Category Archives: Travel

The World in a Frame

Jun 28, 2016

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A lot has happened in two weeks, too much to write down especially when words just won’t convey the experience. That is the only downside; words don’t do their stories justice, you just can’t capture the world in a frame.

Two weeks ago, I joined our boys vocational program on a field trip. We walked 5k to a rural mountain village so the boys could experience service and learn what it means to love others the way that Christ loves us. These boys don’t come from much to begin with. Yet, when prompted with a service project, they responded through self-organization. Each student donates 10 lempiras toward a fund which they used to purchase rice and beans. They carried these boxes full of food to Guanijiquil that Tuesday. We visited the elementary school there, a building with peeling paint and small, timid children. Ernesto, the leather school instructor, advised me that I may not be able to enter. See, this school had a bad encounter with Americans and he didn’t know that I would be welcome. It was a gift to be invited in to witness the boys passing out food, sharing a message from the Bible about perseverance and the providence of God.

We crossed a dirt road to get to a woman’s house. This 80-year-old woman received us with the warmest smile. She has terminal cancer. Mission Lazarus has provided her medical care, and unfortunately she’s come to a point where there is no further treatment. She’s simply riding out the rest of her life. And these boys gave her food, coming into her home and putting it away for her, holding her hand, praying over her. I’d never seen someone in such pain filled with such joy. It made me cry, and the boys looked at me confused, like they didn’t understand why. See, to them, this is normal and every day. But to me, this is so outside of my normal daily activity, and it breaks my heart to see suffering and the widespread normalcy of it here.

Fast forward to Thursday night. I am standing in the shower around 9:45pm after a long day plugging away at work, and the earth starts to shake. I have never experienced an earthquake before, and I thought to myself, “I cannot go like this, naked in the shower.” I jumped out as it stopped, and I started to question myself. Maybe I was just really dizzy and really tired. Maybe my house- which is up on stilts, mind you- was starting to crumble. But no, I knew it was different when we had aftershocks a few times. The electricity flickered and communications went down, and I really had no idea what was going on until my neighbors, the Yazels, came to check on me and keep me in the loop. It was a real earthquake just a hop across the Nicaraguan border in Somotillo. It is strange that I think it was kind of cool?

Monday was one of the most impactful days of my trip here. The Yazels and I tagged along with Doctor Nelsy and her clinic team for a day of work in Las Pitas. We drove two hours away, from our 4200’ down to sea level and back up again but even higher. My cell phone pinged a Claro Nicaragua cell tower, we were that close. As we were driving, I kept thinking, ‘why the heck would we put a clinic up here in the middle of nowhere?’ Because there are people here, and otherwise, they won’t receive care of any kind. So they built a clinic and a church next door. And their patients walk up to 3 hours to get to the clinic, to receive vital medication, to receive Christ’s love through the medical staff at Las Pitas.

We spent the morning working through normal patients, I mostly translated. I am learning my limitations with language. The brain is like any other muscle; the only way you get stronger is to push through the soreness and fatigue to improve your strength. The more I switch back and forth between Spanish and English, the quicker that connection will fire. Push past the headache.

The afternoon was heavier. We joined Doctora Nelsy, Patricia and Griselda on their house visits. Some patients are not well enough to visit the clinic, but they need care, so the doctors personally visit their homes to prescribe medications and pray for their health. Our first stop was at the home of Maria. A twenty-minute walk through brush from the nearest dirt road, she lives alone in a home constructed of sticks and wooden planks. And she had the biggest grin from cheek to cheek when she saw us. She invited us in, saying “I live poor and humbly, and I don’t have much. Be welcomed to my home.” I was choking back tears translating her invitation. Doctora Nelsy responded, “We don’t need anything, how you live isn’t what’s important. It’s about what lies here,” placing her hand on Maria’s heart.

Maria has been sick with a horrible ulcer of the skin on her right ankle. When they first started treating her, they were concerned they might have to take her leg if she didn’t respond well to the antibiotics. She was put on strong medication and now months later, the ulcer has reduced in size with minimal tissue damage. It’s a drastic improvement. There are photos from this moment, but nothing that invokes the same feeling you get in standing in the 100-degree heat, in a home that is made of sticks with a fire burning to keep the bugs away, praying for the health of a woman who struggles with loneliness.

To God, Maria and I are uniquely different and equally loved. He knows her intimately and values her the same as His son Jesus, who is of Himself. And the same goes for me. He has adopted us into the royal family, as his sons and daughters:

“Now if we are children, then we are heirs–heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory” Romans 8:17.

Tuesday was a day that changed my life forever. The photos are great, but again, the frame fails to capture the significance. Read more about that here.

The next week was filled with last night mafia games with First Colony church, leather working, hiking, sharing this place I love with a person I love. Kyle and I went to the beach on Sunday, Tiger Island. It was dirty, cause plumbing is uncommon on the island and there is no sense of trash collection. People who live here live in dirt huts, unless the state has built them a home. Yet, it is really beautiful too. You can float in the ocean on a Honduran shore and see El Salvador to the left and Nicaragua to the right. A breathtaking vista, such a juxtaposition of beauty and injustice, a photograph fails to capture it. We came back from the beach and saw Finding Dory in Spanish, no subtitles. Now that was an adventure for Kyle.

The week came to an end and they headed back to the states and things were very quiet here. From this, I was so glad Emilia invited me to adventure with her over the weekend. We took a road trip and I learned 6 different cities in 3 days.

Friday night, we drove into Tegucigalpa and stayed at a home they have there. Pupusas for dinner, great conversations with her abuelito, sleeping in air conditioning (haven’t done that in over a month!!!). We left in the morning for Comayagua, an old colonial town where we had breakfast. The church on their square was constructed by the Spanish during the era of colonization, incredibly detailed and exquisite. After some touring, we moved to our next stop, the intended destination of La Esperanza.

Once a year, after the rain, this small town experiences an overwhelming bloom of mushrooms, called choros. It’s a rare thing which comes about from a mixture in altitude and rainfall. They harvest them and have a festival for the choro, cooking them a million different ways. The Lenca people are an indigenous group native to this area. At the festival, they sell their traditional clothes and fabrics with the choros. It was a beautiful cultural experience, and incredibly delicious. We spent the afternoon in La Esperanza before heading down from the mountains to Taulabé, the town that Abuela grew up in. We were here and visited with family, and then the power went out. And stayed out. And we rested, and enjoyed quality conversation by candlelight, and rested. I think I slept 12 hours.

In the morning, we ate rosquillos again. It’s a local treat; looks like a donut, consistency of a scone, made with corn flour and sweet something, perfect when paired with coffee. I am a fan. We headed for Siguatepeque, where Abuelo grew up, and stopped at their farmer’s market. Now this was legitimate, fresh fruit and vegetables EVERYWHERE. I bought Spinach that had flower blooms because I had never seen real spinach like that and thought it would be beautiful in a vase in my room. I bought a strange fruit that was green and had horns all over it and it tasted like bubble gum with huge seeds inside of its chewy flesh (I still haven’t decided if I like it). And their avocados don’t look like avocados to me, bigger and greener and sweeter. That’s one thing about fruit and vegetables here- they are real, picked when they are ripe and ready to eat, from farm to table in the most literal sense. It won’t be the same when I go home.

We drove back from Sigua to Choluteca, about 5 hours by car. And all along the road are little pit stops of locals selling their specialities. We tried churrasco and quajada and tajaditas. I was full but I couldn’t say no to these opportunities. We stayed in Choluteca at Emilia’s house that night, and rode back up with other staff in the morning for work. It was an amazing weekend of learning Honduras, its history, land and people. I learned local phrases and spoke in Spanish almost the entire time. I can feel myself growing new skin.

The Blue Pearl

Jun 26, 2016

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Originally founded in 1471, the city of Chefchaouen has a profoundly rich history. Located in the Rif mountains of northern Morocco, the natural scenery surrounding the city is striking. However, the thing that sets Chefchouen apart is actually found within the city walls... The uniquely blue city walls, to be specific. When I visited Chefchaouen last weekend, I was absolutely blown away by the sea of blue that surrounded me. It’s no wonder why they call it the Blue Pearl. I did my best to capture the beauty of the city in the pictures below, but know that this is truly a place that one needs to experience firsthand to fully appreciate!

The pictures truly speak for themselves when it comes to a city like Chefchaouen! Check back later this week for a more reflective update summarizing some of the biggest lessons I’ve learned in my first month abroad... Because believe it or not, it really has been a whole month since I was last on American soil!

God, Country, King

Jun 12, 2016

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Trivia question: In 1777, which nation was the first to officially recognize the US as a sovereign state? No, not France. They’d of course discuss it, but the recognition would not become official until 1778. (Naturally followed by a declaration of war from Great Britain, who was understandably salty.) Believe it or not, Morocco was actually the first country to officially recognize the newly-independent US with the Treaty of Peace and Friendship on December 20, 1777. And for the most part, we’ve been tight ever since!

Fast forward a few centuries to the most recent regime change in 1956, and you have the Kingdom of Morocco, a 60 year old monarchy currently ruled by King Mohammed VI. His wife is Princess Lalla Salma, who despite her fair complexion and red hair, is in fact a native Moroccan. Note that her official title is that of a princess, the same of all women in the royal family. Queens do not exist in the Moroccan monarchy. In fact, traditionally the wives of kings are kept far away from the public eye. It wasn’t until the current King that the Moroccan people had ever seen the face of a King’s wife. The King is a very big deal though, as is evidenced by the country motto and namesake of this post: “God, Country, King.”

The Moroccan monarchy, at its surface, seems quite similar in structure to that of a typical democratic parliamentary system. However, in reality, the Moroccan parliament is nothing more than a puppet of the monarchy. As one local pointed out to me, the Prime Minister only exists for when things go badly... It is always the parliament’s fault, never that of the King. But if things are going well, then all credit goes to the king. In fact, Moroccan citizens can actually be arrested and persecuted for speaking out against the king. Though King Mohammed VI has been notably more liberalized than his predecessors, things haven’t been the same since the suicide bombings that occurred in Casablanca in 2003, the most severe terrorist attack Morocco has ever seen. The highest measures are taken for national security, certainly at great costs of civil liberty.

Morocco is also lauded as one of the most advanced African/Islamist countries for women, especially following the passage of the Moudawana law (also called the Family Code) in 2004. The law included major amendments to improve a woman’s ability to seek persecution and divorce in situations of domestic violence. Prior to the amendments, a woman had to have witnesses of the incident for any legal proceedings to take place. Sounds great! But here’s the problem: 60% of Moroccan women are illiterate, and therefore are hardly empowered by a law they can’t read. While it may be tempting to acknowledge the 17% of women serving in the Moroccan parliament, it is sadly only the result of a mandated gender quota, meaning that many of the women in parliament are quite literally there just for show. This is assumed to produce substantive representation for women in the government, but since the monarchy is the one pulling all the strings behind the curtain anyway, does it really make a difference? Morocco may be doing better than most, but further improvement is clearly still needed.

One of the most heart wrenching moments of my time in the classroom thus far came when one of my students told me “Things will never change. 20% of us live on less than the minimum wage of 200 dirhams a day ($2 USD) while the government officials get paid thousands for doing absolutely nothing. The best we can hope for is to continue our education, find a good job, and have enough to support ourselves and our family.”

Income inequality, unemployment, and illiteracy are three of the major issues afflicting Morocco right now. Many students cannot afford the opportunity cost of continuing school when their families need extra income to make ends meet. And many students, even after obtaining college degrees (yes, plural) in prestigious fields, are unable to find work in their field and have to resort to whatever else they can find to support themselves, like working in food delivery or as a parking assistant. At this point, you may be asking yourself: How is this government able to get away with this? Why don’t they protest? (Actually, they do.) What could possibly be worth sacrificing so much?

For all its shortcomings in civil liberties, government transparency, and rigid socioeconomic inequality, Morocco has something under the monarchy that outweighs all of the above. Something that can be summed up in a single word: Stability.

Amidst the chaos of ISIS, Boko Haram, and a systematic lack of government protection that plagues its neighboring states such as Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya, (just to name a few) Morocco has enjoyed a steadfast stability that is not to be taken for granted. Their proximity to these persisting threats is constantly just a little too close for comfort, which they are reminded of when they see the inability of neighboring governments to protect its citizens. The monarchy, by contrast, has kept the Moroccan people safe by forging relationships with many world powers, working as their key ally in the Magreb. While it is certainly an imperfect system of governance, the people are acutely aware of just how much they have to be grateful for when they turn on the news.

Morocco is an altogether fascinating and complex country. I look forward to learning more about the triumphs and struggles that the Moroccan people face, because in an age where voluntourism (foreigners who travel to developing countries without understanding how to make a sustainable impact versus furthering the problem) is trending all across social media, it is of the utmost importance to seek out, learn, and understand the full story. Perhaps now, after this brief introduction to both the gaps and advantages of the Moroccan political system, you will start to see how my project in Women’s Empowerment was created in the hopes of meeting the challenges that Moroccans face.

Ancient History, Contemporary Development, & Empowering a Community

Jun 6, 2016

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Fun fact: Since 2002, Rabat has hosted the Mawazine Music Festival: Rhythmes du Monde. (Rhythms of the World) Artists from all over the globe come to perform, as well as local Moroccan talent, with 90% of the shows being free of charge to maintain a high standard of accessibility for the Moroccan population. In addition to a number of other external sponsors, the Maroc Cultures Association ensures the festival’s unique economic independence from public funds. The festival is touted as one of the largest in the world, and is held in Rabat because the capital city of Morocco is seen as “an intermediary between tradition and modernity” that transforms from a UNESCO World Heritage Site to an open air venue where artists from all walks in life and career perform. Seriously, give it a Google, it really is that cool.

As a proud Nashville transplant and music enthusiast, my interest was piqued. I confess that I’ve never been to an American music festival before, but this was simply not something I could afford to miss. Fantastic promotion of upcoming Moroccan artists, not to mention a few familiar names gracing the lineup just in time for my second weekend in the city, (Shaggy, Christina Aguliera, and Pitbull, just to name a few) and all at no charge! So a fellow volunteer and I decided to go on Friday night to see Shaggy perform and experience this festival in full. And what an experience it was! We were surprised to note that we were largely the only women in the audience... Likely as surprised as the men were by our presence, I imagine! Now if you read travel guides about visiting Morocco, one of the most fervent warnings for young women in particular is the frequent catcalling from men while walking around. In my experience, the key to handling these unwanted interactions is to refuse acknowledgment of their existence overall. If you give them nothing to go off of, you leave them with no direction to pursue, and they desist. Even a glance in their direction can be seen as encouragement, and so it is best to try and exude “back off” with every movement of your body. Some will still pursue, but in that case a sharp word in either French or Arabic while stroking one finger down from your eye to your cheek should do the trick. This facial gesture means “shame”, and is often used by mothers when children misbehave. Thus, it is particularly shocking and offensive when a foreign woman adopts a gesture they are used to seeing from their mother! We can chat more on the nature of living in a strongly inherent patriarchal society in a later post. For now, needless to say, Kelly and I were worried about what we had just walked into as not only females, but as clear foreigners. How would these men adapt? Would it be uncomfortable harassment? Would we have to leave early? Alas, none of the above. Despite it being the identical demographic to our daytime hecklers, these concert goers went out of their way to give us space, to the point where it felt as if we had an invisible shield around us. The only questions asked were if we could see okay, and would we like them to move over more in any direction to better accommodate. It was quite the surprising change of pace from the mosh pit I was expecting, akin to what I’ve heard about music festivals in the US.

The concert itself was a wildly amusing trip down memory lane as we enjoyed a number of blasts from the past from Shaggy’s golden years. There was a lot of dancing, though all male on male, due to the aforementioned lack of females. I’m looking forward to continuing to analyze the societal pressures and structures at work here, specifically the role of the patriarchy, but seeing as I’m only two weeks in I feel it best to keep observing before embarking on such a post in the next month or so!

Harkening back to the idea of history transformed, one of the venues for the Mawazine Festival was the Chellah ruins, located in the south of Rabat. The festival is accurate in describing Morocco as a profound cross section of ancient history and increased development, which can be seen in the adapted modern use of the ruins not just as an archaeological site, but a frequented place for concerts, families, and young couples seeking to escape the constant lack of privacy. The ruins are left from Phoenician and Carthaginian settlement in the third century BC, but were later refurbished as the Roman city of Sala Colonia according to Ptolemy’s writings, which dated around 40 CE. Eventually the city was taken by a Berber tribe and fortified to protect from Spanish invaders. The remainder of some of the fortress walls are pictured below. When the Romans abandoned the city, it became a burial ground until the 13th century when the Merinid dynasty resettled the city by building a mosque and other structures whose remnants remain today. Though I recognize that history is certainly not everyone’s cup of tea, I felt it important to discuss in the blog because the ancient history of Morocco is, in my opinion, still very much alive in the contemporary culture. Walking through the ruins, I was struck to think of how many generations of feet had followed the path through the city that my feet now walked, not to mention how many more would follow in years to come. Unlike the archaeological site in Xian, China where the Terracotta Warriors stand tall, walking through the Chellah ruins feels nothing like a museum or a tourist attraction. It more so feels like a park that just so happens to have incomprehensible historical depth in addition to being a lovely place for an afternoon stroll.

As a side note, the ruins are also home to most impressive stork nests I imagine one will ever see. Yes, I mean storks as an the bird that delivers babies to your neighbor’s doorstep from time to time. For a second there, I thought I was looking out into the flawless CGI background of Jurassic World or Avatar gauging from the remarkable size of these nests. The storks were also in mating season, clucking their beaks quite loudly, which made for an interesting soundtrack as we meandered around the old city!

Finally, as promised, I am so excited to share what I’ve been teaching (and learning!) in the classroom at the Empowerment Center. Many have asked me, why Morocco? And though there are many answers to that question, one of the most relevant reasons to my project here is the definitive need to improve national education.

Morocco is not what I would call a poor African country. It enjoys a rare stability thanks to the autonomy of the monarchy, which has protected it from the struggles faced by many other African and/or Islamist countries. While it is still developing, it is leagues ahead of many of its neighbors.

However, for all its success, there is still a lot to be done in the kingdom before it can claim developed status. This can be summed up with two simple words: education and equality. Schools are publicly funded in Morocco, but as a result the quality of education is often compromised. Private schools – once looked down upon as the schools where students who failed one too many times would have to attend – are increasingly in popularity with those who can afford it thanks to the guaranteed quality and opportunities it offers. Meanwhile, kids in rural regions struggle to find consistent transportation to and from school, and kids in urban areas share their pain of finding a way to pay for their school supplies.

The Empowerment Center I work at provides free English lessons to anyone and everyone. The office space is located in the heart of the city, but my students come from all over the region. I admit, these classes are not at all how I had imagined they would be. Halfway through my second week, I scrapped my detailed lesson plans for building up technical grammar skills and vocabulary in favor of a new approach to accommodate the many challenges of my classroom: generational differences, varying levels of general education, and implicit gender biases, just to name a few. My new approach is entirely conversation-based, where I introduce a topic question and have my students speak to their opinions on the matter. Occasionally I have them write brief statements or paragraphs to read aloud to improve heir comfort speaking the language, and sometimes I integrate American music for them to practice listening comprehension and application. (Most recently, I used the Hamilton soundtrack to supplement a lesson reviewing proper use of the three types of past tense to discuss the history of America’s revolution with a “Who’s Who” on American currency, in honor of Memorial Day. One of my favorite lessons thus far!)

One of my dear students and I after class!

When asked about how they would change the national education system, I watched in amazement as their eyes universally brightened, impassioned by the introduction of a subject that has affected them all in some way despite their different stages of life. “There needs to be more funding allocated to the rural districts,” declared my econometrics major. “We need to improve the scholarship funds to help those who can’t afford to continue their education in their own,” explained my often quiet but just astute engineer. “There needs to be a way for us to do things like you are doing here, Teacher. A way for us to go places and share our culture and our skills. Without those opportunities, Morocco won’t have a bright future.”

Right now, they're my playful neighbors. But tomorrow, they could be world leaders... Who knows! But they are who we fight for.

Right now, they’re my playful neighbors. But tomorrow, they could be world leaders... Who knows! But regardless of who they will become, they are who we fight for. They are the future.

This is why I chose to come here. Not just to teach English and immerse in a foreign culture, because there are many places one could pursue that. I came to Morocco specifically because it is a country on the edge of what I believe to be great potential, and it is my hope that by leading discussions like this, my students will heed the spark of desire for change and pursue making a difference in their country as only they can. Young and old, female and male, it is my goal to show them how strong they can be as a united front in advocating for a brighter future.

To conclude, I want to leave you with the inspiring words of one of my students in response to today’s conversation question: Can money buy happiness? The author is a vivacious older woman whose sense of humor and intellectual depth know no bounds:

“Happiness comes from our mind, which we find in good company. It comes also when we see the future generation will live in a world without war. In a world of peace and love, without chemical products. We in the world where we feel we are all brother and sister, with no difference in color or religion. As Martin Luther King Jr said, I have a dream. This is my dream for happiness.”

This is why I am so grateful to be here, investing in these people’s lives as best I can, for the next three months. No one gives me hope for the future quite like they do, which is a feeling I hope will continue to propel me forward as I continue my work here. Thank you for reading, as always I am so lucky to have so many others be a part of this journey! Tune in next week for a breakdown of the Moroccan political system and the complex history of US-Moroccan relations! (I just graduated with a BS in political science, surely you all saw this one coming!) And of course, more stories from the classroom and an update on what will be my first week of celebrating Ramadan! The fast begins tonight at 2:30 AM, and I can’t wait to rise to the challenge, inshallah.

Chiming in just in time for brunch with the dearest of friends can make all the difference when you're an ocean away

Chiming in just in time for brunch with the dearest of friends, even just for ten minutes to say hello, can make all the difference when you’re an ocean away.

Quick shout out to those of you who have continued to love on and support me from afar. Your constant texts, emails, and messages always brighten my day! From the bottom of my heart, thank you for helping me build a home away from home by reminding me that you’re only a phone call away. All my love!

Meet Morocco!

May 30, 2016

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Salam alaykum, my friends!
In English, this greeting translates to “peace be with you”. I use it interchangeably with a hearty bonjour on a daily basis, but I must admit that the Arabic feels more genuine both to give and receive. I am continually intrigued by the linguistic identity of this country, where nearly everywhere I go I see French and Arabic side by side. That being said, my studies in French have proven to be my most valuable asset as I continue to build relationships with my fellow volunteers, the local staff, and my dear students.

This is the Empowerment Office in downtown Rabat, where I teach intermediate and advanced English classes during the week.

I was fortunate to have an incredibly smooth arrival into Rabat, having befriended the man seated next to me on my flight from Paris. He was a young father excitedly returning to his wife and young child after two months of working abroad. In a display of what I’ve found to be classic Moroccan hospitality, my friend insisted on remaining with me until I had safely found my Country Director, Mohamed. It didn’t take long, and within a few minutes I was on my way back to Hay-Riad, the quiet yet bustling neighborhood where the home base is located.

The river that separates Rabat from Salé, just 10 minutes away from our home base.

Determined to defeat the jet lag, I persevered through my exhaustion and stayed awake until 10:00 P.M. that day. I was terribly excited to finally meet Mohamed, a former PeaceCorps employee who happens to know quite a few of my friends and colleagues from my office at State in DC last summer. I also got to meet Hassan and Abdou, our security guard and bus driver. These three, as well as our incredible cook Fatiha and house manager Khadija, are all native Moroccans which creates such an authentic feeling in the home base. I speak French with all of them except for Mohamed, who usually speaks English because the other volunteers currently living in the home base, Kenzie and Kelly, speak neither French or Arabic. Throughout my three months here, there will be many volunteers coming and going through the house. Kelly left us on Friday and Kenzie will be on her way next weekend. All sorts of people come through CCS, though according to Mohamed its mostly older women who choose Morocco. Of course, there are always exceptions, such as myself! Nonetheless, I am excited to cross paths with so many different kinds of people throughout my time here!

Khadija, my partner in sass, also used to work with the PeaceCorps.

I have decided that since I will be living in Morocco for the entirety of Ramadan, I am going to fast alongside my students and the local staff. Mohamed gave a particularly scintillating lecture on Islam this week, discussing the fast as a test of willpower and perseverance to remind us of all we have to be grateful for. By fasting, I hope my perspective will be challenged to feel and understand what it truly feels like to be hungry and thirsty, like so many throughout this country, my home country, and around the world. I am nervous of course, but I strongly believe that this is a challenge that coincides perfectly with the Lumos mission to culturally immerse and seek understanding. Not to mention that in Arabic, the verb “sam” means to fast, so perhaps that will work in my favor!

The pictures don’t do the mountains justice, but Kenzie and I were having to much fun to worry about taking better ones... You’ll just have to go see for yourself! 😉

This weekend, Kenzie and I ventured out to Marrakech where we went quad biking (ATVs) in the dunes surrounding the breathtaking Atlas Mountains, explored the famous Marrakech Plaza/surrounding medina, (aka market) and relaxed in our peaceful riad. A riad is a word used to describe a house with a courtyard, and if you want to see why I’m quickly falling in love with this country, I encourage you to Google some images of Moroccan riads. People don’t really stay in hotels here... Instead they rent rooms in these beautiful courtyard houses with amazing rooftop terraces. You meet and often interact with your host, who is there to help you navigate the new place as much as you need. It’s a much more personal experience than a hotel, and Kenzie and I had an easy time getting around this intimidating city largely due to the kindness of our hosts. Needless to say, this was a wonderful weekend trip, only made better by the good company I shared!

Watching the sunset from the terrace atop our beautiful riad in Marrakech.

Tune in next Monday to learn about what I’ve got going on in the classroom at the Empowerment Center, photos from my trip to the Chellah ruins, and a review of the famous Mawazine Music Festival!

The Duality of Commencement

Apr 22, 2016

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This is where I will be living throughout my time in Rabat. As lovely as it looks in pictures, I can’t wait to see it in person!

With only 16 days until graduation and a mere 30 days standing between me and my flight to Morocco, I have found myself quite preoccupied with the concept of commencement. This reflection was really inevitable, as I prepare to put my 17 years of education to use out in the ever-elusive real world. However, this idea of commencement does not only apply to those wearing graduation robes this May: It recurs through many different seasons of life, which is what makes the concept of commencement altogether worth further exploration.

The certain uncertainty of new beginnings always sounds so exciting at first. Though we as people are creatures of habit, there is something indescribably alluring about turning our world upside down and pursuing something new and previously unexplored. But just as we prepare to take the leap, a hefty dose of reality sets in. Am I ready for this change? Is this a good decision? How will I know?

The onslaught of doubt is not ill-founded: a major life change is occurring, and the transition will most assuredly be difficult at times. As a recent graduate, I am escaping the familiar, defined structure of college and am instead finding myself left entirely to my own devices. What I do in the fall is no longer determined by ClassFinder or the registrar, but by me. The friends I hold dear will scatter throughout the world, introducing new responsibilities in maintaining these friendships to overcome the perpetual distance. The tyranny of choice will set in as I continue to ponder: What comes next?

There is a great deal of beauty in the deeply unsettling nature of commencement. For as much as we may wear ourselves thin in trying to decide “What comes next?”, at the end of the day we ourselves have the power to determine not only what comes next, but how effectively we manage whatever it is that comes next. It is not fortune, be it good or bad, that makes or breaks a person: it is their attitude in coping, reflecting, and addressing the consequences of the choices they make that, in turn, make all the difference. In a world dictated by factors we cannot control, it is all the more important to harness our abilities over what we can control: ourselves.

How fitting then that our commencement ceremonies are held in the springtime, a season just as characterized by rain as it is by sunshine. As I prepare to begin my journey to Morocco, I am doing my best to embrace the hardships I know I will face. Spending three months alone in a foreign land is truly daunting. Add to it the harsh reality of having to rely solely on a second language to communicate, being absent for major milestones of friends back home, and the mounting pressure of committing to a professional next step upon returning to the States, and it becomes nearly paralyzing. But there can be sunshine amidst this rain, so long as I do not allow a poor attitude to cloud my judgment and prevent me from seeing the good that accompanies these omnipresent challenges. I am about to embark on an incredible journey of self-discovery, one that will forever taint the way I perceive the world around me.

And for that reason, with every day that passes, I will choose to be positive. I will choose to have faith. I will choose to always get back up and keep fighting when obstacles knock me down.

Commencement is a scary, beautiful thing. But even scarier and even more beautiful is the choice we have to make of commencement what we will. And with that being said I hope you, in whatever capacity of commencement you find yourself, will join me in rejecting the anxiety and embracing the adrenaline…It is time to leap!

A Trip to Jeffrey’s Bay!

Jun 19, 2015

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Hey all!

A three-day weekend calls for adventuring, and what better place to do so than South Africa? Last weekend we headed an hour west to Jeffery’s Bay, home of the Billabong Surfing Championships. After a road trip and a few wrong turns, we made it to Island Vibes, our hostel and home for the next few days.

From the moment we talked to the smiling Charmain at the front desk, I knew I would love Island Vibes. The laid-back, surf bum feel was absolute heaven to me. I had never stayed in a hostel before, but it ended up being AMAZING! It was kind of like living in a big house, except your house-mates just happened to be incredible surfers from all around the world. As I leaned over the balcony watch the waves crashing on the shore and breathed in the salt-tinged air, I was filled with bliss (how’s that for Island Vibes?) Continue reading →

To Leave, Yet to Be Right at Home

May 11, 2015

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WHOOHOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To think, soon, I’ll be headed off on a plane headed for a place that I call my home, but that I don’t really remember all that well. It’s been eight or nine years since I was last in Oradea. I’m sure a lot will have changed, that I will see a lot of new things, and probably a lot of old things and be surprised by the change. But I’m soooo excited for it!! Everyone tells me that it will be a huge transition, warns of culture shock and all the rest of it, but I’m not sure that I buy that. People are people wherever in the world they may reside and whatever way that they may think about life; which really serves well to lead me to my next point, namely, that people being people, they still have struggles, hardships, and need someone who will unconditionally love them, care about them, and sacrifice for them. I do too. Everyone does. That’s what home is.

That is why I find it so important to really start at home when it comes to giving and helping, and expand out from there, because really, if I go and help elsewhere without first taking care of the home front, then I am neglecting my greatest and most important responsibility that I, in fact, am meant to take care of and know to take care of better than anyone else. I have been blessed with many opportunities to lead and serve in Tennessee, from activities with my church or nearby churches, to those through school organizations or even that I have personally organized, and I have taken them because I realize that my primary responsibility is to love those around me, realized through the love that my God has first shown me. Some may think that this idea of responsibility is one that conveys burden, but that is a narrow, incomplete view of the grandeur of such a thing. There is also the idea of love, when that which one ought to do is performed not by obligation, but due to convictions grounded in the depths of man’s soul, an idea which contains within the fullest realization of propriety and morality in understanding that obligation by command is only the failure of obligation by love, the understanding that honoring commands in joy is truly the highest honor man can gain, making the desire to love written on my fiery coal of a heart shine forth as the brilliant manifestation of everything I should strive for. And that was a long sentence.

Confession: in writing, there are two things I like to do: 1) Write really long sentences and 2) Not paragraph. Yes, paragraph should be verb. I just have this theory that combining a lot of ideas into one sentence helps to convey a fullness and depth ensuing from the lack of any separation except for possibly breathing and moments of deep thought as one processes several things at once and so makes really fantabulous connections. I believe this theory. I also really want you to understand my trip as understand my life, and thus my trip as I experience it, and I can tell you: I don’t live in paragraphs. There is not a neat, nice, clean stop—ok guys, I walked into Starbucks, new paragraph—no. I walk into Starbucks pondering the wonder of the cool breeze, the destiny of man, what in the world that lady has in her hair, the new topic covered in Physics course, and everything in life, consecutively, of course. There is a beautiful mesh and continuum that is really a fuller understanding of the nature of the art of loving what you have been given and being content in life. I also understand, however, that people like paragraphs. I also realize, hurt my heart though it may, that not everyone loves British literature as much as I do, and thus not everyone likes long sentences either. I know, shocker. It’ll pass, with time. Drink some tea. One thing that you might notice if you <3 English grammar is also that I like to have fun with words as well as English grammar. Call it artistic license. Call it humor. Call it a fullness of expression in the careful, thoughtful transmission of the wee emotions to properly convey the complexity of the experience. I will probably agree with you on all counts. In fact, in efforts to even further agree with the collective experience of the ages, I will probably go back and paragraph.

Truly though, I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing this. I hope that you enjoy the heights of depth and the depths of the heights of my joy because what you read, and how you read it, and the way in which you understand how I have written this, will help you understand my journey. I have writing and pictures. Yet in these forms is an ocean of feelings, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, people, places, things, wonder, awe, respect, joy, love, and so many other things that I could never express to you if I had a million years to communicate with the express purpose of bringing you along with me. I also don’t want to overwhelm you too much. If I overwhelm you a little bit, that’s ok, because I am kind of overwhelmed as well by all of it, so you feel me. But check this, all of you wonderful Lumos people who in your kindness have condescended so to grace my blog: I know that you all get tired of reading and processing too, and you all have lives outside of this thread in the Internet world of flying photons, so I will probably, most likely, possibly, probably try to keep these at legible lengths. I really am, for your sakes. You know, most professors have a class dedicated to introducing the class, so consider that we are getting on the same page in today’s session on how to light up the world. By the way, smiles help. And I like puns. Beside the point, although we are talking about life.

I just thought that I should try to explain myself a little bit so you don’t feel like you are being thrown over the deep end, landing in the kiddie section and hurting yourself. I want you to feel like you are being thrown in the deep end with the full knowledge of how to swim so that you can truly experience the wonder of the light as it refracts off the surface and penetrates the medium while immersing yourself in the refreshing coolness of life. When I say things on this blog, I want you, reader, to understand that every word has had an immense amount of thought placed in its writing, and oftentimes is a metaphor for life. I also want you to understand that, excepting this past sentence, whenever I write things, especially those things about myself or related to me, I almost always am imagining it, not simply enunciated dramatically (and seriously: without sarcasm), but also in an accent as I am writing it. Just pick several: British, French, German, Italian, Russian, Southern, North African male, Indian, African-American lady, and many more—just make sure to have fun when you do it. One may disagree, but I think I am doing a better job of explaining the depths of myself in the depths of my joy and enthusiasm through this methodology of expression. It just spans cultures, sort of like what I am going to be doing here in Romania.

By knowing the Romanian language and culture, I will be able to love people in a way that they understand it, teach them English in a way that they comprehend it, help people in a way that they need it, and thus be of greatest use here where I am. Whether helping the orphan boy Daniel who lives at the Charis Foundation Center in Santion, Romania by helping him build a house for himself while teaching him English and just being his friend, by teaching English and music to children in an orphanage in Sanmartin and forming relationships with them over a period of 3 months, doing a similar work with a group of Romi children in Tileagd, assisting at one private nursing home in Dumbrava where one family takes care of 160 elderly in four houses by charity, the nursing home oftentimes being populated by residents kicked out of the state-run nursing homes because the state couldn’t afford to take care of them, and so on and so forth. There is a need here. For several years now I have taken care of needs at home in America, in Tennesse, where I grew up, but now I feel led to move on to my next home, and help there as well, because everyone needs love.

I don’t know what may lie ahead of me, though I’ve grown up on stories of place. It’s like I’m a dwarf from the Hobbit, looking towards the Misty Mountains, thinking deep deep deep thoughts of what hidden treasures may lie on the other side of this great mound of Earth. In fact, I am.

Call it pre-travel travel, traveling to traveled places from a long time ago in a land far far away. Call it leaving home, only to go home. I will be with my family in America as well as in Romania. I will get to give and help and serve and love people in Romania just as I did in America and thus I will get to give back to my people from the motherland as well. Really, I’ll still be home because my home has always been where my heart is and my heart is everywhere, with several focal points, of course, but still everywhere because where I can live out love is somewhere that I’d want to be and somewhere where I’d belong. I’m home, going home, and waiting to go home. Riddle me that. I’m not even sure how to express this, I’m just so excited, so enthused, so happy and thankful and grateful to be where I am right now as well as for this wonderful opportunity, thanks to Lumos, to love people.

So, subtle tribute to them,

and I am really looking forward to having you join me on this experience of a lifetime and hearing your thoughts as I overwhelm you with weird metaphors, abstract references, overly long sentences, and everything in life. Why? Because I find that the best things in life tend to be slightly overwhelming if you think about it a little. And this is pretty great. 🙂 So, grace and peace to you all, and here I come!!!

~David Gal-Chiş

The World Is Round?

Jul 15, 2014

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I have officially been in Germany for a week now and I have so much to tell!

But First:

Germany won the World Cup! This had to be the coolest, most adrenaline filled moment of my trip- and I have had some pretty exciting moments. Some friends and I watched the semi final game between Germany and Brasil. After the first goal, we started muting the television because outside my roommates and my window there was an eruption of cheers and honking horns. When German won, the party outside seemed to go on until the sun rose. The Final game was going to be fantastic.

The day of the game, a large group of us went to the Brandenburg Gate to watch the game. We didn’t leave until like 5, so of course we didn’t make it into the closed off area. However, we did get to see hundreds of people cloaked in red, yellow, and black, marching and yelling and singing while waiting outside the gate. There were so many people who were bound together on that day by that sport. Everyone was a friend and everyone was excited.

We ended up watching the game at a small cafe miles from the gate. Even this small place was packed. Many people were standing, and we were squeezed into a corner in the back. I would walk outside every couple moments and the streets would be completely deserted.

When Germany won, the entire country exploded. People were hanging out of their cars yelling, and car horns were blaring. People were jumping and singing all over the place. I went to bed to the sound of partying outside my window.

Today, Berlin welcomed the winning team home. Thousands of people could be seen walking to the Brandenburg Gate. The flags and Germany colors are starting to disappear though.

One important thing I have learned this last week is the meaning of German pride. I’ve been on a ton of tours this last week- Berlin, Cold War, Jewish Life, and Sachsenhausen concentration camp. one thing thing that all the guides had in common to say was how odd it was for them (being mostly middle-aged) to see Germans waving a German flag. As an American, it is hard for me to understand collective guilt of ones country. While America has done atrocious things, I still feel patriotic towards my country and I still feel as though I have a right to wave a flag if I want and sing my national anthem whenever- I mean, I didn’t do anything, right? Many Germans though, feel that patriotism and nationalism are synonymous with one another and that flags are inappropriate. I’m not sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, it makes me upset with myself for being connected to something so flimsy as a symbol and a song. On the other hand, it makes me appreciative that I’ve been able to grow up without feeling responsibility for my countries past wrong-doings. Maybe collective responsibility is a truer form of patriotism than worshiping a flag. I don’t know :/

ANYWAYS,

My computer died and I am currently using a friends. Unfortunately, I cannot upload my pictures on this computer, but I will post again with lots of pics soon!

Tschüs!

Kao Jai.

Feb 2, 2014

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Two months ago I began my journey of starting something that matters with a long, tedious trek up switchback mountain roads and down muddy paths to a small, privately owned coffee farm. At that point, I honestly didn’t know what sparked this fire inside of me, but I knew that it was something that I needed to follow even if it was done blindly. The dictionary defines the word understand as an individual’s ability to be sympathetically or knowledgeably aware of the character or nature of something. In this context, understanding someone or something means that an individual must take on, or experience, the thing or person’s life as their own.

Understanding in a world with such a significant language barrier has opened my eyes to how precious communication truly is. Back home, stories and experiences are publicly displayed on social media giving people the opportunity to live vicariously through others. I have never doubted that a tweet is worth 140 characters or a picture a thousand words, but experiencing something firsthand is priceless.

This opportunity of living in an area where I am unable to speak the language has come as a blessing in disguise. During my visit to the coffee farm, the mother of the family graciously invited me to sit and eat lunch under a small, bamboo shack that was constructed to protect the family members from the weather. Words were not exchanged, yet it was evident that each person sharing that meal together was sympathetically aware of the character and nature of one another. Honestly, not being able to speak with one another made this moment truly unforgettable.

Kao Jai Coffee

No matter how successful Kao Jai Coffee may or may not be, living a life that is aware, curious, and sympathetic helps me better understand not only others, but myself as well. Sharing helps show others, but never forget that experiencing leads to understanding.

For more info check out: www.kaojaicoffee.com