No Boys Allowed

She was like the incarnate of Nancy, Fairuza Balk's character in "The Craft." Her eyes were wild and her stare was almost fiendish. This diminutive being flew over to me from across the ceremony as if in a flash and grabbed onto my arm. Words both known and unfamiliar were being flung out her mouth like she was speaking Krio, the English/indigenous mix of Sierra Leone. But we weren't in Freetown and here in Nanhimbe I still didn't understand her. I wasn't sure if she was possessed by a colonial spirit or if she was drunk, but I felt that in the midst of all of this I was a member of a studio audience who'd been unwillingly selected to be embarassed publicly by the host. Don't expect me to be inside your television any primetime soon. I got invited by Fatima to an initiation ceremony for two girls who'd just reached womanhood. Some 200 ladies from all over the community showed up to celebrate their feminity and it was a beautiful event of proud solidarity-except for this spritely creature who'd pulled me out of my protective barrier of neighbor-friends to go dance. With the rythm of the drum circle and the chorus of voices it was impossible to sit still so I thought, "Yes. Let's dance and they'll surely get a kick out of the white girl attempting to shake her hips." I was guided hand in hand outside of the womens-only venue to dance in front of another band of musicians. I danced. And I swayed my hips and I shimmied, all the while reflecting on the phrase "dance like nobody's watching." But they were watching and they all seemed to be boys and men. Then I'd realized that this drunken baffoon of a woman had dragged me into the all-male portion of the ceremony and for all I knew I could be committing traditional sacriledge by being out there. If there's one thing I've learned while being here it's that making a fool of yourself is a given. If there's two things I've learned here its that and that we will never fully understand what's going on, ever. So it's best to be confused whilst in the comfort of the local women who brought you. Back into the Estrogen Tent I fled, hoping to at least make an ass of myself in front of my own gender. The rest of the ceremony went like a combination of a Fourth of July parade and a birthday party, with designated party-goers showering us with coins, matches, pins, cookies, candy and capulanas. The purpose of the ceremony takes place after all of the guests leave, however when the young girls' family elders teach them about what it means to be a woman. And I hope that they grow to realize that it is awe-some.

It Has Been Said, or "Happiness Is Not a Fish You Can Catch"...or is it?

"The meek shall inherit the earth," or so it has been said. "Meek" could have been meant to mean god-fearing, humble, simple or poor. It's anyone's guess, but I doubt that any worlds have been inherited yet by them. This blog entry is not about fresh pineapple at the market, or how blue the ocean was today or a torrential rainstorm. No, this entry is about a 42-year old grandmother named Anifa who sat on her dirt floor today showing me her empty kitchen. This is about Ana, a 56 year old Makuah woman who's spirits were high but her CD4 count was not. This is about 18 month old Juma, who playfully crawled on his grandmother while she lay in bed, unable to open her eyes from the side effects of powerful anti-retroviral treatment. This is about them because they have no other voice with which to tell their stories and it is about them because their stories need to be heard. Everyday I see a dozen NGO Range Rovers fly by, and I wonder what their results are here. Sustainability takes a long time, and that is why it's so much easier to beg for change. "If you give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day. If you teach a man to fish, he'll eat for a lifetime," or so it has been said. And this rings true and this rings loudly in my mind each day. But it has also been said, "easier said than done." Sayings and anecdotes abound in the Western Workd because many of us do not really *know* the poverty of the rest of the world and it helps us to cope by saying these things. But when are we going to actually get out in the water and teach that man to fish? Are we going to watch him cast out that line into the ocean while his limbs are barely strong enough to do so? And are we going to deny him a lunch to stave off his hunger until he catches his fish because giving him a piece of bread "is not sustainable?" This rhetoric of capacity-building and permaculture and sustainable living is beautiful and well-meaning, but there are more immediate issues to be dealt with, which brings me back to Anifa, Ana and Juma. They're hungry now and they can't wait-so what are we going to do?