This past week was so so spectacular!  I don't even know how to begin to describe it all to you.  I've been hopskipping all over Tanzania since last Friday.  In the space of a week: I was in Dar es Salaam; then I snorkeled the most beautiful coral reef in Tanzania 10 kilometers off shore near an island (Maziwe) that only appears at low tide (and saw sea turtles!) and talked to a crazy South African couple who had the most amazing stories to tell.  Then I hiked in the beautiful, misty Usambara Mountains (which reminded me of Papua New Guinea), ate a delicious lunch, held a chameleon, and witnessed a phenomenal view that made me VERY excited to climb Kili at the end of November.  I am now in the shadow of Mt. Meru in a town called Arusha - the safari capital of the world - where I got to witness the delivery of judgment on Simeon Nchamihigo's case at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (he was sentenced to life for four counts of crimes against humanity and it took an entire hour to read the whole judgement).  My Swahili abilities have absolutely skyrocketed, I've met the coolest people, been hassled like no other by countless Tanzanian men and children, and in about an hour I will leave for 5 weeks in the Serengeti to see African wildlife on the plains and in Ngorongoro Crater, visit the world-famous palaeoanthropological sites of Laetoli and Olduvai Gorge, hunt with the Hadza people, and hang with the Maasai at the edge of Tarangire National Park.

I'll be sure to fill you in on all these adventures when I get internet again in November.  If you can't wait that long, talk to or email my dad and he can send you an update on this last week. :)

Until then, happy fall, sorry about the economy (which sounds like a nightmare right now - thank GOODNESS I'll be in the middle of nowhere for 5 weeks so I don't have to think about it), and good luck with the election!  I'll be back just in time to witness its outcome.

Mwezi salama!

P.S. I've turned into a snail mail junkie.  SO send me mail and I'll send some back! (When I get back to civilization, of course.)

Amanda Meyer
ACM/UDSM Tanzania Program
c/o Archaeology Dept.
University of Dar es Salaam
PO Box 35051
Dar es Salaam, TANZANIA

en anglais la BBC news

et pour les autres langues :

Caribbean Portuguese Spanish Albanian Macedonian Russian Serbian Turkish Ukrainian Arabic French Hausa Kinyarwanda Kirundi Portuguese Somali Swahili Arabic Pashto Persian Turkish Azeri Kyrgyz Uzbek Bangla Hindi Nepali Sinhala Tamil Urdu Burmese Chinese Indonesian Vietnamese

Google har lanserat en lokal sajt för Tanzania, på swahili och engelska. Inte särskilt anmärkningsvärt, om det inte vore för att det är användarna, inte Google, som står för översättningen till swahili. Google har länge låtit användare översätta sajter, och man har kunnat välja att surfa på användar-översatta sajter, men det här är första gången en sådan översättning har plockats upp till en officiell sajt.

Det är a) väldigt webb 2.0 och b) väldigt billigt för Google.

9/23- Built to Spill performing Perfect From Now on @ 930

9/26- Cut Copy @ 930

10/3- Fleet Foxes @ The Cat

10/9- Of Montreal @ 930

10/28- Jay Reatard @ The Cat Backstage

-Out.com released their list of the 100 gayest albums. What album topped the list? David Bowie's Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust of course... Bowie was followed closely by The Smiths, Elton John, Madonna and Cyndi Lauper.

-BBC analyzes how music taste and personality link up. "Indie: Low self-esteem, creative, not hard working, not gentle". I was fine with the "sniffling indie kids" tag.

Speaking of Sniffling indie kids...

A new Wilco tune?

And now...

A few things that you maybe didn't know in regards to this year's election.

1. Sarah Palin is was born in 1964 making her 44 years old. Significance? She turned 18 in 1982, what else happened in 1982?

Well since you asked. 

Wayne Gretzky scored 92 goals in a season.

Gandhi won the Oscar for Best Picture.

Diet Coke was introduced.

Aston Villa won the European cup.

Cal Ripken began his consecutive games streak.

Michael Jackson's Thriller was released.

2. She played point guard for her school's basketball team.  She's only 5'5... At 6'1 Obama's got mad ups on her.

4. She has admitted to smoking marijuana. 

5. Barack means "blessed" in Swahili apparently...

6. He was known by the nickname Barry in High School.

Well... It's Friday and the weekend is practically here. Tonight there's free jazz in the Sculpture Garden at 5, the opening of The Fragmented Light Exhibit @ The Hillyer and me eating a pizza on the couch listening to Lindstrom and thinking about it in some of Nerdlitter's thirteen different ways. A few good ones?

-A funeral procession for a disco legend. Black chiffon, elbow-high gloves, and neon boas on parade. Raccoon eyes spiked with tears and red nostrils dusted with white powder. Regret tempered with miles of glitz.

-The extended version of a theme song for a mid-'80s cop drama. A lead character named Dirk Rockland, a moustache thick enough to bury contraband in, a fondness for catch phrases and former cheerleaders. Glossy shots of gritty downtown corners lit up at night, obligatory slo-mos of getaway vehicles going airborne. Police Chief Morton will slam his desk and order Dirk to play by the rules at least once per episode.

-God running a marathon, a cheerleading routine choreographed by methheads and or the score for an hour long meteor shower.

Please--Tafadhali

Goodbye--Kwaheri

This evening I went down to Mwenge (the market about a 20 minute daladala ride from campus) to teach English to the woodcarvers and shopkeepers. It has taken me a long time to get around to going because it takes most of the evening and we don’t have much free time at the moment. The power went out this afternoon, though, so I figured I couldn’t get much work done and I might as well go teach. I ended up having a great time and I’m sure I’ll go back regularly. The classroom is just a roof under which benches and three chalkboards are set. Us “teachers” split up and teach three classes: beginner, intermediate, and advanced. There is no lesson plan and no record of what has been taught so we fly by the seat of our pants. Because most of the current teachers are from our group, we’re trying our best to communicate with each other about what has been taught and how we could continue. It’s pretty disorganized, though.

Today Jamie and I taught the intermediate class which consisted of eight men. They had already learned all three of the topics we had brainstormed so we stumbled a bit at the beginning; but then they came up with a topic they were wondering about: time. Killer topic. See, in Swahili you don’t just translate the numbers and phrases relating to time. Swahili time goes by the sun so is six hours off English time. For instance, the sun rises at 6am every day. In Swahili, that’s saa 12 asubuhi (12 in the morning). So not only do you have to translate the words and numbers, but you also have to do the math and – when making appointments – establish in which time you’re speaking: Kiswahili time or Kiingereza time. Things can get pretty confusing. Now imagine trying to teach all that when you yourself have only been speaking Swahili for five weeks… I think we did all right considering the circumstances. We established the time differences and all the different ways to say time (“seven fifty” versus “ten minutes until eight” etc.) and then moved on to the times of day: morning, afternoon, evening, night, dawn, dusk, etc. We ended up drawing a picture of the sun moving through the sky and going over and over when the different times of day occur – because Swahili times of day are set in stone. For example, you do NOT say mchana (afternoon) after saa 10, or 4 o’clock. As far as I’m aware, English times of day are not as rigid. Probably because our sunrises and sunsets are so variable…

After that, we answered random questions about vocabulary “what’s the difference between “bore” and “ignore”? Can you feel a nap? When do you doze, nap, and sleep? You don’t yawn when you’re hungry? (Apparently Tanzanians yawn to signify hunger and sleepiness.) Finally, we decided to give them a “complete” set of vocabulary for a situation. We let them pick one and they picked a football (soccer) game. They all perked up immediately and I was in heaven. :D I got to spout vocabulary and explanations about football for the rest of the time. Way to find a common interest! I can’t wait to go back.

My name is..: Jina langu ni (JEE-na LAHN-goo nee)

Moi said an apology would lead to true reconciliation between them and the neighbours whose property they destroyed in the violence that followed disputed elections in December 2007. The violence left close to 1,000 people dead and half a million homeless.

However, the former president conveniently forgets that ethnic clashes in Kenya were institutionalized during his tenure of office. Government documents, such as the Akiwumu Inquiry on tribal clashes reveal deep involvement by Moi's allies in fanning the fires of hatred.

The return to multi party politics prior to the 1992 General Elections created ethnic tension in the country, setting the stage for the chaos of 2008. The genesis of modern ethnic clashes in Kenya lies in the Rift Valley province, home to Moi's Kalenjin ethnic group.

Kenya has eight provinces. According to electoral law, a winning presidential candidate must get at least 25% of votes in not less than five provinces in addition to a simple majority of national votes. As campaigns for the 1992 elections gained momentum, it was obvious that Kenneth Matiba would get a majority of votes in Central, Nairobi and possibly, Eastern Provinces. Jaramogi Oginga Odinga had a chance of getting at least 25% in his native Nyanza, in Western and Nairobi.

Matiba, a Kikuyu, also had strong possibilities of getting 25% in the Rift Valley thanks to the significant Kikuyu settler population. Moi, fearing that he could lose the presidency, began a campaign of ethnic cleansing in the Rift Valley to ensure that he won the province. Huge chunks of the Rift Valley were declared KANU zones, in reference to Moi's political party. Moi and his cronies went back to parliament unopposed.

Ethnic wars in 1992 pitted the Kalenjin - Moi's tribe - with almost all settler communities in the Rift Valley. It was not only the Kikuyu who were affected but large numbers of Luo, Luhya, Kamba and Kisii. Non-Kalenjin tribes in the Rift Valley were refered to as, "madoa doa," meaning, "specks of dirt." The Rift Valley is also home to the Pokot and Maasai tribes whose politicians were drawn into the Moi alliance, called KAMATUSA. Consequently, Kikuyu, Luo and Luhya settlers were evicted from Pokot and Maasai areas especially around Narok, Enoosupukia and Kapenguria.

The pro-Moi ethnic alliance began calling for Majimbo, a form of federalism. According to such personalities as the late Kipkalya Kones, late Shariff Nassir, William Ntimama and late Paul Chepkok, a federal system of government would ensure that each ethnic group governed itself and had monopoly over jobs, land and commerce within its enclave.

The comments were targetted at the Kikuyu, who have emigrated and settled across the country mostly for economic reasons. Since Kikuyu settlers had a relatively higher standard of living due to commercial activities, the calls for ethnic federalism proved quite popular in the Rift Valley and Coast province.

With the Luo tribe facing persecution due to its oppositionist leanings, both Jaramogi Oginga Odinga and his son, Raila Odinga, condemned Moi's tactics. 30 years earlier, it was Jaramogi and founding president, Jomo Kenyatta, who had turned Kenya into a unitary republic after rejecting Majimbo federalism.

As a result of the ethnic chaos, Moi won the 1992 elections with 36% of the vote.

Five years later, there were politically motivated ethnic clashes prior to and after the 1997 General Elections. This time, the flash points were not only the Rift Valley, but also the Coast. In Mombasa, Sharif Nassir, a Moi ally, led KANU campaigns in the city.

Mombasa was founded by Arab traders almost a thousand years ago. The population of Mombasa and the Coastal strip consists of the Swahili, who are of mixed Arab and African ancestry. There is also the Mijikenda tribe as well as Hindus, Persians and Europeans. The building of the railway and the expansion of the Mombasa port in the 20th century attracted large numbers of workers from the interior of Kenya. The workers came mostly from the Luo, Kikuyu, Luhya, Kamba and Taita tribes. In the 1980s, a booming tourism industry attracted greater numbers of migrant workers in search of jobs and business opportunities.

During the 1997 campaigns, Nassir and KANU were worried that migrant workers would not vote for Moi. A campaign for Majimbo federalism was began, with Nassir claiming that migrant workers were taking up jobs at the coast meant for local people. Migrant communities were blamed for crime, prostitution and drug trafficking. As it turns out, the local Mijikenda tribe found these messages very appealing and gave their support to KANU. Then came terror.

In August 1997, a group consisting of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of raiders attacked the Likoni Police Station, just across the bay from Mombasa Port. Police officers were killed, prisoners released and firearms looted. Within the Likoni area, large numbers of Luo and Kikuyu were attacked and forced into trains heading for their ancestral homes. It was rumored at the time that the vanguard of the raiding unit consisted of Interahamwe militia, straight out of the Rwanda genocide. Other rumors indicated that the raiders were led by foreign-trained elite forces loyal to Moi.

Evidence was produced in the Akiwumi Commission of Inquiry implicating senior politicians in the Moi government and KANU party. An Asian farmer in Kwale District alleged that prior to the Likoni violence, his land was used to oath local youths but his reports to the police were ignored.

With Moi declared as winner of the 1997 elections, Mwai Kibaki, who came second, went to court to petition the results. Kibaki claimed that there had been electoral malpractices that gave Moi an unfair advantage over his opponents. Moi's allies in the Rift Valley were outraged by what they saw as Kibaki's challenge and a fresh round of ethnic clashes began. Kikuyu settlers in Laikipia District were especially affected by incidences of raiders burning homes and looting livestock.

From this overwhelming evidence, it is clear that Moi should be the first person to apologize as far as ethnic clashes are concerned. Otherwise, his calls for Rift Valley people to apologize can only be considered hypocritical at worst and cynical at best.

Admission is free but please give generously.

There you will get a flavour of the diverse activities that we carry out and our constant need for funding.

The evening will include a quiz, a raffle, a short talk on Swahili, an introduction to our projects and a display on our work in Kenya (unfortunatelly we cannot transport you there in one night). There will also be musical performances from some of our participants

We are on the lookout for any donations for prizes &c from sshops and businesses in the area. Please deliver them to International House, 8A Bridge St, Northampton Labour Club or ring 07980 498970

Thanks

LIGHTHOUSE MISSION INTERNATIONAL LIMITED www.lccnorthampton.org

According to this page Google has translated at least 1% of its main site in 152 languages. Not bad, especially considering that these languages are spoken by several billion people worldwide.

According to Wycliffe Bible Translators, the most translated book of all time, the Bible, has been translated into 438 languages. Another 2,016 have at least some of the Bible translated into them.

But that leaves over 2,200 with a need for Bible translation and no project yet started. Many of these languages don't have a written form, so in order for the Bible, Google or any other text to be translated and written down, an alphabet and writing system must first be developed.

The efforts of Google and others (like Ubuntu, who are currently translating into 189 languages) are to be applauded, and will make their products accessible to the vast majority of people worldwide. But for the Bible, a message from God's heart to man's heart, it's not enough to translate into the 150 or 200 most major languages in the world.

Rather, the message of God's good news to all nations must be made available to each and every person in the language of their heart, however uneconomical it may seem. No businessman would ever translate his product into a language spoken by 100 people in a village in Papua New Guinea - it just doesn't make business sense. But then not many shepherds would leave 99 sheep on their own in order to search for the one sheep that wandered astray.

Which is why the Bible will always be the most translated book. God has created each and every person uniquely and loves them just as they are. He will stop at no lengths to draw each person to himself. If we are to reflect God's character as we join in with his mission to the world, we must make the Bible available to every person in their own heart language.

.

Mens

De stad, een ruïne.
In hun kromheid
streven de zuilen
naar hogere sferen.
Zij torsen timpanen
die een eeuwigheid trotseren
van niets.
Barsten lopen doorheen
het marmer, en eren
de massa,
verpletterd onder het gewicht
van de diamant
die zich mens noemt.

(Dutch, written by Roger Pelgrims)

Uomo

La città, una rovina.
Nelle loro curvature
le colonne aspirano
a sfere più alte.
Portano con sforzo timpani
che affrontano un' eternità
di niente.
Le fenditure attraversano
il marmo, e onorano
la massa,
schiacciate sotto il peso
del diamante
che si chiama uomo.

(Italian, translated by Roger Pelgrims, corrected
by Rina Accardo)

Mensch

Die Stadt, eine Ruine.
Durch ihre Krümme
streben die Säule
nach einer höheren Sphäre.
Sie schleppen Tympana
die einer Ewigkeit trotzen
von Nichts.
Brüchig ist der Marmor,
und die Risse ehren
die Menge,
zerschmettert unter dem Gewicht
des Diamanten,
der sich als Mensch bezeichnet.

(German, translated by Roger Pelgrims)

Mensch

Die stadt, eine ruine.
durch ihre krümmung
streben die säulen
nach einer höheren sphäre.
sie schleppen tympana
die einer ewigkeit trotzen
von nichts.
brüchig ist der marmor
und die risse ehren
die menge
zerschmettert unter dem gewicht
des diamanten
der als mensch sich bezeichnet.

(German, translated by Jakob Schleicher)

Homme

La ville, une ruine.
Par leur courbure,
les colonnes cherchent
des sphères plus élevées.
Elles sont accablées
par des tympans,
qui affrontent une éternité
de rien.
Des fissures suivent
le marbre, et rendent hommage
à la foule,
écrasée sous le poid
du diamant,
qui s’appelle homme.

(French, translated by Roger Pelgrims)

Man

The city, a ruin.
By their crookedness,
the columns striving for
higher spheres.
Weighed down by tympanums
that defy an eternity
of nothing.
Fissures running through
the marble, honouring
the crowd,
shattered by the weight
of the diamond,
called man.

(English, translated by Roger Pelgrims, corrected
by Rhisiart Hincks)

Bniedem

Ilbelt,
herba.
F’taghwighom, ilkolonni
jixxennqu lejn
sferi oghla.
Bi tbatija jgorru
timpani, jisfidaw
eternità ta’ bahh.
Xquq iterrqu
flirham
b’omagg
lirrassa,
imfarrka taht ilpiz
taddjamant
li jissejjah bniedem.

(Maltese, translated by Antoine Cassar)

Dyn

Y ddinas, adfail.
Drwy fod yn gam,
y colofnau’n ceisio
sfferau uwch.
Gan ddwyn pwysau tympanau
sy’n herio tragwyddoldeb
o ddim.
Holltau’n rhedeg drwy’r marmor
gan anrhydeddu’r dyrfa,
a chwalwyd o dan
bwysau’r diemwnt
a elwir yn
ddyn.

(Welsh, translated by Rhisiart Hincks)

Mabden

Ar gêr, un dismantr.
Dre vout kamm,
ar c’holonennoù o klask
sferioù uheloc’h.
En ur zougen pouez tabourinoù
o taeañ ar beurbadelezh
a netra.
Faoutoù o redek dre ar marbr
en ur enoriñ an engroez,
freuzet dindan
pouez an diamant,
a vez graet anezhañ
mabden.

(Breton, translated by Rhisiart Hincks)

Homem

A cidade, uma ruína.
A curvatura
das colunas que aspiram
aos planos mais elevados.
Portando tímpanos
que desafiam uma eternidade
de nada.
Fissuras atravessando
o mármore, honrando
a multidão,
esmagada pelo peso
do diamante,
que se chama homem.

(Brasilian Portuguese, translated by
    André Pacheco Bartholomeu)

Omu

‘A città, ‘na ruvina.
‘Ni li sghimbèci
i culunni s’allonganu
versu lu celu.
Portanu cu fatica timpani
c’affrontanu ‘n’eternità
ri nenti.
I fissùri passanu attraversu
u marmu, e portanu rispettu
a ‘a gènti,
sopraffatti r’u pisu
ru diamanti
ca si chiama omu.

(Sicilian, as in the hometown of Rina - 
translated by Rina Accardo)

Omu

A' città, 'na ruina.
'Ne' sô scunucchiamenti
i culonni si stirunu
versu cieli cchiù jàuti.
Sumpòttunu timpani
ca cummattunu contra n' tempu 'nfinitu
ri nenti.
I nginagghi si nficcunu no'
màmmuru, je ci portunu rispettu
â fudda,
stancata rô pisu
rô diamanti
ca si chiama omu.

  Sicilian, as in Catania, the hometown of
Pierpaolo - translated by Pierpaolo De Luca)

Menneske

Byen, ein ruin.
Gjennom krummingane
strevar søylene
mot ein høgare sfære.
Dei er nedtyngde av tympan
som trassar ei æve
av inkje.
Sprekker skjer gjennom
marmoren, og ærar
mengda,
knuste under vekta
av diamanten
som kallar seg menneske.

(Nynorsk, translated by Rolf Theil)

Menneske

Byen, ein ruin.
Gjenom krummingane
strevar søylone
mot ein høgare sfære.
Dei er nedtyngde av tympan
som trassar ei æva
av inkje.
Sprekker skjer gjenom
marmoren, og ærar
mengdi,
knuste under vekti
av diamanten
som kallar seg menneske.

(Høgnorsk, translated by Rolf Theil)

Menneske

Byen, en ruin.
Gjennom krumningene
strever søylene
mot en høyere sfære.
De er nedtynget av tympaner
som trosser en evighet
av intet.
Sprekker skjærer gjennom
marmoren, og ærer
mengden,
knust under vekten
av diamanten
som kaller seg menneske.

(BokmÅl, translated by Rolf Theil)

Mtu

Mji, mabaki.
Kwa mapindi yao
nguzo zinajitahidi
kufika maeneo ya juu zaidi.
Zinainamishwa na gebu
zinazoshindana na milele ya utupu
nyufa zinajitokeza kwenye.
Marumaru, zinazoheshimu
umati.
Zinazovunjwa na uzito
wa almasi
iitwayo mtu.

(Swahili, translated by Nino Vessella)

Homo

Urbs, fragmines.
In curvitate
columnae affectant
ad orbes superiors.
Tympana perferentes
qua sempiternitatem praetereunt
ex nihil.
Rimae ferebantur
per marmorem venerantur
vulgum,
comminuuntur gravitate
lapis
qui se homo appellat.

(Latin, translated by Omar Kemperman)

Homo

La urbo, ruino.
Por ilia malrekteco,
la kolonoj atingas
por pli alta sferoj.
Timpanoj pezigas ilin,
kiuj defias eternecon
de nenio.
Fendigoj trakuras
la marmoron,
honoranta la amason,
frakasis de la pezilo
per la diamanto,
nomigis homon.

(Esperanto, translated by Formiko, corrected
 by Narbleh) 

Mänsligheten

Staden, en ruin.
Genom dess krokighet,
strävar kolonnerna mot
högre sfärer.
Nedtyngda av tympanon
som trotsar en evighet
av intet.
Sprickor löpandes genom
marmorn, hedrandes
folksamlingen,
söndersplittrad av vikten av
diamanten kallad
människa.

(Swedish, translated by Johan (Eoghan)
Sandberg)

Inimene

Linn, varemed.
Oma kõverdatuses,
sambad püüdlemas
kõrgematesse sfääridesse.
Timpanite alla surutud
mis trotsivad ei millegi
igavikku.
Praod jooksevad läbi
marmori, austades
masse,
purustatud teemandi
raskuse poolt,
kes nimetab end inimeseks.

(Estonian, translated by Lauri Laugen)

Człowiek

Miasto, ruina.
Poprzez swoje wygiecia,
kolumny wysiegaja do
wyzszych sfer.
Obciazone bebenkami
które przeciwstawiaja sie wiecznej
nicosci.
Szczeliny biegnace przez
marmur, slawiacy
tlum,
popekany pod ciezarem
diamentu,
zwanego czlowiekiem.

(Polish, translated by Rad Cech)

Człowiek

Miasto, ruina.
Krzywizna kolumn
sięgających ku wyższym sferom
pod uciskiem tympanonów
co pustce wieczności stawiają
czoło.
Kruchego marmury rysy
cześć oddają tłumowi
co pod ciężarem diamentu
zwanego człowiekiem
rozbity.

(Polish, translated by Jacek Zukowski)

Hombre 

La ciudad, una ruina.
En su curvarse,
las columnas aspiran
a más altas esferas.
Sujetan con esfuerzo
tímpanos, que afrontan
la eternidad de nada.
Las grietas atraviesan
el mármol, y rinden homenaje
a la masa,
aplastadas bajo el peso 
del diamante
que se llama hombre.

(Spanish, translated by Maria J. Santos)

An duine

An cathair, mar fothrach.
Na colúin ag déanamh a ndícheall
léibheann uachtarach a shroicheadh.
Róualaithe
le tiompáin
a thugann dúshlán shíoraíocht
neamhní.
Scriostar scoilteáin a ritheann trí mhean
an mharmair, ag tabhairt onóir
don slua,
le hualach
an diamaint
ar a dtugtar an duine.

(Irish, translated by Darrach Ó Murchú)

Hende

E siudat, un ruina.
Den su kurvanan
e kolumnanan ta aspirá
esferanan mas altu.
Nan ta shou tímpanonan
ku ta afrontá un eternidat
di nada.
Skernan ta kore dor di
e marmer i ta onra
e masa,
aplastá bou e peso
di e diamante
ku ta yama su mes
hende.

(Papiamentu, translated by Liberta Rosario)

***

Hanno collaborato alla traduzione of the poem ‘Mens’ di Roger Pelgrims:

 1. www.logos.net - Logos Quotes -

 Rina Accardo, Rhisiart Hincks, Antoine Cassar, André Pacheco Bartholomeu, Rolf Theil, Nino Vessella, Pierpaolo De Luca, Maria J. Santos, Jacek Zukowski and Liberta Rosario.

 2. www.unilang.org

 Omar Kemperman, Formiko, Johan (Eoghan) Sandberg, Jacob Schleicher, Darrach Ó Murchú, Lauri Laugen and Rad Cech.

It's called "Baba Yetu" - a setting of the text of the "Lord's prayer" in Swahili, by a composer named Christopher Tin. It's actually a song composed for a computer game, Civilization 4.

And interestingly enough, this song is actually the literal Swahili translation for the most famous Christian prayer of all time.

Thing song is beautiful. Truly a piece of art. Listen or download here.

However, I have finally descended to what I hope is the bottom of my culture-shock roller coaster. I'm frustrated with the food, the way my blonde hair and white skin attract the "once over" look from everyone I pass, and the way the Africans seem to need to fill - and waste - time. There is no such thing as ending early here. Even if there is nothing more to say. For that matter, there is no such thing as getting anything done on time either. And yet, we're all expected to be on time and have everything done on time. The double standard is hard to keep up with.

I'm also tired of being such a spectacle. I've been going to the track to work out in the mornings and it has made me feel like I'm the center-ring act of a three ring circus. Kids walking to school stop along the side of the track to wait and see if I'll say hi when I run by. Men come up to me and ask why I wasn't there the day before and when I'll be coming back. Others sit down on the side of the soccer field to watch me run killers. They don't even PRETEND to be disinterested! It's all very strange... but I guess it's curing me of my discomfort with working out while other people are watching... haha.

Finally (and this will be my last complaint because I realize culture shock is making me be ridiculous about much of this), I'm realizing how wonderful it is to be a woman in the United States. I have not been hazed much here, but little glances, comments, and cultural signals have started to get to me. It's just strange to feel inappropriate in a knee-length skirt. Who would have known?

On the bright side, my Swahili is getting better and I have made friends with most of the cafeteria staff so meal times are entertaining... even if my naivety is the source of entertainment (which is usually the case). I'm also busy planning my travels for the week long break in September (before the field station leg of the trip). Jamie and I are going to travel north along the coast of Tanzania and do a variety of things. We'll stay in a village called Pangine which has a marine reserve that boasts excellent snorkeling and common dolphin sightings. Then we'll move on north to Tanga, visiting some ruins and other attractions along the way. Then, on our way to join the rest of the group in Arusha, we'll hike in the Usambara Mountains for a day or two. I'm very excited. :)

Well, I'm out of battery now. To get internet, we have to come to the middle of campus where stone tables surround a huge, umbrella-like tree. It's actually quite a beautiful spot but it means my internet time is limited by my battery life which leaves something to be desired.

I'll be sure to write again soon to fill you in on the brighter side of the past three weeks. It truly is beautiful here.

love you all!

p.s. To the right, you'll see a link called "Chelsea in India." Many of you know her. She's pretty much the greatest person ever. ;) She's a fellow Ole and one of my best friends. This week she leaves for a semester abroad in South India. You can follow her adventures too! Be sure to check out her blog.

But, of course, before she gets started, here's a picture for the day: imagine Suzy's younger sister, Emma, trying desperately to chav it up in Swahili for the local Afrikaans. It should be funny. Oh, it should be funny...

Reliving the teenage years...

So when I decided to pick up Suzy's gauntlet, I was trying to think of something to write about. Something I'd been thinking of writing about on my blog, but haven't yet got around to, was my past experiences of depression as a teenager, so I thought that I'd try and remember what life was like at Suzy's age. (Sorry Su if that seem's a little patronising - but I feel so old when I read about you and GCSEs etc!)

I was trying to remember my first experiences of feeling like this, my first experiences of depression. I can remember right back to being a child, wandering the grounds of my school, skulking away in the shadows, away from the dinner ladies. I remember wishing back then that I could run away, hide away from everything. I suspect I even wished I was dead, but I don't know if my memory serves me correctly. I was only eight or nine, but I was experiencing much of what I experience now, that feeling of desperation, that loneliness, but also that feeling of wanting to be alone. I don't know if you could ever call it depression though when you're that young.

I remember those years in primary school, but I don't remember much from the early years of secondary school. I remember all the extra-curricular things I absorbed myself in. I remember certain lessons, events, people, but I don't remember how I felt. I suppose I was normal during those years, or as near-normal as I ever have been.

I guess the next memory I have of my depressive past was when I was 15. It was October half-term and it was the first time I remember self-harming. I don't know why I did it. I remember some of it. I'd been invited to a secret Feeder gig, (along with about 20 other fans), but I was not allowed to go. I remember the awful, desperate feeling, but I don't remember what made me reach for a drawing pin and scratch and stab myself until I bled. This was the start of a 2 year period of self-harm. It wasn't relentless, but frequent enough. I tended to use sewing needles or drawing pins/badge pins and would use them to scratch myself and stab my skin - superficial scratches but enough to cause pain and leave light marks, but marks that would fade, making it easy to hide. I carried a needle with me at all times or if I lost that I'd use a pin badge from my school bag. If I felt the need and didn't have something sharp I'd just bite myself, taking satisfaction in the fact I could feel the bruises under my skin if I pushed them, but they rarely left a mark. No one knew. Well, actually for over a year no one knew and then one of my friends found out. She was kind and not at all judgemental. She'd seen my scratches on my wrists before they'd faded - by then I guess I was having to make more lasting marks to get the same effect. She wanted me to go see my doctor, but I told her I couldn't. She even went with me to make an appointment, but when it rolled around I saw the doctor alone and only talked of physical illness - headaches and a lack of sleep. At the time I'd kinda hoped the doctor would guess that there was something wrong, something more than just exam stress, but she didn't notice and I couldn't find the words to explain. She gave me some painkillers to ease the headaches and sent me on my merry way.

The January after I first self-harmed was when Jon from Feeder died. I was fifteen, nearly sixteen. He committed suicide and this sent reverberations throughout the fan-base. I attended the funeral. A picture of me crying used to be on that news story, but I asked the BBC to remove it. Following Jon’s death, I felt ashamed and I felt guilty. I saw the effect that suicide had on all around, yet I was still suicidal myself. Only a few weeks before his death, I'd made a suicide attempt, one that was pretty pathetic, but an attempt none the less (tried to strangle and hang myself with a school tie - I managed to break the tie and hurt my neck, but little more). I felt guilty for trying, I felt useless for failing and I felt desperate enough to want to try again. I didn’t though. A friend of mine, a fellow fan, got there first. In fact, two did. One who I knew through the band – I can’t remember his method now, which is strange, but he was okay. The other friend, I knew through the county choir. She cut herself and took an overdose. I remember hearing she was in A&E. I remember wishing I’d been brave enough to try, brave enough to join her, but at some point then I made a promise that suicide was off-bounds. If she wasn’t able to succeed, I didn’t see how I should have been allowed. I don’t remember exactly why I thought like that, or even exactly what I thought, but it was her attempt that made me make the promise. I’ve often wanted to go against that promise, have desperately tried to forget it, but I’ve not yet broken it. I’ve been close and find myself getting closer every time the feeling returns, but I haven’t broken it.

I don’t remember much more from back then, or at least little that I could do justice to in a few hundred words. I remember exam stress. I remember periods of desperation, utter blackness. I remember getting results, being desperately disappointed even though they were good. I remember Reading Festival 2002, I remember the thunderstorm during Muse. I remember my first boyfriend, my first kiss. I guess I was happy then, but it was often clouded. I remember our first night together, but me ending it crying, desperately depressed and unsure if I’d done the right thing. I remember the letters I wrote, full of misery. I remember thinking I was in love. I remember cheating on him, the kiss, and the party that changed everything. I remember the confusion of not knowing who I wanted more. I remember choosing the cheater, who has been mine ever since, later to become my fiancé. I remember still self-harming. I remember trips to London . I remember more exams. I remember more depression. I don’t remember the order.

I know I’ve struggled with this depression for as long as I can remember, but I don’t know how much of it is me and my personality, how much of it might be illness or how much of it is circumstance. It’s weird now to think about those years. I wasn’t happy. I can see that, but was I ill? As far as I can tell, the only difference now is that a doctor knows I feel that way. Does that make me ill? Suicide, depression, self-harm - it all seems normal to me.

The question of what Lighthouse Mission International is! Well it is an organisation that currently has activities both in Northamptonshire and Kenya which are linked by the common theme of improving quality of life.

The Mission Statement and related info on this site at its outset was material that was written between 2001 and 2003. When we get round to thinking what else to say (amidst our other activities) it will speak in a way that is more relevant to the context of the organisation now. In the meantime, however, it might just be worth studying the 'ancient' words already on there. I did with a colleague and we were amazed just how still on track we are.

Current activities we can report on include the church in Kenya described elsewhere, with a pending counserlling centre and water redistribution project: Our Programme Manager, Nelson Oenga, is in Kenya at the moment preparing groundwork for this.

In Northampton, at Bridge St, we have a Music and Swahili session every Friday, have a Business Mentoring scheme running September - June and our undertaking performance related projects with 13 - 19 year olds from September, with classes for children and adults in Computing and in Swahili music to follow soon

All of this adds up to more than the sum of the parts and strives towards a very extensive and coherent programme.

All of the above requires some degree of core running costs, one of the reasons behind the friends scheme. We intend to have two enjoyable fundraising events in the remainder of the year, the first one (17 Sept) will include a quiz, a raffle, the worlds shortest lesson in Swahili and some musical performances.

Hope to see you at one of our public profile events sometime

Mark

See Lighthouse main site www.lccnorthampton.org

I have been here a full week now and am finally getting the hang of things. It’s still surprisingly hard to comprehend where I am. East Africa. Worlds away from anything familiar. Here, trees grow out more than up, there are monkeys instead of squirrels, toilets never work, and greetings are the most important part of communication.

We started Swahili lessons this week - 4 hours a day - so I am learning quickly. The grammar in Kiswahili is surprisingly simple, but the vocabulary is hard to memorize. It’s strange being in a country where I am not comfortable with the language. I am realizing how lucky I was to have learned Spanish because it allowed me to waltz into any Spanish speaking country and be independent immediately. Here, it took me about four days to be able to order my own food. Now I am functionally comfortable, but my Swahili is by no means conversational. It’s pretty funny, really, because I keep getting myself into challenging conversations with Tanzanians. I can hold my own through the greetings and introductions so they think I actually speak the language. Soon, they launch into topics I cannot understand and I have to explain that I’ve only been here a week and I don’t actually speak Swahili. Nasema Kiswahili kidogo. Nimesoma. Samahani. I speak Swahili a little. I am learning. Sorry. I have 6 weeks of these classes, though, and 5 months in the country. I have high hopes for my language ability. :)

This week was devoted to orientation and Swahili education. Except for an excursion to the Indian Ocean one afternoon and a trip to the US Embassy a couple days ago, we haven’t really left the campus (which is on a hill outside of the city). Our coordinator wants us to explore little by little. We’re actually getting quite tired of campus, though, so I think several students will try to head at least partway into town this weekend. Tomorrow is Nane Nane day (August 8^th Nane means eight in Swahili), which is a day to honor the farmers. It is a national holiday, so we have nothing planned for the whole day which means… three day weekend! Yay for Nane Nane day!

Everything shifts into full gear on Monday. Aside from drafting our research project proposals, we will begin our other two classes: Ecology of the Masaai Ecosystem, and Human Evolution. It should be fun, but it will also be exhausting. But first: the weekend. I'll keep you updated!

I've been disgustingly tired all day. On the way to work I fell asleep with my head hanging out in the aisle, so the man who sat across pushed my head back. At least I didn't fall asleep on the one who sat next to me. On the bus home I sat and fell asleep again. As I almost got home I heard someone say "Tuvia!" It was Jerusalem Gypsy who sat across and laughed at me. We talked about her latest blog posts. She's not going to do the reality show thing. Could've been quite funny though... Me laugh.

Now I must study. And comment some blog posts. And shower. It's hot outside. After one day I feel disgustingly disgusting.

Efraim's birthday was great, anyway. One of the things I did with him (done it before) is to watch Lion King songs on youtube in various languages. Hebrew, Swedish, English, French, German, Zulu, Arabic, Norwegian, Danish. Lately I've discovered this multilanguage thing. You can type the name of any well known Disney song (including ALL of the songs in the Lion King) and add the word "multilanguage" and you get clips that talented young people with a lot of spare time have made. The Disney songs we grew up with in all kinds of languages - the same clip, but change of language every sentence. Sometimes with full subtitles, and sometimes only stating which language it is. It's incredible. And it's a great way to show the kids how many different languages there are.

Of course only around 20 different languages are represented each time. Not much against all 5000 languages there are... but still.

Question of the day: Which language is it you hear at the very beginning of "The Lion King"? You know, that African chant when the sun goes up? Is it Kiswahili? Zulu? Setswana? It can't be Xhosa, I'd recognize the click noises... I know there are some click noises in Zulu too, but they're more rare there. Anyway, I'm getting a bit off track. Or am I just trying to show off my sad little piece of knowledge of African languages? It's a bit silly and hypocrite of me I think. I mean, if an African knew as little about European languages as I know about African I'd see him as an illiterate. Are we western people expecting others to know more about us than we are ready to learn about them? (Americans, you don't have to answer that, we already know you do that).

I just realised I haven't finished my blogs with an italic comment in a long time

While playing at the park this evening, my five year old surprised me by spontaneously counting the numbers 15-19 in French:  quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit, dix-neuf!  He's had the numbers 1-10 mastered for quite some time.  Since I always seem to be teaching him along with other children who are French newbies, he hears those basics over and over.  

But 11-20 are brand spankin' new.  Twice this week, we counted numbers on a calendar.  Just like that, he's got it!  Then after French at the park, both of my boys piped up with a few words of Swahili for the ride home in the car.  

As a mommy, I must say that my children are brilliant, charming, and cool beyond their years.  But it seems that every day when I step into the daycare where I teach, equally brilliant kids are blurting out French words or phrases.  Parents are telling me stories of the French they are hearing pop up at home.  Am I an incredibly talented and amazing teacher?  Well, maybe . . . but the truth is that children are at a natural stage of language development.

I know this.  I've studied this.  I've preached this.  One day soon I'll post fascinating facts and findings about brain research and open windows of readiness.  But still, it's cool to personally experience just how kids--especially my own kids--are foreign language sponges.  Remember, I'm not raising my children in a bilingual home.  Some days we have long blocks of immersion French, but mostly I'm just having a blast exposing them to as many new sounds, languages, and cultures as I can in a natural, no pressure way.  Every day, I am in awe.

My regular teaching gig at the moment is at a high school.  Adolescents . . . gotta love 'em.  And I do, and they accomplish wonderful things.  But most of my typical American teenage students are learning a second language for the very first time, and it can be a struggle sometimes.  Sponges?  Not any more.  That window is closed.  They can and will become proficient in foreign languages, but never with the ease of young children.

Some people think I push my children with foreign language "study".  Nah . . . we're just having fun by doing what comes naturally.  

Feel free to leave a comment bragging about how your brilliant little sponges are soaking up language and culture, too.  

Photo Credit:  by sideshowmom http://morguefile.com/archive/?display=54667&