Amanda Explores The World

Follow Us Around The World This Summer:

2011-05-05T22:57:00.002-04:00

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Sport & Peace -- And Amanda's "Most Memorable Moment In Sport"

2011-04-19T17:40:00.005-04:00

Hello Friends!

You may have heard that I recently received a grant to conduct research on:

-Peace Education
-Sport Programming
and
-Intercultural Integration

this summer in Western Europe. I hope to see some familiar faces while I am on my travels.

To follow my adventure, which I will be embarking upon (virtually -- they will be elsewhere) with 3 other fantastic female teammates, check out our blog, here:

And for friends of our blog who were redirected to this site, and everyone who likes to hear embarrassing-moment-stories, please read on, I've pasted the content of my first "Sport & Peacebuilding" homework assignment below:

My Most Memorable Moment in Sport
Asking me to write about sport is sort of like cruel and unusual punishment. I don’t mean this to be offensive, but more by way of introduction. In fact I’m happy to report that I’ve increased my sportiness in recent years. In the summer of 2009 I ran my first-ever race, a 10k, which I proudly finished in under an hour (59 minutes and 45 seconds, to be exact). But I wasn’t always the mean, lean, speed machine you see standing before you today. I came from something else.

Growing up, sports weren’t really something my family did together for fun, unless sports trivia or croquet in the backyard count. Though my Mom was her school’s head cheerleader in high school and college, an aerobics instructor and medaled swimmer, a massive and unexpected stroke disabled her at 24, two years before I was born. She recovered her capacity for most normal human/mom functions like walking, talking, reasoning, changing diapers and making lunches, but never regained her coordination enough to jump or swim again the same way she did before. My Dad, though he started college as a sports journalism major, and covered our basement walls with autographs from Joe DiMaggio, Pete Rose, and Jackie Robinson, comes from a family where they consider it an accomplishment if someone can chew gum and walk at the same time. So athleticism is not what you’d call “in the genes”.

Despite these familial odds against me, I persisted toward sportiness as a youngster. I completed the proverbial YMCA swimming lessons and one fall season of YMCA soccer necessary to fit my role as an American grade-schooler. I even pursued gymnastics classes for 5 years, most memorably creating my own floor routines with my neighborhood friends in 1996, the year the “magnificent seven” American gymnasts won gold in Atlanta. We were just like them, I tell you – Keri Strug’s vault looked like nothing in comparison to my one-handed cartwheel.

The incompatibility of my genetics with sport hit its tipping point at the height of my pre-teen awkwardness: 6th grade. In my painstaking pursuit of popularity, I did something completely unadvisable. I joined the Blandford School Girl’s Basketball Team. I sported a stylish, giant white cotton t-shirt that was longer than my shorts (I was still using the soccer shorts from the 2nd grade YMCA team -- hadn’t hit puberty yet full-on, you know) along with a bright yellow mouth guard my mom had helped me boil and shape to my new braces. I religiously watched March Madness games with my dad and started answering to my new, cool b-ball nickname “Downtown”.
The moment in question happened about half-way through the 6th grade season. I went to a magnet school for smart kids, which meant that our team was made up of the brainiest but also arguably least-adept 6th grade girls in the city of Grand Rapids. Our record wasn’t a shining one. I generally kept to defense, which I felt was my particular strength, being unable to dribble much farther than three feet. I would man-to-man you like nobody’s business. One particular game though, just after half time, I had a 15 second affair with fame. Somehow, through divine intervention perhaps, I actually caught the basketball in my hands. My two, preteen hands. Realizing my chance and seeing a clear court in front of me, I awkwardly (but passionately!) drove the center of the court, miraculously, simultaneously looking ahead, running, and bouncing the ball with one hand. The opposing team sprung out of out of my way, awestruck by my intimidating skill. People were shouting my name. I could feel it – this was my sport, this was MY game, and I was going to make the one basket of my 6th grade career. There was no one to pass to, and I could see the basket clearly, so I went for it -- the adrenaline rushed through me as I gave all my energy into the shot of a lifetime, the ball gracefully arcing through the air…

… and gracefully missing the basket by what probably were feet but appeared to me to be yards. I was embarrassed. I came back to earth. I tuned in to the voices shouting my name, who turned out to be saying “Amanda! Thank God you didn’t make the shot! That was the other team’s basket!”

SNOWSTORM!!! And why DC, even though it doesn't work, keeps working...

2011-01-27T11:55:00.001-05:00

I think this post is kind of boring, but I am going to post it anyway since this is where it belongs.

I’m being afforded the chance to write this by global warming, or in other words, snow. DC was hit by a fairly massive snowstorm last night, which tore down tree branches, buried cars, and caked sidewalks in roads first in ice and then in a hefty layer of packable powder. There are a considerable amount of “Southerners” in the district who are convinced that living in DC means going “north”, but I would have to say, as a Michigander, that this one day of crisis is a fairly good testament to the fact that DC definitely, in snow capability and mentality, if nothing else, is solidly part of the south.

Class was canceled on campus yesterday afternoon at 3pm and the university didn’t reopen its doors until 11 this morning. Giant swaths of DC are without power (my roommate and I lucked out and had a cozy evening at home with the lights on!) and busses and cars are abandoned on the side of the road.

The e-mail I got in my inbox this morning said that it was up to employees to decide when they wanted to come into work, that they could use leave time if need be. I figured I didn’t need leave time, so I got myself up and going, pulled on those Michigan snow boots and walked out the door into the new winter wonderland. I took pictures to send my mother. Cutting through the park on my way to work I watched the sun slide through the snow-covered tree branches. I reveled in the sound of snow crunching beneath my feet – it brings back memories of walking to elementary school and sledding with my family and hiking to my “magic spot” at nature school in 6th grade. Walking in snow is rewarding – it takes effort, but it’s so worth it.

I passed a lot of people who shoveling -- looking either entirely non-plussed, very befuddled or (I expect ex-Midwesterners) utterly thrilled to take on the ice/snowcovering.I arrived at work on time only to find the building closed and dark. Go figure. Not everyone has it as easy I do – driving is a lot more difficult since they’re aren’t enough plows to get the roads safe enough, quick enough – not to mention the power issue! So I headed to Starbucks, which was a mistake, because everyone without power was there. After hitting a second Starbucks equally filled, I hiked down to a French café which has no power outlets and no wifi and found a place to sit down and use my computer until the battery died. They had an illy espresso maker and I had a REAL cappuccino. It was amazing.

Once my computer lost battery I headed up to the “social Safeway” grocery store (has a Starbucks and café – with power outlets!), where the last third of DC was camped out. Saw my good friend May, who is out of power and came to charge her laptop and phone. She wasn’t alone. 47 other young professionals were crowded into the café, each one of them charging their devices. A couple people had brought their own power strips with them, so more energy-hungry displaced workers could plug-in. Looking around me at the chaotic, unshowered Safeway crowd, I felt this was a testament to the dominant persona of NW DC – folks that are so dedicated to their work that they stand up and head out to plug-in when their power is out, but at the same time folks that can’t work without power.

I was very glad I don’t own a car. I’m happy that I’m dependent on my own two feet to get to work. And I’m glad I got to enjoy walking in the snow. But I know at the same time I count among the masses dependent upon a computer and its power to get work done – without any of my books nearby, I didn’t have many options once my computer died, and was reduced to writing on paper napkins until I had a chance to plug it in!

So I remain a confused Amanda in a confused city – trying to be environmentally and socially conscious, but required by the expectations of a life in a city driven by progress and success to meet certain standards – like having a smart phone and dressing well. Moving toward self-sufficiency means navigating these waters and figuring out how you live a life that is happy and fulfilling. I hope as long as I keep making sure to walk in the snow, I am headed in the right direction.

D.C, fuer Anfaenger

2010-09-07T23:03:00.000-04:00

Bilder die dazu gehoeren!

Hallo Ihr Lieben,

Ich dachte es sei Zeit, dass ich mich melde. Aber wo soll ich anfangen?

Mir geht es sehr gut in den Staaten. Nach einem langen Flug (10+ Stunden) bin ich fröhlich (aber auch mit Schmerzen) am 19. August zu Hause in Grand Rapids, Michigan angekommen. Zwar nur für ein paar Tage, da ich am 23. schon nach D.C. losfahren musste. Aber zuhause war ich trotzdem, habe meine Familie und Freunden gesehen und Michigan im Sommer für 2 Tage genossen.

Mein Papa und ich haben einen PKW für 3 Tage gemietet und sind damit am Montag, 23. August losgefahren nach Washington, D.C. Er hat mich und meine Sachen sicher nach Washington D.C. gebracht, mich auch noch netterweise zu IKEA und dem Supermarkt gefahren damit ich ein paar notwendige Sachen (ein Bett, Milch und Muesli, z.B.) besorgen könnte und hier meine Fusse auf den „Boden“ stellen knnte. (Michigan nach Washington sind ~ 12 Studen mit dem Auto, für diejenigen, die es wissen möchten).

Ich wohne hier in einer kleinen Wohnung mit einer Mitbewohnerin die auch in Georgetown ihr Masterstudium dieses Jahr beginnt. Sie heisst Laura, kommt aus Richmond, Virgina und ist soweit sehr lieb. Wir verstehen uns schon sehr gut miteinander.

Und jetzt der lustigste Teil der „Umzugs“-Geschichte: Drei Tage nach meinem ankommen habe ich Abends ein bisschen Luft gebraucht und bin spazieren gegangen in der Nachbarschaft. Ich kam zu einer grossen Straße und habe dort ein Restaurant gesehen das Gelb, Rot und Schwarz gestrichen war. Ich habe dann angehalten, da das Restaurant „Old Europe“ heißt und ich ihre Karte natürlich anschauen wollte. Ich war erstaunt – sie hatten echte deutsche Sachen – das Menü war sogar auf Deutsch geschrieben: Sauerbraten, Bauernwurst, Schnitzel – alles war da. Da kam eine Frau raus, das Plakat mit ihrer Tageskarte reinzubringen. Neugierig fragte ich sie, ob sie Deutsche sei. „Ja“ sagt sie und ich stelle mich vor und sagte, dass ich gerade zurück aus Deutschland gekommen bin und jetzt hier anfänge zu studieren. „Suchen sie Arbeit?“ fragt sie mich. „ahhh..Ja!“ sagte ich, ein bisschen überrascht. Am nächsten Tag bin ich hingegangen und sie haben mich sofort genommen. Die Chefin (Eine Deutsche Frau die mit dem amerikanischen Besitzer des Restaurants verheiratet ist) hat mir eine Dirndl gefunden. Nun bin ich die neue Kellnerin bei Old Europe Restaurant in Washington D.C. Verrückt, wie der Herr für uns sorgt, oder? Dort sind echte Deutsche in der Küche und ich spreche regelmäβig auf Deutsch mit den Gästen und meinen Kolleginnen. Ich darf auch dort Spätzle, Rotkohl und (das beste) echte deutsche Brot(!!) essen. (Hier in Amerika ist das Brot nach meinem jetzigen Geschmack viel zu weich). Und noch besser: Unsere Senf und Gurken im Restaurant kommen alle von Hengstenberg. Wo sonst?! Lustigerweise habe ich jetzt HIER unteranderem gelernt, wie man einen Hefeweizen richtig einschenkt! J (Heute habe ich Gäste aus Reutlingen übrigens bedient. Die Welt ist klein).

Mein Deutsch verlernen, werde ich aufjedenfall nicht. Bei der Arbeit darf ich ja Deutsch sprechen, aber auβerdem habe ich die Gelegenheit hier auf der Uni einen Deutschkurs zu machen. Er heiβt „Literature of Migraton“ und wir werden Literatur, Politik und Filme über Migration und Gastarbeiter in Deutschland studieren. Meine Professorin unterrichtet Deutsche Literatur aber hat ihre Ausbildung in Theater und unterrichtet auch Politik. Sie ist übrigens Deutsche und gefällt mir soweit sehr! Ich werde durch diesen Kurs mein geschriebenes Deutsch hoffentlich verbessern können und ein bisschen mehr politische Information über die Menschen mit welchen ich in Esslingen so lang gearbeitet habe bekommen. Darüberhinaus habe ich eine andere Studentin meines Masterprogramms kennengelernt, die aus der Schweiz kommt. Wir reden oft zusammen auf Deutsch und beschweren uns über (unter anderem) den amerikanischen Kaffee zusammenJ

Mein „Traumstudium“ hat mich bis jetzt nicht enttäuchst. Ihr wiβt hoffentlich, dass es mir gar nicht leicht gefallen ist, Esslingen und die Jugendarbeit dort zu verlassen in der Hoffnung dass dieser „nächste Schritt“ der richtige sein wird. Ich kann aber nun sagen, dass ich 100% davon uberzeugt bin das es der richtige war. Mein Masterprogramm hier in Konfliktversöhnung ist sehr interessant. Ich habe Kursen mit weltberühmten Professoren; Menschen, welche wenn sie dich nicht unterrichten Regierungen und Präsidenten beraten! Ich habe eine Klasse voll mit andere Studenten die genau wie ich „die Welt retten“ möchten, die (wie ich) überall gewohnt haben (manche sogar mehr als ich!) und jeder einzelne hat eine faszinierende Lebensgeschichte und Lebensplan.

Auβerdem ist die Uni voller toller Angeboten, Dienstleistungen ( Die Bibliothek ist z.B. riesig!!) und einfach coole Menschen, die alle da sind die „Lebensträumen“ von uns Studenten möglich zu machen.

Gerade könnte ich nicht glücklicher sein. Ich habe zwar sehr, sehr viel Arbeit vor mir. Ich suche noch eine Gemeinde wo ich mich „zuHause“ fühle (das Problem in Amerika ist nicht dass es zu wenig sondern zuviele gibt!). Freunde werd ich auch über Zeit finden. Angefangen habe ich ja schon J Soweit geht es mir gut.

Ich muss noch mal danke sagen, dass so viele von Euch an mich wegen meinem Geburtstag und dem Umzug gedacht haben. Ich denke oft an Euch und habe viele Erinnerungen von Deutschland in meiner neuen Wohnung, damit ich täglich an mein „Deutsche Sein“ und Euch meine Deutschen „Familie“ denken kann.

Es freut mich wenn ihr Euch meldet- macht das mal! Oder komm mich doch mal besuchen!

Viele liebe Grüβe schick ich von der anderen Seite des Ozeans.

Eure Amanda.

Wave Your Flag - 4th of July & The World Cup

2010-07-03T14:22:00.001-04:00

“Wave your Flag” sing K’naan and Nancy Ajram, and let me tell you, this summer, Germany is waving its flag. Out my window, a parade of vehicles – BMWs, Motorcycles, Mercedeses, Volkswagons and even tractors, all of them decorated gold, red, and black, are honking their horns and driving for joy. Fans hang out the window or stick out sunroofs waving their flags. Germany just beat Argenta 4-0 and every win here is followed by a victory lap (or 10) through the city. Those of “us” who don’t have cars stand on the streets and wave, singing “So sehen Sieger, sha-la-la-la-la, So sehen Sieger, shaa la-la-la-la-la!” (This is what victors look like!)

Tomorrow, the United States will celebrate the birth of its independence with backyard BBQs, fireworks, and parades. In this county, where one seldom sees a German flag and the word “patriotism” is held at arm’s length like a dirty diaper (let’s not forget Germany’s history, folks), the World Cup has given a thirsty nation, and even its immigrated residents, a chance to rejoice in who they are. The victory chants are sung with gusto by a people who know they are only allowed such a celebration with due cause.

Below are a couple pictures from the last win, against England. I watched the game with nearly 100 others at a public viewing hosted by the Y. There are public viewings everywhere. At the Y, at church, in outdoor cafés, in bars, in the ice hockey arena. Summer here is being outside, watching soccer, celebrating and mourning together with a beer and a bratwurst.

Which makes you wonder, why isn’t this going on in the US? It can’t be the lack of our outdoor cafés – when I was in Africa, last time the World Cup was being played (in Germany, of all places – smart move, right?) there were significantly less outdoor cafés, but in their place, crowds of boys sitting outside local grocery stores – 50 huddled around a 13-inch TV on one lonely extension cord – eyes glued and dreams big. Everyone was watching.

I mean really, what could be more American than a beer, a dog, and sports? And this for a month long! If the rest of the world, from Germany to South Africa, is glued to their TVs watching sports, what’s going on America? Why aren’t you in on the game? Is this just like the metric system? The rest of the world realized it makes more sense, but we’re too stubborn to give in?

Now with all due respect, the US gave a good fight this year, and I’ve heard statistics that over 50% of Americans are following the World Cup. This is progress people, I’m proud. All the same, John Cleese has something to say about why Americans are out of the loop when it comes to soccer which is not only good but also hilarious. In all seriousness though, I wonder if soccer is not exactly fit to the American psyche? It’s a long-suffering sport. It requires patience to watch, and one is seldom immediately rewarded. You’re let down a lot in soccer. Hundreds more goals are shot than scored, and a fan’s job is attentiveness to each shot, so that she’ll see the success when it comes. And when it comes, is through teamwork, strategy, and concentration over time – things we understand, but perhaps could work on a little bit. What do you think? What would American sports be like with fewer beer commercials and more concentration?

And now that I’ve witnessed the World Cup twice from abroad, I’m thinking: America, are we avoiding being a part of the world’s game? It’s interesting, how Esslingen, for that matter, Germany – is suddenly unified by its battle for victory. And even more interesting, the passions expressed through the fight: glory, honor, power, might, pride, unity, surrender, victory. It’s not a coincidence that I use these words. I think sport is a key to peace. Watching the Japan/Paraguay game was like a sociological experiment in conflict. Two sides at peak fitness, the weight of honor on their shoulders. South Americans, who are known to express their emotions loudly and vividly, against the reserved and quiet Japanese. It’s like war – the same virtues are on the table, er, field – there’s just a tad less bloodshed. If only the settling of Europe could have been played out in soccer.

People need to fight. We need to stand together for a cause. I think we need to fight for our glory and be celebrate it. So come on America, get in the game – why don’t you wave your flag?

Home in Winter

2010-01-10T11:23:00.003-05:00

The Neckarweg in winter looks like steam-rolled Breyer's vanilla bean ice cream, the Germans having freckled it with tiny black pebbles the same way we Michiganders would with pink and orange salt. The wind is cold but not biting like in Chicago, when mighty Michigan whips it off her back and through the steel and glass-lined corridors we humans with our skyscrapers have constructed.

Men and women with ruddy faces and wearing parkas walk by me and I smile. Snow doesn't come often in feet here, and it's a wonder to behold. Its creamy whiteness mutes everything, making an already-quiet town almost silent, and my feet crunch deafeningly on the pebbles and snow. It's January, and we've tucked into winter for good. I'm back on my path, back to running, and happier to be here than anywhere else.

Living in Esslingen in winter is particular. Esslingen is home to one of Germany's most well-renowned Christmas markets. Besides the fact that the Christmas Market runs almost the entire month of December (a feat in itself), Esslingen features a Middle-Ages Christmas Market; where kids can make wax candles and wooden swords, adults can buy Gluhwine and special liquors, and people dress up! The stands blend perfectly with the medieval architecture in our pedestrian downtown -- you'd think you'd gone back in time if it wasn't for people around you chatting on cell phones and carrying H&M bags, disrupting the magic of it all. In H&M's defense, I did feel like the magic of my pre-holiday mall shopping experience was a little disrupted when I noticed Gimley the Dwarf (you know, the one from Lord of the Rings with the beard?) in line behind me at the check-out -- until I realized it was just another one of those medieval basket-weavers who wanted to get his shopping done just like the rest of us.Which is just a reminder that life in Europe is a lesson in paradoxes and heterogeneity - life as it was blending with life as it has been and life as it is. Yes, living in Esslingen in winter means complaining about the Christmas Market all December long -- how it makes it impossible to walk through town, how there are no parking spots, how expensive it is and how Gluhwine-happy tourists are always loudly trapzing about -- and simultaneously, like any good homebody, fiercely and proudly defending Esslingen's Christmas Market as the best in Germany, if not Europe as a whole.

It occurs to me at this point that I write primarily on this blog about beautiful things, when Europe sounds more like a fairy tale than a reality. I wonder if this is motivated by a desire to prove to my readers that I really am doing something good here; or maybe just to make you jealous; or maybe to live up to so many of your recommendations that I should become a travel journalist.

Or maybe I do it to convince myself of something. When I lived in Africa, this blog was to record my observations of what was going on in a grossly different culture and context than the one I was used to. And it was to show you, and myself, that I was getting along just fine.

But now, having lived in Europe over a year of my life, now that my parents call it home, too, now that I have a job and a rhythm here, my travel-journalist observations are more a reminder to me that I am, indeed, still a visitor.

Sure, there are small things that remind me of that every day -- like when I mess up in German grammar or turn the key the wrong way in the lock because they're the opposite from how they are in the States. But I was surprised at how relieved I was to return here after I went to the States for Christmas break. There is something refreshing about living in a place where most things are accessible by foot and shops close down on Sundays. Where you aren't deafened by the clamor of breaks and horns 24/7 and there is more to coffee than sugar.

Yesterday, when I was explaining to someone for the um-teenth time that I went to college in Chicago, my parents live in the Netherlands, my brother in Michigan, but I now in Germany, he asked me, as people tend to do, "Where's home?" And I had to say, as I do more and more often: "Your guess is as good as mine."

I have to write about running again

2009-12-11T17:37:00.005-05:00

I go running to feel like I’m alive.

In youth ministry, (and in many other forms of ministry), the word “schedule” doesn’t exactly exist. You work when others don’t, so you can be there for them when they are free. Sometimes this means a more relaxed schedule, but other times it adds up to a kind of discombobulation that has me feeling very out of sorts.

Going on a run brings my body back into order. Blood runs through my whole being and reminds me that I am not many different parts but a functioning whole. It’s on my runs, without chemicals like caffeine to pull me through, that I realize when I am deeply tired, in spirit and in body.

It’s also the chance to wake up. My muscles stretch and smoulder. The sharp cold ruddies my cheeks and opens my eyes wide to see the world in all its beauty, the trees a-riot with color and the Neckar bubbling in its overwhelming fall fullness.

After about half an hour on a good, long run, after I have gotten my initial beastly energy out, I start to feel old injuries come back.

My left ankle has been weak ever since I twisted it in 9th grade while playing catch with 3 kids I was babysitting. There is an irritated ligament under my right knee cap that burns when I’ve run too long, even if I stretch before and after. It’s annoying, but the fact that it is not perfectly in-sync with the rest of my body reminds me to take care. My hips, well, they’ve been messed up since birth (my parents used to double-diaper me as a baby in hopes they wouldn’t “click” so much when I walked).

This might seem odd to you, but when I run, my injuries remind me in many ways of my life of faith. I wonder,

- Why it is that we (I at least) seem to struggle again and again with the same sins and frustrations? How come the old injury comes back to bother me, instead of going away and letting a new one show up? Sometimes I wrestle in sharp pain with my injuries. Other times the injury stays “under control” – good physical care and regular exercise keep it in check. But if I haven’t run in a while, and then try again, the injury flares up fast, and hinders me from surging forward at the pace I wish I could go.

- My injuries also remind me that I am unique. Other people have issues with their knees and ankles, but they don’t have mine. They don't have the white concrete driveway and black asphalt, the baseball mit and the blue-suede Skechers that led to my demise. Every one of my injuries has a story, a time and a place where it happened. This reminds me of an observation C.S. Lewis made in his book, Miracles; that our sins are equally as owned and unique to us as our fingerprints or personality. This struck me when I first read it, because I hadn't thought of it before: sin is something that is a shared experience by all of humanity: we have recognized it and named it and attempted to share with one another how we deal with it, in the same way we recognize that every person has a miniscus, and know what surgery to undertake when it is torn. We also recognize sins that are corporate and social. But, like any specific tear on a specific miniscus, my sins are deeply personal. God made me so unique, in fact, that not only am I the only Amanda Munroe in the world with my DNA, but the manner in which I sin is woven specificly into who I am.

- Why is this so? Why do we struggle most of our lives with the same "sins", or let's put it this way: cowardices, injuries and doubts? What makes it so hard to conquer them, or what makes it harder to deal with the ones that already belong to us and easier to avoid the ones we have never tried? Why are we more inclined to hurt and be hurt one way and not another?

Which brings me back to running...
When I run, I can feel where things that are out of place – I feel the tightness in my shoulders where my backpack usually hangs, and the weight sitting on my hipbones that really is quite pointless and rather hindersome to carry around with me, especially when running. In the same way that it makes me aware of my body, running gives me space and time to feel where I am carrying burdens of emotional or spiritual stress. On short runs, this means going through my to-do list. On long runs, when it rains, I cry, because I remember the people I miss, the relationships that are broken, and the extra weight and injuries I am carrying around that I wish weren’t there.

I wish I knew a better way to incorporate the process (or ringer) that my body goes through when I run to my personal devotional life, and welcome your ideas about how you reflect on the state of things. One thing I am sure of is that our bodies mirror our souls, and that God gave us both for a reason.

And so I go running, to feel like I am alive.

Berlin Brings Poetry

2009-11-23T17:58:00.004-05:00

I took a solo trip to the German Hauptstadt Berlin last weekend to visit an admissions fair for masters programs in international realtions. It was fun to see another side of Germany (quite literally), and to get out of the normal groove of things for a while. I also tried to step out of my comfort zone and met a few strangers that became friends.

I'm not sure how many of you have flown on Ryan Air before, but its an interesting experience. In their attempt to make flights cheap (I paid 0 -- yes, you read that correctly, zero-- Euro for my flight from Frankfurt to Berlin), they fly you in and out of the middle of nowhere, claiming to fly to "major world cities." The flight from Berlin to Ryan Air's "Frankfurt" takes 1 hour. The bus trip from the "Frankfurt" airport to the train station in downtown Frankfurt takes 1.75 hours.

Here's a poem I wrote during my wait in the tiny garage they call an airport:

The Ladies' Room in Frankfurt Hahn

The flickering, flourescent light

and cold white tile

in the Ladies' Room of the Frankfurt Hahn International Airport

do not do justice

to its global renown

as an international crossroad.

And on my way to see

chef d'oeuvres that redefined history,

I am reminded

of the fat and sweaty

shirtless

accordion player

at the bottom of the esclaotor

in London's Picadilly Circus

(it smelled of urine, too).

And of the fact that,

though we try our best to forget it,

we're not that different

anyhow.

Reading Suggestions

2009-10-18T17:21:00.004-04:00

Another title for this entry could be Self Promotion.

Living in another country changes you. It causes you to reflect, stay self-aware, teaches you things you never knew about yourself and where you came from, and sometimes forces you to make very tough decisions.

Out of this process (and this blog) has come my first-ever published piece. If you're interested, you can read it here.

Even more interesting is the shape my family is taking as my parents go through this same process. My dad shared with me last week that, now five months in Holland, he's finally experiencing culture shock, which he has described as "finally realzing I'm not on vacation anymore." This has had an interesting impact on our family relationships. For one thing, it has made my parents a little more vulnerable. It's an interesting position for me, as the one who has the longest experience living abroad, to watch my parents go through this transition. (On the other hand, I've always had "going home" at the end of the stretch. They don't. That's something very different). Another thing that has come out of this is that my dad is writing like crazy. He's reflecting, and really, really good things are coming out.

So I'd like to offer you a second read, namely my parent's blog: jeffandgretchengodutch.blogspot.com
Like all good writing it's sometimes funny, sometimes sad, but always true to life.

Here's to a fall and curling up with some good reads. Next on my list: Phyllis Tickle and N.T. Wright. What's on yours?

My Most Embarassing Moment Yet

2009-09-29T19:14:00.004-04:00

And now for something completely different:

If you read my last post, you'll know that Sunday, I visited a German version of Young Life Club. During Club, as I was the only American in the room and consequently the only "authentic" Young Lifer, I was interviewed. (Auf Deutsch, natürlich). One of the questions that the German leader asked me was, "Can you share with us an embarrassing moment you've had since you've been in Germany?" I had to rack my brain on the spot, and eventually came up with "Well, at the beginning, I used to stay "I stink" a lot when I meant to say "I think". The kids laughed. Oh that I could have that moment back though, because I have a much more embarrassing story to share with you:

Tonight I decided to walk home from t1, the youth center where I am a leader. On my way home, I pass by the boys that come to our center that think they are gangsters. They always hang out at the bus stop in the neighborhood. So on my way home I stopped to chat with them a little bit, and one of them, out of the blue, challenges me to a dance-off a la Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson in Zoolander. I, being the new dance instructor for TenSing Esslingen, naturally agree.

The kid cues one of his friends (Mustafa, or Musti for short) to start beatboxing, walks down the sidewalk, and does his little dance. I am slighlty impressed.

Aware that my entire reputation is on the line here, standing in front of 10 high school guys that all think they are God's gift to Creation, I reflect on what kind of dance I can do. It hits me (mostly because there is only one dance move I can do) -- the Crib Walk (or for those of us who think we are cool, "the C-Walk"). The Crib Walk was very in when I was in high school, and I worked diligently on learning it from my friend Chantal while I was on Work Crew at a Young Life camp in 10th grade. Consequently, the C-Walk is my one and only dance move; the one I pull out when I want to impress people.

Mutzi starts beatboxing again. I give myself a little time to get the rhythm and start the Crib Walk. Three steps in, Musti abruptly stops beatboxing. I stop C-Walking.

The guys start yelling - Hey! Daaanng! She can actually dance! Whoaah! Amanda! Dance off!

I fold my arms over my chest "Yeah, well, you asked for a dance off, but you didn't give me much of a chance there, did you?"

(Guys keep hollering). Musti says "Amanda, do it again!"

Me, knowing my reputation is on the line here, and not all that sure that I can actually hold myself together well enough to do it a second time, say "Nope, sorry, you had your chance, the chance is over"

He starts beat boxing, but I shake my head, remembering that age-old saying about magicians and comedians - - always leave the audience wanting more.

Feeling very cool, and like I've won some respect with the teenagers I work so hard to love every day, I say, "Sorry, maybe next time", "Good night", and do one of those model-style-movie-star-I-am-too-cool-twists, wave, turn my back on them, and walk away into the dark night...

...and right into a pole.

I am talking smack-dab, face-first, resounding "BOOOOONG" so loud the whole neighborhood can hear it and they're wondering if my brain is still intact, walked right into a pole.

I laughed.

They laughed.

I walked home, my coolness once again torn to shreds by my hopeless clumsiness, my head throbbing a bit, and the guys resumed their self-appointed roles as God's gifts to Creation, no dancer to prove them otherwise.

End of Story

(p.s. Except that, it's not exactly the end of the story, since it's only the next chapter in an epic of similar events, like that time two months ago when I was riding bikes with my roommate Christoph and BIKED right into a pole, was whipped off my bike into a ditch, giving Christoph a heart attack and reminding myself why I choose to wear a helmet when I bike...or the time I broke my toe on a blender... which I would blame on myself if it weren't for a certain story about my Great Grandma Mo and bicycling...but that's for another post).

Jugendtag

2009-09-29T17:57:00.007-04:00

On Sunday, in Stuttgart, was Jugendtag. Jugendtag, meaning "youth day" is a giant meeting organized by EJW, the youth work of the Lutheran Church in Baden-Wurttemburg (my state) for thousands of young people. Youth literally take over the city for the day -- there are various stages where music and rapping and dance and theater are performed, seminars on important subjects for teens and youth workers, people dancing in the street, church services, art, pretty much everything under the sun with a youth twist on it.

I was privileged to bring a few teens I know to Jugendtag. One of the coolest things we got to participate in was a German-led Young Life Club. Quite a few Germans in the EJW have experienced Young Life and moreover, have sent German teens through YL's exchange program Amicus to live in the States for a year and be involved with Young Life there. So I sat through my first ever all-German Young Life Club on Thursday. We sang a very, um, accented version of Sweet Home Alabama, threw paper airplanes and newspaper around the room in some sort of backwards volleyball game, enjoyed a few funny walk ons, and heard a gospel message in German.

What is really cool is that at the end of Jugendtag, when I asked one of the girls I brought with me, Annika, what she liked best, she said, "that crazy Young Life club". I smiled and said "why?" and she said "The songs we sang -- you couldn't stay quiet, you just had to sing along!"

That's what I like about Young Life. I like that YL's relationship-based ministry makes kids feel like they belong.

On the way home, Annika said to me, "We've heard so many questions today" (Jugendtag's theme was "Questions"), and I just have one that's been bugging me.

"Just one?" I responded

"Yeah. How, if there are so many people that live in the world, can Jesus live with every single one of us?"

... This one question turned into an hour-long discussion over the entire train ride home about who Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost are, what they heck they have to do with our lives, what sin is, if Catholics and Protestants and Muslims all have the same God or different ones, in short, there was more than one question! And I was reminded once again (God's been reminding me of this a lot lately) that ministry has so very little to do with what we leaders tell kids when we are on stage, and much more to do with how God is working in their hearts. I was reminded that I'm being called to walk with kids, not talk to them, to be there throughout the day, one, that Annika trusts me, because I've been there beside her, and two, that I'm around and accessible when the question comes up that she wants (or, that God is pushing her) to ask.

German Wedding

2009-09-20T11:29:00.008-04:00

I went to a German Wedding yesterday. It was my first German wedding, and second international wedding I've ever attended (see "Dont Go to Africa to Get a Tan" post from 2006, here ).

From Ludwigsburg, Stephan und Annas Hochzeit

Just like in America, each wedding is a little different, because every couple is different, but here are some things you might find interesting, different from America, about the German wedding I attended:

The only people who walked down the aisle were the pastor, the bride, and the groom, the latter who walked in together. There were no bridesmaids or groomsmen. There was a "wedding party" at the reception, which I will get to later
One thing I still find funny about German church services in general is that they sit when they sing and they stand up when they pray. Still feels backwards to me, even after 6 months here.
The bride and the groom were sitting down during the ceremony (though some couples do this in the States too, -cough- Mom and Dad!)
In the same way that some couples in the States choose to write their own vows, this couple chose to write their own prayers. Each said their prayer for the marriage, asking God specifically in the same way that those here write vows, to bless their marriage and their care for the other.
After the bride and groom walked out of the sanctuary, we threw flower petals and then there was a big champagne toast and snacks. I've always thought it will be difficult to make a guest list for my wedding, because I know you can't afford to invite everyone you know. In Germany, you can invite everyone you know -- to the ceremony and the champagne toast, where the receiving line is -- and then you drive off to the reception with your guests. I like this system, and intend to bring it to America.
The reception lasts ten times longer than it does in America. Okay maybe I'm exaggerating, but it lasts a long time. The first few hours involve eating, of course, and then also an evening program when friends and family of the bride and groom do things like show slide shows of the couple growing up, or playing funny games and skits. In addition, since the reception lasts the whole night, there were activities to do throughout the reception hall -- you could buy a Wedding Newspaper, for example, that talked all about the couple, or play foosball, or paint on a canvas that would later be given to the bride and groom to hang in their new house.
Around midnight, after the evening program is finished, then comes cake and coffee -- at this reception, the wedding cake, and then various tiramisu-type desserts, tortes, and cakes, made by friends of the couple (I'm a big fan of this potluck approach-- saves on catering costs!) The coffee, of course, is for the night ahead
I thought I knew to dance, but Germans REALLY know how to dance. The first couple songs were Waltzes, and there were a LOT of couples out on the floor! Ballroom dancing is a phenomenon that is coming back in Germany -- there is no high school prom, but there are a lot of teens to take ballroom dancing classes, and at the end of the class, have a "Ball" where all the girls buy pretty dresses and have to pick cute dates that they'll dance with -- similar to the Prom effect in America, but man, way cooler because they can actually dance!
After the Waltzes came a little Top-40 music, which was fun, but the party really happened around 1am, when the Top-40 got switched to German New Wave music of the 80s, and everyone suddenly knew all the words and got very into it. I'm personally not a huge fan of German New Wave music, and also sometimes have the feeling that Germany as is stuck in the 1980s, musically. If I had a dime for every time "Summer of 69" and "It's Raining Men" came on the radio...But it was fun none the less!

Weddings are such joyful experiences. I went to a wedding when I was home in the States, too, and I really like what they are. A church service, where you celebrate together commitment to God and one another, witnessed by a whole church full of people who know and love you and who you know and love, there because they care about you and promise to support you. THEN, a sweet party with this same community!

And as I danced to German New Wave music, and reflected on my own wedding (don't get any ideas Mom, there's no one in the picture, just a dream!), I wonder where it will be and who will be there. I've been ruminating a lot about community lately, and how we define it. Especially how young people who travel around and whose parents and siblings live in different countries construct community. My music will have to be Top-40, French Jazz, Chicago Hip-hop, African drum beats, and the Beatles -- and that's just to cover my own tastes and life story, not to mention my guests'!

So here I go thinking about my future, where I'll go after this year in Germany -- whether I should stay here, stay in Europe, or go back to America. This process is making me realize that the choices I make now about where I put roots down will probably have a lot to say not only about whose weddings I'll be attending, but also who is going to make it to my wedding, including the groom! Feels to me like a weighty thing to thing about. Who will be dancing to the Beatles with me?

Birthday Blessings

2009-09-01T09:02:00.009-04:00

Hello and Happy Birthday (to me, that is - ha!) from Dordrecht, the Netherlands.

From SoCa BoLa 2009

I am a palindrome this year: 22, and beginning that wonderful phase that Americans like to call "the twenty-somethings". From now until I am thirty, no one will know or care exactly what age I am, because it's not as important as 21, and it's not yet (the dreaded -- oops, I mean awesome) 30.

But I'm not complaining.

A family of artists/circus performers from the Y in Esslingen gave me a ride to Holland yesterday (they were on their way here for vacation) so I could be with my parents on my birthday. I can't get over how generous some people are.

Dordrecht is beautiful. The weather is typically gray and drizzly today, which made it perfect for a long run through the dykes and polders. Dordrecht is such a great place to live. You can walk one way out of your driveway and be at the grocery store in five minutes, walk the other and be in cow field or tree-arbored path. Cool. The house has enough of our furniture and stuff in it (I slept in my OWN bed last night!) to make it feel like home, enough new accents to make it hip and cool. I'm a fan.

Going on such a long run let me think about the last year, and made me realized how incredibly blessed I am! Indulge me as I share with you a few of my birthday blessings:

-Being healthy enough (and in shape enough!) to go running on my birthday

-Going running on my birthday in the Netherlands (who would have thunk?)

-Watching Palestinians and Israelis grow in friendship with one another through the trialogue pace trip that Evangelishe Jugendwerk hosted and I got to be a part of

-A safe trip to and from the US, where I got to celebrate my birthday (early) and Halloween (very early, but true to form for BZ and DZ) with my grandparents, brother, and his girlfriend. Seeing friends that care about me in Michigan and Chicago; spending time with professors who are making huge contributions to their own fields and believe in my ability to succeed in the graduate-level world.

-Celebrating in person with two good friends: one engagement, and one wedding! (I got to read scripture, Romans 12, at Laura and Anders' ceremony -- this was a privilege that floored me)

-Taking part in the YMCA's SommerCamp on Lake Constance. God is crazy sometimes, but he placed loud little Amanda in the middle of a group of German teenagers who didn't know what was about to hit them. The first night, we played a few Young Life skits, like the "one guy catches everything" classic, that had kids rolling. That, accompanied by my jubilant exclamations anytime someone got picked to clean the bathroom (I was the leader in charge of delegating bathroom cleaning - yum) and my cool American accent added up to a star quality that I could have never earned in America. (White, from Grand Rapids, attending a Christian University? Give me a break. Like that's going to make kids from Chicago think you're cool). Germany is different however. I woke up one morning, and on the way from my tent to brush my teeth, I had about 10 kids say "Hey Amanda, what's up?" "Hey Amanda, good to see you!" "Hey Amanda, want to hang out with me later today?" It was like one of those movies where the wallflower with glasses dreams that everyone in school suddenly recognizes him and he gets held on the shoulders of the football team at the pep rally as everyone chants his name...well, almost. At the very least, it was like all the dreams I had as an awkward 13-year-old were finally coming true.

-In addition to my "star quality", I got to work with a PHENOMENAL volunteer leadership team, 15 people that put together and successfully carried out 10 days of fun in the sun at our campground.

-Best part of camp though? The relationships I got to form with kids, and watching them grow from not really caring that we leaders were Christians, to asking us about our faith. One afternoon, we had an hour of quiet time, where kids could visit different stations and ask us leaders questions. I got the privilege to hear these, among others:

"Does God really go with you everywhere -- to the bathroom, even?"
"Does God really know everything I think? Even when I'm deciding between buying a PlayStation and a cell phone?"
"Why did God make us?"
"What does it sound like when Jesus knocks at your heart?

-Even though I've heard people say this before, I learned for myself through this experience that nothing I do leads people to Jesus. His ways are mysterious and good, and he tugs at hearts when it's time to do so.

-And finally, I am blessed by my Facebook wall on my birthday! So far I've received (and counting):

13 greetings from the USA (one from an American currently in Holland, one in France)
14 greetings from Germany (one from a German currently located in Thailand) (Germans are really good at remembering birthdays, I've discovered -- this is a major plus to living here!)
2 greetings from Palestine
2 greetings from Belgium
1 from France

I'm not lying, I'm enjoying this birthday, and feeling blessed! I have a lot of fears as I head into the year ahead: Grad School and post-German plans are looming, and a lot of it is unplanned and unsure. But today, I'm living it up. If you're reading this, you're a blessing in my life - thanks for who you are!

Photos of SommerCamp on Baden-Wurttenburg's Bodensee, Germany. Roll your mouse over the screen to pause, move backward or forward. Enjoy!

Geneva

2009-08-06T14:34:00.002-04:00

August 3, 2009
Youth Hostelling International Hostel
Rue Rothschild, Geneva, Switzerland

I'm sitting in the lobby. The Hostelling International Hostel I interned at in Chicago last year definitely wins on comfort - this hostel has a sort of "garden" feel to it -- wooden benches in the lobby area instead of couches, and no communal kitchen (though they do offer meals, free breakfast included!) The people at reception are really nice though, and when they asked me if I had an HI membership, I said no, (and added) "even though I worked at an HI hostel in Chicago last summer!" The girl at the desk nodded to her coworker and said, "we don't have membership, either", and they joked about how membership should be included in employee benefits next year...and then she said, "Bon, on va lui charger le prix de membre, quand meme", (Or, "Well, we're going to charge you the member price, of course). I got 2 CHF off my stay - sweet!

So I'm checking out my room, getting my bed ready, and a girl sharing the room walks in with two huge bags, and looks happy to set them down.

"What language?" I say

"English, French, or Spanish", she says back to me, before pulling a pair of gold-sequined sneakers out of her bag, along with a book titled Beginner's Dutch. I could tell this was a girl I was going to like. "Gabriella" is Australian, the daughter of South American parents, and is in Geneva for a Model UN conference (meeting in the actual UN, no less) before heading direclty to Utrecht, the Netherlands, to study international human rights law for a yare. Two minutes later, in walks my next rommate, Heidi from Hong Kong, who is apparently reporting for an international news syndicate on a Tibetan peace conference being held in Geneva that the Dali Lama is visiting. Today!

Shortly after, Gabriella and I had the following conversation, which was the highlight of my day:

She was explaining how much she had to pay on baggage fees, as she's coming here for a year, and just flew Easy Jet (one of hte cheap, inter-European airlines) from London. She said she had to take everything out of her bag in the London airport and re-pack it because of weight limits. I told her I had to do the same thing once in Dublin, when I was flying Ryan Air to France. And after bringing two big tubs of peanut butter all the way from America, I had them confiscated at security because they were "gels", and couldn't be brought in my carry-on.

"How many times have I flown, I asked myself, and I still messed up!"

"It's such a stupid rule", Gabriella replied, "the same exact thing happened to my Vegemite!"

That as a classic moment. People, I think I've found my soul mate. Finally, someone I can commiserate with about these things!

Geneva is my kind of place, at least as far as internationalism goes. Walking down the street next to the train station is even more exciting than walking through Albany Park, Chicago -- here you can have food from ANY (and I mean ANY) nationality you want.

In addition to its food, Geneva has gorgeous historical buildings, chic and glossy businesses, a vibrant cultural scene, and is perfectly nestled between mountains and water. You can tell why people might want to meet here to talk about peace and reconcilliation.

Gabriella and I got some Chinese/Thai food for take out and ate it in a beautiful park right next to the UN building, where her conference will be this week, and right down the road from the grad school that I am going to look at tomorrow. I told her a little bit about the places I was coming from and giong to, and that I wanted to study international conflict transformation. Needless to say, we clicked. She's 21, too, but has a few years before she finisheds her degree, because she's doing two at once, and will be a Human Rights lawyer by the time she's finished. She was a wonderful first person to meet. Extroverted, fun, and energetic, and at the same time slightly intimidating -- she is extremely bright and determined, that is clear. I was reminded by meeting her (and the 100 other Model UN students staying at the hostel), what kind of people I am "competing" against, so to speak, in this field, and ma feeling a little bit small about this whole new graduate school application process. Sure, in Grand Rapids (even sometimes in Esslingen), it's a cool thing that I can speak French, English, and German, but in Geneva that is very run-of-the-mill.

In any case, I like the girl. Tomorrow I will visit my frist graduate school in this big process, and see what I am up against. Feels a little scary, because I'm all of a sudden a small fish in a very, very big pond, and I haven't practiced swimming (aka writing applications and papers and all that) in a little while.

Day after tomorrow, I get on a plane and head back to the United States, wehre there will be someone I know waiting for me when I get off the plane. That's a feeling I can't wait to have -- to be welcomed home by someone who knows me.

Hope to see some of you there!
Love,
Amanda

Coming Home

2009-07-30T14:30:00.003-04:00

Hello All --

First, a huge apology for not posting in such a long time. There is so much I want to write about, too! The race went well -- I ran it in under an hour (59minuntes and 45seconds, thank you very much), and I'm really glad I did it.

Life has been busy, busy, busy in Esslingen. Yesterday was the last day of school ( I know, can you believe they go so late into July), everyone got their report cards, and now it's time to enjoy the SUMMER.

I, for one, will be thoroughly enjoying it --

I'm currently working on an exchange/peace project with a group of Israeli and Palestinian students visiting German students in Esslingen. It has been an interesting experience, to say the least. I am learning a lot first-hand about inter cultural communication, which is a good thing.

Tomorrow, we are leaving to visit Heidelberg and Strasbourg, and live together in a big house for a few days. Pray that the group will be able to understand each other despite language barriers -- we generally speak English, but I'm the ONLY one in the group whose first language is English (I've been asking myself a lot lately, "why don't I speak Arabic?!!?!). Pray that everyone will take home something significant from the experience.

After our trip to Strasbourg together, I will be taking the train to Geneva, where I will be visiting a graduate school for international conflict transformation, and hopefully seeing my friend Traci, who spends her summers writing in the Alps (dream job, right? I know). From Geneva I will be flying to Chicago, and Michigan, where I'll be visiting friends and family. Here's my itinerary, in case you want to hook up:

August 5-8 - Chicago
8th-12th-Kalamazoo and Grand Rapids, Michigan
12th or 13th to 16th- Chicago

When I return home from Chicago, I'll go directly to "SommerCamp" -- a camp I've been helping to plan on Lake Constance for about 60 kids between 13 and 15. PRAY FOR US!!

My trip home is only a short visit for a friend's wedding (I'll be reading scripture in the ceremony) and to see friends and family. I am looking forward to seeing what my house looks like empty!

Life is about to take another turn, I think. With school ending, three of my roommates and very good friends will be moving out of the apartment I have grown to trust and love, and new "Zivis and Praktis" as we call them will be moving in. A few friends of mine from my Bible Study have also recently left to study abroad, so I will be getting to know new friends in Esslingen. About a month ago, my parents made the official "big move" to the Netherlands, where they now live. They were very wonderful and came to visit me last week, (brining me a few things I had sent abroad with the container). It was good to be with family.

In addition to all this flux around me, I'm spending some time thinking about my future. A friend of mine has recently asked me to write an article for a publication she's guest editing about a passion that drives me. As I look into graduate schools, the job field, and possibly staying in Germany a little longer, I'm having a hard time deciding the answer to that question myself! Pray that I continue to feel God's presence as I wind my way through this journey toward my future.

I am SO excited about visiting Geneva, seeing friends, and enjoying Chicago and Michigan in summer. PLEASE e-mail me if you will be around!

See you after the summer break!

Love,
Amanda

p.s. there are more pictures on my Picasa web album (click the link at the right titled "Pictures are here!" to see them)

Berry,Tickle, Winner, Willard, McKnight

2009-06-07T14:36:00.009-04:00

What do all these names have in common?

Ding-Ding-Ding! Yooooou guessed it! They're all authors. And, they've all made themselves across my path recently. We'll get to them later. In the meantime, I'd like to entertain you with a poem I just wrote:

Please pray. I'm running a 10k.

[That was it. The whole poem.] Yup. I am. The one-and-only Amanda Munroe has begun training for the first-ever official run-that-you-get-a-t-shirt-for in her whole life, the Esslingen Citylauf. July 4. I think I'll paint my body the colors of the American flag, too, just to show off. (Just kidding). That's one month between me and 10 kilometers and baby, I'm going to do it.

You may be asking why 10k seems so astonishing. Let me give you an example: I once told my parents that a friend had asked me to join the rowing team at school. My dad chortled. "You want to become an athlete? Good luck. You're a Munroe. You're uncle can't even walk and chew gum at the same time."

...Ahem. Yes, I am a Munroe and yes, I am going to run a 10k race. (Then again, no one is asking me to chew gum while I'm doing it).

This is the first time I have ever really "trained" for something physically. (I used to train for Forensics, but memorizing lines is different from getting your body to endure pounding the ground for over an hour). I think I'm on a "sacred rhythms" kick, and running is part of it.

I like the new challenge of pushing my body farther. Usually when I run, I give myself a time limit: 30 minutes and then I'm back home, just four more blocks and then I'm done. In these cases I end up looking at my watch a lot, and I feel I can hardly make it the last block or five minutes. Now that I'm training for something in the future, I don't look at my watch as often (because I know I have longer to go) and I find the route feeling shorter and easier every time. It's more fun. The first time I ran for an hour instead of 30 minutes (not all that long ago) I was amazed at how far I could go -- and I wasn't hurt or exhausted. I had been underestimating myself!

I've just begun reading Scot McKnight's new book, Fasting (part of Thomas Nelson's new "The Ancient Practices Series", edited by our good friend Phyllis Tickle). I haven't finished it yet, but so far I am really enjoying it. McKnight's big point is that our perspective on fasting has been skewed from its original biblical expression. Fasting is not a tool to make our needs met more expediently by God. Rather, in McKnight's words, it is a whole-body expression; "the natural, inevitable response of a person to a grievous sacred moment in life".

McKnight stresses throughout the book that fasting is a whole-person bodily expression of our spirituality that combats the (Western) concept that our bodies and souls are separate entities at war with each other. They're not, and in fasting, body and soul go hand-in-hand. Currently, I'm on the chapter that expresses fasting as "body discipline". McKnight says, "this kind of discipline...brings to expression an overall yearning to be more holy, to be more loving, and to be more responsive to God, self, others, and the entire world." Running for me (if this isn't sacrilegious) is likewise a discipline. This is what I'm getting at when I say that I'm running because I'm on a "sacred rhythms kick" -- this idea of having a more holy, loving, responsive life is really attractive to me, but I'm aware that this idea requires giving up the immediate-gratification, live-for-pleasure physical lifestyle that I live. My desire is to live more moderately, more rhythmically; less abruptly.

I am enjoying training for this race because, for the first time since I've begun running, my eyes are on a goal farther away. I don't run just to feel better (or because I want to look better). I run because I'm working toward something. I have to run tomorrow, whether I feel like it or not, because my body needs to be ready when the day comes to run the whole race. I have to rest on Sunday or else I'll pull something. Though I've just begun, my hope is that as my body and my brain learn how to train physically and mentally, I'll also learn about "training" spiritually.

When I run, my whole physical self is engaged, from the arch of my foot to the bob of my pony tail. But my spiritual self is engaged, too. Given the full hour to myself, I get to think, a lot.

I think about where God is, where I've been, where I'm going, who I've been with, and what I've read. That's how we ended up with this title. I listed all of the authors here because the books I've read by them lately all them seem to stress the idea of living with the whole body (both the human body and the body of Christ). Berry, Tickle, Winner, Willard and McKnight are saying that we can't ignore one part of the body as we seek to please another. They're saying we should live more intentionally.

---

So I run and I think about books (currently reading Fasting) and I think about people, which means I inevitably think about food. Over the last few weeks, I've been given the gift of having a lot of free meals -- a blessing for someone who lives on a small budget. But as I read, and as I run, I get to thinking about what I've dubbed "Vacation Eating Syndrome" [VES for short]: the eating culture I've experienced at camp, on retreats, or simply visiting friends and family.

I seriously think that half or more of my time at these events is spent thinking about food: where it is going to come from, how we are going to prepare it for so many people (or if I'm with my family on Mackinac Island: The Yankee Rebel or the VI?), what it will be, how good it will it taste, finally eating it, cleaning up, and doing it all again three hours later. Why is it that, especially when we are with big groups, we feel the need to eat so much? More often than not on these retreats, I ate when I wasn't hungry, and ate so much that I was uncomfortable. Quite literally stuffed my face full, and watched others around me do so, too, with little or no thought as to where and how it was produced (was the worker who picked these coffee beans fairly paid? How much gasoline did it take to transport this rump roast, or this pineapple, to my plate?) And at the end we all say together, "Ahh! I'm so full!"

Talking to one of my roommates about my new diagnosis ("VES"), he said his dad sometimes says: "Some people in the world are in pain because they don't have enough to eat. Some people are in because they've had too much."

What are we afraid of? Certainly not going hungry.

I wonder if, when we go shopping for group meals, instead of saying to ourselves, "better to get more than to not have enough", if we could say, "let's try for less and see if we make it." Could we surprise ourselves the same way I did when I ran for an hour instead of a half? Maybe, if there wasn't so much on the table, we wouldn't want to keep eating, the same way that I find the distance shorter and easier the longer I think I have to run for. Maybe, if there wasn't so much there, we'd spend less time racing to fill our own plates, and more time figuring how we can all have enough to eat.

This post is no soapbox for reprimanding fat Americans (or fat Germans, for that matter). I'll be the first to say that food is clearly a blessing that should be communally enjoyed (why else would I live in Europe??). The same roommate likes to say: "Can you believe God blessed us with the pleasure of eating not once but three times a day? Think about how many chances we have to enjoy that in one lifetime!" I have to agree. I just want to say that I'm frustrated with myself, despite the books I've read and the classes I've taken, that I can't seem to stop stuffing my face nearly every meal, just because I want to have the pleasure of tasting for a few minutes longer, without thinking about where it came from, and even though I know the pleasure will come back in a few hours.

This theory isn't limited to the pleasure of eating (though I haven't read it yet, I think the book Amusing Ourselves to Death probably makes this point well). This is why I find Berry, Tickle, Winner, Willard, and McKnight's thoughts so attractive. Books like Real Sex, The Spirit of the Disciplines and Fasting promote re-igniting ancient spiritual disciplines (engaging our whole [physical + spiritual] person) as a method of awakening ourselves to the insatiable greed we've created and perpetuate. And they seem to be able to do this in a 'hip' way - that is to say, none of them has had to move to the deserts of Egypt (or the open plains of Shipshewana, IN) to get "away" from the culture that perpetuates this greed. Rather they are proponents, (and indeed agents) of Christ's redemptive kingdom within culture.

B,T,W,W, and M are not the only ones, of course. There are many others! [Check out rednow.com for blog doing just that]. I listed their names together becuase that's who I've been reading lately, and I found it amusing that they inter-reference each other so much. (In 11th grade I read a book by Dallas Willard. Last December I read a book by Lauren Winner in which she referenced Phyllis Tickle. In January I read a book by Wendell Berry. In February I read another book by Lauren Winner (in which she referenced Wendell Berry) with recommendation by Phyllis Tickle on the dust jacket. Now I'm reading a book by Scot McKnight that's edited by Phyllis Tickle in which he references Dallas Willard. Whose praise is printed on the first page? Lauren Winner's, of course).

We'll see how fasting goes after I finish the book (hopefully after I finish the race, too - not sure if fasting and training go together so well...)

Pray that I'll be able to run the race. But more importantly, pray that learning to run will help me to live more intentionally.

Phyllis Tickle

2009-05-13T17:24:00.003-04:00

I received word today that PHYLLIS TICKLE spoke at North Park's spring commencement ceremony. PT! My life model! My favorite speaker and author, the person I want to be most like when I grow up, heck, the person I want to BE when I grow up, the woman whose spiritual autobiography I specially ordered off Amazon because it is out of print and you can't buy it at Schuler's, and, even though it is hard cover and weighs about 600lbs (that could be a slight exaggeration), brought it across the ocean to keep me company, along with another hard cover, The Divine Hours (Pocket Edition), which I take with me just about everywhere.

PT, who I first met as a freshman at North Park at a quirky dinner with a few BTS professors.

My roommate Sarah was the first who told me, via Facebook. When I asked myself why she might have remembered I like Phyllis Tickle (though I love her, she isn't exactly as well known as say, the person who is speaking at Notre Dame's commencement this year, namely Barack Obama (talk about missed opportunities...)), I recalled that her picture was on my laptop background last semester as I was writing my senior thesis...for life inspiration, of course.

People kept asking me, "Why do you have your grandma on your laptop background?"

and I'd say, "That's not my grandma! That's Phyllis Tickle! Isn't she beautiful?"

Let me tell you about the two occasions in which I've had contact with PT: I was a freshman at North Park, in Scot McKnight's (you can accuse me of name dropping in this paragraph, I don't care) Intro to the Bible class. Scot had invited Dr. Tickle to speak in the yearly Zarley lectures he hosts. She spoke on praying the Divine Hours and absolutely lit up the room. She talked about prayer, which I find eternally perplexing and interesting subject, and to this day, every time I ask people if they remember her speaking at North Park, people say, "She's the one that talked about going to the bathroom to pray if you're at work, right?" (Which is true, because you technically need to pray them between certain hours if you're going to be praying with the rest of the church). ... But she talked about a lot more, too! Like why Christians should have an understanding of physics and biochemistry, and what "worship" means and does to a person...

In any case, I was enthralled with the woman. To begin with, her name is Phyllis Tickle. I mean, how could you come up with a better name? Phyllis is so great: strong, reminiscent of classic Americana, traditional and yet not banal. Like a good wine. Tickle is of course perfect because that's what she does to you - tickles you with her personality and grace and quick wit until you can't help but smile when you listen to her talk, and feel like she loves you even though you don't know her. And she tickles your intellect by provoking new ideas and by daring new insights. And she lives on a farm called Lucy. Lucy! I love the name Lucy!

I was, they'd say in German, begeistert (I feel this is an onomonopea and deserves no translation). I felt like how my dad gets when he talks about Christy Matthewson (his favorite baseball player -- pitcher from the early 20th century). After the lecture, I didn't care about homework, friends, life -- I just wanted to get to know this woman. I had a crazy idea in my head: I knew she had another lecture tomorrow. That meant she was staying in Chicago. I would go up to Scot and ask him if I could have coffee with her. It sounded ridiculous, but then, she felt so approachable, even up there behind the microphone.

I found Scot after the lecture, and before I opened my mouth, he said to me,

"One of our group dropped out. Do you want to come to dinner with us?"

I was flabbergasted. Shocked. Astounded. I couldn't breathe. I didn't know who "our group" was, other than that it included Phyllis Tickle, and that was enough for me. From the center of my being, bursting up with exuberance, came my jubilant, emphatic, astonished, "YES!"

Thirty minutes later, 18-year-old yours truly found herself at an Italian restaurant in Evanston with two Biblical and Theological Studies upperclassmen, two BTS professors, a seminary prof, Scot McKnight, and Phyllist Tickle. Talk about feeling like you know nothing!

I loved every moment of it. I could have spent the rest of my semester at that big round table eating spaghetti and tiramisu and talking about Paul, Jesus, and religious revolutions (the last subject, incidentally, would become the subject of one of Tickle's most recent books, The Great Emergence, which I had the dumb luck to hear her speak about in Grand Rapids last October). I will admit that I wondered, when she went to the bathroom at half-past-seven, if she was praying...

THIS WOMAN spoke at North Park's graduation on Saturday, and was given an honorary doctorate degree by NPU. I am not going to attempt falsehood: I am envious.

I feel that Phyllis Tickle speaking would have made a graduation slightly more memorable than watching someone nearly pass out behind the podium (which did actually occur at my graduation in December).

So I'll be honest with you: This week finds me missing Chicago a bit. I know that the dogwoods are blooming on campus, people have been playing Frisbee on the greenspace, and my roommates are baking for an end-of-the-year celebration at 5128. I know that the classmates I studied with, ate with, worshiped and laughed with are receiving their degrees this weekend, welcoming their parents and friends onto campus, and taking off to conquer the world. It's hard not to be there to celebrate with them.

CONGRATULATIONS, Class of 2009.

And P.S.: P.T., you're not speaking in Germany any time soon, are you?

Faux Pas

2009-05-10T16:13:00.007-04:00

Happy Mother's Day from Esslingen. A lot of people have been walking around with fresh flowers this weekend, presumably for their mothers, which I'm happy about.

I celebrated Mother's Day by being a mother to my roommates ( I am, after all, the oldest by 6 months). I woke up early and made them American Banana Buttermilk Pancakes. From scratch! They were good, if I do say so myself. I tried to call home about 16 times, but my cell phone connection is horrible and kept cutting out. Sorry Mom, sorry Grandma(s)!

A short update on the shoe situation: I told you already that I made a big mistake by wearing sandals on a rainy day in March. A few weeks later, I wore a shirtdress with skinny jeans and (French, mind you) boots ( I really don't like wearing these particular jeans without boots; I feel like they are a little too skinny alone). This was no more than a fortnight after the sandal incident. I am not kidding when I tell you that at least three people said to me that day, "Amanda, it's spring time. Why are you wearing boots?"

Why me?

Why must I always have to explain my footwear?! I saw five other women wearing boots that day! What does Germany have against my fashion sense?!?

This is perhaps a good moment to share with you some of the other faux pas I have made here, either out of language/cultural incomprehension or my own sheer stupidity. In tribute to my old roommate Jen, who liked to phrase her mistakes this way, here is a list of things I "may or may not" have done since my arrival in Germany:

I may or may not have said "I stink" when I meant to say "I think"

Having been told that my roommate would show me how to get to a meeting that I didn't know where to find, I may or may not have followed at such a close distance that I walked with him right into the bathroom.

I may or may not be so bad at figuring out how German doors lock and unlock that I've nearly (or quite fully, in one case), been walked in on in the bathroom. 3 times.

I may or may not have told the bus driver the wrong stop every time I went to work for the last 2 months because I always forget the name (and how to pronounce it) of the stop I need to go to.

I may or may not, needing to exchange the pants I had just bought (and was wearing, and thus the only ones on hand, because everything else was packed for a retreat I was about to leave on in an hour) have CHANGED IN THE CAR into the only thing I had readily available, namely, black spandex running pants, brown linen shorts, blue socks and green felt clogs, WALKED INTO H&M, made the exchange, and walked all the way home wearing said outfit. This wouldn't have been so bad, except that...

My friend Ana, who works in the cafe in the park I walk through, but who is never there, even though I look for her every time, may or may not have, for once in my life, been there, suddenly opened the door of the cafe, laughed, and said, "Amanda! What are you wearing?" (Ana also witnessed the sandal and boot incidents. I am lucky she is still my friend).

I may or may not, having purchased a SIM card for my cell phone, have forgotten the pass code to turn the phone on. Embarrassed, I gathered all my cell phone info (you know, the 4-trees-worth of paper they give you every time you buy a phone that's supposed to help you live "paperlessly") and hiked back to to the cell phone store.

"The pin code?" said the (my luck) same man that had sold me the phone two days ago. "It's on the card I gave you."

"Oh, you mean this one" I say, pulling out the card I had BROUGHT WITH ME, with the words "PIN CODE" spelled out above a 4-digit number.

Can't blame that one on language incomprehension.

...These are only a few of the faux pas I (may or may not) make daily. So is life when you are a foreigner, I think. Swallow your pride, thank God you're alive and exploring, and get on with it, I say.

On the bright side, last week, Kai (one of the men I work with), came up to me and said he'd read my blog, and, in response to my letter would like to apologize on behalf of Germany for its criticism of my footwear.

I looked down.

He was wearing Swedish clogs!

Easter

2009-04-23T08:42:00.008-04:00

O land alive with miracles!
O clad in streams
Lift your blue trees into the early sun!

...

Sunrise is an event that calls forth solemn music in the very depths of man's nature, as if one's whole being had to attune itself to the cosmos and praise God for the new day, praise Him in the name of all the creatures that ever were or ever will be.

I look at the rising sun and feel that now upon me falls the responsibility of seeing what all my ancestors have seen, in the Stone Age and even before it, praising God before me. Whether or not they praised Him then, for themselves, they must praise Him now in me. When the sun rises each one of us is summoned by the living and the dead to praise God.

-Thomas Merton

I'm not sure how your Easter was, but I found myself resonating a lot with this passage during my Easter time. I feel as though the church calendar came from Europe for a reason -- our weather has corresponded perfectly to the movement from Lent to Easter: from rainy, gray, and cold to bright, sunny, and warm. Tulips and daffodils are popping up everywhere, lilacs are beginning to bloom and smell, trees are exploding with green and life and Esslingen is alive with activity. Fountains are running again in the parks and squares, outdoor cafes are full and kids are playing in the park. Life proclaims resurrection; trees shout God's glory, and I get to watch.

On Tuesday, I leave with a group of students from EJE for Taize, France. I am VERY excited about this trip. I've been wanting to head to this ecumenical community since I first heard about it, and it will be the first time I have seen France on this trip to Europe. Woo hoo! In May, my schedule really heats up, and from the last weekend in May to the first weekend in July, I will be gone every weekend on some sort of retreat or another, so NOW is probably a good time for me to fill you in on what I've been up to in the last little while...

I'll try weekends, first.

The following slideshow shows pictures from the 21st of March. Etienne had received a ski package as a gift from friends for his birthday in February, and we went skiing for the entire day in Austria! The weather was absolutley perfect -- not a cloud in the sky the whole day, so warm, but fresh powder all the same. The scenery was amazing. I kept thinking, "it's like I'm in the Sound of Music...like I'm in the Alps, or something.." and then I realized, I WAS!!

As far as the skiing goes...this was two days after Natasha Richardson had her big ski accident, so you can imagine how I was feeling about skiing...Despite my mom's upbringing on the Colorado slopes and Jesse's taking to skiing, the last time I was skiing, I was about 15 years old, it was a Youth Group retreat in Michigan, and I was proud for making it down the blue circle hills.

Skiing in Austria leads one to wonder: Why do people ski? WHO thought it was a good idea to stand on the top of a mountain, smooth down the snow to make it slippery, and then put two sticks on your feet that you have hardly any control over, and go? This is completely illogical to me. Let me just say that the ground and I, well, we got pretty well acquainted.

Etienne was an extraordinarily patient teacher, though, and despite my many (many, many) falls, I did have a good time, and I'd like to ski again...some day.

I also got the chance to meet Etienne's host familiy, the Webers. They're awesome people -- the whole family used to live in Thailand, where they were missionaries! Lydia, Etch's host mom, bakes her own bread, and taught me the word for cake pan : Backform

The next weekend, I noticed THIS in Esslingen:

NO ONE IS SAFE! Not even quaint European towns! If Starbucks made it to Mackinac Island, I guess it can make it anywhere. I wonder what a Skinny Orange Mocha Frappacino tastes like in Germany? I wonder if in Germany, it's called a Skinnyorangemochafrappacino?

The same weekend, Etienne came to Esslingen to visit. On Friday night, CVJM has a sort of coffee shop/bar where they sell drinks and snacks, play music, and people just hang out. Etienne and I met a crazy CVJM volunteer named Hans-Martin there who told us we could go hiking in "Neuffen". We trusted him, and set out Saturday morning.

The day was rainy, but we hiked anyway, up a BIIIIIG hill (quasi mountain) to an old castle on the top that was first fortified in 1100. That's right, nearly a thousand years ago. Since it was rainy in the morning, there was almost no one on the trails, but by the time we got to the top, the clouds broke and we had an amazing view of the surrounding Scwabische Alb (the name for the quasi-mountains around Schwabia), and the little houses down in the valley. Definitely worth the hike!

Oh, AND I'd like to announce that I, Amanda Munroe, drove back FROM Neuffen TO Esslingen, IN a car WITH a stickshift ON the German Autobahn. Watch out Germany, Amanda is behind the wheel!

- The weekend before Easter was crazy for me, because somehow Etienne's parents AND my dad managed to come to Germany in the SAME weekend. My weekend went something like this:
Friday: work, work, work. Lunch time (pack, don't eat), work work work, run to train station, take train to Augsburg, EAT GALLETTES AND CREPES with the Dubois and the Webers. (Brought especially from France, of course -- dream come true!

Saturday: Early awake, drove south through Bavaria, where Etienne and his parents, (Pierre and Rachel), and I visited Schloss Neuschwanstein, the castle that inspiried Walt Disney's Sleeping Beauty's castle. Surprisingly, it's no medival feat. The castle was actually built by King Ludwig II, a slightly mentally deranged king who threw himself into debt building fanciful castles, fell in love, got engaged, and then broke up with his cousin, was good friends with the famous composer Richard Wagner, and died young. The castle was dedicated to Wagner and depicts a lot of his works. It was built after the American civil war. I couldn't believe that.

Etch's host family told us where to go for the best view (behind the castle, on a bridge above a waterfall), which was REALLY cool! We finished the day by visiting the quaint town of Fussen (last German town before the border with Austria) and having a very French pic-nic beside a church in a valley, complete with Rachel's home-made dessert. I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

The DuBois family highly enjoyed seeing the remains of a little snow in Bavaria, which they are not used to in Bretagne. They kept remarking, "wow! Look at that snow! Did you see that Amanda?" I'm thinking to myself... Did you just ask me if I saw that mound of dirty, melted snow 6 inches tall? Folks, I come from Michigan. You want to see snow, come visit me in January. I'll give you snow. What I really said was, "Oui! Cool, n'est-ce pas?"

After the pique-nique (French pronounciation makes it sound gastronomically more interesting) we RACED back to Augsburg so I could catch my train, made it with three minutes to spare, and I ended the day at Dieter's dinner table, sharing a meal with the Bullard-Werner family, my dad, and Kenn Knipp.

The next day, Palm Sunday, we visited Essligen on foot and the awesome university town of Tubingen, about an hour away, where we were invited to the most phenomenal performance of the Bach's Matthaeus Passion in the Tubingen Stiftkirche, by Tubingen's outstanding Bach Choir, and featuring none other than our friend Helmut!! As Helmut observed at the end of the evening, there's nothing quite like hearing the gospel this way. It was a moving experience for everyone involved, I think.

Check out this slideshow for photos of Neuschwanstein, Tubingen, and our friends the Knapp family as well.

There are also a few pics of the Easter retreat with CVJM, where I spent Easter weekend. My boss Valerian and I were in charge of the the middle-school-aged kids for the entire weekend. We built a life-sized paper-mache grave for the 7 stages of the Cross on Saturday and enjoyed being outside. On Friday afternoon, I taught the kids the American game Red Rover, and before long, we had a group of people watching us. Apparently people in Germany don't know the game Red Rover. I had people asking me about it all weekend! (I also had a MAJOR knee bruise the whole weekend because of it).

The Easter retreat was fantastic, because I really got to know a lot of people in the CVJM community better, and learn an insider's perspective about how they work, so to speak. The weather was impeccably good, and besides working intensely on my German, I also learned how to spin plates and a new trick called a Slack Line, so important I might just devote a whole new post to it.

That's all for now. Enjoy these new pictures!

Love,
Amanda

Job Description

2009-04-02T17:58:00.003-04:00

Hello, Fearless Readers,

Welcome to April. The sun shone brightly today in Esslingen and I wore a skirt and tee-shirt. There was a line out the door of the ice cream shop. Life is good.

I've now been in Germany a month, and know it is high time I give you an update on what I'm "really doing", as so many of you have asked.

Let me begin by clarifying why I am in Germany this year:

1. I just graduated from college with a B.A. in Global Studies and French. I know I want to go on to Masters/Doctoral study in some sort of international arena, but I'm not sure precisely which one yet. The three possibilities are International Conflict Transformation/Communications, Linguistics, or Intercultural Ministry.

2. Since I don't know what area of study (or in what country, for that matter), I wish to pursue, I figured it was a good time to take a little break from school and get some real world experience. In addition, any of the above graduate programs require students to know at least two non-English languages, and the earlier in life one attempts to learn languages, the better. I figured it was time for a new one.

3. In my freshman year of college, I had an experience with God that I would call a "call to ministry", and since then, have wanted to explore what working in ministry full-time looks like.

4. Through various routes (a middle school visit, high school exchange students, my stay in France, they YL/ejw partnership) I've had the chance to get to know a lot of Germans that I really, really like, and learn a lot about Germany that is appealing to me. Plus, I just plain love languages. In short, I've wanted to learn German and travel in Germany for some time.

5. I've heard so many interesting discussions that have come out of the YL/EJW partnership that have attracted me. Particularly, Americans from YL often remark that the EJW is more socially engaged than YL, as well as more deeply theological. These two applications of ministry are really where I feel myself to be headed, so this felt like a good fit. In addition, the EJW has sent a lot of people to America for internships, etc., but YL has sent few to Germany. I like being a bridge-builder.

6. Relationships. Many of you know that my boyfriend, Etienne (French) is studying in Germany this year. We now live 1.5hours apart, instead of an ocean apart. With my dad's new job as YL director in Western Europe, my parents will also soon be transplanting to Europe. I'm very, very, excited about my parent's move, and want to participate in this new chapter of their life.

I think 6 is good enough for right now.

Here is a bit about what I do here:

I am a "Praktikantin" (which means intern, or that I'm learning a mix of social and pastoral youth work) for two Christian youth organizations:

1. EJE - Translates to Protestant Youth Work in Esslingen -- a smaller branch of the EJW, YL's partner. This is an arm of the church that specializes in youth outreach. They extended my "invitation", if you will.

-EJE pays me a monthly stipend, and I work Tuesdays and Thursdays in a youth center in a socially difficult part of the city called Zollberg. (Pronounced like Sohlberg, North Parkers! I laughed to myself when I found that out!) This center is called t1 (pronounced "tay-eyens"), and I basically do YL contact work there. We have a soccer/basketball court, foosball, pingpong, and pool tables, video games, free internet, sell pop and juice and french fries and pizza and other unhealthy things teenagers like to eat, and we play cool music. On Tuesday afternoons I work "kids club" -- open to kids from 8-12, as well as handicapped kids from a local school, and then Tuesday and Thursday evenings is regular open hours when I hang out with high-school aged kids from around the neighborhood. We have one girl, named Lisa, who I have connected well with, and a LOT of guys, whose names I haven't all got yet, but who are nice, too. (And when they're not nice, they're yelling in German...or Turkish...or Italian...or Arabic...at each other, so I don't understand!). More to come later in a "spotlight" blog on t1.

-I will also be going on a lot of camps/trips with EJE. For example, I'll be heading to Taize, France, on a youth retreat in a few weeks, then to Bremen for something called "Kirchentag" (Church day), and will help to host a visit of Palestinian/Israeli students to Esslingen this summer. I feel so blessed to have so many opportunities to travel and learn! So far, I get along really well with the team at EJE, and am learning a ton.

2.The YMCA in Esslingen (in German, CVJM) - a parachurch organization/community that fosters programs for Christian formation and fun (primariliy for youth, from about age 5-25).

-CVJM offers me housing, and I work Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays in Lutherbau, CVJM's center of command in Esslingen that houses the central offices, weekly meetings of their different groups (kids-teens-adults), various big events and, incidentally, my apartment!

- I find CVJM's method of ministry really cool, because it is almost entirely reliant upon their vast system of volunteers. They have a really dedicated community of of people that make their events happen, that meet together regularly to worship and study the Bible together, but also to have fun and to volunteer. Some of the teenage girls I work with, for instance, lead a girl's group for 8-12 year olds on Wednesday nights -- so people have the chance to minister and to be ministered to within the same community. I think this holistic approach is really neat.

- I'll primarily work with two programs in CVJM, TenSing and Trainee. I also help plan and execute a once-a-month Sunday-night worship service for young people, called One Way, and participate in camps and retreats. Hopefully, none of our retreats will take place here...

-I will try to "spotlight" each of my activities in its own post later, but to give you a brief overview, TenSing is a once-a-week meeting where teens get together to sing (wouldn't you know), and then break up into smaller groups: theater, dance, band, tech, etc. They work together for about a year, and create a show that they then perform. The program started in Norway and is sweeping Europe - will be launched end of April in CVJM Esslingen.

Trainee is an attempt that CVJM is making to have more contact with kids at school, since the trend in Germany is that children spend more time/do more activities at school (like in the US). This is a sort of after school program to help teens think about what direction they want to go in after school (college, work, trade school, etc.), to offer leadership training and homework help and basically get in contact with teens where they are. This will also be launched in late April as a joint effort between EJE and CVJM, and they are hoping I will be able to bring some of my YL knowledge to contribute to their work.

Despite this long entry, this is only a surface-level description of what I do! I hope it wasn't too boring to read, but it needed to be said once and for all! Later entries will "spotlight" each of the activities I do, and hopefully introduce you to some of the fantastic people I work with.

For now, though, I need to head to bed, since it is late in Germany, and I have a German course to attend early tomorrow morning!

Miss you, wherever you are in the world.

Be Blessed,

Amanda

GOAT

2009-04-01T14:14:00.005-04:00

This is a video of Etienne on a recent expedition we took to a medieval castle.
I think it speaks for itself:

Letter of Surrender

2009-03-24T17:50:00.002-04:00

One of the reasons I (mostly) enjoy living in other countries is because the learning curve is so high -- every day is a fresh learning experience. I'd like to share with you one of the newest things I have learned about Germany:

Germans are (apparently) very particular about shoes.

Would you like to know how I know?

When someone (no one in particular, really) is moving from one country (let's call it The United States of America) to another country (just for fun, we'll name it Germany)that person is forced to make serious decisions about how many pairs of shoes one packs. With airline weight limits ever stricter, and shoes being both heavy and bulky, one can clearly understand that a young person moving from one country to another would not bring ALL her shoes with, but would choose those that are the most practical and multi-functional.

And so it was that yours truly arrived in Germany with a few dress shoes; snow boots; sandals; running shoes, and bran new, green felt Dansko clogs. Please don't be alarmed at the green felt description. They're actually quite cool -- a gift from my parents upon my graduation from The Sweden Shop across the street from North Park -- a sort of classy remembrance of my roots.

The reader should know that in Europe, people generally do not wear athletic shoes when they are not playing a sport. Thus, my Danskos function as the European equivalent of the French "chaussures de ville" -- the shoes you wear when you go out, go to work, go into town.

Unfortunatley, clogs, in Germany (ESPECIALLY felt ones), like their cousin Birkenstocks (in my defense, I knew this about Berks before I came), are universally considered house shoes. Slippers. NOT for outdoor use.

I've been wearing the equivalent of slippers for three weeks. Green-felt, attention-grabbing house shoes. The Germans are laughing behind my back as I protest explanations of how good they are - ahem- for one's back in the first place. (See HERE).

And so we come to today. Today, March 24th, I needed to help my boss, Dieter, move. (EJE is changing offices buildings this week). Naturally, I wasn't going to wear my Danskos -- clogs are not so good for moving -- one can't be slipping out of a clog while carrying a box of 165 church hymnals down a flight of stairs.

Unfortunately, I could not wear my running shoes, either, since I did ALL my laundry yesterday, we have no dryer, and all my jeans were wet. So, I was forced to wear black dress pants. (Ladies, support me here: you're not walking out of hte house in black dress pants and bright white and blue, refective-light strip Asics, n'est-ce pas?)

So I was faced with a few choices: 1) Snow boots (I think not) 2) Brown boots (with black pants?) 3) Black dress shoes (slip-ons; a no-go), and 3) My JEEP brand green, beige and black sandals (they're closed-toed, a bit like Keens -- roomates, you know the pair I'm talking about, right?) I pulled what I considered a fairly genius move by pairing black pants with a green and black top and a green scarf in my hair to match the green in the shoes. I even added my boho-chic hemp necklance with green pendant.

I am not kidding when I say that EVERYONE I spent more than 10 minutes with today commented on my shoes. (Er, the fact that I wasn't wearing socks). It's the end of March! Past St. Paddy's! The sun shone today! (Okay it rain/snowed intermittently, too, but it was warm enough). SPRING IS COMING! I needed these shoes in order to have sure footin! I feel I have the right to wear sandals.

Apparently not.

Nor should I wear my house shoes around town as if the shopping mall was my living room.

After a long discussion attempting to defend myself (in German) with my two bosses at the youth center where I work, I finally conceded, and humbly took the directions my friend Joerg gave me to the local place where shoes are cool but relatively inexpensive.

Dear Germany,

I apologize for offending you with my choice of footwear.

I promise to do better next time.

Sincerely yours,

Amanda S. Munroe

(Signed, 24 March 2009, Esslingen, Deutschland)

Banana Juice?

2009-03-20T09:42:00.003-04:00

Hello All!

Sorry I've been a little late on posting -- just proof that my life is busy here, which is good! That, and that I am tired at the end of every day because my brain is working to understand everything. Not only the language (though that is a lot of it) but also things like street signs or...I don't know...figuring out how long a lunch break is in Germany, when you should or shouldn't shake someone's hand, etc.

Anyway... this will be a quick, because I am on my lunch break and need to hurry up and pack, because I am heading to AUSTRIA for the weekend to ski!

I've never been to Austria. I was on the border, once, but never made it over. Can't wait! (Though I'm a little bit scared about the skiing part. Especially with so many recent ski accidents in the news!) Oh well.

So, a few things I find amusing about Germany:

-A lot of homes have calendars in the bathroom. I suppose this is a convenient place to review upcoming appointments, actually....maybe we should try it in the US?

-Everything feels HEARTY --people, bikes, the breads --- Lordy, they are all whole grain and the cereal aisle in the grocery store....it's a granola-lover's dream come true!!

-At meetings, people drink juice and mineral water. Together. Actually, people just drink juice all the time. I didn't know this about Germany. This is great though, as musli and juice two of my favorite things in the world.

-A popular favorite juice is banana and cherry juice mixed together (we serve this often at t1, the youth center I work at)

I have to get going, but keep your ears tuned for the next post: pictures from ski weekend, and account of how yours truly managed to eat the same Swabish delicacy five times in one week!

love to you!

amanda

Winnenden School Shooting

2009-03-14T17:19:00.002-04:00

Thanks to everyone who expressed their concern about the recent school shooting in Germany. Winnenden, where it happenend, is only about 20 minutes away from Esslingen -- not very far at all; very similar kind of town. I've been around as a lot of people have expressed their shock and horror. It hits home especially hard, I think, with those who work so closely with youth. The kid was only 17 years old.

Tuesday, at t1, (the youth center where I work) Uli, (she's partly in-charge of t1) put up a big piece of paper on the wall and left out markers and art supplies so that our kids had a chance to respond to what happened. It was a good, hands-off way to let them express themselves, I think. A lot of them talked about it in their classrooms at school, so I think they may have been on overload.

This is a bizarre statement to write, but school shootings haven't occured as frequently in Germany as they have in the US, so people here are perhaps more substantialy phased by the occurance.

Please pray for the people of Winnenden, Tim Kretschner's family, and the youth workers in Baden-Wurttemberg as we recover from this crisis.

Gold Bless You!

amanda

First week in Germany

2009-03-06T16:20:00.006-05:00

Hallo Zusammen!
......which means hello everyone. My deepest apologies for not writing sooner. It has been a crazy ride. As you know already, my flight to Atlanta was canceled on Friday, meaning I had one extra night in GR with my family. Frustrating, but OK in the end, as I got a direct flight to Stuttgart out of the deal. Had some nice seat partners on my flights, and even arrived early!

PHOTOS:

(Click the caption bubble on the left to see captions, click the Picasa icon on the right to go to the website with my photos [bigger pictures])

Etienne picked me up at the airport and we were right away back to our old tricks -- he drove and I read the map and gave directions -- never mind that I just flew over the ocean for 8+ hours, never mind that I'm not used to European street signs, not to mention that I can't read German!

With our combined intelligences we finally arrived in a nice park in Stuttgart where we could walk around and talk, and later went to lunch and into the pedestrian downtown area. The weather was beautiful and I was reminded of how, in Europe, you can have 500 + people in one place and still have quiet.

On the other hand, I will venture that Germans seem to me much more expressive (louder) than the French. Take example #1, Valerian, my coordinator at CVJM (the Y)...

After tea and some delicious cakes at the Bullard-Werner household (my compliments to Dieter and Nancy on your baking skills and thanks to American friend John for your pleasant company!), I moved into my new room at the Y and met Valerian. Valerian is like a kinder version of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. He's big and strong and happy and he has dark hair and often wears a red shirt. He (understandably) coordinates the sport aspects of the Y in Esslingen.

Dieter, my other "boss" is not quite as high-energy as Valerian, but he is no less kind. Dieter sort of reminds me of my Uncle Cliff. Tall and lank, and his hair is sometimes messy but who cares because he is overwhelmingly encouraging, sympathetic, wise, and also goofy. I think I am lucky to have such a balance between two wonderful coordinators!

I'll work M/W/F at CVJM (where I'm living), and T/Th with EJE [you can see more info about each on the links on the side of the page]. I am still learning a million new things every day, so I will save my "job description" for another, shorter post (when I know more what I'm doing!)

EVERYONE here has been so welcoming. I am telling you, if you are going to travel the world, the way to do it is visiting Christians. It has worked really well for me. Each person I've met here is excited that I'm here, incredibly patient with my slow-coming German, and just plain joyful.

Esslingen, the town, is gorgeous. The downtown pedestrian center dates from the middle ages and the half-timbered houses and cobblestone streets are breathtaking. This is only one of the reasons, I think, that so many people I've met grew up in Esslingen and have chosen to stay her. It's a GOOD place to live!

I have so much to tell you, but I know this is getting long, so I'll end with a few ways I've seen God this week. (Thanks for praying for me -- I can feel those prayers. Keep them up, I need them!)

1) Of course, the reception I've been given by absolutely everyone. Ah! They are amazing!

2) Taking the bus home from one of EJE's youth centers on Tuesday, I noticed a sign denoting Esslingen's "Sister Cities."
I laughed out loud when I saw the city in the USA - Sheboygan. Ha! Perhaps Sheboygan, WI, since Cheboygan, MI is spelled with a C. All the same, it made me think of my family and Mackinac Island and I was overjoyed.

Then I laughed a 2nd time because Udine was the Italian sister city! Udine is the town where my best friend Bess worked as a missionary teaching English last year, and is one of three whole cities I've ever visited in Italy. Would you belive it? This is God reminding me of who is praying for me, I thought.

3) On a similar note, one of the china plates in the mis-matched kitcenware that I share with my 5 roommates has a picture of "Chatsworth House, Derbyshire" on it, which is an old English manor a few minutes away from my friend Becky's house in Staffordshire. Her Mom (er, Mum) is always bringing visitors there, says Becky, and it is my most cherished desire to visit one day! (Also, Kiera Knightly's new film The Duchess was vilemed there).

4) This one is a bit more embarassing. It happened on Wednesday, one of my crazy days when I was running from meeting to meeting. I was coming back from the EJE because I was invited for lunch at Valerian's family's house. I got slightly turned around, and spent at least 10 minutes walking up and down one side street that happened to be about 50 meters off from their street, but which I was certain was correct. After said 10 minutes walking around like a chicken with its head cut off, I started praying that God would help me find the house, because I was bordering on late (which is NOT kosher in Deutschland, as I knew, but was more keenly made aware of Thursday when I missed my bus). Anyway, I wandered and wandered, trying to think, without a cell phone, what I was going to do if I didn't make it, if Valerian would come searching for me (after all, I was walking in a 10m circle), or if I'd end up rudely standing them up and totally embarassing myself.

Finally, as is headed down one street which I thought led to another that would turn into the street their house was on. I stopped in my tracks and thie door was in front of me. I am not kidding you when I say I had NO inclination that the door was there. I was completely turned around in my orientation. I felt like I was in a Harry Potter book - medival European town, doors appearing out of nowhere, you know the drill...

God's grace is good.

Thanks for praying for me keep me updated on your lives, pl;ease!

More to come soon.

Bis Bald!

Amanda

Attempting to Leave Home

2009-02-28T00:05:00.007-05:00

I have a phone there, I have a webcam and Skype. For heaven's sakes this is the 21st century, let's stay in touch.

And now, for our feature presentation, I'd like to give you a glimpse of my past 24 hours:

Thursday morning, 10am: Wake up (late) get dressed, get a call from my [former, though I deny it] roommates having roommate breakfast in Chicago at 5128 N. Kimball. Man, do I miss those pancakes. I mean, women...

11am: I head off to the Police station, because wouldn't you know I need a background check to apply for a work permit in Germany. The policeman at the desk wasn't very helpful when I walked in. In fact, he was borderline rude. I'm not used to the police station, OK, buddy? Then, I have to pay $6 by cash or check for this little baby. Well I apologize, but I try to rid myself of American currency before I leave for foreign countries, so I don't have $6 in cash and who really carries checks with them everywhere? In any case, I was eventually directed to "the lobby" where there is an ATM. I have to come BACK to Mr. Highorse at his front desk (I felt like I was in Harry Potter's Ministry of Magic --" leave your wand here, please"), who appears, to me, to be in the lobby. I embarrass myself, looking for the ATM, but looking more LIKE a homing pigeon or a vulture, circling his desk about 10 times in a row while he (I imagine) smirks. When I ask him where the ATM is, he also says, "in the lobby". I am IN the lobby! Can you all help me define the word lobby? He was sitting at a desk at the end of an entryway lined with chairs. This, to me, appears to be a lobby. NO ATM to be seen. After another trip back to ask for help, in addition to an embarrassed demand to some Catholic school moms on a field trip, I finally found "the lobby".

Since when is the space between an outside door and an inside door validly called "the lobby", anyway???

12:45: I arrive at my grandparents' house in Kalamazoo. I have volunteered to wax their floor for them today as an excuse for spending time with them before I leave for Germany (no packing done yet). Long story short, I attempted to buff the hallway and kitchen with an industrial-size buffer that weighed about 200 pounds. I'll let you imagine two senior citizens and yours truly trying to pull THAT out of a trunk.

Babcia: "Okay, hold on tight because that thing is going to zoom out
fast"

Me: "Alright, I'm sure I'll be fine"

[Babcia plugs in buffer. Buffer spins out of control and Babcia emits a magnetic force, pulling the buffer toward her body. I fly in mid-air with the buffer as it attaches itself to my grandmother's foot and, as far as I can tell, attempts to eat her entire right leg. I am trying frantically to turn the buffer off until my grandmother geniously unplugs the dad-gum thing. I realize I am on the floor, too distracted by trying to save my Babcia to notice that I, too, have been defeated by the maniacal machine. I stand up, picking up the pieces of my broken self-dignity and we return the buffer to the Kalamazoo "Rentelex".]

7:30pm: I arrive home and Jesse and Nanea surprise me with going away gifts. WOW! I was totally spoiled. Standing in the kitchen, I show our guests the new Bollywood dance-steps I learned on OnDemand, the Deer and the Lotus. Jesse says, "Man, I'm really going to miss this". Everyone erupts into ferocious laughter.

8:00pm: Laura comes over and we begin the descent into my room, after I've told her that "I have everything packed....in my mind!" Laura gasps in horror when she enters my room but soon recovers and perches herself in that same spot on my bed she has occupied during THREE of my pre-life-changing-move-packing-sessions to date. Laura, my friends, is a genious. If you are moving out of the country soon, I highly recommend her services.

2am: Bed

6:30am Friday: Up to say goodbye to Jesse and finish packing.

3:45pm: I am successful! We leave for the airport! One bag, one backpack, and two carry-ons. For ONE YEAR. Be impressed.

4:05pm: My flight to Atlanta is canceled because of weather conditions. I'm spending the night in GR.

4:20pm: Dad pages Mom at the GRAND RAPIDS aiport because we lost her. (For those of you form outside GR, the airport is about the size of, say...my house).

5pm: Call Etienne in Germany, waking him up to tell him that I won't be there tomorrow.

12:30am: I'm writing a blog in my bedroom at home when I should be on a flight over the Atlantic. Life just works like that sometimes.

I'm off tomorrow (Saturday) at 12:20pm. Pray the weather is better in Atlanta!

Next post, I hope, will be from the other side of the ocean....

Tschuss!

Amanda

Inauguration

2009-01-29T00:05:00.004-05:00

How was it? What was it like?

Everyone wants to know.

It's similar to describing my whole summer in Africa.
There's no way to explain to someone in three words an experience that soaked into you so deeply your bones still feel it. That pervaded your senses, your brain, your soul.

For Africa, I said, "It was hot!"
For D.C., I say, "It was cold."

It's what I remember, sure. Africa was hot. But it was so much more than that. It was red sand and sticky sweat. It was cold showers and tile floors, and grasshoppers in my bedet. And it was nausea, sickness, malnutrition, poverty, and want. And laughter, and songs, and children, and flies. And boredom, and hardship. And it was intimacy with God.

Still, I've only scratched the surface. So take these next thoughts with a grain of salt, and call me up for coffee if you want to talk about it for real.

Aside from just basking in the glow of North Parkers, the best part of the bus ride was waking up to Will.i.am's (don't judge) "New Day" and staring out the foggy window to a blazing New England sunrise. Then dancing in the aisle to the Obamareggae.

As for the Mall, it was the most people I had ever seen in one place. Standing parallel to the screen, we had to push and push our way over just to get a glimpse of the jumbotron, since we were too late to even make it onto the mall. There were so many people pressing in one one another that if I had decided to take my feet off the ground and just hang there, elbows pushing into my neighbors' thick coats, I would have been fine. I was praising God for the cold January air that gave us the chance to gasp for breath -- something fresh just above the stale air of leather and down; the wind that comes with change. But not everyone was tall enough to breath in that air. Some folks had to push their way out, on the verge of fainting from claustrophobia. None of us felt on the top of our game.

But we weren't there to be on the top of our game. We were there, as so many have said, to witness a peaceful transition of power in our nation for the 44th time. To see change happen. To tell our grandkids and great-grandkids that we stood (or rather, leaned, as it were) on ground only yards from the first African American president.

The first Black president of the United States.

The first Black president.

That is something to remember. But it's not the only thing. Because Barack Obama is not only Black. He's actually half White. He's also Kenyan, and has some Indonesian leanings. And he's not just the first Black president. He's not 'a credit to his race'. He's the best person for the job.

So this is what I remember: Feeling full of hope. People. Lots and lots of people. Faces. Different colors. His face and name everywhere. Dancing. Being chilly. Trash, everywhere. Tromping over gardens and through the streets. Feeling slightly like I was at the site of a national disaster, or on the set of the Dennis Quade movie about the day the world ended. Helicopters and sirens. News crews. Waiting in lines. Standing in the cold, waiting for the bus.

And being overwhelmed that he is my president, that this is my country, and that I no longer have to be ashamed of saying I am an American when I go abroad. I actually feel like I have a place here. Obama is the first president I have voted for, and having him come from Chicago -- to know people who know him -- it feels more like I belong. Like he belongs to us.

I left with a desire and a responsibility to serve. My country, our people, and our world. To be diligent; to work hard.

And to pray for him. And us.

"It's a new day" said Will.I.Am.

The family experiement

2008-12-24T16:23:00.003-05:00

Travel. Living with strangers. Moving to college. Experimenting with new foods. These things give one an exposure to new people and situations, and help you think about where you came from in a new way.

A few weeks ago, when I was gathered with my roommates around the breakfast table, as has become our weekly practice, we shared Thanksgiving and holiday traditions in our families. Just a week earlier, at another table, I had been asked to share the same thing. And I recall feeling like I had very little to say.

As my friends talked about generation-long traditions of cutting down trees with the whole family, making candy and special Christmas treats, I started to think about my own family.

There was grade school, when mom used to make her mother's Christmas tearing to distribute to our neighbors and our school teachers, which somehow always seemed to turn out burned on the outside and undercooked on the inside, and left our kitchen looking something like New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. Thank goodness we stopped this before high school - as I recall I had 8 different teachers...

One year, my dad said, "Maybe this is the year we shouldn't make the tearing anymore..."

Then there is the yearly spaghetti pie we have on Christmas Eve. This hallowed tradition was birthed the first year we were a "family" (Dad, Mom, and little Amanda), when my parents decided that whatever we had that year would be the meal we would have every year. They looked around the house and decided we'd make do with what we had, and go across the street to the Town & Country grocery store to get the cottage cheese we needed for spaghetti pie. We've been eating it - in candlelight, before the Christmas Eve service - every year since.

The more I reflect, the more it seems evident to me that our family's history is a story of experiments, a sort of make-do-with-our-resources, eat-graham-cracker-cereal-because-we-ran-out-of-Cheerios sort of thing. I remember my dad saying "well, I've never done this before" and "we'll have to just wait and see" a lot. Like the fiasco that revolved around Mr. VandenBerg's 7th grade "passport project", involving my parents and me staying up until 2am trying to make a travel brochure and passport to Great Britain; my dad cutting himself and bleeding on the passport in the process. (And someone telling me at school the next day I might get marked down for it). Then there are many memories of pumpkins being carved on our kitchen table at 5pm on Halloween night, while my mom was trying to create some make-shift costume in the other room, and the decorations never seemed to find their ways out of the box. Or the vacation we took to Vermont, via Canada, from which I remember little save a bird flying into our windshield. Or eating Chinese food in Scotland. Or getting lost in Normandy and yours truly being forced to stand in line next to a 300lb Frenchman in nothing more than a speedo just to buy the other three some ice cream in the 120-degree weather. Or buying a Christmas tree on the 23rd of December and looking out my window in the backseat to see not snow but green needles. ("Dad? Is the Christmas tree supposed to be outside my window?") becuase he never was skilled at tying things to car roofs...

Maybe this sense of experiementation comes from being the oldest. Maybe it all seems normal to Jesse. Or maybe it's because there aren't a lot of young couples that get married and have a family just after one of them has a stroke. Maybe our family is just that: a grand experiment.

Sometimes this makes me feel cheated, as if I missed out on the completeness that other families have; unified in their traditions and secure in their knowledge of the way things should be. But then I think that our recognition of ignorance might make us more open to change, or maybe offer God more places to show up. Maybe that's why we're all moving. It's just the next chapter in our big family experiment.

Back in the USA

2007-10-09T02:08:00.000-04:00

I just uploaded a bunch of photos to my Facebook account from when Etienne was in the US visiting. Uploading those brought me back to my blog...I like to look back at what I wrote sometimes and see my life experiences.

Life has recommenced at North Park. I am almost halfway through the semester already.
It's hard to believe that this time next year I'll be two months away from graduating from college.
That certainly puts things into perspective.

What does a person that has done not much else but go to school vocationally for the "plupart" (most of) their lives do?

I'm not quite sure.
These are the things I know. (Responses welcome) :

-I can speak French.
-I don't know if this is true because I have never taken a language course other than French, but I have a premonition that I pick up languages easily. You might say I think I might have a 'knack' for it.
-I know a little bit about a few different cultures (French, American, West African, British, maybe even a bit about Sweden, Germany, Canada, and Mexico)
-I like talking about the similarities and differences between cultures
-I make friends fairly easily, and have friends in a lot of different places
-I like to learn
-I like to read
-I feel comfortable speaking in front of others
-I like to tell people things that I have learned. I like to explain how perceptions are different in different societies. I like to see the positive and negative perspectives on issues depending on cultural interpretation.
-I am a person of faith in Jesus Christ
-I love theological and Biblical study
-I am involved in ministry, and feel called to do ministry
-I am engrossed in the life of the mind
-I want to have a post-graduate degree
-My ideal vocation, as of right now, goes something like this: Working in a position where I help one culture to see another culture's perspective. Working in a partnership between two or more cultures, languages, and backgrounds. Helping each to understand the other better and using that understanding to further the work of God's Kingdom come to be.

That's about all I know right now. Things will play out as time continues.

Another typical day in the life if an exchange student

2007-05-21T11:01:00.000-04:00

.....Me from the top of the Eiffel tower on last weekend's trip to Paris

My new friend Vincent (6 years old) in the midst of impressing me with 10 sit-ups

The beautiful Breton coast.. Sigh...

So I thought this kind of stuff would stop by the end of the semester...

Having been up rather late last night, I woke up today a bit disoriented for my translation exam, which I had noted was to be held in amphitheatre L A.

I arrived in the building around 13:24 for my exam at 13:30.
I purchased a coffee, because I wanted to make sure not to fall asleep during the exam.

I commenced searching for the amphi...which turned out to be harder than I thought as the amphitheatres in Building L all seemed to have number names, not letter names... Hmm. This was worsened by the fact that the L building is laid out rather confusingly: hallways wind in and out of each other, and it's also the language building meaning that there are disorienting sings in numerous languages all over the place. I ran into my friend Marissa who said 'hmm, is it a lab? Try upstairs." At this point it's about 13:26 and I am sweating from running around in too many layers on an incredibly humid, rainy day (very typical Breton weather). Not to mention I'm trying to drink my coffee while doing this...I've been on about every floor, tried to open some doors and been locked out when at one point as I am standing on a balcony, a girl from my constitutional law class sees me and waves. She asked me how I am doing, and I, with a clearly distressed face and relatively large circles under my eyes, reply that I'm doing fine, except for that I can't find my amphi. She asks which one, and I reply
"Amphi L A."-- said out loud, I realize that "A" in French sounds a whole lot like "1". It dawns on me-- perhaps I am looking for amphi L 1. hmm.
It's 'dommage' really, as I'd love to stop and chat with this girl that I'll likely never see again for the rest of my life. She asks me when my exam is. I say "right now." She looks at me with compassionate pity.
I say see ya! and go downstairs to try and get into the amphi.
It's locked.
I realize that there's another door upstairs, where I just was.
I go up the stairs, and walk in, disrupting 100 students in the middle of an exam.
"Odd," I think to myself, "There's only about 20 students in my theme class."
I approach the nice gentleman offering the exam, explain that I am an exchange student and looking for my exam. He looks through his papers and says it's impossible that I have an exam in amphi 1 becuase they're passing a civilization exam at the moment.
I said, "Maybe 15: 30 then?"
Nope, not possible.
He continues to look, and then says "Aha! There is a second year theme exam in Amphi 1, at 13:30. Tomorrow." Then he says it again in English: Tomorrow.
"Excellent," I say, feeling like the typical idiot I've learned to be this last semester. I say thanks and leave, frustrated that I can't go to bed now because I'm hyped up on coffee.
It all worked out though. I'm spending the day inside as it is POURING rain currently out my window and I have an extra day to study.

On another note, it's come to my attention that some people have been concerned by a former entry concerning the night bus and an Algerian security guard. I want to pass on the message that it may have come across a little less safe than I intended it too. I am sorry. You should also know that I have encountered no such situations since. Everything is rolling along smoothly.

This week, I have to turn in a 15-page portfolio on the slave trade and it's relation to the nearby city of Nantes. The good news is I have French friends who like to edit.

I suppose I should also tell you (er, maybe since it's only Mom that reads the blog, you already know) that I am considering returning to Rennes to study for a semester next year. The process has turned out to be more complicated than imagined, and if you know me you know that I have a hard time deciding what to eat at most restaurants, so a decision of this scale is enormous for me. What I mean to say by this is, if you could be in prayer for me at this time it would be greatly appreciated. I know that God will use me wherever I am, but I do want to know where I will be best capable to serve him.

I take off at the end of this week for a huge youth conference in the south of France with some other young people from my church and Bible study. It's going to be a blast! You could pray for safety on our journey and that we would learn a lot from the experience. Matt Redman (English singer) will be there!...A day after I get back, I leave on a jet plane (heh) very early in the morning for the United States of America.

I'm looking forward to coming home and seeing the sunny Michigan beaches as well as sunny Michigan faces of friends and family!

Lots and lots of love from across the ocean.
amanda

Long Time No Talk

2007-05-08T13:13:00.000-04:00

Friends Carmen (German), Joy (from Cyprus-- she speaks 5 languages), Becky, and Me, recently sprinted through the rain to catch a bus after the concert of an American group called "Wings of Morning" that is touring France doing evangelization through songs and drama. Sorry about my tongue, not so attractive..

Entrance of Rennes' beautiful Parc du Thabor

My friends Stephanie (left) and Noemie (right) at Noemie's baby shower (planned by my friend Lana, a Canadian, since before-the -baby baby showers aren't common in France.) It was a suprise, and really fun! The baby was born on Sunday...tiny Eunice Joy. Super!

Hi Folks-
I know it's been a very long time (over a month) since I've updated, and I'd like to send my apologies for that. Since I've written, I've been to Spain, Italy, Paris, more of the Breton coast, attended a Breton dance festival called a Fest Noz, been involved with a lot of church functions, started learning how to drive a stick shift, and just generally had a good time living here. I intend to write a more detailed account about Spring Break, but you may have to wait a bit longer.

It's bizarre to think that my semester is so soon finishing up. When I think of my time here in relation to my time in Africa, these four and a half months seem to have passed more quickly than the two and a half months I spent in Niger. When talking to my Dad about it on the phone the other day, he ventured that it is likely I am less aware of my differences every day here than there. I think he might be right. Also, being there was a change of life pace and occupation so to speak, where as here I am still very much a student, still move relatively fast and the culture is more similar to that int he States. I like the fact that I am starting to accumulate a history of experiences that I can look back on and compare and contrast with each other, to see what and how I learned from each experience.

Today is very cloudy and rainy in Rennes, but last week was fantastically beautiful. The view out my bedroom window as I write this is very green, and since I'm four stories up, I'm nearly surrounded by the leaves of blooming trees that may be hundreds of years old. My friends and I have been spending a lot of time at the park and the beach with the onset of this good weather, and studying has become more difficult, so a gray day once and a while is welcomed because...

Exams are coming up! In France, you finish your classes and then have a week of revision that follows, then followed by about a week and a half of exams. I can't decide if I love or hate this system. Since my entire grade rests on the end of the year exam, I'll admit I like the fact that I am given ample time to study for it, however, lacking the end term pressure I usually have at North Park, I'm less motivated to work, seeing that I have an entire two weeks ahead of me. On the other hand, now that I think about it, I've been doing a lot of work lately, just not in relation to Rennes. Registering for classes and finding housing at North Park for next semester is proving more difficult than foreseen, and with the emailing and time difference that separates me from that continent, it's a little frustrating. But, the good news is that I have people that care about me at North Park who are doing their best to make sure I'm not forgotten :)

It's about time that I get back to studying for my Oral Exam tomorrow, and start work on my Dossier about the slave trade in Nantes, France.

I'm safe, and very happy. I hope you are the same.

Love
amanda

2007-05-08T13:07:00.000-04:00

This is Erquy, part of the Breton coastline. This picture was taken one Saturday afternoon on a walk with my friend Lana during a church youth group outing to the beach.

Long Time No Talk

2007-05-08T12:50:00.000-04:00

Pictures!

2007-03-19T21:05:00.000-04:00

I now have a Snapfish account where I will be posting my photos. Check it out!
http://www2.snapfish.com/photolibrary/owned_view=owned_2007/t_=89322815

Rennes' Night Life

2007-03-16T17:52:00.000-04:00

Notice: I posted two posts at the same time. If this is new to you, go back a post because there is another update there.

As they don't say in France, "When it rains, it pours." Here are two entries from France, take your time to read them because it will probably be a little while until I post this much again!

So here are two stories I have to tell you:

1) Two weeks ago, a friend of a friend from highschool, Alex, came to stay with me for his spring break. Alex is studying in Madrid, Spain, for a year, and wanted to visit France so I gave him a place to stay on my tile floor. We had planned an evening out with some of my friends - 1 German, one Mexican, one French guy, one British Girl, and Alex and Me. Rennes has a film festival every year, and we had planned to go see Taxi Driver, which worked for everyone because it's an American film with French subtitles. The boys had been at Carrefour(it's like WalMart) trying to get us tickets to see a soccer game at the end of the week, but when they got there the tickets had just sold out, so they sped across time to meet me and my friend Frauke (she's the German). BUT they parked in front of the wrong movie theater. At five to 8 Frauke and I were standing outside of the theatre watching people file in with no boys! So I called them and found out they were two blocks away at the wrong theater! They ran to meet us just in time... to find out that the movie was sold out ( I guess the boys were just having that kind of a day..)

After about 20 minutes standing around in the lobby we decided to go back to the other movie theater and see if there was another film showing in "Version Original" with French subtitles. We stood outside that theater for about half a century trying to figure out what movie to go with (something about young people.. we don't make decisions so well. I have a theory that it is because we've been brought up in a very tolerant society and most of us have decent manners, so we always say 'what do you want to do' and with so many choices presented to us, very rarely are actually able to make one) So we eventually decide to buy tickets (ahead of time) for Letters from Iwo Jima, and then spend another ion trying to find a place to eat where we can all be together and watch a football game at the same time but finish in enough time to get back to the movie theater. I would like to add at this point that I was the one who found the place to eat, even though I was with people who have lived in Rennes much longer. To be fair, Etienne (the French boy) was the one who had lived in Rennes the longest and he is pretty notoriously bad at directions. And by pretty notoriously bad I mean terrifically horrible.
The point is that after dinner we returned the the movie theater (in quickly with our pre-bought tickets) and sat down to see Clint Eastwood's movie, which began promptly in Japanese with French subtitles, and proceeded in such a fashion for 2 hours and 45 minutes. Whereas I did surprisingly well understanding the French subtitles, poor Alex had the WHOLE movie translated into Spanish for him by my Mexican friend Sergio who was reading the French subtitles, ocassionally leaning over to ask Etienne for definitions.
What a night.

2) This was only slightly topped by the following Saturday when I went out with some French Psychology majors from school. The evening started at a party at my friend Nico's house. Nico and I are do a linguistic exchange, which means every Thursday we meet for lunch and then I help him with his English homework for about an hour and he helps me with my French for about an hour. It's a great trade off, and he's a funny guy. In anycase I arrived at his apartment and there are three Chinese girls there who speak no French, only English. So I became the translator. It was bizarre, being the one that could understand and correcting the questions, instead of being the one always asking them. The Chinese girls kept using the world "seldom" which for some reason was funny to me.
Pretty soon all the people I know stand up and say they are going out. There's supposedly some really good American musician who plays electrical-mix music in town, and they all wanted to go see him. After about 25 minutes of saying we're going to go, we actually get on the metro to leave. As is my luck, (or perhaps just because I hang out with a lot of people who take a long time to make decisions and get places) we get to the music venue just as the show is sold out. My friends decide to walk to the absolute other side of town in an attempt to find a bar they really like. I really mean opposite side of town. So after a very long walk, on which I talk quite a lot with a boy who plays baseball in Brittany and is absolutely fascinated by the fact that my dad collects baseball cards and that I understand the game, we arrive in front of the bar. The bar is closed, so we promptly turn around and go to the town square, where we stand for another 45 minutes before they decide to go to a discotheque. At this point I remind them that I have church in the morning and decide I should probably take the bus home. They give me directions to the bus (number 16) and we say our goodbyes, theirs very merry ones.
It is now 1:15 in the morning. Early for French students but late for someone who has church in the morning and has already spent the whole day at the beach (yeah, I do that pretty much every weekend). The #16 pulls up and I step on. I wonder why it is going the opposite direction from campus. Taking it in stride and supposing it will eventually make a turn in the right direction, I relax and start to think about the North Park Campus Theme quesiton: "What is truth"? After about 8 stops, I realize we are no where near where I live. Coincidently, the security man on the bus also realizes that I am the only one still on the bus when everyone else has gotten off. He approaches me.
"What stop are you getting off at?" -Him
"Villejean" -Me, trying to act confident
-man gives odd look of confusion and pity-
"You're on the wrong bus"
"I am? Isn't this the 16?" -Me, losing confidence rapidly
"This is the Star night bus. There are two 16s that leave from Republique at night. One goes to Beaulieu and the other to Villejean."
"So that would be why I'm seeing all these Beaulieu signs" I think to myself, then hoping I don't appear drunk, as I am sure most people who miss the bus at 1 in the morning do. "Oh." (I continue) "What do I need to do?"
-Him, apologetically: "You have to go back to Republique and catch the bus in the other direction."
"Oh. Thanks." -Me, dejected and with a bit of a bruised pride, especially since I had done so well with directions the other night.
I resign myself to leaning my head against the window and trying not to fall asleep and miss Republique. I continue to think about truth and love and all those kind of philosophical questions that enter my mind when I'm on buses at 1:30 in the morning. Enjoying the time to wallow in my self pity, the bus man walks up to me again and asks me where I'm from. We commence talking about Rennes 2, and he tells me he's from Algeria, but he's doing his master's (phD?) thesis here in Rennes. I told him it was "superinteressant" that he was from Algeria because I was doing my studies in France and North Africa and their relationship. We continue to talk. He asks if I've made friends in Rennes and I say yes, quite a few from my church. The bus stops. Before I can get off, my new friend the Algerian man asks me if I want to meet him and his friends at 7 Sunday night for dinner. I say I'm not sure I have a lot of homework to do. I get off the bus and walk ten steps back to where I started from, but on the other side of the street, where the buses go the other direction.

It is 2am. The bus leaves at 2:30. I am cold.
I pray that God will give me a way to pass my time and take my mind off the cold. I commence breathing into my scarf which is wrapped around half my face and looking at my feet stomping the ground. Within three minutes I realize there is a person standing next to me.
"Hi, it's me again." My Algerian friend was back, this time wearing a sweater instead of a STAR jacket, "I have a break until 2:20."
It's 2:12.
"I really like the American accent." I couldn't tell if this guy was creepy or not.
"You do? I think it's so ugly! I think French is so much prettier the way it flows together."
We kept talking, adding things about his family and how his parents parents have lived in France for like 30 years, him looking at my watch about ever two minutes.
At one point he said something very nice.
"It turned out okay you missed your bus. If you hadn't I would have never met you."
"You're right, " I said. "Maybe God blessed me."
For some reason, this encouraged him to start talking about Christian relatives he has that live in Switzerland...
at which point it became 2:27 and 30 seconds and he needed to get back to work. He asked me again, maybe even pleaded, if I would meet his friends and him for dinner the next night. I repeated that I really wasn't sure, I had a lot of work to do. He resigned to saying 'maybe I'll see you at Rennes 2 sometime.'
I said OK.
"Don't miss your bus again!" He said, and walked away.

I recommence looking at my shoes and blowing air into my scarf trying to create a false sense of humidity. 8 more minutes until my bus comes. I'm hoping the scary Jamaican-looking man that usually sings gospel songs outside of the grocery store but is now at my bus stop won't come up to me. Instead some young French guy does.

"What are you doing all alone at night at a time like this?"
"What am I doing alone-what?" I say, not sure if I understood him
"You're foreign! I heard an accent!" He smiles at me, accusing me.
I promptly cover my mouth with my hand and don't talk back.
"What are you?" he says "Anglophone? British? Scottish?"
I removed my hand for a minute. "You're almost there."
"Welsh?"
I keep my hand over my mouth, and shake my head.
"Well do you have a cigarette?"
My bus had finally arrived. "Sorry, I don't smoke." as I stepped on, I turned to him, "and I'm American"
He let out a big sound of discovery and frustration and waved good-bye. I got on my bus, and noticed it was going the right way. I praised God when people from my building got on the bus. I happened to have lost the key to my building when Alex was here. We were let out about two blocks from my dorm. I tried to inconspicuously follow them as we filed silently across the now-deserted, nearly arctic traffic circle between the bus stop and my dorm. Someone pulled out a key card and I positioned myself behind them so as to appear as if I wasn't using theirs to get in. I climbed 4 flights of stairs and unlocked my door. I was home safely.
What a night.

Love you friends. Talk to you soon.

Some Observations...

2007-03-16T15:57:00.000-04:00

Last week I was in my political life in Europe class and my professor asked me if I had been to the Normandy beaches, he was telling us all to go. We were having some discussions about the differences between France and America (his hypothesis is that the French think about their decisions a lot longer than we do, that we're kind of more "let's do this and see what happens" maybe even implusive culture, than they are., (which consequently might explain why Bush got himself into this war... )I said I agreed, when I go out with French students, no one ever wants to make the decision about where to go! We spend hours freezing outside listening to everyone's ideas and never actually GOING anywhere!) Anyway what struck me more is that he was very poignant about saying to the students that the French must never forget the American troops and what they did for them on DDay and in the Second World War, and went on to say that we saved them in the Cold War too! I thought that was cool considering he's a very French guy, and considering that's the number one thing I hear from Americans who say they don't like French people 'we saved their buts in the second wold war and' ....they're not grateful, or they didn't support us in Iraq, or something. I have yet to meet a French person who thinks the stereotype is true that they don't like us. Most will admit they don't like our politics, but I haven't met anyone who says the French actually dislike us.

The next week in that same class, a girl asked me about stereotypes Americans have for French people. I told her a few and then she said, "Do you think we smell?" I laughed and said it's not that you smell, it's just that we're obsessed with being clean...you should see how high-tech our bathrooms are. (One of my least favorite things about Europe: most bathrooms only have a cold-water faucet, which makes washing your hands not fun).

She also said that she thinks the French are a bit more realist, which I would agree with. As the professor was saying, I think people here think a lot about decisions they are going to make. Right now they are thinking about putting a new metro line in, and they have a big display at the downtown metro stop with a table with a representative and a "ideas and comments" section. I don't feel like the CTA would come to the people in the city like that before instituting a plan. It's the same thing with the presidential candidates, they take a lot of time to talk to people and ask for suggestions. On the other hand, I feel (this is a huge generalization) they have less of the sense of idealism that we value. For the French, it's more like after you make a (very very well informed decision) you stick with it. I feel like they value critical thinking less than we do. Students are expected to take exams and tell them back exactly what the profs say in the first place.

So now I'm going to talk to my brother on Skype. By the way I am thinking about writing a paper on the subject "What is Truth?" For North Park.
These are my corresponding questions
"Does truth exist?"
"If so, does it exist absolutely?"
"If absolute truth exist, does anyone know it?"
"Knowing absolute truth exists is a pretty audacious claim, don't you think?"
"If one knows absolute truth, should they guard it to themselves, or do they have a responsibility to tell others?"

If you could answer any of those or just give your thoughts on the subject that would be great.

Going to Brest tomorrow and a football match on Sunday!
Love Amanda

I love Sundays

2007-03-10T04:23:00.000-05:00

Hey Folks-
I posted this on my Facebook a little while ago, but thought some of you non-facebookers might like it too. Today I am off to the beach (again). Whee! Life is good!

I love Sundays. (In France). For one thing, it’s a day to honor my homeboy Jesus. Today I went to one of Rennes’ cathedrals, this one I believe is called St. Saveur. It lived up to every expectation you would have of an old, catholic cathedral- huge dome ceilings with gold leafed paint, roman pillars and Latin inscriptions, altar boys and acolytes. I didn’t understand all of the mass (understood a great deal of it though ;)), but what I didn’t understand I felt from the resonating beauty of the choir and the faces of very old French Catholics around me. When I stepped outside the sun was shining brightly and I walked around town a bit. And this is why I love Sundays in France. People just like to wander around --- look in shop windows to see what is on sale, sit on a bench and enjoy the sunlight or watch kids tear through the open square around L’Opera on their scooters. A lot of people were out on bicycles. I actually feel like it is a day of rest. Sometimes in the US I feel like Sundays are the days I have the most to do. But here, when the sun is shining and old women in orthopedic shoes and three year old girls in pigtails can wander down the same cobblestone streets I feel happy to be a witness. And so it is at peace that I can begin the homework that has traditionally marked Sunday as a sort of dreaded, doomed day. As long as I have my cappuccino and pain aux raisins.

St. Saveur
(notice sign for "the funky munky" bar where exchg students hang out)

Winter Break!

2007-02-25T20:00:00.000-05:00

Hello All! Thought I would FINALLY post a fun photo entry with a quick reprise of this past week which I spent on VACATION. I was very pleased to have been visited by my parents and Jesse. They managed to find me in Rennes, and we started out by visiting the marche les lices, where we bought some fresh food and generally enjoyed walking around and looking at and listening to French people and culture.

(Le Marche les lices: fishmonger)

This was followed by an afternoon trip to Le Mont St Michel, famous French village and cathedral that sits atop a rock surrounded by quicksand and water - if you're there too late the tide comes in and you're stranded! (We were advised not to leave our car in the parking lot past 6pm as it would be 'covered by the sea' at that point!)Jesse made the most of it by imitating Monty Python.

"Your mother was a hamster and your mother smelt of elderberries!"

The next morning, after church, we headed off for the Loire Valley, home of numerous famous French chateaux (aka castles or palaces). Our first stop was the city of Blois, where we stayed the night in the "Tour Hotel" (decorated in purple and pink) and visited the Chateau Blois. Interesting thing about the chateau here: 4 distinctly different kinds of architecture. This is the entrance. Check out the king on the horse!

Tour Hotel

Chateau de Blois

Chambord

Fam atop the chateau:

And the number one biggest attraction: The Blois Buffalo Grill, where we met special characters Bill and Plume.

And on to gay Paris...

I'm going admit, I just like this picture because it is so French and I took it. We walked around the base of the Eiffel Tower, but it was a clear day and the lines were just TOO long to try! So instead we walked the Champs Elysees and found a lovely pizzaria in which to eat..yum.

We also visited the lovely Musee d'Orsay to see our impressionist buddies. Below you can see two Monet paintings, one of the cathedral we visited in Rouen and one of his garden and water lilies, also a place we visited in 2005. The stained glass is the inside of Ste Chapelle, probably the most famous stained glass chapel in the world. It was amazing..and cold.

The next day we were up and took the train outside of the city to the palace of Versailles, which could be called a city in itself really. The grounds, as we found out first hand, are very very extensive. Below is a picture of the chapel decorated as it would be during the reign of Louis XIV the famous "Sun King". Gold leafing was everywhere, not to mention pictures of Roman gods. It's one of those things that simultaneously causes your jaw to drop and wonder how people could possibly live in those conditions when those around them had nothing to eat.

(On the left are some of Marie Antoinette's gardens)

That night we rushed back to the Sacre Coeur, the church atop Montmartre, where the service for Ash Wednesday was happening. I was lucky enough to be able to meet up with some students from North Park who are currently studying in Paris as well. We had a terriffic time after the service eating at what my family affectionatley call's "Muhammed's Cafe". You will want to reference my post from Africa 'the Journey Home' to best understand the significance of Muhammed and his cafe.

The next morning, my family left for the United States and I, well I flew to Britain! A friend of mine who lives across the hall from me, Becky, invited me to stay with her at her house in Staffordshire, where besides being made fun of for my American accent and eating Yorkshire puddings, I got the opportunity to visit Warwick (pronounced 'Warick') Castle and historic Stafford. Here is a picture of Becky and I roaming about the English countryside Elizabeth Bennett style. Sometimes I think Becky could pass for Elizabeth Bennet.

And that's, summarily, it. I have loads and loads more pictures to show you and stories to tell you when I get home, but as for right now, I need to go to bed, classes start again in the morning and I have homework!!

Love to you all, Amanda

A view of St. Malo

2007-02-25T16:05:00.000-05:00

Trip To St. Malo!

2007-02-25T16:03:00.000-05:00

Here is another picture of St. Malo, and a chance fo you to see some of my friends walking the ramparts: Pictured here are Joanna, Katie, and Etienne, friends I met through the Bible study I am attending.

Oh Classes, how I love and detest you all at the same time...

2007-01-29T14:53:00.000-05:00

Salut!
Hello all! First: Thanks for all the comments, they make me feel so loved. It’s a bummer to be missing YL and my small group. Hold strong, friends! BUT… I am absolutely loving it here! Rennes is the most fun and beautiful town, and there are tons of students. It has a feel like East Lansing – students make up about 25% of the town. There is so much to tell you… I think I’ll try to go chronologically.
This first week has been alternatively a tremendous amount of work and a lot of sitting around. The university has an international student relations department that has been taking care of us really well. In fact, there is an entire team of student volunteers that have been working all week giving us tours, helping us get official documents and just generally being incredibly nice and understanding. On Tuesday all of the exchange students had a meeting in which they informed us how to register for classes. Let me start by explaining that at North Park, registering for classes entails going online, finding the class you want, and clicking on it. This happens about 3 months before the actual classes begin.
By contrast, in France, or at least in Rennes, it works like this:
1) It is first important to know that there are two types of classes: “Cours Magistral” (CM)—a big lecture and “Travaux Diriges” (TD), smaller classes like seminars that usually accompany a CM.
2) It is also good to know that there are UEF classes (you could equate these to a major course) and UED courses (like minor courses; in essence they are open to everyone)
3) Step one is deciding what discipline to study. Once you have the discipline established, you find the course catalog and look for classes that meet second semester. You may want also to consult the department’s individual book, which has better class descriptions and often vital information like teacher’s names.
4) Once you have decided on a number of classes you would like to take, you find the building in which the department is located, and then must find one of many, many corkboards on which are posted the meeting times of each class in that department. For me, this was a terrific amount of work because I’m taking classes in a number of different disciplines because I am taking both UEFs and UEDs. Usually, you’re looking at a huge schematic of all the classes in that department. What’s worse, there can be up to 8 sections of one class ….

….at this point I am realizing that I have begun to sound like one of my “how to study in France booklets”, and it’s probably kind of boring to read. What you need to know is that the amount of paper and foot work you have to go through just to DECIDE on your courses is ridiculous. THEN you get to go to class for about a month just to decide if you want to take it yet… (for me, depending on how fast the prof speaks) and finally, around the end of February you bring your desired class schedule to registration and you’re “enrolled.”

Of course, this becomes difficult when, like today, the professors didn’t show up for the two classes I wanted to check out. Since the classes only meet once a week, it was a bit frustrating because I’m going to have to wait to find out if I can handle them or not.

But outside of all that, which is not as bad as I am making it, things have been great. On Monday last week, Marissa and I met Sara and Ryan, American students who are studying here all year, and already have a handle on everything. We went out to dinner with them and I had my first glass of French wine – a red Bordeaux that was tremendous! We made sure to speak French the whole time, and it was really fun! Also, they had a lot of stuff left over from students that left at the semester and couldn’t fit stuff in their bags. I got a free hairdryer, silverware, square pillow and a box of couscous (yes!)

I also have met a fantastically nice French girl named Noémie – after the international student meeting on Tuesday. We were to meet up with French student “partners”…unfortunately I wasn’t on the list so I didn’t have a partner. Noémie came up looking for an American girl named Catherine, her supposed partner, but Catherine didn’t show—so we became partners. She met up with me again yesterday and took me downtown and helped me get a cell phone (tremendous) and took me to a little pub-type place where we had coffee because it was FREEEZING outside. We talked for quite a while, actually, about our families, the different school structures between France and the States, and even religion for a long time. (It’s way different here). Then she invited me to a birthday party for her friend Nicolas on Saturday. I’m so excited! I’ve really been trying to meet French students, but it seems I’ve only been able to meet Brits and Americans. The two people I had courage enough to introduce myself on our floor turned out both to be English. You should have heard me, timidly introducing myself in French, explaining that I am American and then having them say “Oh Brilliant. I’m British.” Great. It’s been good though, there’s a girl named Becky, who studied in Spain last semester and lives across the hall (she’s a Christian, which is cool) and Bradley, who lives at the end of the hall by the kitchen who has been here since the beginning of the year.

Last night Marissa and I also met a boy named Julian (Julienne?) in the kitchen, and it turned out that he lives next door to me! He has an English class he had an assignment for, so he asked if he could come over and see if he had any big faults. We had a really great time talking about French and English differences and he said that he would be willing to correct any French homework that I had. He said he knew a little bit about the geography of the US because he read Sur La Route by Jack Kerouac. That was kind of fun. I think the best part was trying to explain to him why I had a sign that said “Your teeth look like freshly shaved goats coming up from a washing” on my wall (note: it was posted at my surprise party as a joke relating to Song of Solomon).

So all in all things are going well. I absolutely love the language, and I’m doing really well with it. I can understand most everything I hear, and sometimes I talk TOO much!

One thing I’ve learned is that being an exchange student is as much knowing things about your own country as it is knowing things about your host country. I talk a lot about the US not only when I talk with French people, but other international students I meet as well (quite a few Germans so far, who have all been really fun to meet, they’re so nice). It’s been a little bizarre being in this position, because in high school I had a lot of friends that were exchange students...I have gained a new kind of respect for them. I’m now realizing how much easier it is to be the host than the visitor, especially when it takes work to talk about anything ANY time you want to!

Tonight I think I’m going to watch Grey’s Anatomy with Sara, whose grandparents send her a copy every week…

Here’s hoping I find a class schedule!
A plus tard.
Amanda

I'm here!!

2007-01-23T15:52:00.000-05:00

ATTENTION: I have an address! Here it is:
Mlle Amanda Munroe
Chambre no. 315, Bâtiment OUESSANT
Résidence Universitaire
2, rue d’Alsace
CS 51004
35070 RENNES CEDEX
France

Bonjour Mes Amis!I have arrived (after some delayed flights) safely in Rennes, France. I am writing this on my computer in my dorm room, but have no access to the internet from here. However, there will be a general “how-to” meeting on Monday at which I will hopefully gain information on how to use the internet around campus.
So… let me tell you about my living situation. I live in a Residence Universitaire with other French students, but I have my own room. It’s about ½ the size of an Anderson Room...maybe ¾ at best , but then again is only for one person. I have a much bigger window than the Anderson windows, however. I look over a parking lot to L’Ecole St Jean Bosco, a primary school. It’s cute. There is also an apartment building and in the distance a smokestack (what luck!) It’s not bad. The trees here are different.
I have a twin bed with a brown-striped comforter circa 1966 and a tubular pillow. The have a bedside table (probably my favorite part) sitting next to it, on which I have put the orange pillowcase I brought since it doesn’t fit on round pillows, only square ones. Opposite (or two feet from, if you prefer) my bed is my desk-- nice big space with two drawers and a chair with ripped upholstery. I have a bookshelf above my desk that has sliding wood doors, a mod feature I believe also circa 1966. There is a half-wall separating the bed from a sink area with a small mirror and behind it a wardrobe for my clothes. Unfortunately, though I tried to pack them, my hangers didn’t fit in my bag, so all my clothes are currently folded.
There are two bathrooms, one at each end of the hall. There are two toilets (no toilet seats) and two showers. I took a shower this morning, and this is how it works: You push a button and water comes out for about 45 seconds, and then stops. That way, you use less water in the shower. Genius, I think, but also kind of cold.
On one side of the hall is our kitchen. We have cupboards and a microwave, and refrigerators that are shared by 4 rooms. I opened my refrigerator…and no one must be using it because it is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life. I bought some sponges today at the supermarket and plan to get down to business ASAP. I need to be able to buy refrigerate-able items, I think, and right now I’m limited to apples and bread.
All in all it’s my space and I like it. The corridor looks a little bit like a prison because the doors are all metal painted green, and kind of skinny. My coordinator, M. Henry, told me that people here don’t leave their doors open like in the US. ”It doesn’t mean they don’t want to talk to you,” he insisted, it’s just that the library closes early and quite a few people study in their rooms. Speaking of studying, I am located directly across from the university, which is nice. There are about 20,000 students (aka 10 times as many as attend North Park, but it’s also not too spread out, so I should be able to find my way around.
Interesting thing to note: In France, the suburbs work sort of in the opposite way that they do in the US. The centre-ville (downtown) is nicer and more expensive to live in, while the suburbs are where you will find the more industrial-looking structures and low-cost living areas. Rennes 2 is located in a sort of “suburb” of the city, but is only about a 3-minute metro ride from downtown! They only have one metro line, but let me say that it is the most superb underground I have ever seen in my entire life! It’s only 1.10 euro for a ride, and it is incredibly fast, quiet, and NICE, not nasty on the interior like the one in Chicago. There aren’t any turnstiles, either, just an electronic line on the floor you have to put your card in a tower to walk over. Don’t ask me how that works.
Last night I had the terrific luck of meeting another American – Marissa. She’s a junior from Iowa St., (what is it with me and meeting people from Iowa?) and lives a floor below me. She and I went downtown today, and oh what a beautiful town! It is honestly a gem—tons of half-timbered houses and French architecture, cobblestone streets and good shopping, too. First we went to the fresh market, open on Saturday mornings with people selling everything from fruit to wine to fish. And the bread… don’t even get me started on how beautiful the BREAD is. Marissa and I wound our way through the streets….by the way, did I mention that it’s SALE season in France? Yeah. Things don’t go on sale very often here, but there are certain months where the whole country goes on sale—I think the other time is in August. You may be interested to know that I am the happy owner of two new pairs of pants (I left my favorite pair of jeans at home) and new shoes. I will probably return to my favorite store, Etam, on Monday and buy a jacket I almost purchased today…if it’s still there, which is doubtful after the number of people I saw walking those streets today. BEST PART OF THE WHOLE DAY: When Marissa and I were leaving Etam, we noticed a box of discarded hangers on the floor which we saw some people picking up. We rushed to them like flies to French cheese. We shoved as many as we could fit into my bag and then calmly walked away. I my grab some more upon my Monday return...
Marissa and I had lunch at a terrific Creperie, beautifully decorated and good food, as well. We did a LOT of walking around… After shopping downtown, we took the metro back to the university and went to the grocery store again so I could buy some school supplies and a sponge to clean out the fridge with. And now I’m home, in my little room, looking at the big big rain cloud out my window (it’s pretty much gray all the time around here) and about to do some more decorating to make these grimy white walls look a little nicer.
I miss you all a lot. It’s very different being without a roommate, and I haven’t had the courage to go out and meet any ‘real’ French students yet, beside the girl Francois handed me off to yesterday who gave me a tour. Monday we have a meeting with all the ISEP students and Tuesday another with ALL the international students, and soon after that I start my classes, with real French students, where I will hopefully meet more (you have to be kind of proactive here to first meet someone, not like in the US.) There is a general stereotype, however, that in the US people are very polite on your first meeting, but after that it can be as if you and the person never met, or the relationship stays on that surface level, instead of perhaps being nicer to the people you have longer relationships with.
So that’s a little (a lot) about where I am, pictures to come once I can figure them out, and more cultural stories as well I’m sure. It’s only day two and I’m already learning a lot.
Miss you!
Amanda

Africa Wrap-Up

2007-01-17T17:39:00.000-05:00

Hello All.

I leave for France tomorrow. It's crazy how these things can sneak up on you. It hasn't really sunk in yet. I feel that when I'm home I kind of enter another zone where time and responsibilities aren't really applicable. I would be a horrible work from home or home office person.

Anyway, with packing pressing, I thought I might procrastinate a bit and write one last entry to officially close off Africa and begin France. I've been looking the journal of my experiences, and found some lessons that I've learned, both about Niger and cross-cultural experiences in general. Here are some of my conclusions:

I've learned a lot of things in Niger, like...

...never put things on the ground. They'll get either wet or sandy.

I've learned that God uses you where you are, and no place is more valuable than another.
"Faith is believing when common sense tells you not to." -I believe I owe that line to Miracle on 34th Street, but it has really rung true for me.
Exploring is great, and well worth it! It's nature is to find things you hadn't expected. It's okay to find some things about a culture you don't like as much as yours - but you should be open to finding out about it first.
Not all of Africa is jungle and monkeys, AIDS and genocide -- there are decidedly different parts!
You can't have everything at once-- though Niger is the poorest country in the world, it has peace, tranquility, and security. People who live here are proud and happy to live here. Most would chose tranquility and Nigerien family hospitality over affluence
Communication is fascinating.
Language is a gift, and a tool that should be perfected, well-used, and well taken care of.
Suffering produces perseverance ( I heard a really cool sermon on this at the English language service in Niamey in July)
God has a definite character.
Jesus really calls us to give all we have to the poor
The missionaries I have met here, who hail from all over the world, Michigan to New Zealand have a hard life. They don't fully fit in either culture. One must really have a calling from God, really love the culture they are ministering to, really depend on God and be physically able to handle the climate/food/malaria medication/malaria in order to be here.
Missionary work most often means ministering to uneducated people. This is a hard realization for me. Where do I begin? Relationships, not discussion, are the ultimate answer
Local language = HUGE help
Michigan is beautiful!
It's hard to go this alone
Family is important
God desires us to be joyful
Morning quiet time rock.
Prayer works
Age is a great unifier, especially as our world gets "smaller"
I love knowing people's stories, and being able to care for them
I've become quieter, less in need of entertainment
I can eat almost anything
I hate being on medication
I know family is important to me, both from being part of one here and missing my own. I want a family (read: eventually).
I was confronted with the Muslim faith, and my complete ignorance about it. Typical Nigeriens don't know tons about it either, however. It's just the way things are, the way families are (much like Christianity in the US).
I learned I love theology
I know if I want to return to Niger I'd like to learn Hausa or Zarma first
I don't mind "inconveniences" like washing your clothes by hand
I liked helping to educate people, but wished I had more knowledge about how to do it
I like making friends and I love kids.

So those are just a few short-sentence reflections I pulled out of my journal from this summer.. Maybe this helps to give some closure to the summer. It did for me. Now it's time to head to France and be bombarded by a whole new culture!! Wish me luck.

ALSO: Make sure you follow the link below to pictures from this summer. There are a few albums, and I will hopefully use that website for pictures from France, too!

I'll let you know my address in France as soon as I get it.

LOVE!

Amanda

New web Album

2007-01-02T23:12:00.000-05:00

Hey Friends!
It's Christmas break and I finally have some photos of Niger up for you to view online. Check them out here at: http://picasaweb.google.com/munroe.a

More information about France to come soon. Happy 2007!

The Journey Home

2006-09-02T14:56:00.000-04:00

It's my birthday, or will have been by the time you read this. I am happily back at North Park University (or “The Park” as we students like to say.) Tonight my friends took me out to eat at a Persian restaurant and I happily ordered what I've been missing – a big plate of Persian rice accompanied by a big 'ol dish of sauce. It was amazing. I was so happy when I saw them set my “Vegetarian mix” down in front of me- the stew-like sauce looked exactly like something Aichatou would cook; tomato sauce laced with cinnamon, full of boiled potatoes, onions, green beans and carrots; even cauliflower! I was hoping it would be even half as good as Aichatou's . I very nearly squealed with delight.

Upon returning to my apartment I found a magazine clipping about Niger from Rotary Internationale's publication that my grandparents sent along with my birthday card- seeing the pictures was almost too much for me- everything was so familiar, from people's names, to the outfits women were wearing in the pictures to the kind of bowls they carried on their heads. I about had a cow. The article was even written about a woman by the name of Hadeza Seydou – my next door neighbors (the ones whose brother was born while I was in Niger) are named Hadeza and Seydou. The article was very sad – it talked about the upcoming hunger season in Niger, a famine that could easily take place, just like it did last year, if not enough rains come to garner enough millet and rice for harvest. It also quoted a number of statistics, like the fact that Niger is the poorest country in the world, it has the highest fertility rate, one in four children die before the age of five, less than ten percent of women are pregnant, and their average life expectancy is age 44. But it mentioned some good things too, my favorite being that Rotary considers it one of their most important responsibilities to educate girls in the nation, saying that they are the secret to ending poverty in the country. They are doing good things the Rotarty Club, I approved of it.

But the point in the end is that I have been overwhelmingly reminded of Africa today and finally gave into that guilty feeling that has been nagging me all week to update my blog. But I know it's time—it's past time.

The Journey Begins

The night I left Niger, Tom loaded me, Halima (Aichatou's cousin, 18 yrs old who had returned from Zinder withus) and the rest of the family in the car. He dropped Halima and I off at the musee so I could find some cool batik cloths to augment my collection. We met a really nice artist there who gave me a GREAT deal on batiks, I'm still happy about it. Then Tom returned and surprised us by taking us out to eat- awesome!, and on a nice roof deck overlooking the city, too. It was great to spend some good quality time with my short-time family before I left. We talked about how time flies, what great progress and growing the girls had done since I'd been there, and how much I've learned. When we got home I brought out my presents from the States and shared them with everyone in the neighborhood. They loved them. I got to take some fun pictures, and gave lots and lots of hugs. I was too nervous/busy to fall asleep that night, so I stayed up that night until we had to leave for the airport at 2 am. Ramatou, Halima, and Zeinabou all told me that they wanted to come to the airport with me and see me off ( I'm not sure if I even have friends in the US that would do that!) So 2am saw a groggy-eyed Tom and I getting into the front seat and Ramatou running out of her grass hut with Nadira (her baby) in her arms, wearing a wool hat of course because it gets chilly in the evening, you know-- in the low 80s even sometimes. So three Hausa speaking women loaded into the car and off we went. About four blocks from home, Nadira started crying a little bit because she woke up, at which point Tom said “Il y a un bebe?” which in French means, “There is a baby?”

“Oui,” we all responded, and I chuckled to myself. He hadn't seen Nadira get in the car and I treasured his surprise as we drove through the darkness of Niamey. I was just such a Nigerien moment.

At the airport, as we were walking in, Ramatou grabbed my hand and, finding the finger it fit perfectly, pushed her ring on me saying, “Here is my gift.” I had given her earrings, so it seemed fitting that I received jewelry. The difference was that Ramatou was giving me something of her own – a valuable part of the little that she had.

In the airport I had to get in a line that went forever to check my bags. The Nigerien police told me my visa was expired, and later that it didn't have a number, which is wrong. I was terrified they weren't going to let me leave the country, but upon further review of my visa, I think the police read the date wrong, and I really was legal. Nevertheless I suppose they figured I was leaving the country anyway, so I couldn't do anymore harm. I went out into the waiting area one more time to say good-bye to my good friends Halima and Ramatou, kiss sleeping Nadira on her head and bury myself in one of Zeinabou's all-encompassing, safe-feeling hugs. I didn't know how or what words to use to thank Tom for all he and his family have done for me, but somehow I got it out of my mouth and walked through security to my gate, waving to the three of them watching me from above and disappearing into the passenger waiting area.

It was there that it started sinking into me what I had just done. I sat down and read a thank-you card the Johnsons had made for me and stared at their pictures. I looked at Ramatou's ring and realized that there was a very good, in fact more than likely chance that I would never see her again in my life. I thought about all the relationships I had formed there that I was just walking out of, and realized I didn't know if I was ever going to walk back into them again.

When we were boarding the plain, a kid, maybe about three years old, started crying right behind me. I had to fight a lot of instincts to keep myself from turning around and asking him what was wrong, or to pick him up in my arms. It was weird to not be responsible.

Casa

At 7:30am I arrived in Casablanca, and Royal Air Maroc shuttled me to a very nice hotel in the tourist area where I had a free room and meal. I loved the bus ride because I got to see the famous mosque of Casablanca as well as the beautiful beach. I made plans to go exploring, but by the time I had a nice nap, woke up, and ate, I had to go back to the airport and fly to France. Casablancans are very nice, and Royal Air Maroc is an A+ airline. I recommend it.

Paris

I left Casablanca in the evening and arrived to Paris near midnight. I had a two night stay in Paris because of the way we arranged the frequent flier tickets, so I had to find my bags and make it to a hotel, but everything worked out just fine. The first thing I did (after eating the mint off my pillow and jumping on my bed to see if it was springy enough for me) was create the largest bubble bath I've ever taken in my life. It was phenomenal. Hot water! And a bathtub!! I've never taken more advantage of a hotel before. I went to bed and slept in until about ten in the morning, took my time getting ready and then asked the people at the desk for directions on how to get to the metro. Looking at a map of Paris, I had decided I would see the Sacre-Coeur at Montmartre because I had never been there before (it's rather far away from the rest of the Paris attractions that I've already seen) and I was on that side of town. So, after a bit of work, I found the train station, got a ticket, and was headed into the city. I met a nice American mother and daughter on the train who were just on the beginning of a trip to Europe, and they updated me on all the airplane carry-on regulations that had recently been enforced. I made another connection and came out at the stop that the woman at the hotel had told me-- only I didn't see the Sacre Coeur anywhere.

In fact, as I climbed the steps from the dark of the subway into the Paris daylight (or, cloudlight) I found myself in the midst of a lot of black people- black people, I discovered, who were wearing African clothes, selling African spices, and food, and music. African fabrics. I had landed myself in the middle of Paris' equivalent of Chinatown, only with Africans. It was wonderful! I felt like I was home! I strained my ears for Hausa and amused myself by the thought of how comfortable I felt there, and how simultaneously out of place I looked. I couldn't have been happier to see African prints in this big, fast-moving city. After asking some nice women selling corn on a street corner where the Sacre Coeur was, I realized the woman at the hotel had given me the wrong stop to get off at. I consulted my map though, and after going only a few blocks out of my way, oriented myself in the general direction of Montmartre. I even stopped in a few African music stores to look for Hausa cd's, but the overwhelming response was that Hausa music is rare, especially among Senegalese sellers, which most of them were.

Eventually I found myself walking up, and up, and up...so I figured I was going in the right direction. The streets were curiously empty, though, and I knew the shop owners couldn't have been taking sieste. Finally, as I practically rock-climbed my way up one last steep, narrow street, I turned a corner there it was, smiling benevolently down at me from its prestigious perch atop the tallest physical point in Paris: the Sacre Coeur, one of Europe's most famous cathedrals. It was beautiful.

Slowly working my way from the back to the front, I realized I heard a great mass of voices, and turning another corner was confronted with a great procession of people headed up yet another small street. I realized with all joyfulness that hey, I was here by myself and this is the type of thing novelists or travel-book guides write about when their protagonists are wandering about the streets of Paris alone. So I joined the procession, and listening closely realized that they were reciting the Hail Mary in French. Positioning myself next to a very kind-looking older gentleman, I leaned over to him and said,

“Excuse me, but which service is this?”

“The Feast of the Assumption,” he replied, “August fifteenth?”

“Oh, of course,” I replied, “I forgot.” (The 'forgot' part may have been a bit of a fib on my part- the Protestant in me had nothing more than heard of the feast of the Assumption, much less knew it took place on August 15. But I wanted to fit in, you know?) The procession led us into a church that I supposed to be the Sacre Coeur, and where I lit a candle for my Catholic grandmother, as I do in all the great cathedrals of Europe. Upon exiting I realized it was not the Sacre Coeur, but in fact a church built directly next to it. Woops. So I continued my tour, and after taking pictures of the skyline of Paris from waaay up high, I made my way into the actual Sacre Coeur, where there was yet ANOTHER Feast of the Assumption service taking place, and after investigating the architecture and art, I knelt and listened to the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life—French nuns singing. I won't attempt to describe it, but let me just tell you that if the angelic choir in heaven is anything like that of French nuns, we have got something pretty amazing in store for us.

Eventually I found my way to a charming cafe directly below the Sacre Coeur. I sat outside and enjoyed looking at her from below my awning (it rained a little) and devoured dinner, ice crean (oh my gosh!!!) and cafe au lait. The waiter/owner man sat down and talked to me for quite a while too. He complimented me on my beautiful eyes, and we talked about Africa, France, the US, politics and everything else in life. When I asked him where a local grocery store was that I could get some things for my morning breakfast he pointed me a few blocks down and said that he had friends that owned the store and to tell them that “Mohammet the Egyptian” sent me. True to his word the shop was there and they knew what I was talking about. I fully plan on returning to visit him this coming spring if I make it to Paris. Here's one thing that made me quite proud of myself: On my way to the train, I was asked by a young couple if I knew how to get to the Moulin Rouge. I didn't, but I was happy enough knowing that to them, I looked like I belonged there. I also picked up a book (Alfred Hitchcock stories in French and English together), and when I walked into the bookstore and found out how much it cost, I told the manager that that amount was a lot more than the other books outside!! I had to put the book away and walk away to keep myself form bargaining with him.

I made it back to my hotel, took a bath, called my parents, and left early the next morning to catch my flight to Copenhagen, Denmark. Entering the Copenhagen airport is like walking into the future-- everything is clean with straight lines and wooden well-swept floors, which I found interesting. I was too tired to do anything more than find my gate, go through the very heightened security and board my plane. The most interesting part was during my flight when I sat next to a Danish woman who told me a funny joke about French and Italians. She said that Europeans have a saying that the French and Italians both drink a lot of wine but the French are alcoholics and the Italians are not because Italians love life and take joy out of it, which is why they drink, as opposed to the French who are just mad at the world. It's funny, I know.

I made my following connections to Atlanta and Memphis just fine. I knew I was in America when I was enveloped by a cloud of touring cheerleaders looking at t-shirts in the Atlanta airport. What a crazy country we have. It was good to be home.

I will have another upcoming entry with reflection on the experience as a whole and a link to an online photo viewer where I will post all my photographs; I figured this was enough for you to read right now.

Catch you on the flip side!
- Ameeeeenda

Zinder Part Two

2006-08-18T22:25:00.000-04:00

I promised you a re-telling of the trip to Zinder, so here it is:

Arriving at Aichatou's parents' house was great. They live on a compound complete with guinea fowl, chickens, and a big dog named Dixon. The cooking is done outside on open fires by women on the compound. There has to be a lot of food becuase there is always someone coming over for dinner. Aichatou's family is quite large, as I am continually discovering. More than half of the church is made up of her family! Two days before I left I found out that Ramatou's daughter Nadira is a second or third cousin of Marie and Laurey on Nadira's father's side. Small world.

I really liked Aichaotou's family. They were very welcoming and hospitable, with easy smiles. The first day we were there, Aichatou's mother (Baba Aiyou) got out the family picture albums, and I got to see baby Aichatou, as well as pictures of her grandfather, the first Christian in her family. (He was a Quaranic scholar, and converted to Christianity as an adult). I also noticed that they had a lot of pictures of people in their family studying - at tables with books open in front of them. This was yet another example to me of how much Aichatou's family values education. Every night around seven the family (this includes those who live on the compound as well as brothers and sisters and cousins, nieces, and nephews who live in the general area) gathered in the large living room for Bible reading and reflection, followed by prayer and singing. It ended with a small offering collection and group prayer, after which they would go around the room and people would mention things they were thanking God for and praying for. Then we'd all greet eachother in Christ. I really enjoyed this part of the day. It was cool to see how important faith is to their family, and how necessary family fellowship and community devotion is to them in a country so dominated by Islam. It's a hard thing to be a Christian in Niger, but Aichatou's family is very intentional about living for God and making it their family's number one priority.

On Thursday, Tom took a business trip to Maradi, a town about three hours west of Zinder where the headquarters of the EERN is. I was invited to come along and visit Kara VanderKamp, Tom's partner missionary with the PCUSA who was looking for housing in Maradi as she will be moving out there at the end of the summer. She was in Maradi for the weekend with a Peace Corps friend (Judy) from Niamey, and I got to hang out with them at a very nice and peaceful missionary guest house there. Tom and I were supposed to return to Zinder on Friday, however I came down with a fever and some stomach problems on Thursday night (and let me tell you, having chills a hundred miles away from the Sahara desert is a weird sensation).
It turns out that I was lucky to have gotten sick in a place where it was so easy to rest and recuperate. There was a nurse that lived on the guesthouse compound, and Kara and Judy were very nice about "attending to me" so to speak. I was better shortly, and we spent the rest of the week exploring Maradi. We talked to some Peace Corps volunteers working there, and also were invited to dinner at the home of Ibrahim Abdu, genearal secretary of the EERN. Dinner at his house was really great; his wife Hadiza cooked some phenomenal Dambu (a traditional Hausa dish made with couscous and sauce) and we played with his son Samuel. It was a very fun night.

Maradi in general was a really fun town. It is smaller than both Niamey and Zinder, but bigger than a village. Because of its smaller size it retains a distinct culture and community. It's a colorful, busy city with lots of little one-roomed shops lining the streets under small awnings. It's got more of a traditional African flavor than Niamey because there aren't as many Westerners there and you don't have the same kind of big convenience stores. I really liked Maradi, in spite of little inconveniences like shops closing for sieste. Taxis also stop for prayer times, as we found out first hand. I also enjoyed getting to know the missionary and Peace Corps community in Maradi. A few of the missionary families live on the guesthouse compound, and we got to hang out with them. My favorite part was probably the last night, when we got to watch the first episode of the McGyver series at the guesthouse manager Gail's house. I always wondered why my guy friends at NPU were so into watching McGuyver -(some of you fellow North Parkers may remember them going so far as to celebrate Richard Dean Anderson's birthday in the ARA), but now I understand! I was astounded by his ability to turn "what may seem like normal milk chocolate bars" into a chemical reaction to stop a nuclear power leak! I'm hooked and I'm never going back.

--

On Sunday, Kara got the keys to a car she had inherited from some missionaries that left the country two years ago. It's been on blocks ever since. Our friend Ousman was up from Niamey, and with some elbow grease and a lot of new parts, had been able to repair the little Suzuki to working order. So after church Kara, Judy, and I set off to visit (and return me to, as I was getting low on clothes having only planned for one night and staying three,) Zinder. Judy and I squished in the small backseat as we were also giving a ride to Pastor Sonni, a member of the EERN who was working between Maradi and Zinder on a Words of Hope project with Tom.

We set off hopefully for Zinder in the toy SUV Kara had dubbed Sam (short for "samurai", the car's make). Other than leaves flying out of the air conditioning vents when we started the car and a break fluid light illuminating the dashboard, nothing appeard to be really wrong with it. After about two and a half hours, however, we found out something very wrong with it. We had gotten a flat tire, a common occurance in Niger, but still no fun. We took this point to notice also that the car was not, in fact, equipped with a spare tire or a sufficient jack. Ours was missing a piece. I was thinking to myself about what luck I have with flat tires. I seem to have a knack for attracting them when I am in other people's cars, and this one makes number four in the past year. To see the account of my first, almost exactly a year ago, go here.(Scroll to the July 9 entry).

Our flat tire:

So we got out of the car, on the side of the road, and looked to Pastor Sonni for wisdom. He seemed to be at as much of a loss as we were. We decided that since we were not terribly far from Zinder, we'd try and give Tom a call. Unfortunatley, Tom happened to be on Aichatou's family's farm, twenty kilometeres outside of Zinder, where the poor guy had to be perched on top of a large boulder formation in order to get any cell phone service. Despite our pleas for help, Tom responded that he simply was not in a position to help us, and that Pastor Sonni should know what to do as they 'fix tires in the bush all the time.' Getting off the phone with Tom I looked hopefully at Pastor Sonni, who seemed to be taking advantage of the moment to rest his legs on the back bumper of the Suzuki.
"Tom says you should know how to fix it," I said to him in French, "he says they do it in the bush all the time."
Pastor Sonni looked at me disbelievingly. "What am I supposed to fix it with?" he asked, "The straw on the side of the road?"

We were stuck on a highway in the middle of the Sahel with no where to turn for help. The nearest village was at least four miles away, and it was late in the day. In Niger, it's quite common for people to be pulled over on the side of the road because of car trouble. It's also very common for people who are on the side of the road to wave good-naturedly at those in cars. You can imagine how many people we waved at, trying to get them to stop, who politely waved and continued to speed past us. Finally, an empty bush taxi (*a bush taxi is a fifteen-passenger van that carries people from one village to another. It is usually packed with about thirty people, plus luggage and animals. Very unsafe.*) stopped, two men got out and loaned us their jack to remove the tire and then took the tire and Pastor Sonni with them to the nearest village, leaving Kara, Judy, and I to the nomad Fulani herdsmen nearby. We passed the next half hour watching people ride camels and cows and admiring the Eastern Nigerien landscape.

At one point, a very full bush taxi pulled over, who we waved off saying "no, no, ca va, we already have help, thanks!" when people started piling out of the bush taxi, followed by a tire and...Pastor Sonni! In thirty minutes the bush taxi had gone to the village, repaired the tire, stocked up with people and luggage and animals so full that I couldn't recognize it anymore and returned to help us.

This is about half of the people in the bush taxi that piled out to help us. They liked having their picture taken quite a bit:

Our rescuers. The one putting food in his mouth is the driver. I feel that's a prettty descriptive picture of him as a whole:

The top of the bush taxi. Goats along for the ride:
We put on the patched tire successfully and headed off for Zinder, with no major problems except for the pitiful windshield wiper on the driver's side that didn't work. So we drove through rain, Kara leaning to the right to try and see through Pastor Sonni's line of vision. Once we even pulled over and wipe off the windshield. But we got to Zinder, a three hour trip that took over five. I kept humming to myself the theme from Gilligan's Island.. "a three hour tour....a three hour tour...."

Anyway, the rest of the time in Zinder was great. The weather was perfect and I had a fun time with Aichatou's family. They showed me the farm and her father's pet ostrich (really very cute) and we got to climb the big rock formations. I pretended I was Elisabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, and stood on the top of one with my skirt billowing in the wind, thinking, " 'For what are men compared to rocks and mountains?'"
One of the neat rock formations in Zinder :

And of course, a close up of the family ostrich:

We arrived at Niamey safe and sound, after fifteen hours in the car!
More to come soon on my trip home and my adjustment here to the states...

Three hours left...

2006-08-13T19:35:00.000-04:00

Today is the beginning of my three-day journey home. I leave Niamey at 4:25 am today (Monday), and if everything goes as planned, am to arrive in Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA at 9:47pm on Wednesday, August 16. (It will be Thursday my time by then!) I'm kind of thinking that I will get delayed when I first enter the US in Atlanta--Tom says that they almost always miss that flight. But once I'm in the US I know I will eventually get home.

For dinner tonight, Tom and Aichatou suprised me and we got to go out to eat at a fun restaurant that overlooks the city. It was fantastic. Afterwards we came back home and I got to give out all my presents to all the neighborhood kids.

So. This is the deal I propose for you, my faithful reader: Right now, please pray that I will get home safely amid all this heightened security, and that no one will kidnap me in Paris (although that would be exciting, wouldn't it? ) I plan on finishing up the re-telling of Zinder when I return home or possibly from an internet cafe in Paris. I'll have lots of time to think about what to write on my way home, but I've been really busy here these past three days. So the deal is that I will continue to write if you will continue to read until the end of the summer (roughly around the time of my birthday, -cough- September 1 -cough-. ) I will also post many many many more pictures when I get home.

So stick around for a couple more weeks and you shall hear the end of my long tale, and perhaps a long philosophical reflection. Thanks Friends!

Love
Your soon to be Parisian
Amanda

I've been to the other side of the country and back!

2006-08-11T10:19:00.000-04:00

Hello dear friends! It’s a little bit odd to be using the internet after a two week break (I’ll have you know I did just fine without it). I suppose I am slowly working my way back into Western life. The transition begins here and follows me through my many (many) layovers.

We arrived home from Zinder last night to the smiling faces and rejoicing voices of Zeinabou, her family, and the neighborhood kids. I jumped out of the car and into the arms of Fati and Haoua. After 14 hours next to a car seat I was ready to get out and move around and give lots and lots of hugs. Seeing everyone and feeling that ecstatic about coming ‘home’ to them made me realize how much I am going to miss my home here when I leave, which is very soon- three days!

So I have decided to re-tell the Zinder vacation in shifts. I will begin with the day we left.
Sunday the 30th, right? Nope! Saturday evening Marie and I returned home (we had been out at the American recreation center with Tom’s partner missionary Kara VanderKamp from Rockford, MI swimming in the pool and drinking milkshakes) to find that the car had overheated (the radiator was leaking) and Tom had a bad case of conjunctivitis (Pink Eye, for those of you who aren’t pre-med students or Chris Firlik). So the trip was put off until Monday.

This turned out to be lucky for me because Sunday was a big celebration at our church in Niamey in order to raise money for a new building and some other projects. Everyone showed up in their best outfits and hairdo’s (except for me, of course, who had forgotten it was Sunday, and having taken my sweet time to wake up, had to rush out of the house in the closest skirt and headscarf (and shirt, of course) I could find. They had brought in big fluffy armchairs for the speakers, president of the EERN (our denomination) and the visiting ministers from Nigeria. There were also about three rows of couches (no joke!) where the first pews usually are for other important people. Besides our normal two choirs (who were dressed up of course) there were also the choirs from the Baptist and Presbyterian churches complete with drum sets and nice keyboards. There was also a horn section that came from somewhere!

The service was about four hours long (yup) but really cool. I was lucky because the preacher was visiting from Nigeria, so the message was in English. He talked about an example Paul gave of the Macedonian church giving what they had out of their poverty for the church and the gospel, and rejoicing over it. I have never seen a sermon so well applied. Talk about rejoicing! The rest of the service was spent with singing and dancing and different parts of the congregation getting up from their seats and filing forward to put an offering in the bowls up front. Many people went four or five times, and they were always smiling and laughing as they did it. I myself was full of joy to be able to give what I could to the church. The service lasted long because everyone wanted to keep giving and singing about it. I can’t tell you how much I wished that American churches could see the joy with which the believers in the poorest country in the world took in giving their money away. Money that the pastor (and Paul) reminded us is not our money anyway, but God’s. I wanted so badly to bring this tradition back with me, and see the kind of affect it could have on stewardship in the States. Even if we didn’t start dancing and blowing trumpets, maybe if we could make the move to stand up and walk forward to give our offerings instead of (as we do at my church) having a gold plate brought to us and passed silently, maybe we’d learn more about the joy of giving. And maybe that movement, that big step of standing up, would make us realize how important the act of giving is.

So that was church to weeks ago Sunday. Monday morning at 6am we piled in the car and headed off for our long journey to Zinder. We were blessed with no flat tires or other car problems, just lots of pot-holes and bathroom stops for our five kiddos. More interestingly, at one of our bathroom stops I tried to play peekaboo with a small African child and scared him half to death. He was startled and cried profusely after I took my hands off my face. I later asked another missionary if she ever scared children. She said it was rare not to!, that some moms tell their kids that if they are bad they’ll “give them to the white woman.” Well now I understand!

It was actually quite a neat thing to drive from one side of the country to the other—the landscape changes. Niamey is in a sort of valley, and is at a very low altitude, whereas Zinder is much higher up (and a bit cooler I think) and surrounded by large rock formations and boulders in really interesting shapes. As we moved across country the houses and villages changed from round Fulani huts and others that seemed to mimic large clay pots to more square clay houses next to skinny palm trees and fat baobabs. These villages reminded me a bit of traditional pictures I’ve seen of Israel in Jesus’ time- complete with all the sheep and donkeys!

This is all I have to tell you about the trip Part One. More about Zinder (and a surprise: Maradi) in the next episode.

Love from Africa
Amanda

Don't go to Africa to get a tan.

2006-07-28T19:18:00.000-04:00

My new nemesis: African internet connection. I've now lost two posts. I finally typed it on Word. Here's the pasted version:

Hey Friends-
Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve last updated. This past week has been very busy as Ramatou’s gone (her aunt’s in the hospital so they need her to stay at home) and Aichatou’s final exam was this Friday, so she needed to do a lot of studying. I wrote a big entry earlier this week, but it all got deleted when the internet cut out! Man.

On top of all this, I’ve been doing research on a study abroad site for next spring. I’m in the middle of changing institutions, and have finally decided (after much debate and emailing and dealing with frustrating French websites) on the University of Rennes in NW France. Now I have to choose classes and send in my selections. It's a lot of work in another language/education system.

So with that all in mind, it has been a bit difficult to find the time to download and edit pictures. I will do my best to post some with this entry.

So, without further ado, the most interesting info from the past week and a half:

A couple days ago I woke up to the chirping of a cricket in my bathroom. They like to hang out in there, I think they must like water. Most nights before I go to bed I get a good-night chirp from four or five in my bidet who have hopped in and can’t hop out. In any case, after Jimminy Cricket woke me up, I discovered that I wouldn’t have been able to sleep much longer because there was quite a racket going on next door! Our next door neighbor recently had a baby, and Wednesday was the day of his baptism. At 7:30 in the morning, there were people all over our next door neighbor’s house and front “yard” (aka sand and trees) and driveway. In the afternoon I dressed up in my African clothes fresh from the tailor and headed over with the girls to see and take pictures. The baby’s name is Ridwon (sp?) which is I guess an Arab name. He doesn’t receive a name until the baptism- all last week he was referred to as “kobra”, which I believe is the Zarma word for baby. (You can imagine my suprise when Haoua asked me if I wanted to come with her to see the cobra outside.) Here’s a picture of him, isn’t he cute?:

You can see that he is very tiny; he was delivered by operation, but as far as I can understand, nothing was wrong with him. I don’t believe he was premature either. If you look closely you can see that he had a sixth finger on his left hand that they tied off. Aichatou said that she’s seen a lot of this problem in her study at the hospital this year-small, with multiple fingers and toes. Despite all this, Ridwon is living the normal life of a baby- eating and sleeping all the time. People are always over to visit him and his mom in their little (extremely hot and humid) house.

Along the same line of ceremonies I’ve been to in the neighborhood, my friend Ramatou recently invited me to a Muslim wedding celebration. These last a couple days in Niamey and can go for up to a week in the villages! We danced first to Tuareg music, which basically entails standing in place bouncing on your heels and waving your hands back and forth, like a hula dance. I think I danced “with” a guy once because we were standing about ten feet away from each other making similar hand movements. Apparently I was a bit forward by looking straight at him (I was trying to figure out what to do!), but everyone understands I’m a foreigner and laughs at/with me. I was repeatedly asked if I was tired, which was funny to me because dancing in the States is much more active and tiring that waving your hands back and forth, but I suppose that in the heat everything makes you tired (here, if you walk a long distance you “faire du sport”.) After a while Ramatou told me that she doesn’t like Tuareg music as much as Hausa music, so we spent the next hour setting up a DVD/CD player and waiting for the bride and her party to arrive. When we finally got the CD installed we got to dancing—Hausa music is much more upbeat, so I liked it better as well. It's still not as much work as American dancing. Ramatou and I and a few other people our age stood in a circle and took turns dancing in the middle-kind of like soul train. There was one guy that mimicked everyone else when he danced. Very funny. After a while they brought us a big plate of rice and sauce (I was famished!) and we ate African-style (duh, Amanda, you’re in Africa!) with our hands. You sort of hold the rice in your fingers and then mold with your tongue -- I mean thumb. It was good stuff, whatever it was.

After a while the bride finally arrived and they brought me to take a picture of her (people love to see the digital display when I finish—everyone asks for a photo to be taken of them). So this is the deal with the African Muslim bride: They bring a mattress in and put it in a room of the house, and she has to sit in this little dark room all alone, veiled, while the rests of the guests (and her husband!) party and eat and dance (imagine doing this for a week in the villages). People can come into her room and try and wrestle the veil off her, which they think is quite fun, but she has to keep her face covered. They had to do a lot of convincing to let me take her picture – they even took her veil off just a bit so I could see her face. She was frowning, as you can see below. I’ve decided that it’s okay to not want to bring every part of another culture back with you. Personally, I’d rather party at my own wedding. Later in the week I went back to see her (unveiled). She was very nice, although still hates having her picture taken.

These are all the young people on the mattress with the bride and groom. Ramatou is in front in the green with the gold necklace. The woman next to her was just married the week before. The bride would be the one in the back with the white veil, frowning, and the groom is to her left (your right) in green.

So, I’ve started to get to know our “quartier” alright. I thought I would never know my way around, and I’m really beginning to (despite today when I would have led us to a dead-end has not my friend Hadiza pointed out we were going in the wrong direction.) But really, I have the hang of it. Marie and Laurey and I enjoy our walks every evening before dinner, and sometimes I go out on my own as well. People in the neighborhood know me too, and often yell “Ameeenda, Fofo!” (Zarma for, ‘Hey, how’s it going?) to me across the road. A lot of times I have no idea who they are. They know who I am. Of course, my white skin stands out like a beacon of light against the red-brown sea that is Niger. (I’ve finally come to understand why African fabrics are so colorful: you have to create color somewhere if everything around you is brown!) I’m definitely not going to come back bronzed, either. Most every part of me is covered up when I go outside, and when one does go outside, one tries to stay out of the sun more than stay in it. I told Ramatou yesterday that in the US people pay to go in little rooms and have lights shine on them to make their skin turn brown and she looked at me in complete disbelief. Our culture has quirks, too!

So as for now that’s the news from Niger. The rainy season is in much more of a “full swing” now, and it rains every two days or so. There are a lot of bugs, though they aren’t as annoying as I thought they’d be. The worst part is the chorus of crickets and toads at night outside that won’t let me fall asleep. They multiply every rainfall and man, are they loud!

In the philosophical theological realm, I’ve been thinking a lot about Islam since I’ve been going to these ceremonies. You can’t escape it here – over 98% of the population is Muslim. There’s prayer call five times a day over loud speakers from the local mosques- something I thought was odd for about the first day but I am now completely used to. It’s normal to pass people along the street walking to or from prayer with their mats or their prayer beads, or to see them kneeling, face-down, rear-up under a tree or by a driveway. It is sad to me to think about America’s poor understanding of Islam. Not everyone is a suicide bomber. In fact, African Muslims are about as far from that as possible. The people here are very peaceful, and I think Christians could learn a lot from their devotion to prayer. I won’t continue all my theological ramblings on the subject, as they change most every day and would probably take up an entire entry’s more worth of space.

This week I received three text messages and two phone calls. Wow! What a treat! Thanks LP, Joel, Arika, and the Fam!

Sunday morning bright and early we head off for Zinder- we are taking the three cousins with us, which means five kids and three adults (do I classify as an adult yet?) in one SUV. This is going to be a wild 12 hours! I’m pumped. We’ll be in Zinder for two weeks, so I won’t have any internet access- I expect to see at comment box full of comments upon my return.

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I’d like to thank you all for your thoughts and prayers. It really gives me a lot of peace and strength to know people are praying for me. You all are just great.

I love you a lot. Marie says hello too. (She’s hanging out with me right now when she should be in bed.)

P.S. I would have liked to have posted more pictures, but the internet won't let me. You'll just have to be patient.

Leaving Date

2006-07-20T18:15:00.000-04:00

Just so everyone is aware:

I leave Niger the morning of August 14 at 4:30 am. (Y'all keep asking, so I decided I'd tell you). I arrive home the 16th.

If you'd like to send mail, you should send it to the address listed on the entry entitled "Write to me!" by the end of this week. (Coincidently, today or tomorrow)

There is also the option of writing to my home address, (post tomorrow) where I will still accept your sentiments upon my return and feel very grateful for them. I like letters all over the place, and if you're thinking of me, would love to hear how you are.

Aichatou's final exam has been moved to the 28th of July. So it looks like we will be in Niamey until the 29th, when we will leave for Zinder, 12 hours away on the other side of the country, where Aichatou's family lives. We will be there for about a week and a half and then return to Niamey. I'll have about four days and then I'll be on my flight home! Time is certainly flying!

We are currently in the middle of hosting three cousins of Marie and Laurey, so life here is busy busy. A picture entry will be needed again soon. You'll see why.

Thanks for all the GREAT comments my friends! They make me feel so loved. Keep up the good work! (please?)

Peace,
Amanda

Malaria Pills....Not all they're cracked up to be.

2006-07-15T17:06:00.000-04:00

I think it is time to make the world of aware of Amanda's Law of (un)Averages: Be there a medicine she is to take, the side-effects will affect her.

Yes, dear friends, not only am I allergic to Penicillin, Amoxicillin, and Sulfa drugs, not only do I break out in oddly-shaped red dots when I take tetracycline, not only do I get drowsy when taking decongestants, but I now have the pleasure of becoming nauseos when taking anti-malarials.

This past week, yours truly has had some lovely stomach problems, consistent nausea, fatigue, and headache, all to prevent fever, fatigue, headache, and nausea which may result in coma and/or death (read: malaria). It took us a few days to figure out, but, praise God, I live with a woman who is studying for her final exam in medicine and can figure out what is wrong with people. So. I am off my malaria medication until the end of the week to flush it out of my system, in hopes that when I re-start, it won't build up bad enough to make me feel nauseous before I head home. I can be very thankful that this happened at the beginning of the rainy season rather than the middle when there are many many more bugs.

Nevertheless, allow me to relate this charming story to you:

Yesterday, we headed out for the night to visit Aichaotou's aunt who recently returned from the States (loaded with suitcases of sale items from JCPenny for resale here) and a nice dinner of brochettes (shish-kabobs.) We took the girls with us and left Ramatou at home.

Upon entering the gate, I noticed that there was only one light on in the whole house. It happend to be coming from my room. As I stepped out of the car I gasped in horror. I could see from fifty feet away the army of bugs attacking my windows.

We went inside and I tip-toed into my room, wary that I might at any moment me attacked by the deadly tse-tse fly my dad used to tell us about when I was little. (I had no idea that these actually existed, and was terrified by the fact that anything that small could actually kill a person.) With James Bond-like stealthiness I entered my room to discover not an just an army but an entire legion of insects armed and already attacking my bedroom and bathroom. "Where," the speculative reader might ask, "is the sole light in your bedroom located, Amanda?" I'll tell you, my dear reader: Directly above my bed. My little cot and mattress. My safe-haven.

Well.
I was filled with emotion. First of all, I had a bit of the creepy-crawlies. Secondly, I was astonished and a little angered at Ramatou's forgetfulness. As I have told you before, I do not like the idea of creepy things crawling up me and biting me in my sleep. Most especially when I am not taking malaria medication. I like them even less when I can actually see them crawling and/or strolling, rolling, and flying on, in, and around my sheet.

"Kai!" I said in disbelief. (This has the equivalent sense of "jeez!" "MAN!") I moved to the kitchen to find my new best friend: The insecticide. I mentioned to Aichatou out of the corner of my mouth that sometimes, I think my dear roommate is really not very intelligent. "And," I added in exasperation, "She uses up the soap so fast!"

So. I sprayed enough insectiside to kill two legions of bugs, plus Goliath, took my book, and retired to the living room, at which point Ramatou entered the house.

"Ramatou," I said. I tried, gently, "You didn't turn off the light. You left the light on in our bathroom." She shook her head. She must not have understood me. I turned to Fati, the guardian's daughter who has a better command of French. Fati said it again in Zarma.
"No," Fati says, "she says she didn't do that."
Aichatou enters.
"I locked the door when we left the house."
"You-you locked the door?" Myself, not sure who to place the anger at now-"You've been outside the whole time, Ramatou?"
"Mmmhmm."
"So it was me? I thought you were the bathroom! I thought you were in the bathroom when we left" -Me, indignant and exasperated...when I realized..Aichatou did lock the door. From the outside. No one could have been in the house. Hmm. It was I, I who left my light on, like a lighthouse, the sole refuge to every insect and its cousin in Niamey and the surrounding area, a beacon of welcoming kindness in the dark night.
"Well," I said, "It was me. I've killed myself."

I re-entered my room, having left enough time for the bugs to all die. I had to use a broom and dustpan to pick up the dead bugs in my bathroom alone. I shook my sheet out into the trash, too.

After putting on LONG pajama pants and spraying myself with copious amounts of bug spray, I attempted to fall asleep.

I woke up alive this morning.

On another note, it usually takes me a looong time to fall asleep here. It might be the anti-malaria medication, it might be the heat, I'm not sure. What I do know is that it gives me a lot of time to think about what I am going to write on my blog. Recently I've been thinking about this:

Niger is the world's poorest country. But things don't actually cost that much less. In fact, cereal and ice cream cost considerably more. People just make less. They live without the things - some may call it junk-we in the west consider necessary. There are no dishwashers. No laundry machines. No dryers. Of course, dryers would be impractical. It's hot here. Things dry quickly outside. It's just a different form of life. More simple. Leisure time is spent just sitting around. Sometimes you talk to neighbors. Sometimes you go for a walk, or listen to radio. Mostly you just sit. I wonder to myself if one way of life is better than the other. I have this past year been struggling with my identity as an American. It took an amazing Intercultural Communication course with Dr. Mary Trujillo before I was able to be okay with being American, and being white--even to be proud of that heritage. Nevertheless, I think I came here with either the expectation that Nigeriens would live in a remarkably complex society that Americans could no doubt learn efficiency and simplicity from, or that they would be desitute, and need as much help as possible. Neither of those is the case. Work is work is work, wherever you go. Washing clothes by hand is still hard. Africans haven't mastered a special way of doing it that is inherently better than any white person's. In respect to being destitute: there are NGO's everywhere in Niamey. Really, everywhere. World Vision, Unicef, Save the Children, then also Government Organziatons- The UN, Peace Corps, etc.

The biggest detriment to life here seems to be insufficient medical care. And perhaps education. People aren't really unhappy that they don't have washing machines, as far as I can tell. What is so bad about living a grass hut? If you're used to bugs, they don't "bug" you like thy might bug a small American girl.

I'm starting to wonder if what my friends here need isn't in the hands of NGO's who have been here for years. Is it in the hands of God? Is what they really need Jesus? This is throwing my social justice-oriented mentality for a loop. And if Christ is the new primary goal, whose hands is it in? I should think neighbors, native people; not westerners who bear many resemblances to colonizers, and come bearing impractical gifts here- what good can a CD do where there are no CD players?

I owe much of this thought to a book called Revolution in World Missions, by K.P. Yohannan; a book I did not like reading because of the writing style and the perspective, more than for what it was about. If you've read this book, (or if you just have something to say) please share your thoughts with me. ( By the way, I am now reading Miracles by C.S. Lewis, and The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver, two authors whose writing I admire greatly. )

More than anything, Africa has impressed on my mind something I learn and re-learn every time I enter a new culture: Communication between cultures is key. It spreads amnesty and creates alliances instead of enemies. It promotes understanding and heals prejudices. It teaches. I am learning a lot about simplicity and community from my African surroundings, while my friends here are (I hope) gaining a non-television view of America, and perhaps an appreciation for literacy and education as well. I've learned that this type of work-building friendships, more than building schools or hospitals, is the kind of work the Peace Corps does so well. Though they participate in projects, relationships seem to me more lasting and impactful.

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That was a lot of writing for today.

I have some prayer requests I would appreciate you thinking about:

- I've started a "school" on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings with Zeinabou, Haoua, Ramatou, Fati, and possibly Faycal. I am now a French instructor. I really enjoy it. Pray that it continues to go well, I continue to have ideas, and God shows me if this is something he envisions me doing moer seriously

-I have a new friend, who is named Ramatou (not my roommate). She is 19 and lives two doors down in a grass hut. She a has a very beautiful 7 month old baby. Ramatou speaks French (one of the few people in the neighborhood who do fluently), and takes walks with Marie and me often in the evenings. It is a true blessing to have a friend like her here. Pray thanksgiving for this friendship, and also that I may reflect Christ to her.

-Aichatou's final exam has been moved back to the 28th of July. Pray that it won't be moved back any further so that we will still have the chance to go to Zinder and visit her family and also that she will study and preform well!

-Please pray that my body holds up. I don't think I was created for all this medication and climate and bugs combined! Pray that no little infected mosquitos find their way to me, and that my medication doesn't mess with my stomach again.

-Pray thanksgiving for the health and growth of my (well, not my, technically) two girls Marie and Laurey. They are lots of work and lots of fun every day!

I miss you all loads, and can't wait to hear how YOU are doing.

God is truly BIG!

Love
Amanda

Photos (Finally) !

2006-07-09T08:33:00.000-04:00

Hello to All- I know that I promised I would post pictures, and have not been doing the best job at it. In my defense, it is not exactly easy to upload them here, as I have to resize and reformat all the pictures before I upload them, and once I put them online, it's up in the air whether the connection will stay on long enough to load it. But, without further ado:

Above you can see Katie (L) and Stephanie (R) with me and a woman in her house in Kiota, where Katie the Peace Corps volunteer lives. The woman pictured is the mother of a good friend of Katie's, who fed us some yummy rice and squash sauce for lunch! When we asked to take her picture she said okay but first went to change clothes, but not before she told us that she had lost her second front tooth this week, and her daughter told her she was too ugly to go out in public anymore, so she couldn't see why we wanted to take a picture with her.

Here we have Katie and me very close to a beautiful giraffe. They are amazing to watch in person--so beautiful, and would you believe it, very graceful in the way they walk and run!

Laura- here are the promised pictures of the girls. Marie (2yrs) and Laurey (now 8mo). They are both growing SO fast! Laurey has started walking this week- 5 steps yesterday!! She is also teething. You can see from this picture that she smiles a lot. She's very fun to watch. Marie is also growing quickly-she is learning how to use the potty, and got there herself today! She is speaking more and more in complete sentences, and can pick up words in any language very fast.

And last but not least, my favorite:

This picture was taken almost a month ago, when Katie and Steph first got here. From left to right: First row: Stephanie, Zeinabou, Katie, Fati (Zeinabou's 11 yr old), Ramatou (my roommate), Halima(12, from the neighborhood). I think you can see Laurey's leg and part of her head,also. Second row: Hadiza (8, neighborhood friend), Haoua (Z.'s 6 yr old who Z says is "ta fille" -your (my) girl or daughter) and Faycal (Z.'s 9 yr old).

That's all from Africa today, more to come soon!

I have a new found passion...

2006-07-01T17:18:00.000-04:00

Football. And not the stupid American kind that revolves around running into people and eating lots of potato chips. As the DVD player is broken and there are about three channels on Nigerien TV, I have had the chance to bear witness to quite a few games of the world cup. I'm lucky also because the games are on at convenient times here. I am coming to you now live after France's suprising 1-0 win over the formidable Brazil. None of us expected it. And though many West Africans aren't fans of France's team (who can blame them? I wouldn't want to root for my colonizers either) I found myself a little proud of the country I have so long studied. I even saw Jacques Chirac there, more than I can say for our president. Now only European teams are left in the running, and I am especially looking forward to France Portugal, in which I might even favor Portugal because I have watched them fight very hard for quite a few matches now (Did anyone see Porgugal v. the Netherlands?!) and, to be honest, their players are also rather good-looking.

On another note entirely, I have not completely finished my recount of my fun time with Katie and Stephanie, my friends from Northwest Iowa.

Monday morning I texted (in French) a friend that Steph and Katie had made at the clinic last week, a girl named Fatu who lives in Niamey and speaks French and a little bit of English. She's around our age which is great. She had promised that she would take the girls to the Grand Marche in Niamey after their trip to a smaller one in Birni the week before, and I got to be the translator.

The Grand Marche was fabulous. It's everything you could desire of an African market--no place to park, small walkways between vendors, lots of noise and color and bargaining. I'm a person that likes people, so I loved it, but I could imagine that if you were claustrophobic or didn't like crowds you might not be so inclined. With Fatu as our faithful guide, we set off, winding back and forth between stalls that seemed to have no distinct sense of layout to find African gifts. A lot of times we would see something we liked, point and ooo and then Fatu would say "That's not good, I'll show you where a better one is," or "okay let's go there." One of these "OK" times was a jewelry merchant, who had lots and lots of cool necklaces and beads. I was enjoying myself. Immensly. I made the mistake of asking two or three times what different things were priced. The vendor would tell me but then he said "but we'll arrange it when you've decided what you want." (You don't ask here, you just choose what you want and how much you'll pay for it, and go from ther.) We left most of the barganing up to Fatu. Normally, it went like this: We picked out the, say, three scarves we wanted, after being shown ten or fifteen by the vendor. Fatu talked to the vendor in Hausa or Zarma, I don't know which, and would normally roll her eyes when they said the price, or shake her head. They would talk and talk and finally she would give us a price. Sometimes we were daring enough to go under, and usually made it! I was proud. After the deal is done, you pay and have a hearty handshake with lots of smiles. At the jewelry merchant, Stephanie, Katie, and I were each given bracelets after our purchases as a present to take back to the States with us. I'd also like to tell you that I got a very good deal on some traditional African Fabric -- 8 yards for 15,000 CFA, exactly what I had decided in my head was what I wanted to pay. I was getting good at this!

Tuesday we went to the National Museam, which is more a zoo than a museam, with a lot of African animals in cages that I don't think would exactly pass animal rights standards in the US. It was cool to see hyenas, baboons, lions, hippos, ostrich, and other exotic birds up close, but sad because you could tell the animals were not 'all there', and mostly paced back and forth in their cages. The better part of the visit, for me, was the large tent where there were a lot more merchants of traditional African crafts--jewelrey made out of bronze, nickel, wood, or native stone, leather and wooden crafts, and cotton wall hangings. This time left to our own devices without Fatu, and Tom and Marie in another part of the musee. So it was up to yours truly to translate everything. Katie, Steph and I walked slowly by the tables, eyeing the merchandise slyly and seeing what we wanted from whom. Once we had decided what we wanted, we fished out vendors that thought looked fair...enough. Then, we began.
How much for this ring?
3,000 CFA
3,000? Aiiie. It's 2,000 over there (That was Katie's sly wit)
Fine. 1,750.
1,500.
1,700. And look. Here are some other earrings that are like it, and a bracelet that matches.
Yes, they're pretty. But we don't want the bracelet (sometimes this was a problem because one of us really did want the bracelet, and we had to figure out whether we would buy it and bargain more or just leave it.) No, no bracelet.
Well if not the bracelet, then this leather bag. We'll arrange a price. It's a good price, look.
No. Just the ring please.
Just the ring?
Yes. Just the ring. 1,500.
No. 1,750. I can't let it go for less than that. It is worth 2,000.
1,600 then.
1,750.
1,650?
No. That is not enough.
Okay then. 1,700.
1,700. Good.
--At this point, a large smile crosses all of our faces and the merchant shakes hands with all of us and finds paper to wrap up the ring. Until...someone pulls out a 5,000 CFA bill, too much for the merchant to make change. He searches for other guys to give him change, but upon finding none, offers us a pair of earings for 2,000; a gift, since they are clearly worth more.
A gift, I tell the other girls. For 2,000 he says it's a gift.
A gift? They say excitedly.
Yes. The merchant nods, smiling.
Okay. (Me, in French)"The earrings and the bracelet for 3,650." He has change for that.
We all shake hands and smile.
Let me tell you, this is a big step for a little girl like me. At home, I don't even like to bother a salesperson at the mall to ask for a different size or a price. Here I am bargaining like nobody's business, translating and (most amazing of all for someone who detests math) adding and subtracting while figuring out the price in American dollars in my head!! I will admit that it sometimes took me a small, (mind you small!) delay to do all of this.
My favorite vendor was the last one we went to as a group, who sold us some nice earrings and tried to push a necklace with a BIG wooden bead on it on us becuase he couldn't make change.
"It's too big!" I said
He compared it to a bigger one.
"Look," he, in broken English, "This one big, this one small. Good price."(It still looked huge to me)
Katie offered 2,000 CFA.
"No," in French now, "This big one is worth 7,000. The small one is worth 5,000"
Katie stayed at two. The girl has a way with bargaining.
We went on like this for over five minutes, probably ten, me caught in the middle between a vendor with very bad teeth and an American girl who wasn't going to pay more than 2,000 CFA (about four bucks) for a necklace she probably won't wear extremely often. We laughed a lot because she didn't really want it that much and he was just funny. Finally, after saying we would stick with the earrings and not take the necklace he said to me:
"Okay. 2,000 CFA because you speak French."
I smiled, "Because I speak French?"
"Yes, you have done all this work, you are very nice. Better than the Americans." By this I think he was referencing Americans in general, not Katie and Steph.
I was astonished, and I will admit, a bit proud of myself. And so with him thanking me for my translations and (I think poor) ability to speak French, we all smiled, laughed, and shook hands. Shaking hands here is more like a high five that sticks, so you really feel the good deal of it.

After that, we went to the Musee's boutique, which has mostly the same stuff for set prices; no bargainging or bartering involved. We looked around and found that we had done well for ourselves, especially as white Americans. We payed at least a comparable price, if not less, for everything that was the same. I was very proud of our team, and intend to use these skills in the future when I return to the US.

(Can you see me at the Gap, Chris?
"I'll give you six dollars for this shirt."
"I'm sorry ma'am, it's priced at 12."
"12 dollars? I could buy it for half that price at the Old Navy at Rivertown."
"Yes ma'am but this is the Gap, not Old Navy."
"Look. I'll pay ten if you throw in that lip gloss I like so much. I'll even bag it myself."
I think I'd be successful, no?)

In anycase, we returned home Tuesday for a long sieste after a day of tough brain and footwork.
The evening brought mostly sadness, as Ghana, the last African team in the world cup, lost shamefully to Brazil in football, and the girls had to pack to leave for home. We were reconcilled a bit with dinner- the girls treated us to an evening out at a Chinese restaurant, which I believe I mentioned before. I telll you, the Chinese are really all over the world. I had Chinese last year with my family in the middle of rural northern Scotland. But the food is the same the world over, (good!) and I love it, so I'll take this opportunity to pat the Chinese on the back and thank them for their economic endevors involving selling food internationally.

The girls left on an 11:50pm Air France flight out of Niamey, leaving with me a few long skirts, some shampoo and conditioner, bug spray, sudafed, ibuprofen, and a first aid kit among other things. You would be suprised what a huge gift American things like that seem to one here. It is good to have more skirts to put into the rotation (some of mine are a little short for church and rural life --just below the knee). It was sad to see my American companions go, but good to know they would be going back to have a great summer that started off with this amazing experience. I'll miss you, Steph and Katie! Hope you get over the jetlag soon!

From now on, it's Marie and me, companions for the summer. Today we went on a very nice walk to watch the sun set, eventually accompanied by five or six neigborhood children that somehow always find us. They're great fun though, and know a lot more about the area than I do, so I always welcome their addition.

I will have more to add soon with the upcoming picnic at the US Embassy on the 4th of July. I have as of late been thoroughly engrossed in Pride and Prejudice, which I have been intending to read for some time and now finally have the chance. So there are two options before you: One is that I will get so into the book that I will forget about the blog, and the other is that I will write as though I am Jane Austen and living in 1813 and you will be able to comprehend naught becuase of the circular language I am destined to use and have already begun.

In anycase, I'd like to take this chance to thank you for your prayers and your faithful reading and support. I could use prayers for patience, for improvement of my French, for continued health and aversion of malaria, and Niger could use prayer for rain (humidity was over 70% yesterday!!). Also pray for the church and the work Tom is doing building income-generating projects and for their witness in this very Muslim country. God is faithful, and teaching me more every day. It is good, like you said Kate, to know that he knows and loves everyone here, even the French-speaking donkeys, goats, and hippos.

PLEASE NOTE: I have a cell phone I can use here to text anyone with a T-Mobile plan. If you have T-Mobile, I'd really like to know, so drop me a comment or an email and it would be fun to talk. You can also, if you really feel like it, purchase an international calling card for not too expensive. (This applies to any and everyone, not just T Mobile-ers). I can give you tips on it. My parents are in Canada all month without much telephone access, so it'd be great to hear folks from home!

Love and Thanks as always,
in the words of Jane Austen,

"YOURS, ETC."

P.S. Brandon Cocke- I am forever in your debt for printing this entire blog off for Bz and Dz to read. You're a great cousin to have!

Wow. I have too much to write!

2006-06-28T16:49:00.000-04:00

First of all, I apologize that it has been so very long since I have updated! I have been out of town and busy. I think I will attempt to list my activites by genre, since if I did it chronologically it would prove very long indeed.

The day after I last updated, Tom and I headed about half an hour to meet up with my friends Katie and Stephanie from Iowa for a picnic lunch and some giraffe viewing! The last herd of giraffes in West Africa happen to live very close to Niamey. So we hired a guide, got in Tom's car, and headed out to the bush. The guide sat on top of the car and, holding a stick down in front of the windshield, directed us where to go. When we found giraffes, the car stopped and we got to get out and take pictures! After our first sighting, the guide scaled a tree and found others, so we drove on. I think we saw at least twenty five. They are so so beautiful and graceful.. and tall! And they let you get quite close to them, too. We had a delightful picninc lunch by a watering hole where they were-salad, hot dogs, my snickerdoodles. Yum. This would probably be the best picnic I've ever been on if it were not for..

This past Saturday! A local peace corps girl gave Katie and Stephanie a tip about hippos near Niamey. So. Saturday, Katie, Stephanie, the fam, me, and a friend named Ousman who comes along often because he has an invaluable knowledge of how to fix anything that goes wrong-from the broken towel rack in my bathroom to a car engine-piled in the SUV and drove about twenty minutes out of Niamey to a town called Bournu, on the river. There, there were about twenty kids telling us they wanted to be our 'guide' to see the hippos. The peace corps girl had told Katie and Steph to make sure you find a real guide, so we did, and after that got in two very long and skinny canoes -- Katie, Steph, and Ousman in one; Tom, Aichatou, the girls and I in the other, and we punted along the Niger river until we saw hippo( no s?)! They made very very funny noises. Ousman made a lot of jokes about their dangerousness (although they really do attack, that is no joke -- we kept a sufficient distance), and we took tons of pictures. Hippos in my opinion are very big, make funny noises, are really cool to watch, but in general look like big rocks sitting in water.
After we saw the hippos, we went back the car and grabbed the picnic gear and our guides put us back in the canoes and paddled us off to an island, where we got off and walked for probably eight minutes. Did I mention that this whole process was happening at midday in full sunlight? Eight minutes feels like a lot more when you are near the equator, walking in sand and have skin prone to sunburn. (I was responsible, and wore sunscreen. Stephanie forgot, and we think got a little heat stroke/exhaustion afterword). Anyway, I was losing faith in our guides, leading this mismatched troupe of small children and unknowing foreigners from one side of a very hot island to the other (especially because I saw no shade) when they pointed out a magnificent baobab tree (French students remember Le Petit Prince!), took a small left and led us UNDER a very large mango tree, where we settled in for an amazing picnic that I will be hard to top for the rest of my life. It was phenomenal.

Also along the lines of eating, I have had the privilege to go out to eat three times since the girls have been here! Last night was my favorite-a gorgeous outdoor Chinese restaurant with really really good Chinese food. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Last week, I cooked a lot for myself, because I was in the bush, at a rural hospital in...

Birni-n-Goure
...a village about an hour SE of Niamey. Stephanie and Katie were staying there to observe the culture and do some medical help. Stephanie is a premed major, and was especially interested in seeing rural medicine in Africa. They came to Niamey over the giraffe weekend and told me that they could really use a translator, and Tom and Aichatou let me go with them to Birni for their last four days there. I don't often get to see American girls my age here, so it was a great treat for me! We had a room that was created as the isolation ward for the hospital but never used. It had air conditioning (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). We made our breakfast and dinner there on a portable cook stove, and they brought us lunch each day.

The first night we were in Birni, we set up my cot next to the window. The window has two parts- glass on the inside, which can be opened to open shutters on the other side of the sill. We were sitting quietly reading before bed when we heard something and looked up to see that a butterfly had made its way in through the slats of the shudders....and was being followed by a very wily lizard (they are very adept here-window was at least 9 ft off the ground). We of course immediatley rushed to the window to take pictures, which unbalanced the lizard, who fell into the recess between the glass and the shudders (thank goodness it was closed!!) It jumped around for quite a while and we shreiked like girls, but Bill (we named him) eventually settled down. We weren't about to open the window for fear he would jump in the room, so I got the pleasure of sleeping next to a lizard the whole night. I didn't feel a hundred percent at ease. Aichatou and Tom later told me that it is a common African belief that spirits will take the form of a lizard. Aiie. In the morning, our host, the doctor, shooed him out, while we whimpered like girls on the other side of the room. Living in the bush you run into creatures a lot.. We had a few cockroaches in our bathroom. Stephanie was lucky enough to find them each time. She sprayed enough insecticide to kill an army of them, but those buggers take a while to die, really.

While in Birni we got the chance to:

Take temperatures and blood pressures at a local clinic. People come there to get shots and vaccinations, and have to have their blood pressure and temp recorded before hand, just like you do when you go to your doctor in the States. This was a bit funnier, however, because next to no one spoke French, and most people came from rural surrounding communities. This translates to temperatures being very hard to take. I, of course, was given the task, and had quite a few laughs trying to explain that you first have to lift up your tongue (not stick it out or make funny shapes with it), then place the thermometer under it and then close your mouth until it beeps. It was very funny. Of course, they would laugh equally hard, I am sure, at my attempt to speak Zerma (their language) or tie a headscarf. And we felt underdressed-- most people get dressed up to go to the doctor or into town, so they had beautiful hair, scarves, and patterned dresses while we were wearing t-shirts. Oh well. Americans.
Visit a Peace Corps girl in Kiota, Niger. Katie finishes her two-year Peace Corps term this week (!), and showed us all around her village of Kiota. Kiota is big in reference to many small bush towns, and nicer because a Muslim Sheik resides there, but is still quite small in comparison to Niamey. Katie taught us tons about Nigerien culture and language, and we filled her in on trends she has missed in the US (Livestrong bracelets, 80's style stuff such as leggings and leg warmers, shrugs, big beaded necklaces). "What a novel idea," Katie said, "going to a shopping mall to get clothes that are aldready made for you. No tailor involved."
Visited a larger regional hospital in Dosso, where Birni sends their patients. I got to use my French a lot there for translation, and we got a tour of everything. We saw their maternity ward, and Katie got to hold a brand new baby-really cool! (Moms very willingly hand over their babies here). We saw a lot of women that had had C-Sections too. All of them were wearing skirts, but none tops (and we were walking around with male doctors). The bottom half of your body is way more important to keep covered here than the top half. We also got to see a surgery ward with the surgeon who had preformed all the operations (he does three a day) and the pediatric ward. The peds ward has two sections--one devoted solely to malnutrition and the other to everything else. The babies who were malnutritioned were very sad looking, and though it was hard to believe, were recovering. It's hard to see kids that should be running around and playing that can't walk because their bones are too fragile. There is a new malnutrition medicine/food that works very well though, and is making good progress.

I have more to say, including the stories of my trip to the national museam and the Grand Marche in Niamey, but this entry is long enough already. So, I will leave you with some things I have learned about Nigerien culture:

-Often, people will go to traditional doctors over (or after) certified ones. They have some remedies that work and some remedies that are crazy, like manure for healing gangreene or firming up a baby's soft spot, or drinking lion pee to stop asthma. This is much more common in rural areas than cities.

-Women cover up almost their entire bodies, but I have seen at least ten commercials for condoms this week. It's common on Nigerien television.

-Islamic men can have up to four wives, if they treat all equally, and more if the women are not Muslim.

-Many women may have three or four husbands in a lifetime.

-Men commonly hold hands with other men, but men and women will never hold hands in public. Even though I know this, it is a weird sight to adjust to.

-I'm starting to learn how to distinguish between different African groups - Tuaregs are tall, light-skinned and wear blue robes and white headscarves. They are a matriarchal society, and the ones with the camels . Fulanis are laregely nomadic and wear pointed hats. The women braid silver coins into their hair. Tubu are dark, can be fierce, and traditionally carry knives (both women and men). City dwellers are different in all cases, however, and my Tubu friends Aichatou and Ramatou have not yet threatened me with knives, and I'm can be sure they won't. They are also very beautiful.

-I can greet people in Hausa (Ina-Kwana; La-hee-a-low) and Zarma (Fofo; Fofo) now, as well.

More to come soon.

Amanda

By Golly..

2006-06-16T15:13:00.000-04:00

Well buy me a vacuum and an apron, Harold, I can do things around the house! In the last 24 hours I have:

Learned how to stich -I tried to learn in Girl Scouts, but by the time I had threaded the needle and knoted the thread I was exhausted. I ususally took ten to fifteen minutes to do so, and I had sucked on the thread so much ot get it through the needle that it split and I had to cut it. This happened so often that by the time I tied the knot and started, I had aboiut 2 1/2 inches of thread to work with. Plus, I'm sure I poked my figer a lot. Today things have changed. With Aichatou's patient guidance, I have learned how to thread the needle, tie the knots, mend the rip and do it all over again. That's right, yours truly has indeed mended a pair of training pants and a very cute little flowery dress for my dear friend Marie. (Who is currently making use of neither as she is parading around the house "naked as a bluejay" as my family used to say, after her bath).
Tied a real baby on my back (not Tigger this time!)
Baked a batch of snickerdoodles, successfully halving the recepie without any kitchen disasters. Mom, I think I've overcome my kitchen inablitity, although I have yet to tackle "real cooking". No longer am I the woman who fools the "fool proof" Keylime pie recipe or forgets to boil the water before adding the pasta. I am a snickerdoodle-making machine. Of course, you always knew I was good at baking, since I was the one turned to in the fear of your brownies. Teehee.

It is a wonder Aichatou let me do all this after our 20 minute conversation over the word "klutz" at the dinner table last night- Tom and I were trying to define it in French because I had used it in reference to myself. When Tom told me Aichatou would teach me all the African secrets, I didn't think I'd lose my clumsiness and gain the ability to save nine in time. (Get the pun?) Next time you see me I'll be able to balance a copius amount of things on my head while walking, simultaneously spinning dishes on a pole in both hands. Or maybe that's too much to hope for.

Although...perhaps not all my clumsiness is gone. Yesterday I woke up early from sieste and Ramatou (my roommate) and I went on a walk. There were a few thorny sticks on the ground I stepped on on the way--that is, I counted 36 thorn-sized pinpricks in ONE flip flop when we returned, many of the thorns still residing in the sole!

The Johnson family actually lives on the border of Niamey, sour our walkt took us out into an open field, for lack of a bett word, except taht said field is made up of sand and rock, not grass. We spotted six or seven donkeys, numerous sheep (the sheep here are not wooly like they are in the North. They look a lot like goats-more skin than fur. You can tell which ones are goats though because they have horns and beards) and a small animal skull. Teeth and everything still intact. I think I even saw a femur bone laying around somewhere. The other abundand thing besides sand and thorns was trash. Since it is a big open area at the edge of town and Niamey doesn't have city-wide trash service to my knowledge, trash just gets dumped outsied. It's important to realize,though, that if something can be recycled it will be. Tom told me yesterday that you almost never see a car skeleton in Niger becuase people will take the car apart, melt the aluminum down and re-shape it into things like spoons, cook stoves or seives.

Tomorrow we are going for a picnic with the girls at the hospital to visit my friends the giraffes again. The snickerdoodles are to come along and so is the whole fam. I can't wait. It's still hot here, but I still drink around 4 litres of water a day, maybe more. Rain hasn't come in more than a week, I think. I can't believe it's been nearly two weeks that I've been here. Days are flying by faster now that I'm in a routine.

One more thing-Marie is to be enrolled in preschool "jardin des enfants" in a couple weeks, which means I will be free for three mornings a week. Right now it looks like I am going to spend a lot of time with Ramatou and Zeinabou and her children. I have started teaching Haoua her letters, and now that Fati and Faycal are out of school, they have the mornings free too. Zeinabou has expressed a desire to learn English (she already knows 7 languages!) and so you are looking at the future maitress of L'ecole d'Amanda. I know some of you have teaching experience (my Dad told me about all the book club members at Central that read my blog!) Please, send any and all reading/writing teaching tips you have my way.

Baby's crying, gotta go. Another day in the life.

Hope God is blessing you where you are, he certainly is blessing life in Niamey!
Much love,

Amanda

Write to me!

2006-06-12T17:15:00.000-04:00

Hello my dear friends,
If you would like to write (with a pen and paper) while I am in Niger, you can send your letters to:
Amanda Munroe
c/o EERN
BP 13 301
Niamey, NIGER
Africa

Please remember that it takes about 3 weeks for mail to get here. So get to writing!

P.S. New pictures posted below.

Dimanche...

2006-06-11T18:18:00.000-04:00

Is the French word for Sunday.

Quick Update:
Tonight at 3:30 am I will have been in Niger for a week. A lot has happened in a week!
The two things I want most to tell you about are that today, we went to chuch, and Aichatou tied my headscarf!

One thing that is very important to know, however, is that there are a plethora of ways to tie a headscarf, ranging from the simple kerchief-style all the way to elaborate folds and flares here and there that I would not even know where to begin.

Yesterday, Aichatou also taught me how to tie a baby on my back.

The other important thing to know is that I killed at least fifteen spiders or spiders-to-be in my bathroom today. Two of them were quite big. Really. My French professor (he's the one that told me Niger was quote, "hot") told me that I remind him of an Amazon - courageous, traveling to Africa my first year of college. Well, I felt like an Amazon today. That Spider (yes, capital S) has been threatening me from below the toilet all week, and it was about time she and her little babies and I settled scores. After they were gone I noticed that there were army reserves in the other corner of the ceiling. I, armed for battle with my insect spray, toilet paper and long, extendable-arm-brush for hard to reach places such as tall ceilings, went to war (humming "To War! To War! Fredonia's gone to war!" from the Marx Brothers' Duck Soup all the while). I also killed two crickets or locusts, I'm not sure which. I know that you may think of me as a kind, gentle-hearted girl who doesn't like to talk much about killing, but let me tell you, if something threatens to crawl in my bed and bite me, a wild beast of a person comes out. Okay, maybe not wild beast, but hey, Amazon I am happy with.

That's the latest update from this side of the world. More to come soon.
Amanda the Amazon.

I've Arrived!

2006-06-09T10:17:00.000-04:00

Bonjour from Niamey, Niger! It’s 13:43 here (1:43), and for once, cool! We had our first rain two nights ago and another, longer rain last night. It is beautiful that I am not sweating right now. This first week has been about the hottest I’ve ever experienced, I think. Humid, too, as the rains were coming, but mostly threatening.
I arrived just fine- my flights were all on time and my parents surprised me by upgrading the ticket they had got for free with frequent flyer miles (Detroit to Paris) to World Business Class. I highly recommend World Business Class to anyone! I was offered wine and champagne at least five times (don’t worry, I didn’t accept), had great food, a hot towel, anything else I could desire, and let me tell you- I slept better on that plane than I had at home for the past week! And no crazy dreams, either.
The worst part of the trip was the layover in Casablanca- 6 hours in an airport smaller than Grand Rapids’s. Hopefully I’ll get out in the city when I have my 11 hours on the way back, otherwise I might go crazy, I think. I did meet some nice girls from Colorado College that were on their way to study in Senegal, though.
In any case, I arrived in Niamey at 3:30 am with no problems. There was a guy at baggage claim to greet me and carry my luggage, who brought me to Tom. One thing about Niger-everything is done for you- baggage carrying, gas is full service, etc. I think it’s because it creates jobs.
These are a few things I have learned about Niger so far:
It is very dusty. Niger’s primary colors are brown, red, tope, and tan
It is very hot.
Niger is the world’s poorest country. Tom says that Niamey has almost 1 million residents, but probably has a smaller GDP than that of Holland, Michigan.
Even though Niger is the poorest country in the world, it has a very low crime rate. I'm very safe in Niamey.
People don’t say any form of “bless you”- of course, why would they?
Many Africans like Asian kung-fu type movies
Most people speak at least two languages
I laughed when I read the phrase, “The people are so beautiful that even the men enter beauty contests” in my packet about Niger the RCA gave me, but it’s very true! The people here are very handsome, and usually are wearing gorgeous fabrics. Also, almost always cover the legs and at least half the arms. I have a hard time imagining the heat of that, although I suppose if you live here, that is the reality

Niamey is a city much like you’ve seen the National Geographic photos- people EVERYWHERE, in cars, on motorbikes, bicycles, feet, donkeys, or camels. In sandals or barefoot. Carrying things (sometimes quite a lot) on their head. Kids everywhere. I would never want to drive in Niamey. Nigeriens are also notoriously poor drivers. There are no McDonald’s, although there are a few modern grocery stores that sell pretty much whatever you want. Fresh fruits and vegetables are usually sold by individual vendors on the side of the road.
I’ve been having a good time with the Johnsons. A normal day looks like waking up, playing with the girls while Tom works at home until Aïchatou returns from the clinic around lunchtime. Then there is sieste (nap time for the whole country!) during the hottest part of the day, often a couple errands to run in the afternoon, more playing, dinner around 8pm, maybe a movie and then bed,
Tom and Aïchatou are very nice and hospitable. Their girls Marie (2) and Laurey(6mo) are a lot of fun. Marie’s favorite phrase is “Ca c’est quoi?” (literally: “That is what?) and then someone will answer in French, English, or Hausa. She also loves to play with glasses (“my lunettes”) and really likes the ones I brought with the Mr. Potato head set. Laurey has big eyes and an easy smile, but is teething so is sometimes unhappy. She is learning to stand up, which she loves.
There is a guardian family who lives on the compound that we play with also ( a man and his wife, one of who is always here). The wife (Zeinabou) cleans the floors on Tuesday and Thursday and they carry in groceries, water the plants, rinse dust off the car, etc. Tom’s SUV doesn’t actually fit in the garage, so the family lives in there, and during the hot season sleeps outside. They have three beautiful children, Fati (11), Ibrahim (8), and Houwa (6). I have never met a more joyful or happy-to-laugh family. They and some other neighborhood games have taught me a lot of fun games, and I’ve taught them some too! Zeinabou and Fati both speak French, so we get along pretty well. Also, Ramatou, the fifteen year old who lives here and takes care of the baby/cleans and cooks a bit, speaks some French. She is my roommate during the week (she goes home during the weekend).
Tuesday, two cousins from Iowa, college seniors named Katie and Stephanie (in the picture above) came to Niamey and roomed with me, too. It was nice to have some girls my age here while I was getting acclimated to life in Niger. We all asked a lot of questions, so I didn’t feel alone. Yesterday we dropped them off to a rural hospital about an hour away. We saw a lot of small villages on the way there- grass huts and other huts on stilts that serves as granaries. I got to see a tour of the hospital with them. The hospital was what you would expect from a rural hospital. No gleaming white counters and high-tech machines like you would see in the States, but they do well with what they are given. They have two doctors for all of the 300,000 people in the surrounding area, and the chief doctor, a woman whose name I can’t remember, may soon be transferred to Niamey, leaving them with one. I am sure that the girls will learn a lot there. They also get to be part of a campaign to vaccinate pregnant mothers for tetanus in near villages.
On the way home, we saw two giraffes crossing the road, and Tom pulled over so we could take a picture, check it out! This is no zoo, folks!! I couldn’t believe it.

I’m having a good time here in Niamey, and learning a whole lot. Please pray for the Johnsons, for my new friends Katie and Stephanie and my other new friends in Niamey. Pray that I get my internal clock rightly re-adjusted and have no stomach problems. (I’ve been safe so far!)

I’m missing you already. Comment so I know how you are doing (you don’t have to be a member. Just click “other” and enter your name).

Lots of love,
Amanda

Less than two hours left

2006-06-03T15:16:00.000-04:00

Hello friends.
It has been a great weekend. It is now an hour and fifteen minutes until I leave for the Grand Rapids airport. I will be flying from there to Detroit, then to Paris, Morocco, and finally to Niamey.

My bags are almost entirely packed. I think they are going to make the weight limit.

I don't have much to say other than I still can't believe this is really happening. Everyone here at home has been so, so supportive of me, and this trip has constantly been met with more blessings. I can't wait to get there! I'll have two days of travel, so don't stop praying!

Love!
Amanda

Africa pervades all my thoughts...

2006-06-02T00:03:00.000-04:00

Each day my adventure grows closer I increase in excitement. This seems to happen mostly at night, when I am left alone to my thoughts with no family or friends to distract me. I've been having a hard time sleeping this past week becasue I keep thinking of things I need to do before I leave. Tomorrow is a day with much to do in it: See friends and family (2 sets of grandparents in one day!), say farewell to friends in far-away places on the phone, see some that I haven't seen since school started in the fall, find some felt board characters, thank-you notes of course, hopefully get an answer on a computer question and explore Festival. And..oh yes how silly of me to have forgotten? Pack. I do of course have most of Saturday to pack as well, as I don't leave GRR (as they call it in the airplane business) until 7pm.

Back again to this sleeping business: I woke up not very well rested day before last because I had a dream that I fell asleep and instantly awoke in Niger. Tom Johnson was there to greet me, and drove me through the winding streets of Niamey. I remember seeing an immensly tall church that looked like it came out of the movie Alladin: exquisitley decorated Arabic-style architecture against a midnight-blue sky. It was beautiful. I do distinctly remember Tom asking me if I spoke Espanol and explaining to him (in French) that no, I spoke French and wasn't he expecting me to speak French? I only knew a few words in Spanish that an Ecuadorian friend at school taught me. AND I saw all these women wearing tank tops, and I was very disgruntled because I had only brought t-shirts (trying to fit in with the dress code) and was convinced that I would be decidedly hotter than the sleveless women all around me. Then I met an American missionary family (who knows where they came from? To paraphrase Scrooge in Dickens's A Christmas Carol, they could simply be a figment, the result of a poorly boiled potato) with two daughters that spoke English. I think. But I was still dreaming in French, somehow... In anycase, I was conveying to them my confusion at how one could fall asleep in one place and wake up in another, and how it was especially disconcerting that my luggage had not made it over on DreamAir flight ZZZ to Niamey. At least we know one thing: I dreamt in French. People say that you don't really know a language until you dream in it. Well, warn all the Turkish men in Grand Rapids: I officially dream in French! I'm better than they think I am.

As you can see, my preperations have taken up most of my (conscious and subconcious) thoughts. I'm beginning to worry I'll be spoiling the girls with all the gifts I'm bringing them. But really, have you been to the baby/kids toy section at any of our fine Grand Rapids superstores?(And by that I mean Target, Meijers, and occasionally Old Navy). So many choices! I went out to get a sippy cup tonight and after searching for the sippy cup department and walking past it twice, in true Amanda fashion, I found myself bombarded by an array of sippy cups in all different shapes, sizes, colors and brands. One handle, two handles, or none? Boy design or girl design? Ergonomic shape? Straw-in-cap? Powerpuff girls or SpongeBob Squarepants? Is Gerber better than Playtex? Or Avey? I mean come-on Mr. Meijer, how many sippy cup slections do I need?? You know how terrible I am at making decisions (remember college?) you could at least take this into consideration. I spent half an hour in the sippy cup section and ended up buying two (one with two handles and one with none. I probably should have gone with a nice one-handler in between). Don't even get me started on the clothes.

May I add, however, how much more I enjoy shopping for other people than shopping for myself? My mother insisted I get another skirt (since when is it normal for parents to ask their daughters to get more clothes? I think we need to get my Mom checked out...)
Again. This decision making disorder. I looked at all (and I mean all) the skirts in TJ Max, and ended up returning to Old Navy in the end anyway. Oh well.

Friday is my last full 24-hour day in Grand Rapids Michigan for this summer. Do you know that, in spite of all the travelling I've done, this is the longest continual period I've ever been away from home? The good news is that my parents are going to be at Malibu with Jesse half the time anyway. Maury is rooming with our good friends Arika and Chris in Allendale.

I still need ideas for my copious layovers. As much as I love them, there are only so many Sudoku puzzles you can do.

Africa here I come!

Reason to go to Africa #327: Learn the Language.

2006-05-26T00:15:00.000-04:00

I was sitting outside the lovely Grand Rapids establishment The Kava House earlier this week, sipping my caramel latte and working on my Application for Volunteer Mission Services for the RCA when what should my little ear hear but another language. Amidst the noise of passing traffic, it was hard to dicipher which language this was, however. Spotting a moped that obviously belonged to one of the two men who were speaking, I decided quickly that they must be European. Hyped on caffine, I strained my ear like a trained detective to discern which foreign tongue they were communicating with. Certainly not Spanish, and not enough "zi, ie, or ti" sounds to make it Italian, I was thinking, when suddenly, I was sure I heard the word "quatorze." (French for 'fourteen')
"Praise be to God!" I thought to myself, "they are speaking French!" Fourteen of what, I had no idea. Of course, being French, they were not speaking very loudly in public. The French do their best to keep their mouths as close to closed as possible when speaking. Do not ask me why.
In any case, I was forced to continue to strain to hear words, only catching a few "tu" and "vous" in between passing cars. (My application was a complete gonner by this time.)
All of a sudden, the men were standing up. My thoughts (partly a cause de the caffeine) were racing. "This is my only chance! I haven't spoken French since school got out! I need the exposure to the language. What would my French professors say? They would be ashamed if I didn't speak to them." Sure of my hypothesis, throwing caution to the wind, with my coffee to back me up, I approached one of the men:

"Est-ce que vous etes Francais?" I asked
"What?" He replied
"Est-ce que vous parlez Francais?" I asked agian, thinking I must have mumbled the first time, or that perhaps he was Canadian.
"You speak French?" He said
"Yes, and you?" I asked, growing less sure of myself by the second.
"Oh, we were speaking Dutch" He said. ... Or so I thought.
"So you're from the Netherlands, then?" -I, slightly embarassed.
"No. We are from Turkey."
-My mind, putting things together: Turkey. He must have said Turkish not Dutch. Either way both not very close to French. Way to go, French major.
Bravely, I forged on. We had a very quaint conversation about how he ended up in Grand Rapids (he came for school, and then stayed), the importance of learning a language, how hard it is, and then he advised me to live in France to learn it (No kidding, I wouldn't be impressed with myself either) so I could better learn how the natives speak; their slang, etc.
We shook hands and went our separate ways, the caffeine quickly draining from my system.

I suppose it's about time I start learning it first hand. My hopes were slightly raised this evening when I saw the DaVinci code and only had to look at the subtitles once or twice to figure out what they were saying. I noticed I was especially good at picking out the swear words. I also knew when Paul Bettany was speaking in Italian, thank you very much. (By the way, for a movie about worship of the sacred feminine, I thought Sophie Neveu was portrayed very poorly. She lets the man do all the code breaking for her.)

When it's all said and done: One week and one day until I depart from the States. I intend to spend some more time studying the subjunctive, in particular, before I leave.

Still looking for laptops.

I received a phone call today from my pastor asking if they could pray for me in church this Sunday. That made my day. Central has been very supportive of me as I've grown up, and has continued to support me through this experience. If you would like to be there, the service is at 9:30am this Sunday. Central Reformed Church on the corner of College and Fulton in downtown Grand Rapids.

Tom recently e-mailed me a photo of the proper portayl of the African headscarf. Thank goodness. I think Aichatou will have to help me when I get there however, as I'm clearly not the most adept headscarf tier in the world.

A bientot!

P.S. I have spent about two hours trying to widen this blog so it becomes more readable. If anyone is good with html, please let me know. I know where to fix it, but not 100% how...

Tuesday, May 23 - NBC Nightly News.

2006-05-22T14:51:00.000-04:00

Amanda Explores Africa

Great news. I have been receiving overwhelmingly positive support for the letter I recently sent out. Also, Jesse has been able to consolidate two old laptops we found into one better-working laptop I can bring with me. If I continue to get more financial responses, I may be able to buy some felt board characters for the church in Niamey. Niger is the second poorest country in Africa, with the average income set somewhere around 200 US Dollars a year. I have also read that it is the least literate country in the world, and has one of the highest fertility rates-between seven and eight children born per woman.

I heard a podcast today on the blog of the One Campaign of Bono's speech at the recent National Prayer Breakfast. He said that he would often ask a priest he knew to bless his family while he was on tour, a new song, or a new project he was working on. The priest's response was this: "Stop asking God to bless what you are doing. Get involved in what God is doing, because it's already blessed." I liked those words. NBC will be broadcasting live from Ghana, Africa (slightly SW of Niger) this Tuedsay evening on the NBC Nightly News. Brian Williams is doing a story on Bono's trip through some of Africa's poorest countries. (He will be visiting Nigeria and Mali, two countries that border Niger). I'll be watching, and if you would like to learn more about the current poverty crisis in West Africa, I would highly recommend that you do as well.

In other news, the headscarf experiments are not going any better:

See what I mean?

Thanks again to everyone who has been supporting me and praying for me. This trip is coming up quickly! Please be praying for the Johnsons as they make it through the hottest season in Niger (it's around 110 during the day, and in the 80's and 90's at night!) and prepare for my stay, as well as some medical students from Iowa that are coming for part of June. Also pray for Tom's work on his Ph.D. and Aichatou's medical certification.

More to come soon,
Amanda

Less than three weeks left!

2006-05-15T21:53:00.000-04:00

Welcome to Amanda Munroe's Blog. Upon these (web)pages you will be able to read an account of my adventure to Niamey, Niger, Africa and my stay with the Johnson Family (Note Tom Johnson's resemblance to my father). I leave on June 3rd, will fly from Grand Rapids to Detroit to Paris to Casablanca to Niamey, where I arrive at 3:30am. Visa application is sent in and vaccinations are had! Now all that is left is unpacking my stuff from school (uggh) and packing for Niger. Oh, and seeing anyone and everyone I know in the Greater Grand Rapids area.

Items still needed are:
-Used or new laptops for the Church in Niger (at least Pentium II or III processors)

-Fun things for the girls (Marie-Florence (2) and Laurey-Lea (6mo.)) Coloring books, finger paints, etc. don't exist in Niger.

-Gifts for other people I meet

-More skirts for me as I can't wear shorts in the 90+ heat!

-A lot of time-occupiers for my ridiculously long plane rides and lay-overs
(7 hours in Casablanca on the way there, 11 hours on the way back and, oh yes.. two nights in Paris)...any ideas?

I have also been spending some time trying to figure out how to wear a proper African headscarf, mandatory for church.
My attempts so far:

Is this right?

Oh dear, I think I'm wrong again.

Help. Please Help.

This is kind of ridiculous...

2005-10-12T20:12:00.000-04:00

I now have a xanga, myspace, facebook and blogspot. It's too bad I just found this site and every person other than kate that I know have xangas or myspaces. I like this site better. It's easier to read. and prettier. oh well, at least now I can comment on the mulder blog.