I considered abandoning my effort to submit an updated blog entry after reading Alison’s most recent post. It seems tasteless to follow such a moving tribute to Srebrenica with a trite, frivolous post about life in New York. I guess, though, that the contrast between this post and those of other bloggers is a relatively honest reflection of the variation in the summer experiences of my friends and I. And I figure that David might just be eager for a Paris Hilton update out there in Sudan. (She’s out of jail, David.)

Seven tidbits from the past week…

1. The other day, I was jogging my usual loop along the East River at 6:30am when I noticed an ambulance parked next to the curb with its lights swirling. Standing with his back to the ambulance, with his face to the river and with a fishing rod in hand was an FDNY firefighter, in full uniform. I wasn’t sure how to greet him: “Good morning, sir.” “Catchin’ anything?” “Rough night?” So, I didn’t say anything and kept running.

2. The basil in my garden has leaves that are big enough to be picked, and the cherry tomato plants have blossoms on them!

3. I went to a Dylan concert with my mom on Sunday in Hershey. What used to be a husky voice has turned into an endearing, melodic cough. I loved the show, though, and I’ve got to hand it to the guy; he had the entire crowd on their feet for “All Along the Watchtower” and “Like a Rolling Stone.”

4. Friends and I went to Water Taxi Beach this past Thursday. A couple of years ago, enterprising folks at the New York Water Taxi decided to bring in more revenue by putting in a bar and grill. They filled a parking lot next to the East River with sand, put up a volleyball court, brought in picnic tables, and threw together a hot dog/hamburger stand and a small bar, and ended up with a popular venue on the river with one of the most charming views of Manhattan.

5. The moon is out but a reddish violet haze has made it fuzzy.

6. When I was home this past weekend, I chatted with my friend who was giving her 18-month-old daughter a push on her parents’ swingset. The old swingset (complete with a playhouse, monkeybars, slide, and swings) was torn down when we got too old to use it, so they had to put up this new one. It was strange and wonderful and a bit sad to see her daughter swinging in our old stomping ground.

7. I have rediscovered Cheerios.

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Six steps lead to nowhere. Cracked cement foundations contain bouquets of wild flowers and weeds. In the middle of a field on the road to Srebrenica it is not uncommon to see these vestiges of war – deserted, bullet-riddled frames and collapsed, red-tiled rooftops. It is hard for me to distinguish between new and old here. New houses have clotheslines dangling across wall-less rooms and potted plants marking the edges of balconies without railings. Buildings along this stretch of road are open and unfinished. Post-war reconstruction clearly comes in pieces.

These simple structures are suddenly broken up by the large iron fence that lines the perimeter of the memorial site at Potocari. It is here where 2,000 bodies from the massacre that occurred in the surrounding hills are buried. There hardly seems to be enough room for the additional 6,000 bodies that are expected to be laid to rest here. Many of the bodies of those killed when Srebrenica fell in 1995 may never be found. Some that have been found may never be identified as there are no longer family members left to claim them.

There is a stone wall that creates an inner circle in the memorial site. Over 8,000 names are etched in alphabetical order followed by date of birth. I stand towards the end of the alphabet and skim the names. It is clear where both father and son were killed, and sometimes there is more than one son.

I wander to the underground photo exhibit. Black-and-white photos depict the aftermath of war – a dirtied doll’s face staring up from a grave, a drop of blood on a fingertip from DNA testing, and wire handcuffs wrapped in a plastic bag marked “Evidence.” These images mark only the beginning of a very long process of discovery, identification and reburial.

Across the street from the memorial site is a small souvenir shop. Among other items it sells small carpets, each with a giant “S” woven in the middle, made by the women of BOSFAM. The proprietor is a middle-aged woman who lost her husband when Srebrenica fell. She now watches over his grave from her shop across the street. At the end of the war she and her son, who had fortunately escaped, returned to their home just outside Srebrenica. Her son was killed by a landmine planted inside. She is slowly rebuilding her life, hoping that visitors to the memorial will give her enough income to survive.

The emotional landscape of the people who survived here mirrors that of the physical – shattered, exposed and abandoned, yet slowly gaining the pieces needed to rebuild. Each year approximately 500 bodies are buried on July 11th at this memorial site in Potocari, bringing closure to some families. This year will be no exception. However, at this rate, it will take 12 years to complete the burials for those who lost their lives here. Even to an observer of such loss this wait seems agonizingly long.

This blog was originally posted by the Advocacy Project. For more information, please visit: http://www.advocacynet.org

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The previous Fletcher summer researchers at UNMIS unanimously recommended: make sure you go on a field trip. And they were right. There is a huge difference between headquarters and the field, and unless you experience both your peacekeeping experience is incomplete. Headquarters is a big bureaucratic machine, where strategy is set and decisions are made. Field offices are much smaller and work at a slower place. It is where the peace that peacekeepers are supposed to keep or the war they are trying to end are directly visible and where contact with stakeholders and beneficiaries is immediate.

Finally, two weeks short of the end of our term at UNMIS, Michelle and I managed to convince our host department to send us on a six-day field trip to Nyala in South Darfur.

Somewhat surprisingly, Nyala was nice. Much greener and a bit cooler than Khartoum, Nyala has a friendly small-town feel; the only thing that reminds you that there is a war going on in Darfur are the many offices of NGOs and UN agencies all around town. It definitely didn’t feel like the Wild West of Sudan. But of course, appearances can be deceiving. Incidents do happen and the people in and around Nyala are very much affected by the conflict. There is not as much violence as during the height of the conflict in 2003/4, but the Sudanese army, the Janjaweed, and rebel groups continue to fight and they continue to target civilians. In addition, rebels increasingly fight amongst themselves, and in an environment of general lawlessness, intertribal violence and banditry are thriving.

A lucky co-incidence was that Jan Eliasson, a former Swedish foreign minister and now the UN Special Envoy for Darfur, visited Nyala at the same time we were there. Together with Salim Ahmed Salim of the African Union, Eliasson is tasked to re-launch the peace process in Darfur. The seats at the negotiating table are reserved for the government and the rebel movements, but in order to explain to Darfurians their peace plan and to get support from them, the mediators are traveling around Darfur holding consultations with different stakeholders.

We accompanied Eliasson on his meeting with the sheiks of Kalma camp, the biggest and most politicized IDP camp in Darfur. Frankly speaking, I found it a bit awkward to drive through an IDP camp in a convoy with 15 SUVs and military escort, but the camp residents didn’t seem to mind. After all, it wasn’t the first time they had high-level guests. Condi Rice, Kofi Annan, and many other VIPs have visited Kalma camp before.

It was impressive how well the IDPs articulated their concerns and demands, and how eloquent Eliasson was in his response. He repeatedly urged the IDPs to speak with one voice and to push the rebel groups to unify. That this won’t be easy was made clear by an incident during the meeting: when one of the speakers pledged his loyalty to one of the rebel factions, supporters of another faction interrupted him and a loud shouting contest ensued. For a moment it looked like the meeting had to be aborted; however, after a few minutes everybody calmed down. The highlight of the meeting was when a 12-year old boy presented a drawing depicting the destruction of his home village; Eliasson promised to show the drawing to the parties during the first round of negotiations.

Other than that tagging behind Mister Eliasson, Michelle and I held meetings with different NGOs, UN agencies, and local stakeholders. Most interesting for me was a meeting with tribal leaders from the Executive Committee of the Native Administration in South Darfur. The conflict has eroded the authority of traditional tribal leaders, many of whom were involved in the conflict on the side of the government. This is one example of the profound changes Darfurian society is going through at present. The effects of the conflict and the intervention of international humanitarian actors are transforming leadership structures, people’s livelihood strategies and their values. It remains to be seen what will be left of these new structures post-conflict. In any case, the tribal leaders’ wish that everything will go back to how it used to be is very unlikely to materialize.

One word about the Darfur advocacy campaigns, which have gained such impressive momentum in the U.S: I wrote a long personal e-mail about my thoughts on the subject — let me know if you are interested, I will send it to you. In nutshell, I think it is hopeful and useful that so many people care about Darfur. But in some ways advocates like Eric Reeves and Nicholas Kristof are part of the problem. Their simplistic description of the conflict as “Arab” vs. “African” and their insistence on Western military intervention are flawed and contribute to protracting the conflict in Darfur. Prof. Mamdani articulates my concerns best. Otherwise, I find Alex de Waal and Julie Flint the most informed Darfur experts. Their book “A Short History of a Long War” is the most sophisticated account of the conflict. John Prendergast’s Enough Project manages best to reconcile differentiated analysis and assertive advocacy.

My time in Sudan is winding down fast. On Friday I will fly to Cairo to meet my brother Simon, and after a two-day interlude in Khartoum to wrap up and say goodbye to people, I will be on my way back to grand Medford. Back to Fletcher, yeah!!

Any views expressed here are mine only; they do not in any way reflect official United Nations positions and opinions.
At work, I am dealing with issues related to war and conflict in Sudan every day. Thus, it is easy to reduce Sudan to big dark land that produces war after war. There is certainly something to this. Just as the North-South conflict, one of Africa’s longest and bloodiest civil war causing roughly two million civilian deaths, came to an end, a new war started in the west, Darfur, killing over 200,000 people, forcing one third of its inhabitants from their homes, and making two third of them dependent on humanitarian aid. In spite of this, it is important to also appreciate Sudan’s friendly face and to distinguish between the goverment’s policies and people’s attitudes. Last weekend, I was lucky enough to get a taste of Sudan’s rich culture and history (or rather cultureS and historIES) and the friendliness and hospitality of its people.

On Friday, Michelle, Jess, a friend from KSG, Eric, a young diplomat at the U.S. Embassy in Khartoum, his wife Molly, who works for Peace X Peace, and I set out for the ultimate martial arts experience in Sudan: Nuba Wrestling. Every few weeks, a series of wrestling matches featuring young men from the Nuba Mountains takes place near a marketplace in the northeast of Khartoum. The event is a big spectacle and attracts hundreds of men, (no women apart from a few khawajas) both Southerners and Northerners. Unlike everybody else, we were punctual and so at first we were a bit unimpressed. But slowly people kept pouring in until the stadium was completely packed when the wrestling started. It was largely thanks to determined crowd controlling by the Sudanese police that things didn’t get out of control.

Nuba wrestling involves two teams with 5-7 members each. Both teams had grand entries into the stadium, their fighters proudly parading around the rink and showing off their strength and masculinity, while being cheered on by their respective fan communities. When the first match finally started, I was desperately trying to make out the rules of the game. All I figured out is that to win, it suffices that the opponent touches the ground with a body part other than his feet and hands. Most matches ended in a tie and involved the two opponents alertly moving around each other at about one meter distance and occasional skirmishes where they (mostly unsuccessfully) tried to grab each other’s legs.

The most interesting part was in between matches when wrestlers and coaches of both teams negotiated who would fight whom next. Both teams would call out different wrestlers from the adversary, only to reject them on the grounds that they weren’t strong enough (or too strong). The procedure was long and highly ritualistic, reflecting a tradition from the Nuba Mountains, where wrestling fights would be staged between different villages and tribes. Betting is illegal in Sudan, but apparently there is quite some money involved in Nuba wrestling and the best fighters can make a living of it. Maybe the champ of the day wins a cow like it is customary in Swiss wrestling (Schwingen)?? Or maybe a camel??

The next day the exploring continued. Michelle, Jess, Garth, and I hired a car and a driver and we left Khartoum (for the first time since our arrival) direction north. The goal of our trip were the pyramids of Maroe. Not nearly as tall as their Egyptian counterparts, the sight of pyramids in the middle of the desert was nonetheless very impressive. All the more from the top of a camel. For a few bucks the locals let us ride their camels from the entry gate to the pyramids and back. It was a great experience, but I have to say it was a rather shaky affair, and a scary one at first, especially when the camel stands up or sits down taking you for a rodeo ride in the process. After the pyramids we went on to see different Nubian temples in the area. Some were a bit of a sorry sight, as they have almost completely submerged beneath the desert sand. Others were astonishingly beautiful, such as the Lion Temple at Musawwarat es-Sufra, which the Sudan Archaeological Society from Berlin restored in the 1960s.

One of the highlights of the trip was talking to our driver, one of the nicest and most knowledgeable guides I have ever come across in my travels. He is the proud father of four children, two girls aged five and two, and new-born twins, a girl and a boy. He got married for the first time fifteen years ago, but very unfortunately his wife wasn’t able to have children. Six years ago he decided to get a second wife. He says he feels sorry for his first wife, but is convinced that his most important duty in life is to have children, and so he maintains there was no other option than divorce. Getting married for the second time cost him a fortune; he had to pay for the wedding party; buy gold jewellery and a suitcase full of clothes for his wife; and treat his wife’s family with exquisite presents. All in all, 6,500 bucks. No peanuts for Sudanese middle class standards. The dowry didn’t include livestock; apparently, modern folks don’t do cows and camels anymore.
Yesterday, I stood on the balcony of Michelle’s apartment on the top floor of one of the highest building in Khartoum’s Amarat neighbourhood, gazing over the city after dusk. It was prayer time and Allah-akbar chants were radiating in the sky. Usually evening prayer chants get absorbed by the noise of Khartoum’s bustling streets and honking traffic. But 50 meters above ground, the sound of the evening prayers completely takes over. It gave the city a mystical air, which I thought was quite beautiful. From the top, Khartoum looks relatively organized, streets forming a nice grid and square-shaped houses neatly arranged at the side of them. This very much contradicts the impression of chaos one gets walking through the busy and often dirty streets of Khartoum, or worse, trying to navigate Khartoum’s traffic anarchy.

After nearly five weeks in Khartoum I more or less know my way around. Sometimes I am under the illusion that I actually know the city. But of course I don’t. So even after settling down, I think it is important to seek new discoveries and to get to know people and cultures of your host country better. I had one such opportunity last week when my friend Jago invited me to see a dance performance in a cultural center in Khartoum 1 neighborhood. We had the privilege of seeing the group Kwato, an ensemble of 10 dancers and drummers from the Nuba Mountains and South Sudan. Kwato is quite famous in Sudan; they performed in different cities in Europe, and most notably, during the ceremony for the signature of the north-south peace agreement — the CPA — on January 9, 2005 in Nairobi. This week, the group is playing at the Pan-African Music Festival in Congo-Brazzaville.

Kwato’s performance was a fusion between dancing, singing, and drama. The dancing was absolutely spectacular, with rhythmic high energy up-and-down jumping and feet-stomping in all kinds of formations. I’m still puzzled by the stamina of the dancers, who went on without a break for almost two hours. The drama element provided an insight in Southern Sudanese culture, the different acts covering various aspects of Southern Sudanese life including friendship, love, marriage, war, and death. In the beginning only half of the seats were taken. But as the show went on the whole neighborhood seemed to congregate in the courtyard of the cultural centre to get a glimpse of the spectacle.

Among the spectators was a representative of the Sudanese Ministry of Education, a quintessential Northern Sudanese governmental official: a chubby Northern Sudanese man dressed in a white jallabiya and skull cap, well aware of his status and authority. He was definitely emanating an air of superiority; nonetheless the presence of a Northern Sudanese government official at an event for the celebration of Southern Sudanese culture is quite remarkable. It shows that despite the (too) slow progress in the implementation of the CPA, there are people in the Sudanese government who want the north-south peace to be sustainable. Many people, however, see the glass as being half empty. Last week, for example, the deadline for the withdrawal of Northern forces from the south and vice versa expired. The parties haven’t kept their promises and especially in the oil-production areas forces remain deployed where they shouldn’t be according to the CPA.
When I wrote my first blog post I had doubts if anyone was ever going to read it. Then, two days after my blog-début, I received an e-mail from Kurt Eilhardt, an incoming Fletcher student who is working for International Aid Services, a Swedish relief NGO, in Khartoum. He had read my blog and suggested we meet up for a coffee. Wow. What an impressive demonstration of the connecting potential of both The Fletcher Schoo and blogs.

It has been nearly three weeks since I arrived in Khartoum and I pretty much settled in: I more or less know my way around the city; I know a couple of really decent and inexpensive food stalls and restaurants; the staff at my favourite Internet café know my name and they start preparing my preferred mango shake as soon as I walk in; I picked up a few words in Arabic for daily use. And, most importantly, I found a place to live. George, Garth and I spent a good part of our first week touring Khartoum with various agents – some more dodgy than others – in search of a suitable apartment. After having looked at about 15 places, we decided to go for an apartment in a brand-new building in Khartoum’s Amarat neighbourhood west of the airport and not too far from UNMIS headquarters. The place is nice and most of the things in it are functional – except for the microwave, hot water, shower curtain, and satellite TV (depending on the weather). But whatever. The air-condition works and keeps us cool. And Garth and his superior cooking skills keep us well-fed.

Our apartment is, however, very expensive. I am paying more than $600 per month. Which is more than I paid for accommodation in Boston or Geneva, two of the most expensive cities in the world. Don’t worry, Prof. Najam’s negotiations class isn’t lost on me. We (mostly George) bargained hard and managed to get, according to Khartoum insiders, a good deal. Rents for internationals just are that high. I have to say it took me a while to accept this fact. And to this day I am looking for a plausible explanation for the Khartoum rent inflation. My Sudanese friend Hamid simply thinks that we khawaja (”foreigner” in Sudanese Arabic) simply get ripped off. Other people think that fully equipped and nicely located apartments in Khartoum that fit Westerners’ standards are scarce and therefore expensive. But then there are new apartment buildings being erected all over the place. Maybe there is an economist out there who would be kind enough to enlighten me. Anyone?

Work is interesting so far and I am learning a lot about the workings of UN peacekeeping missions and about Sudan. Darfur is on everybody’s mind at UNMIS, especially now that the preparation for the new hybrid UN-AU mission has begun. All the international actors in Sudan – the UN, NGOs, embassies – focus strongly on Darfur and one gets the impression that because of it building peace in South Sudan does not get the attention and resources it deserves, indeed, needs. This is not to say that managing conflict in Darfur is not very important. It undoubtedly is. But, ditto Prof. Kennedy (I am currently reading his book “Dark Sides of Virtue”), there seems to be a lack of awareness that more donor money, media attention, soldiers for peacekeeping missions, pressure on the government etc. with regards to one issue (e.g. managing conflict in Darfur) may mean less of the above for another, maybe more or equally important issue (e.g. building peace in South Sudan). So, George Clooney, if you are reading this, why don’t you give half of the $9.3 million you and your Hollywood buddies raised for Darfur to peacebuilding projects in South Sudan?

Any views expressed here are mine only; they do not in any way reflect official United Nations positions and opinions.
So I decided to give blogging a try this summer. Ditto Erica, one has to follow the cybertechnological (or so) advancements of our time. Also, I come inspired after a year of sharing a Blakeley apartment with Fletcher’s ultimate blog enthusiast, whose latest blog project on the ‘08 presidential elections deserves all your attention, by the way. And on top of that, a stipend I received from Tufts University’s Tisch College requires me to write weekly journals, which are easy to transform into blog posts. Ready, set…blog!!

I am in Khartoum, the capital of Sudan. Like two generations of Fletcherites in previous years, I am working as a summer researcher at the United Nations Mission in Sudan, UNMIS, a peacekeeping operation established a bit over two years ago to support the implementation of the North-South peace agreement in Sudan, the CPA. My three colleagues, George Hodgson from Woodrow Wilson and Fletcher’s own Michelle Barsa and Garth Schofield, and I are hosted in different departments of UNMIS, each doing a specific research project, while at the same time helping out wherever our contribution will be useful. I was assigned to the civil affairs division and together with Michelle we will focus on a project looking at issues related to internal displacement in Sudan.

I have been here a week now and Khartoum is all right so far — I’d almost say quite enjoyable, if it weren’t for my very upset stomach and the unbearable heat (we had 110 degrees today). Walking outside in the afternoon literally feel like being trapped inside a dry cleaner. It will definitely take the Swiss mountain boy a while to get used to this, if at all. Otherwise, Khartoum is interesting, especially since this is the first time for me in an Arab cultural context. The city is kind of dirty and I have frankly seen more charming places, but Khartoum definitely has its own distinct feel. It is very tranquil and laid back, almost village-like, on the one hand. On the other hand, Khartoum seems busy and booming, new buildings springing up left, right, and center.

We’ve had our first days at the mission and I have to say I am quite impressed. The headquarters of UNMIS is located in and around a former military hospital close to Khartoum airport. At first sight, the mission seems rather chaotic and temporary, half the compound being a construction site, most offices located in containers, and people constantly going in and out. The second sight reveals that the whole thing is actually quite well-organized and newcomers quickly find their way. This is quite remarkable, given the logistical challenge of supporting a 13,500-(wo-)men multidimensional peace operation including significant military, police and civilians elements. The most impressive sight is that of soldiers and policemen, who all wear their national uniforms, alongside UN-blue helmets, berets, baseball caps, or turbans, cordially sitting together in the UNMIS cafeteria. Seeing these nations united for the common goal of peace in Sudan reminded me of the ideals of the United Nations — yes, I have a tendency for idealism, but don’t worry, I don’t get carried away by it; misery, suffering, and warfare are too close from Khartoum for that.

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Tuz is the Turkish word for salt. Tuzla is an industrial city – the outskirts are populated with tall chimneys puffing smoke, coal heaped in piles and sinkholes from years of salt extraction. Though Tuzla has all the makings of your average city – cars that don’t stop for pedestrians, horns and sirens going at all hours, and people shuffling from place to place – it also has a very rural feel. This morning I was awakened by the rooster that seemed to be perched outside my window. As I poured some water at the kitchen sink I noticed two cows grazing on the hillside nearby. This evening the ringing of the area church bells was aided by the barking of every dog in the neighborhood – a cacophony that overpowered the general din of the city.

I arrived at BOSFAM, my post for the summer, and instantly acquired four new mothers – I’m sure there will be more as I am introduced to more of the weavers. There is an easy pace to the organization, which will not be possible for me to maintain if I am continually consuming the multiple cups of potent coffee served throughout the day. Raised as a tea drinker, I have quickly learned that I am going to have to make the transition to caffeine for the summer. Coffee is a tradition in Bosnia and clearly an important time for the women of BOSFAM to gather. I equally fear that I will need to visit a dentist shortly upon return to Boston as coffee is traditionally served with cubes of sugar that are dipped in the coffee and then eaten once they soak up enough coffee, turning the white to a caramel color. I sipped slowly on the morning round, warned that an empty cup would only be refilled. I could feel my blood racing through my veins throughout the morning, and just as that feeling began to subside it was time for the afternoon cup.

I can tell that my work is going to be challenging as there are many administrative pieces that lack organization and I must learn to balance my Western expectations of efficiency with the needs of the women and their pace of life. Now that I have arrived I am curious to see how much I can accomplish in just two short months. Though there is much to be done to help Beba and her team of weavers build a stronger, more sustainable organization, my initial impression of BOSFAM is of an organization that is filled with friendship, compassion and a sense of survival.

This blog was originally published through the Advocacy Project. For more information about AP, please visit: http://www.advocacynet.org

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Sarajevo is a city on the mend.  New construction, chic European stores and all the ice cream one could ever eat make for a happy façade to this city that saw over 1400 days of conflict just a decade ago.  I arrived in Sarajevo to hours of honking in celebration of a football win over Turkey.  I was immediately brought back to the 2004 Red Sox World Series win when the streets filled with happy revelers and cars honked until dawn.  The mood in Sarajevo on the night of my arrival demonstrated the life of a city that has celebrated every small victory in an effort to move beyond its not so distant tragedies.

The remnants of war are of course still present in the city.  Many buildings remain gutted and covered with tarps.  There is a general darkness to parts of the old town that can only be attributed to the drabness of Tito’s era.  Craters in rooftops, windows without panes and wires dangling from buildings are not uncommon once one leaves the main tourist drag.  Transportation, though excellent and inexpensive, is the most obvious remnant of international aid.  UNHCR buses that have not been upgraded in ten years are packed each morning with school children -worn tire treads carry sagging frames that are filled to capacity.  The tram cars vary between those with German slogans and those marked with Japanese flags, both donations to the post-war reconstruction effort.

As every guide book will tell you, Sarajevo has a rich history -it is in fact the proverbial “crossroads of civilizations.”  The sights and sounds of Sarajevo prove that the city remains a bastion of both religious tolerance and mingling cultures – the Muslim call to prayer is followed by the clanging of church bells around the city.  Nuns travel in tight packs followed by bands of teenagers in tight jeans talking on cell phones.  The main promenade gives way to the cobble-stone streets of the old town where men and women sit outside shops hacking their wares.  Fine French fashion is sold just doors away from display cases of Turkish delights.

It is from here that I will make my way to Tuzla, the third largest city in BiH and largest coal producer, to begin my summer internship.  Someone recently referred to Tuzla as the Worcester of Bosnia…not a very comforting pre-departure image.  I will be working with a small non-profit that assists refugee women build sustainable livelihoods through handicrafts…so if nothing else I will have an enormous supply of wool socks and hats to ward off the cold winters in Boston.

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Let me begin with a disclaimer: I am both a novice and a skeptic when it comes to most things cyber, technological, and especially cybertechnological, (which brings me to disclaimer #2 – I often use words that may not officially exist…like cybertechnological – so bear with me as I reinvent the English language, even though I’m sure you’ll get the gist of what I’m saying).  At 27 years old, I bought my second laptop computer this last August ‘06, a decision that took me well over 2 years to make.  It involved coming to terms with the reality of technology that is – its rapidly improving all the while becoming outdated, unadaptable, and unusable.

Going back to disclaimer #1, my purchase of this new laptop – my first forray into “iworld” – came with a free ipod.  In an effort to provide you with a glimpse of my stone age complacency, let it be known that the ipod remained in its original packaging for 5 months.  It took my extreme level of proctastination that developed during first semester finals to finally dig it out of my closet.  Even then, realizing that the first step of using an ipod involves transferring music from CDs onto a comptuer, I did not officially listen to music on my ipod until March ‘07.

This year has been monumental in both my cyber and technological development.  Not only have I purchased a new laptop, but also I have learned to use my ipod, purchased music and movies from itunes, watched videos on Utube and tv shows on my computer, joined Facebook, and set up a Skype account. Most recent in that list of cyber and technologically oriented activities is my decision to start a blog.

For those of you reading this who have had your own blogs since birth and personal cell phones during your college years, please take into consideration the fact that I didn’t know anyone in college who had a personal cell phone, nor did I have one for myself (it was gifted to me) until January 2005.  The speed with which the world is cybertechnologically developing is intense.  For many, these cybertechnological developments go unnoticed.  For me, they are substantial and warrant some acknowledgement – whether that be here in this blog, or perhaps in a face to face, human to human, conversation.

Ironically, I embarked upon many of these activities since arriving in Tambacounda, Senegal for my summer internship.  Despite the fact that I’m living in a exceedingly modest town where most people still rely on their own two feet for transportation, and the majority of livelihoods are agriculturally-based, I am more in touch with the cyber world now than ever before. The world is becoming smaller and smaller for many of us as we set off on college semesters abroad and summer internships overseas, not to mention for those of us who are pursuing careers in international affairs that will undoubtedly place us in remote corners of the earth.  Yet at the same time, we are putting a greater physical distance between ourselves and our loved ones.  To compensate for the time we give up with friends and family while jetsetting around the world, an entire host of cybertechnologies have been invented to keep us connected to the people we love.  For some, these cybertechnologies are even being used to create new relationships.

To that end, if you choose to join me in this cyberadventure, let the games begin!

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Let me begin with a disclaimer: I am both a novice and a skeptic when it comes to most things cyber, technological, and especially cybertechnological, (which brings me to disclaimer #2 – I often use words that may not officially exist…like cybertechnological – so bear with me as I reinvent the English language, even though I’m sure you’ll get the gist of what I’m saying). At 27 years old, I bought my second laptop computer this last August ‘06, a decision that took me well over 2 years to make. It involved coming to terms with the reality of technology that is – its rapidly improving all the while becoming outdated, unadaptable, and unusable.

Going back to disclaimer #1, my purchase of this new laptop – my first forray into “iworld” – came with a free ipod. In an effort to provide you with a glimpse of my stone age complacency, let it be known that the ipod remained in its original packaging for 5 months. It took my extreme level of proctastination that developed during first semester finals to finally dig it out of my closet. Even then, realizing that the first step of using an ipod involves transferring music from CDs onto a comptuer, I did not officially listen to music on my ipod until March ‘07.

This year has been monumental in both my cyber and technological development. Not only have I purchased a new laptop, but also I have learned to use my ipod, purchased music and movies from itunes, watched videos on Utube and tv shows on my computer, joined Facebook, and set up a Skype account. Most recent in that list of cyber and technologically oriented activities is my decision to start a blog.

For those of you reading this who have had your own blogs since birth and personal cell phones during your college years, please take into consideration the fact that I didn’t know anyone in college who had a personal cell phone, nor did I have one for myself (it was gifted to me) until January 2005. The speed with which the world is cybertechnologically developing is intense. For many, these cybertechnological developments go unnoticed. For me, they are substantial and warrant some acknowledgement – whether that be here in this blog, or perhaps in a face to face, human to human, conversation.

Ironically, I embarked upon many of these activities since arriving in Tambacounda, Senegal for my summer internship. Despite the fact that I’m living in a exceedingly modest town where most people still rely on their own two feet for transportation, and the majority of livelihoods are agriculturally-based, I am more in touch with the cyber world now than ever before. The world is becoming smaller and smaller for many of us as we set off on college semesters abroad and summer internships overseas, not to mention for those of us who are pursuing careers in international affairs that will undoubtedly place us in remote corners of the earth. Yet at the same time, we are putting a greater physical distance between ourselves and our loved ones. To compensate for the time we give up with friends and family while jetsetting around the world, an entire host of cybertechnologies have been invented to keep us connected to the people we love. For some, these cybertechnologies are even being used to create new relationships.

To that end, if you choose to join me in this cyberadventure, let the games begin!

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The basketball coach was on the subway yesterday evening on my ride home from work, and I was thrilled to see that in my year’s absence from Astoria, he’s still regularly walking the length of the N train, asking for spare change. Like most panhandlers, he has his standard plug, and it hasn’t changed in the past year: “I’m a basketball coach, and even though I lost all my fingers on one hand, I’m still able to coach and keep the kids in Queens off the streets, thanks to the good folks riding the N train; if you have spare change, I’d appreciate it, but if not, a smile’ll do. Alright, show me those smiles.” And then, he proceeds through the car, grinning back at the passengers: “Hey, look at that smile! Beautiful smile there, honey. Alriiiight. Thanks for the smile.” The ability of New Yorkers to easily ignore panhandlers falters in the case of the basketball coach. I, too, flashed him a big grin. But I’ve got a lot to smile about, anyway.

I’m absolutely thrilled to be back in New York and in Astoria (Queens), in particular. I lived here for five months a year ago, and I’m already eager to move back when I graduate next year. It’s a great neighborhood–ethnically diverse and filled with young professionals, so there’s a lot to do around here. When people tell me that they could never stand to live in New York City, sometimes I wonder if they really mean that could never stand to live in Times Square. I think the key to living in New York is being able to carve out a niche–a neighborhood–for oneself.

That’s what I’ve been doing for the past week. I’ve found my favorite fruit stand on Ditmars Boulevard, and on my way to work every morning, I stop to pick out a fruit or two for a snack. I made friends with the cashier at a thrift shop near 32nd Street; he’s from Burkina Faso, and we speak African French together. I’ve named the two stray cats that hang around our backyard. AND I’ve planted a GARDEN! The row house where I’m subletting for the summer has a small backyard, and my roommates gave me the go-ahead to clear the jungle of weeds and plant cucumbers, tomatoes, basil, spinach, and lettuce. I’m sitting out on the balcony off of my room with candles lit enjoying a breeze that’s breaking up the heat of the evening. The neighbors’ air conditioners are buzzing; I can hear someone’s TV across the yard; Ditmars Boulevard traffic is especially noisy this evening; and even though it’s 10pm, I can look down and smile at the straight little rows of plants in my garden, thanks to the light pollution of this fantastic city. I love this place.

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Since submitting my last final at 4pm on May 9, I’ve been in a period of transition. I spent the last few days of the semester balancing studying with socializing. A lot of us first-years participated in the Disorientation activities that Katy wrote about. Naturally, those events were bittersweet, as we sent off the class of 2007. Funny–and a bit sad–how transient academia can be, especially in a two-year program…

After my last exam, I spent 10 days with my family outside of Hershey PA, where I did my favorite central-pennsylvania-ish things… falling asleep listening to bullfrogs on the pond, relaxing with old high school friends around a bonfire, catching the first fireflies of the season, and hanging out with the fam.

A highlight of my trip home was an overnight backpacking trip on a section of the Appalachian Trail with my brother, Tom. He just graduated from college and will be moving to Oregon in a few days, so it was good to spend some quality time with him. We hiked through St. Anthony’s Wilderness until we reached Yellow Springs Village, an old, abandoned settlement in the heart of St. Anthony’s. Our guidebook from 1964 informed us that the village was “surprisingly intact” but all we found were stone foundations and a well. Tom was disappointed that we didn’t find the “eerie cemetery” near the village; I was just as glad. We camped there before turning around the next day.

After I said goodbye to my family, I returned to Medford to tie up loose ends and move from my old apartment into the infamous “Yellow House,” where I’ll be living in the fall with my buddies, Medina, Lillie, and Valerie. It felt strange to be near campus without having any schoolwork; it gave me time to explore Crane’s Beach, the Middlesex Fells State Park, and downtown Boston.

And now, I find myself sitting on the roof of some friends’ apartment building in Queens. I’m surrounded by chimneys and pigeons, and I almost feel inclined to do a little song and dance, à la Mary Poppins. They’ve got a perfect view of Manhattan from up here, even if it’s a bit hazy today. This afternoon, I’ll begin my internship at Outward Bound International, where I’ll be working on developing their new initiative, a Center for Peacebuilding. This internship sounds right up my alley, and I’m eager to get started.

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