It's not "goodbye"...

Now that I am back and fully reintegrated on campus, I’ve had a bit of time to reflect on my experiences in Porto Alegre. When talking about my summer here on campus, people usually assume that I was participating in a study abroad program of some sort in an exotic, sunny Brazilian beach town. It’s fairly difficult explaining to my peers that, although I was not exactly taking classes with a Yale summer session in Rio, I learned other kinds of exciting lessons during my winter in the south of Brazil.

Porto Alegre taught me to always take my camera with me wherever I went. There will always be some beautiful image to capture at an unexpected moment, be it while riding a bike to the farmer’s market a few blocks away, while gazing out into the bay from a dock, while taking off on a plane, or while sitting under a tree. Some of the most vivid aesthetic experiences I had during my stay in the south of Brazil did not take place in the art museums or at picturesque beaches, but on the bus to and from work. Commuting in public transportation might sound like the least poetic of scenarios, but there were many chilly, foggy-window mornings when the chaos of buildings in the faraway hills took my breath away.

Porto Alegre also taught me to choose my words carefully, and relish the moments when I didn’t. On one level, there was language. I always tried to be mindful of whom I spoke English with, and in what circumstances. Though I was determined to speak Portuguese with everyone, I was generally open to making exceptions with João (when we were by ourselves in the apartment) and with his university friends (when they wished to practice). However, I quickly learned to be okay with the moments when João and I would slip into English on the bus, or when I’d accidentally speak Portuguese with the AIESECers from the local LC who generally spoke English with me.

On another level, choosing words could be more complicated, even within languages. When you’ve hung out with someone only once or twice—perhaps a hazy night out or a relaxing outdoors lunch—do you call them a “friend” or an “acquaintance”?  What about that person you only saw once or twice during the entire eight weeks, but with whom you shared secrets that you wouldn’t reveal to an acquaintance in the United States? And what about João’s amazing extended family? His grandmother had me over for frequent meals, during which we shared very intimate, personal stories; likewise, his aunt and uncle always looked out for me, taking me out shopping or on short trips around the city. Are they my friends? Are they too old to be my friends? I quickly learned to stop forcing myself to label my relationships, and I came to accept that often words are not enough to articulate the nature of certain friendships.

Porto Alegre taught me to speak up in João's modern Brazilian poetry class when I visisted, and to not drink too much coffee on those sleep-deprived afternoons. The city taught me more than I cared to know about seasonal winter fruits, and about how to become a boss at pool. It forced me to learn to shop for groceries on a tight college student budget, and it made me learn the bus stops along three of the public transit lines by heart. It showed me the most gorgeous sunsets I had ever seen from the roof of a building, and it dropped rain, sleet and cold wind on my broken umbrella. Most importantly, it introduced me to some of the most awesome people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.

I would say adeus, but I know I’ll be back someday. Até à próxima, Porto Alegre. ■

Working Knowledge

Showering at 8:00am. Getting home at 5:00pm and collapsing on a couch from exhaustion. Answering e-mails at 11:00pm. In some ways, my AIESEC traineeship in Porto Alegre really wasn’t that different from the average summer job or internship in D.C. or New York. Nonetheless, as far as my actual internship was concerned, my summer volunteering in Brazil turned out to be a far more unpredictable and surprising experience than I could have expected.

I was hosted by the Centro Social Marista (CESMAR), a large, Catholic-affiliated educational complex located at the heart of a very low-income community in the northeastern outskirts of Porto Alegre. The CESMAR consisted of a high school, a technological education branch and a “socio-educational” arts wing that catered mostly to the younger children. Because the center operated as a charity catering to the surrounding neighborhoods, most of the education and services were provided free of charge.

My efforts were divided chiefly between the arts and technology wings. I taught two weekly Spanish classes, assisted with three English classes per week (which sometimes involved co-teaching), and co-taught two computer literacy classes per week. In the computer literacy class, I directed a human geography side project, through which students would apply the knowledge of Microsoft Office software they had just learned to discuss issues related to international and social relations (such as, for example, by creating graphs in Excel to discuss population trends over time in various countries). Learning at the CESMAR wasn’t all a one-way street for me, though; I also got to participate myself in the students’ theater, hip-hop and Afro-Brazilian percussion classes.

Out for a stroll with my Hungarian colleague during our lunch break.

To be honest, I was uneasy at the beginning about working for the CESMAR. I was actually afraid that my work would be tantamount to intensive babysitting, without actual work of substance or any true exchange. However, my supervisors at the center gave me a lot of freedom and space to make what I wanted of my experience. After only a week of training and observation, I had to sit down and draw up lesson plans—in Portuguese!—for all the different classes that I was going to be leading (especially since the each language class dealt with a group of a different level). Thankfully, my Portuguese had started out at a professional enough level that the task was not impossible, but it was a challenge nonetheless.

The people I met there also made the CESMAR memorable for me. My Colombian coworker, a fellow AIESECer from Bogotá, made my first few days on the job feel a lot less lonely. Although she was only there for a month, we bonded on the hour-long commute to and from the CESMAR and ended up becoming very close. There were also two volunteers from Germany at the CESMAR. They had been there for a year with another European agency, and they helped us two become more integrated by introducing us to the people of the center and showing us the ropes. Knowing some Portuguese really helped me become closer with my coworkers, and it even served as our lingua franca when another volunteer from Hungary came in toward the end of my stay. As the weeks progressed—and especially after my Colombian coworker left—I became close with many of my Brazilian coworkers, even being invited by the younger programmers in the technology center to go out with them on weekends.

We AIESEC EPs take ourselves very seriously. 

On my last day, the hip-hop instructor, Luciano, organized a goodbye presentation for me in which he and his students performed an impressive routine that they had worked on all semester. Halfway through the presentation, he changed the music and the students began showcasing some of the salsa choreographies that I had taught them when Luciano invited me to give salsa lessons in the second month. At that moment, I realized that my experience at the CESMAR had turned out to be exponentially more rewarding than I had initially expected.

And not just rewarding, but also reciprocal. The students might have learned a thing or two from me, but I learned something new from every one of them every single day. ■

Brazilian Time

The concept of Brazilian Time does not compute for the average American upon arrival to Brazil. It’s similar to Colombian time, in that when you are invited to a party at eight and you get to said party before around ten, you’re going to look like a fool. For Americans, who in Latin America and Brazil have somewhat well-deserved reputation for being outrageously punctual, this can be catastrophic. Specifically, one of my friends Trey, a fellow Texan, found himself waiting over two hours at a going away party for even just the guy who was leaving to show up. For me Brazilian time wasn’t much of an issue, my family in Colombia works the exact same way. We are late to most things where arriving on time is not imperative. 

Some might argue that this is the reason why Latin American and Brazilian economies require so much more development to reach the levels of first world countries, but I think its merely more indicative of a more relaxed culture, a culture where events are open, with arrival and departure times that are practically optional. Parties rarely end before three or four am and almost never end when the invitation says it will. It’s what Colombians call “relajo,” an enjoyable chaos, and its one of the best parts of going abroad.

Florianopolis-Brazil

My internship in Florianopolis consisted of week-by-week among four NGO’s that provided education and care for at-risk Brazilian kids while they were not in school. My lessons, conducted with my Catalonian partner Mar, were modules on multiculturalism, Human Rights, Ethics, and Environmental Responsibility, taught to children ages 5-15. Keeping those kids interested in those topics when they rather be on the playground or the soccer pitch, with only a basic knowledge of the language was some of the hardest work I have ever had to do.

But the time spent at the NGO’s wasn’t all work. We’d spend most time just getting to know the kids, playing with them on the playground or the soccer field, playing connect 4 or checkers, or any other myriad activities at some of the more organized NGO’s, while others only wanted us to teach and didn’t really want us to. The best NGO’s to work at were those that allowed you to get to know the kids and befriend them, as well as doing interesting things such as taking the kids to a short film screening or making the kids meals from our countries for lunch.

Florianopolis was such a beautiful and great city, so outside of work there were always things to do. Beach trips, sandboarding, and meals at churrascarias were always in the mix. The work was challenging in a fun way and the city was incredible. Florianopolis is indeed paradise.

Kenya - Its Wild Side

A trip to Kenya is incomplete without getting to see its wild side – the majestic mountains, the zig-zagging gorges, and of course the animals. On many weekends, I had the fortunate opportunity to see many wonderful parks around Kenya. One of the first weekends I was there, we went biking through Hell’s Gate. The name brought to my mind images similar to Dante’s Inferno, but when we arrived, I felt I had just stepped into a poster-perfect piece of heaven on earth. Words can’t really do justice so I will just have to have the picture speak for its beauty. 

 

Hell’s Gate was the first time I got to bike through a national park, where we spotted baboons, zebras, and even a giraffe.  The baboons were extremely cute, but while we were busy oohing and ahhing, they sneakily grabbed our packed lunch and ran off with it! We quickly learned our lesson after that. The best part was taking a tour down to the gorges (luckily it was sunny that day or else there would have been flash flooding in the gorges) and seeing the windy tunnels.

Another weekend, we hiked for five hours up Mount Longonot, an inactive volcanic mountain. It was one of the most grueling hikes I’ve been on but definitely worth the triumphant feeling when we finished. Everyone warned us that we would be covered in a thick layer of dust by the time we finished, but I did not believe them until I actually tried the hike. Unlike a regular mountain, this mountain’s dirt mostly comprised of sand, rather than dirt, and you could not avoid making a mess as you climbed. Never have I ever most looked forward to a shower than after that hike.

And finally, I can’t forget to mention all the animals I got to see – elephants, zebras, giraffes, and even lions. For someone who grew up watching Lion King and can recite the lyrics of most of its songs by memory, it was truly a dream come true. A group of us went to visit the Elephant Orphanage, where we saw baby elephants that were only a few months old but already were so big. Their mothers often were killed by poachers and so these elephants had to be rescued. The visit reminded me of how we need to continue working to preserve this world and the environment and animals that coexist with us, so that even generations down the line can appreciate all this beauty. I also got to take a trip to the Giraffe Center, where the main event was getting to kiss a giraffe. I highly recommend everyone trying that at some point in their lives J

Kenya - Working at LivelyHoods

So the reason why I am in Kenya is to see the Great Migration…just kidding! The real reason is that I heard about a nonprofit called LivelyHoods, which operates in Kenya, and became really interested in working there over the summer. I had never worked for a nonprofit before and so it was a good opportunity to see firsthand what challenges a nonprofit faces in a developing world and put what I learned (I was a Global Affairs major, in the economic development track) in college in perspective.

A little about LivelyHoods – it trains Kenyan youth to be sales agents for products such as solar panel powered lamps and more efficient charcoal stoves. The Kenyan youth are able to have a livelihood, while the customers in Nairobi gain products that improve their environment and that help them save money in the long run. My role in this nonprofit is a little bit of everything. We are currently trying to figure out the best way to expand and sell more products so that the company can become self-sufficient. I am also working on creating a low-tech sales management system that will help the sales agents record their daily activity when they are out and about in the field. My favorite part of working at LivelyHoods is definitely meeting all the sales agents and staff. Many of these sales agents have dreams to become chefs, or fashion designers, but are unable to afford the education required for that role. One inspiring figure named Alex was an orphan who worked his way up in this nonprofit to now be a sales leader and trainer. Talking to them everyday reminds me why it is so important to keep helping – even if it is one youth at a time.

There are many challenges in running a nonprofit, and even more when trying to run one in a developing country with a corrupt government, so I am really impressed by the tireless effort of all the people working in this organization. I just started a trial of the sales management system that I created with 6 sales agents so I am excited to start hearing some feedback next week!

Come Fly With Me

“Come fly with me, we’ll float down to Peru. In llama-land there’s a one-man band and he’ll toot his flute for you. Come on fly with me, we’ll float down in the blue.”

• ·         “Well, Bolivia is close enough,” I thought as I listened to my vocal coach, Frank Sinatra, sing these words over my kids as they worked on an art project today. It was fun to play some of my music for them, now that we have a speaker in the classroom for when we practice the group dance that I have been teaching them since Wednesday.

   July 23

  Go hard or go home. That’s what I’m telling myself as I look at the stains on my sweater after an hour of rolling around and getting pummeled by young’uns. It’s so much fun getting to be a complete goofball around them. I think one of my roles in life is to show kids that growing up doesn’t mean you have to lose your inner kid. I wish it was this easy to make friends with other 19 year-olds. I even got to hold and play with a baby the other day. So cute. It’s also nice to let my affectionate side out. Haha I’ve given so many pecks on the cheek to the little ones. Vanesa kissed me back after I kissed her! It was such a precious moment.

  So today I got spat on again, this time by my namesake, Jonathan (pronounced Joe-nah-tahn in Spanish), although this time it was slightly my fault. But yesterday I was rocketship blasting a tiny one named Daniela and she just spat on me point blank, out of nowhere. It reminded me of earlier this summer when the youngest daughter of my campus pastor and I were staring each other down from inches apart, and she decided that my face would be a good place to land a sneeze. Long showers are coming.

  In the morning the kids made cards for El Día de la Amistad, the Bolivian version of Valentines’ day (which I like much better, since it hasn’t been distorted like ours has to connote only romantic relationships). In the afternoon the kids worked on homework, then played concentration (making pairs between the names of fruits in Spanish and those names in English!) and bingo. The older kids had a celebration for the holiday, with a dance party and everything.

  I found out today that I get to choreograph a dance for the kids that they’ll perform next week! I think I’m going to use “La Calle” by Juan Luis Guerra. I also get to teach an English class next Thursday! I’m so excited.

  
  

  July 24

   I woke up at 7:20 in order to get a headstart on the day. Figured I’d fry me up an egg and eat as I got ready. Now, this summer at CEJUPA is my first time using a manual gas stove, but over the past few weeks I’ve gotten the hang of it pretty well. But today my suburban upbringing let me down. Turned the nozzle to open up the gas like we always do, then I struck a match and held it close to the burner, at which point it usually catches and voila. But the first match didn’t catch. Neither did the second. So I figured, maybe I need to open the gas a little bit more and turn up the nozzles on the burners a bit more. Apparently that is a no-no, because upon striking the third match (I wasn’t even holding it anywhere near the burners) a whoosh of flame erupted from the match and the burners. The front layer of my hair was singed. Burnt hair is absolutely the worst smell in the world. Thank God there wasn’t any severe pain or damage, though.

  Our shower broke last week, so today Oscar and I heated up a pot of water and used it to shower. We’ve earned so many man points here.

  So today we began learning the dance. It wasn’t too bad! The kids’ attention span was short, as to be expected, but when it was there, they did pretty well. ‘m including the cabbage patch, the shopping cart, the basic salsa step, the stir-the-stew, and a soul train line. I ended up using a song by what was my favorite band for many years, Salvador, as it lends itself to both latin dancing and hip-hop dancing.

   July 25

  We got through the soul train today with the morning group, and past the soul train all the way to the box step with the afternoon group! It’s crazy how much better behaved the afternoon group is than the morning group. Granted, the morning group is larger, and today they were riled up due to playing for a good 20 min before Meri was able to get to class and give them something to do. But still. If there’s one thing I’m learning here, it’s patience, with both groups of kids.

  I started studying 2 Corinthians today, and I hope the end of the first chapter (verses 19-22, Holman Christian Standard) encourages you and amazes you as it did me:

  "For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was preached among you by us… did not become "Yes and no"; on the contrary, a final "Yes" has come in Him. For every one of God’s promises is "Yes" in Him. Therefore, the "Amen" is spoken through Him by us for God’s glory… He has also sealed us and given us the Spirit as a down payment in our hearts."

  - TJ Stokes

My New Favorite Place on Earth

July 20

 Today we are visiting Copacabana, Bolivia. I may have found the place where I want to spend my life.

Ever since my parents took me to the mountains of the northern tip of California when I was three or four years old, where I first saw snow, further embedded by the three years of living in the Santa Fe Hills of San Marcos, California (where I rode my bike down the hill to school without pedaling more than once or twice), I have always loved hilly terrain. That’s part of the reason why I’ve always loved Uva in hilly Charlottesville, Virginia, and Washington & Lee University in Lexington, VA, and almost went to either one. I’ll never forget the feeling of surprise and letdown when I tried riding my bike in flat Hampton, VA for the first time in 2003. My thoughts: “Why is this whole place so flat? You mean I have to pedal all the time?”

        I also love the water, never having lived more than an hour away from the ocean. So as we were on our way here, the pure, sparkling waters of this enormous lake and the untouched, sprawling hills drew me in. To give you an idea of how big Lake Titicaca is: the ride from El Alto to Copacabana takes about 3 hours. One can see the lake for at least 2 hours of the ride. Also, at one point they ship people, cars, and buses across the lake on boats because going around takes too long. I can definitely see myself living far enough outside of the town to have a dream house on the side of one of these greenish-yellow hills, with ten other hills and the highest navegable lake in the world as our backyard. Yet close enough to the town to where I can buy food and other nice things. Just give me a kayak, a small motorboat, a fishing pole, and a hot water heater, and I’m good to go.

        I made sure to dip my hand in the water as we took the boat across the lake between segments of the boat ride, so that I could say that I’ve touched Lake Titicaca. I also saw llamas right before we boarded.

        I’ve seen more American products (Pringles, Gatorade, Doritos, etc.) here in Copacabana than anywhere else I’ve been over the past two weeks, including the capital city of La Paz (granted, I didn’t explore the capital too extensively). There are also a lot of tourists here, both from other Latin American countries and from around the world. It’s a nice burst of diversity. I’m even starting to see the differences between the various ethnicities of the “plurinacional” Bolivia; from Aymara to sun-baked brown skin to the lighter tones and even those that I wouldn’t have looked twice at if I had seen them in East Asia.

This town reminds me of Santo Domingo, especially the area surrounding the really nice hotel that I and my youth group stayed at while we were there. The restaurant that we ate lunch at today (Oscar and Michael tried fresh trout straight out of the lake, I went American and got a hamburger) and most of the hotels closest to the beach are quite remiscent of the Dominican Republic’s capital, for me at least.

The cathedral in the main plaza is unreal. The three crosses outside, the elegant architecture, the carvings on the entrance doors, the figurines on the side of the interior, the myriad of golden designs at the altar, the white-bearded priest giving the address, the holy feeling of being there, all were worth the cost of the trip by themselves alone. Photographs weren’t allowed, but I think Michael got one or two :p. We met Michael last night when we crashed at Samuel’s house after getting to the bus station and finding the last bus to Copacabana for the day full to the brim. I love how God will sometimes say no to what we ask for (in this case, that we would catch the evening bus), knowing that taking the morning bus the next day would allow me to see the countryside in its full splendor. Anyway, Michael is an AISEC exchange student from Colombia. So now we’ve got the US, Mexico, and Colombia represented in our band of adventurers.

Right now I’m at the top of El Calvario. We took maybe 30 minutes’ worth of walking up large stone steps to get to the Mirador Sagrado Corazón de Jesús (a lookout over the lake) first, and now we’re at an even higher summit. There were 11 crosses along the path, each with a different refrain with respect to Jesus’ death.

On the way down, Oscar and I finally tried Inca Kola, both of us having wanted to try it for quite a while. It wasn’t that great, actually.

Oscar and I walked along the beach for a while. The water is pretty turbulent today, which is why almost no one was out on the water.

So today we took a taxi from Sam’s to the bus station, took the bus from El Alto to Copacabana, took a short boat ride across the lake, had lunch, had an Inca Kola, had dinner, and paid for a motel room, all for about 100 bolivianos (about $15). Now that’s a deal that I can live with.

July 21

       

        Oh my goodness. That bed was so comfortable. We went to bed at around 8:30 last night, since there’s not much to do/see after the sun sets. I woke up at around 7:30 this morning and attended church at the Cathedral at 8. It was really special. I understood some to most of the songs, most of the homily, and a little bit of the rest (blessings, recitations, short addresses) The worship was both aesthetically really good and theologically powerful. It was one guy with a guitar and an awesome voice. The songs were simple enough for me to catch on without having the words on a screen, which is not something I can say about many worship services that I’ve been to in the US :p. Of course, there’s a place for both the simple and the complex worship song, but I was glad that it worked out the way it did today. I truly felt that I was able to fellowship, be convicted by the Spirit and the preaching of the Word, and praise God corporately, which is the point of a church service, whether Protestant or Catholic. Of course, there were a few aspects of the service that I disagreed with, but as a whole I felt much at home. They even had announcements and a “greet your neighbor” time, which reminded me of and made me miss my home church in New Haven. I liked how they used an Old Testament account, a gospel account, and a passage from the epistles to work towards the doctrine of the message. I watched as everyone took communion and then (as best as I could tell) got sprinkled by holy water at the end of the service. Truly an experience.

        Now that I’ve attended one North American and one South American Catholic mass, I’m interested in learning more about the similarities and differences between the two, as well as more about Catholicism itself. The service got me thinking about how to minister, witness to, and shepherd a church and greater area made up of those who are well-acquainted with this tradition, whether or not that means that they are redeemed disciples of Jesus (just as many in the US claim Protestantism without actually knowing and following God). It’ll surely be a very different approach to sharing the truth than that which we employed earlier this summer in East Asia, where the vast majority have never heard the good news.

        We went paddleboating after mass! So much fun to be out on the water.

        Maybe 15 minutes into the ride back, an Aymaran couple got off in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere (At first I didn’t see any type of abode, despite being able to see for miles, but later I saw some crop plots, sheep, donkeys, and houses). I really want to get to know these people. So in addition to Greek and Hebrew, this summer I’ve added Mandarin and Aymara to the list of languages that I want to learn. I can’t wait to get started.

- TJ Stokes