that have been sterilized. Showering, or the new verb
I have introduced - bucketing - involves taking a bucket, filling it up from one of the tanks, getting a few scoops of hot water from a pot heating on a camp fire, and then washing off in the mudbrick room, conveniently located next to the long drop toilet, so you can enjoy the pleasant aroma while bucketing off. Well I don't mind all of that, it was the food that got me worried. Even in Abeche, fresh food is quite limited, and here it is even more the case, well there is no fresh food. I am applying the policy of eat first, ask later. Lunch today and yesterday consisted of some unidentifiable meat in broth with rice or pasta, and canned vegetables (carried over as
left-overs to dinner). Considering the only animals I have seen are goats, camels and donkeys I had a pretty good idea where the meat was coming from, although I hate to think of the hygene conditions where it was slaughtered and purchased. So I am happy to say that today I had my first camel pasta, ah it wasn't that bad. Better than the raw meat dish I had in Ethiopia on
the way here. So thats the living conditions, pretty sparse I must say. Probably the best
way to think about it, is to imagine that you are camping out in some sand dunes, then add some donkeys and goats, small black children, some guys wandering around on camels, 15,000 refugees and a small african military, and you doing whatever your current job is. Well at least there is internet at the office, I have a laptop (until the sand kills it) and a satellite phone. And some local ladies wash our clothes, although I put all of mine out for them today, and they seem to have disappeared, hmmm. So it could be worse, I could be one of the refugees, it really sucks for them.
I realise that this email is getting long, but I wanted to write about my work as well. And its not like there is much else to do here at night anyway. My job title is protection manager. I am responsible for the security and human rights of the 15,000 refugees who are based in a camp
about 30 mins drive from here. Its a pretty huge place, a tent village really, in the middle of a flat sandy plain. I have 3 staff who I manage directly - one of whom is responsible for community patrol teams, one for community services and another for information officers and registration of refugees. All in all that's about 100 people. So what I have to do is monitor what is happening in the camp in terms of violence, sexual abuse and exploitation etc etc and then work with the UNHCR and Chadian security forces to address it. Although as for the latter I am responsible for keeping the army and police out of the camp as well - not so easy considering it doesn't have any walls. Add on to that trying to prevent violence and abuse against women, and ensuring the protection of children (it seems I will be managing a guy who just got employed to look at this too) and I have a pretty full plate. Oh yeah and I am supposed to make sure that the relations with the Chadian community don't create any security problems, and at some stage look into gathering testimonials for any international tribunals or human rights mechanisms that need them. It is somewhat difficult because the person who was doing my job previously, left
several months ago, and it seems bugger all has happened since then.
Actually it seems in general that things are a bit disorganised, but I am still forming my impressions of that. The positive part is that I have a lot of responsibility, and can pretty much develop the program as I see fit. The negative - well like I said its disorganised, the living conditions are dismal, and I'm not sure how much support I will get. And the social interactions look pretty strange - I guess working and living with a small multi-cultural group of people in such an intense and difficult environment makes it hard. Well I like the guy that I am sharing a room with temporarily - a heavy drinking sudanese guy called Montasa.
So that is life, from this desolate corner of the planet. Of course there is so much more to write in terms of impression and feelings about country, but I think that is enough for the moment. Overall I am feeling okay, relatively comfortable about the work I will be doing, although my feelings fluctuate a lot, and I feel very very far away from the world and all of you. Its the
kind of place that would be easy to get depressed in, so I am going to stay positive and busy, and try to come up with ideas to keep myself entertained. I heard that there are regular camel races near Abeche, where you can gamble and even buy the winning camel - so I will try to get out to them. Maybe I'll even get a camel of my own :o) And I am waiting to experience one of the promised 3-day sandstorms, when everything shuts down. Oh and I am contemplating growing a beard, well it is more growing itself. And finally, every 2 months, the IRC (www.theirc.org if you want to check it out), give me $1000USD to get the hell out of here for some R&R to another country, so I'll make some plans for that.
Okay, I hope that life is treating you well, whatever you are up to and wherever you are. If you email me, I will be able to reply so I look forward to hearing from you, please use this email address for me.
Take care
Andrew
p.s. please feel free to forward this email to anyone I might have missed
Friday, April 08, 2005
Spa
Friday afternoon, two more hours to go till the weekend, a collegue of mine sent me a link from hell to ease the pain.
This weekend we are going to Spa
yes, the place where the water comes from.
Spring is taking its time to come along so we will enjoy some hot bathing there in a spa!
This weekend we are going to Spa
yes, the place where the water comes from.
Spring is taking its time to come along so we will enjoy some hot bathing there in a spa!
Saturday, April 02, 2005
3 boys crossing the Kabul river. Afghanistan, country of hospitality, poverty beautiful nature and too many wars. Sometimes I feel there hasn`t been time to share experience with others about Afghanistan. I found that our updates are still online you can sign in with username indiaphotos2003 and password india2003 to see the articles and the pictures.
sangeet
I recently rediscovered this picture Dan took. Ah, our wedding in India, November 4 and 5, soon it will be half a year ago, time travels fast. This picture is not on our regular picture gallery but it showsthe fun at the sangeet (singing and dancing) where everyone was having a good time thanks to the place, the people, the mix of music and the whisky. The greatest of course was to have all these people in the same place with the same openess.
This spirit continued in the belgian part of the wedding the week after, the energy was really good. Some people were in both places and some not, but it was great celebrating with everyone.
I am looking forward to going to a wedding myself now as a married couple!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)