In Search of Praise

When you return from time away it is great to catch up with the lives of those back home and find out the news.  It is more difficult to catch up with all the tasks that have been waiting for you to return and deal with.  In my case I found I had to get right into organizing travel plans, moving and packing dates, new job opportunities, paper work issues and general routine housework.  I was feeling decidedly unsettled and the world around me was losing its sparkle.

Then I heard news of a Cameroonian lady from church and her tragic story helped me to put my life back into perspective.
"Ronnie" is an immigrant who came to Europe looking for work.  She was brutally attacked and ended up in hospital while her infant son went into care and was eventually placed in a foster home.  After a two year battle with her health, "Ronnie" was finally well enough to leave hospital, but found herself without a passport, money or a place to live.  The man relating to me her story came forward to give her what help he could.  Expecting to hear him tell of their woes in trying to get "Ronnie" settled again, I didn't expect his next remark.  "We went in search of praise."
 I was hit with an image of "Ronnie" going out looking for joy, goodness and something to feel thankful for.  Then I realized that her son's name is Praise.  She went after what is most important to her and is worth so much more than money or documents.  Thankfully she found her son and knows he is being well cared for.  And now she is on her way to Nigeria to start the paperwork to regain her life.

I think I will keep hold of that line "...in search of praise" in its initial suggested meaning. I want to live looking for what is beautiful, good and that which inspires thanks and praise.

Elevator to the Sky

Someone asked me recently how I come up with what to write about. I told them how, when I notice something that captures my attention, I make a note of it.  After a while I ponder it anew to see if it may be blog-worthy.  Not everything that captures our attention is noteworthy.
On a recent visit to Kew Gardens in London I was reminded of another visit to the Botanical Gardens in Oxford. They had a scavenger hunt set up which kept my boys looking for a "rock-plant" throughout the visit.  After much searching we finally located the plant in one of the greenhouses.  It looked exactly as its name suggests, a small pebble or rock.  Their disappointment was evident.  It certainly wasn't a noteworthy specimen, just flat, brown and quite small.

But their letdown was unjustified.  The plant was exactly what it was promised to be, rock like.
At Kew we met a couple who were quite excited to visit the Bonsai exhibit. I expect the Bonsai trees will have given them the same unjustified let down.  They will see small trees, nothing more.  I can guarantee it won't take their breath away.
What I enjoy about gardens is what grows outside the greenhouses.  The plants that need no special attention but deliver a spectacular show of color that move each visitor in a different way.  The hot house orchids are showy, but they can't really compare with the blankets of yellow daffodils and bluebells claiming their place in the great outdoors.

We headed towards the Treetop Walk, which suggests some adventure park experience.  We climbed the steps and walked the walk.  We saw trees and... more trees.  It was exactly what it was designed to be, and somehow that was disappointing.
Its most interesting feature is the glass elevator for those who can't climb the stairs.  Its glass doors, when closed, hint at something magical on the other side.  But when you look through the glass you see only what is really there.
Not everything will amaze, most of the world is quite ordinary but wonderful none-the-less.

Politely Caged

I have been traveling between Brazil and England for years, these countries are my nationality.  I present my Brazilian passport when entering the Brazil, and my British one on the return to England.  I am quite familiar with both cultures and rarely take the time to compare the two, probably because they are so obviously different.
Politeness, however, seems to be a common trend.  I was able to witness a polite interchange between a Brazilian spinster and her elderly British guest at breakfast.  The episode seemed to be good material for a comedy routine, with neither lady giving an inch of their duties as polite host and polite guest.
The spinster aunt waited patiently for her guest to wake up.  There was no reason to rise early but the older lady apologized anyway for being late to breakfast. They sat down and inquired into how each other had slept.  No one made a move to serve themselves or start eating.  Their politeness was causing an impasse. The hostess, being Brazilian, was politely waiting for her guest to serve herself first.  She encouraged this with a comprehensive description of the spread.  There was bread and cheese, cake, papaya, coffee and hot milk.
"Please help yourself...  Would you like milk in your coffee?" The guest, being British, was waiting for the other to take the lead.  She would politely have milk if her hostess poured it, and pick up her fork to eat only when given the green light. The hostess always takes the lead and lets her guests know what is appropriate.  So the breakfast progressed slowly:
"Have you had some cheese?"
"After you."
"Wouldn't you like some?"
"A little, if you insist, but help yourself first."
"Maybe later..."
"Something else then?"
Throughout the asking, passing, and polite refusals, there was the need to keep up a continual stream of small talk. A lull in the conversation was uncomfortable so they made safe comments about relatives health and the cost of food.  The hostess explained that the coffee was made unsweetened because she was worried about diabetes.  Her guest agreed that sugar was "bad for you", and then proceeded to spoon it onto her food as well as into her coffee.  It was possible to agree without really agreeing.

The breakfast threatened to go on forever as the two ladies politely ate food they didn't want or waited for the appropriate moment to be served what they secretly wanted. The British guest waited until her hot milk was cold before politely suggesting there might be a little coffee left in the pot.  They were both coping quite well with what was an uncomfortable situation.
Then suddenly the Brazilian lady asked for forgiveness for needing to leave. "Have you been served enough?" Her guest assured her that she had plenty and excused her host from her breakfast duties. Then I realized that, by leaving the table, the hostess was giving her guest the freedom to choose what she wanted to eat, when she wanted and how much.  She was letting her out of her confining duties of being a guest.

Traveling Tarnished

Your reaction to this picture depends on how long you have been traveling.  Does it make you think of adventure, or lack of comfort?
After a time the newness of a place begins to fade. You stop snapping pictures because they seem all the same.  The heat stops being a welcome relief from the cold, it is now just hot and saps your energy.  The stickiness mixes with the dust and always feels like you need another shower. You start praying for rain and AC.
Where the mantis and butterflies inspire wonder the first week in a new place, the cockroach in the shower is horrifying a couple of weeks later.  The novelty of washing clothes by hand has

worn off when you realize you have to stand in the ants while wringing them out. And if and when you start to feel ill, you wish for your bed and favorite foods.
What at first you found unique and life changing becomes irritating and not worth the bother. Then "different" turns from interesting to not-good-enough, and we start to wish for home.  We know we  will take off again, and another trip is already in the planning stages, but we crave the new and shiny.  Our travel experience has become tarnished.  We rarely stay in a place long enough to see an image tarnished.  But if we do, then we know its time to move on.

I wonder what it's like to stay long enough to rub the tarnish off the sights and experiences and see the real lives underneath. You would have to be there long enough for that dog to stop barking at you and let you pet it on your way past; for the bored teen to notice your presence and respond to your greeting; to turn over the present of a rag rug and notice all the work that went into making it; for the crying baby to stop fussing and smile when you offer to take her; for a local to allow you to pay for their meal; to feel brave enough to drop by someone's place uninvited; to be able to sit out by the doorway and know the names of those who stop by to chat.  Then you know that the "different" has become familiar.
Unfortunately, by the time you've rubbed your tarnished travel bright again, you are leaving to go home.

Teaching At Home and Away

I can't claim to have taught in schools all over the world, but I have been in a wide selection from the poorest of the poor to the most privileged.  On the surface they seem very different and I know the educational experience is so much richer in some schools than in others. 
My friend Araci works in the mission school as a PE teacher.  This would be considered the poorest of the poor as it is run by the Brazilian government for the indigenous population of the area.  There is little money for resources and the buildings are rundown.  The teachers do their best with what they have, but most of the students come from the reservation and have to study in a language that is not their own.

I watch the buses show up at 6:45 am every morning and leave at 4:45 pm in the evening.  There are two sessions and the younger students come after lunch.

The classrooms are hot in the afternoon, but the students come in smiling.  They know they will be fed a hot meal half way through the afternoon, and they will have chances to play outside with their friends. 

 Araci is the PE teacher at the mission school, and being brought up there herself, she is a childhood friend of mine.  She comes by to chat and shares that she has had a bad day at school.  Her job is becoming increasingly difficult with the inclusion of disabled children into her classes.  She now has blind students and ones with limited mobility.  It is a challenge to get the other students to accept them.  They won't play together. 
She went on to tell me how the parents continually complain that, despite her efforts, she isn't treating their child fairly.  I surprised at this, since it is what I would expect in the privileged schools of my world, but not here on the reservation.  I find out that the cultural differences lead to misunderstandings and, along with the language barrier, the parents think their children are being abused at school without having any reason to support this.  I smiled to think how close this was to the experience of teachers in the top international schools of the richest cities of the world.

Brazilian Dining

It is customary to dine out for lunch on the weekend.  It gives the cook a day off.  The options here are few as we are far from the nearest Chinese or Italian place.  Everyone heads to their local restaurant to eat exactly what they would have at home.  There will be a buffet of rice and side dishes, a salad bar, and spits of meat grilling over an open fire (yes, indoors!). 

We help ourselves at the buffet, ask for a cut of meat and weigh our plates.  There are plenty of tables squashed together in the one echoing room.  The noise is deafening. Over 200 customers, many of them children, are eating together, and conversation is virtually impossible.  The juicer serving up fresh drinks and the blaring TV add to the general din.  No one seems to mind.  They keep their eye on the dessert table and don't hesitate to complain if something is missing.  On a previous visit there was no cheese put out to have with the sweets on the dessert table.  Our colleague, a regular, complained and was proud to say that they have never been without since. Now there is always fresh white cheese by the banana and guava sweets.

The restaurant owner, after a trip abroad, tried to change the menu.  Customers complained at the less than usual variety of vegetables, salads and pastas.  Brazilians are used to a variety of dishes in one meal. 

I sit down to lunch each day up at the Mission House and I count the number of dishes on the table.  I wonder how long they took the cook to make.  There are never less than four vegetable dishes, rice, beans, salads and at least one meat dish. For me it would be like preparing a Thanksgiving dinner every day and I'm sure I couldn't manage it on less than a eight burner stove. 

This love of variety extends to the Brazilian version of pizza.  Anything can be a topping, sweet or savory.  The menu at a pizza place can be confusing because half of the items would not normally be considered pizza, like stroganoff.  Even this stroganoff topping is the Brazilian variety with shoe-string potatoes sprinkled on top. 

Anywhere else the outside world of experienced diners would have come in and put a stop to this. 'There is no need to prepare so many dishes for one meal, a meat and two veg is enough.'  'Pizza toppings must appeal to meat lovers and sweetened condensed milk is not a substitute for cheese'.  But these rules have no effect here and haven't set the pizzerias straight.  They continue to dream up new dishes and add them to an already full table.

In this picture, our hostess felt we needed one more dish and was frying some eggs as we sat down to lunch.

Waiting to See What Comes...

Throughout our time at the Kaiwa Mission we look to plan each day.  "It is a little difficult since you never know what will happen," my mother comments.  As a rule few plans are made or carried out and there are absolutely no deadlines.  Most things depend on the weather.  If it rains school is cancelled.  If the road floods no one goes anywhere.  If a relative needs help you go take care of that.  And frequent illnesses can change everything.  Changeable weather patterns even make planting times unpredictable.

An older Kaiwa is waiting to hear back about the results of his driving test which he has attempted to pass at least five times.  The rules and requirements keep changing and the driving schools are making a killing out of all the mandatory lessons.  If he passes then he will be able to do so much more by car than on a bike.  He is trying to get his grandson into school on the reservation, but all the schools are full.  So he is free to make plans for a future date if it doesn't rain, no one at home is sick, he passes his driving test, his grandson is in school and no one else needs his immediate help.  Shaky to say the least.
The Brazilian tribes face an uncertain future.  Many have left behind their language and old traditional ways in favor of a more modern future.  But what does that future hold for them?

At lunch we talk politics and the country of Brazil's future is just as shaky.  Can anyone make plans for the future or do we have to wait and see what happens first?  Will Lula and all the other corrupt politicians go to jail?  Will the current president be impeached?  Will the Real be devalued and prices soar?  Will a new government change things for the better?  Will there be a military take over?  Will Brazil make it into the next World Cup?

No one knows the answers because the one certainty in Brazil is its unpredictability.  The one predictable characteristic of Brazil is its uncertainty.  People are well practiced at waiting to see what comes.