How Global Nomads Lack Social Capital

I was sitting in small group today for one of my classes.

This in an unremarkable statement. I sit in a lot of small groups...uh...three small groups...and pairs for international relations...and we pair for methods too...(I'm a loner for the methods project...but actually, that was unintended). It's rather amazing as my school is so small, my department even smaller, and my classes smaller still, I have the same partner in two classes. I have no idea what this says about my uni or my education, except we form lots of social capital.

Oh yes...sitting in small group. This is indeed unremarkable except we were pondering the challenges of social capital. I wondered (as I often wonder), how easy is to mobilize global nomads? We're a social group with generally shared values and norms. We have massive social networks, right? If we are a social group, then what are our natural resources, infrastructures, human and social capitals? I have no idea but yet we are a culture, a group of people holding to the common understanding that we are abnormally normal and better off for it.

I decided that we don't really have a defined identity; we know who we're not, but we don't really know what we are aside from the self-imposed term "global nomad." We self-identify with other groups with more concrete values...Aussi, footie player, uni grad, family-person, Asian/African/male/female. Global nomad?
That's just too hard to explain so we marginalize that side of ourselves. It's impossible to kill it but what are you supposed to do when so many other social groups can't relate to that part of you? And so we live our lives, form our social networks but are largely unaware of the nomadic culture we've formed and even less aware of our social capital resources.

And it all started while sitting in small group with a Kenya, a Syrian, and an Indiana Mennonite...

How to Deal with Fall (Autumn)

There are some of us...who never have to deal with the four seasons. Four seasons to me growing up, was a pizza which our family liked because everyone got what they wanted. However, in this place called the Northern Hemisphere, the weather includes more then simply the rainy season and the sunny season.

Thus far, my thoughts on autumn are inconclusive. I don't quite know what I think but I don't like whatever it is. I'm used to continuous life; sunshine, grass, palm trees, colors and shades of life always sharing their joy with me. Flowers never die. The swimming pool is always welcome and the grass always needs cutting. Yes this sounds like an idealist seeing the world through rose-colored lenses but for years, this is my sense of reality; continuous sunshine.

Dropping back to United States in winter wasn't a problem. It was just an alternate reality. Spring was exciting, even magical as I saw the reality I know come back to me. Summer was a healing balm to my very soul. Now we have fall (autumn). I'm not sure what I think about that. Granted the sun still shines for the most part. Granted the leaves changing their colors is extraordinary, another alternate reality. But...I find myself grieving. There's a sense of finality about seasons. It's sad. Other's see the beautiful colors of fall. For me, it's like seeing everything I know and love...the trees, the warm weather, the weekend biking...die. I liked winter because of that foreign element, but I don't like getting there.

Right now, people around me hear my whinging about fall as I layer on more clothes then normal people consider normal. Perhaps fall will redeem itself as time progresses but as the chipper girl from Southern Africa...I may just whinge through it and on till next spring.

How to Know When a Place is Home

As the end of my third week of my last year in uni draws to a close, I contemplate, have I even done anything interesting? Tragically, I concluded that I haven't. Interesting and I have parted in such different directions that domestic-ed Americana thinks it has a shot at me. Perhaps I exaggerate (or do I?) but I acutely feel that life has become a pursuit of the minute and I lose track of the bigger and finer things of life. Why just today, I was enjoying a spin around Hburg on my bike...delighting in the sunshine...and whinging internally that I never got out on my bike because I have so much homework...and then I realized...I had actually taken a two hour ride the day before.

When you realize time is passing quickly, you realize you're beginning to feel at home. When faces you'd know vaguely before smile at you, you realize you're beginning to feel at home. When you know where to find the freshest fruit, when certain roads are busy, and especially once you've mastered the dress code...you realize that you're beginning to make a foreign environment your home. It's a universal truth that you don't have to love any one place as soon as you move there or for the following months. You don't have to be eternal committed to a place to make it "home." You just have to create a few routines, make a few friends and solemnly promise yourself you're going to try and not make an idiot of yourself learning local customs.

This is my country. This is where I'm supposed to belong. Even though my classmates look like me and speak with a similar accent, I'm still a global nomad who's picked Hburg as my foreign assignment. Like adapting to any new country, I've got though the hardest months and the humiliation of looking like a clueless idiot over and over again (and had to shudder past the hippy-eque dress code, just wasn't feeling it). This is the part where I start to enjoy my new posting. It might never be home, but like any foreign culture, it can feel almost like home...

How to Survive Your Last First Day of School

The first week of university is quite standard globally. We all encounter very similar sentiments. We all lose our nerve and question our constant inclination towards stupid decisions. Even though this is my last first-day-of-school, this was also my first day of school. I was taught at home...and then I had that stint with online uni....so I never formally showed up for a first day of school anywhere. (I'm a global nomad. Of course it doesn't make sense.) Because this is so novel, I will document my first week for future reference and to compare against other uni systems.

1) I panicked. One must always panic because...well I panicked because I'm taking 18 credit hours, ie. full time plus some. I've never taken seven classes before. Previously the most I ever did was six but this time I have math comp so I have extra reason to whinge endlessly. Nonetheless, like any former Zimbabwean resident you think to yourself..."gotta make a plan."

2) I panicked encore. I'm living in an apartment with two girls I knew as acquaintances before. I thought it would be great because they're social butterflies and I'm an academic hermit who needs physiologic help. Still, when you're family drives away headed back to Sudan and you're standing in the middle of Southern Virginia with your mountain of stuff...obviously...you really panic...and then you have a meltdown...and then...well...you suck it up and tell yourself like any true Zimbabwean..."I'm goin' to make a plan."

3) You panic still again. This time you get your course syllabus and you're shocked your profs have the audacity to think you've got thousands of hours to devote to their class alone. You quickly realize, you're going to have no life. It's a horrible feeling but still again, like any person who ever tolerated the Robert Mugabe regime, you remind yourself..."I need to make a plan."

4) You panic a final time. You realize, this is the last time you'll ever be a student. Sure post-grad is always an option but...if this is your last first-day-of-school...that means you're old! You think of all you've done, and all you haven't done. Your panic melts into melancholy and you remember those hideous clothes you wore in middle school (at least I do) and the boys you crushed as a high school fresher (gosh I was an idiot). You sigh and think of the good days and realize just how much a global nomad you are because you're still uttering comments such as..."I'll just make a plan..."

How I Got Back to Uni (Final Edition)

I made a decision towards the beginning of the summer. A commitment. A choice. A willful obligation though I shuddered and whinged internally. I am going to make it through uni.

This was not at all an easy decision. Obviously, living in Southern Virginia with a slew of white people between the ages of 18 and 22 committed to recycling and late night dumpster diving, is hardly my first choice. Like any true global nomad, I have no idea where I want to be...but it has to be...outrageous...in a bizarre global nomad sense. I need to live a life sustaining pleasant personal diversions and dangerously exciting vacations. It's simply part of being a global nomad...it's hard to explain it any other way.

Today I moved into my dorm, bidding farewell to my wonderful summer and committing myself to social death. I contemplated the significance of facing my fears and coming back to uni. It's a lot like moving to a new country so I should be able to handle it better but it's still difficult. These people look like me, they have the same mother-tongue as me and they eat the same food and celebrate the same holidays...but it's not easy.

For me, finishing uni is a commitment to making good choices. It means overcoming homesickness for my family who currently live in Sudan who can't make it back for my graduation. It means learning to make the most of the moment while realizing that I did pick the school for the academics and that comes first. It means putting things in boxes and removing other things from mental boxes as it relates to my global nomadic understandings of life. It means learning when to speak up and when to silently affect change in my own way. There are always lessons to learn.

This is my final year of undergrad. I've only got a year left. I've no idea where I'll be this time next year; terrifying...thrilling...I need coffee to help me calm down. So...here's to the future! School has come back around.

How to Attend a Demolition Derby

Welcome to the County Fair!

Just when you think you've defined "Americana." As if that was even possible in such a big country. Being in America affords many interesting, interesting experiences and the demolition derby is surely one of the most interesting of the many interesting American experiences.

1) You must expect to be deaf. The demolition derby is rough on the ears. You will lose you hearing and you will wish you lost your hearing to your favorite band's concert, not because eight cars were raving in the mud. At the beginning, the sound will give you a migraine but towards the end when there are only a few left battling it out, it's bearable.

2) You must sit back in the bleachers. The cars are lined up in a mud pit and after the crowd countdown, they attack each other. I questioned the mud before I realized the velocity would have otherwise been dangerous to these remarkable pieces of car-art. The mud goes flying.

 3) You must realize, it's entertainment. Basically, it's a bunch of gloriously painted old cars smashing each other up until one is left standing. We start with little trucks, then bigger trucks, then little cars, bigger cars, and finally, the giant clunkers which are all solid mental and fail to dent. These cars are then refirbished and they do it again, and again....and again...

It's a priceless experience. You'll realize how wonderfully diverse this country is. It's just....awesome.

How to Enjoy Washington DC

So I've already established that DC is not the most interesting city nor is it the most dull place. It's...just there. As a global nomad, I go for the slightly bizarre quirky things. As a quasi-American, I go for the history. And as a peacebuilder in training, I go for...yeah...peace. (No 60s peace/love/crack/pot stuff...a little more class people.) I have had a very good time here and so I advise the following...yet...these are through the lense of a quirky global nomad.

Several favorite activities at DC:

1) Drinking coffee at Caribou Coffee at Metro Center. There's a Starbucks every two blocks and I got spiteful. I loved my iced coffee watching people ascend and descend from the metro, writing my emails and papers, and trying to understand the whole appeal of a rustic-themed coffee joint.

2) Library of Congress. I got so excited. I did! The building is beautiful but you've gotta take a tour...take a tour my friend or you'll miss this temple to the importance and value of knowledge.

3) Jazz in the Sculpture Garden. I enjoyed the little bit I was here but it does it crowded and it's a thing you do with friends.

4) Stroll Downtown. I would put on my good clothes and my shades and pretend I belonged down there. The prettier parts of town would be Dupont or even up where I lived, Takoma Park or there's the Mall with the tourist in Chicos and Nikes. I liked all of the above. But I really digged downtown.

5) The Botanical Gardens: I flipped for this place. It's truly so beautiful. I enjoyed sitting and communing with my inner-self and mediating on community and peace (or not). Really, loved seeing all the green because...well...the Mall's grass is a little crewed up from the Crocs.

6) The Holocaust Museum: If you want to change the world, visit this place. I was moved beyond words, and affected far after I spent nearly four hours touring the memorial. I wasn't entirely sure how to process what I saw, but I promised myself I would never, ever, ever engage in any form of racism.

7) Lunch at the Tidal Basin: Overlooking the Jefferson Momument with dates and families out on the paddle boats. It was green, tree-lined and peaceful. I was contente.

8) See a Good Movie: It was "Julie and Julia" for me. Read the reviews, visit Rotton Tomatos, watch the trailers, and hit a matinee. You can go alone, it's still fun but you must bring your own candy and you must laugh loudly like an American at all the jokes. It's part of the cultural experience.

9) Uhh...visit DC and try something for yourself. You can also sera content (e).

How to Pick a Summer Blockbuster

I truly adore the cinema. I admit it. I love everything about the experience (except the popcorn, too expensive. I smuggle in peanut M&Ms, only the peanut ones). Now at my uni, we have a weekly film shown in the school’s largest lecture hall…in lecture chairs…on square projector scene…with crappy lecture hall sound system…now people that’s like a layover in Dubai…you do it but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable.

So obviously while here in DC, I had to crash the cinema with my smuggled food at a less expensive matinee. I'd seen the trailers for this particular film. I read the reviews and I made the choice. This was going to be make me happy and...shockingly it did! I fulfilled my craving for the cinema, my love for stories set in my favorite city of Paris, and this longstanding desire to see a movie on opening weekend. I went to see “Julie and Julia;” center theater in between two popcorn chomping couples.

I loved it. I really did. Normally I don’t blog politics or television but there was something special about this film. It followed two women. 1) Julia Child, following her career diplomat husband (who she married in China when working for the State Department as a secretary) to Paris in the 1950s. She tries hat-making lessons, bridge lessons before deciding to take cooking lessons (she and her husband both agreed she’s so good at eating). 2) Julia Powell, a 2002 mid-range bureaucrat in NYC plodding through a passion-less life, and struggling to overcome a chronic inability to finish projects. She decides to blog her way through Julia Child’s cookbook in one year. A film centered around blogging…that’s one reason I chose this to be my first film to see opening weekend. I thought it might stir some thoughts for my very own blog!

I admired Julia right off the bat. She was good humored, engaging, humble, and completely relished her life a diplomatic global nomad. But then again, I’m completely Julie. I fret about doing something meaningful. I become frustrated when life seems to be sapped of passion, I sometimes feel like I don't deserve the wonderful people in my life and I and procrastinate with tasks like boning ducks.

I deeply admire women like Julia Child who rise to greatness by just being themselves; unassuming and without seeing any glory for themselves. I admire women who don’t turn into men in an effort to prove that women are just as adequate as men or attempt to effect change in their spheres of influence. I admire people like Julie to make tiny steps to bring joy in their lives and later share it with others.

So what’s the global nomad’s lesson from my love of cinema and adoration for this movie? Well, the film was about blogging. I’m going to try and blog more! But the application…make time to do what you love on the weekend. It’s good for the soul and there’s no sense running yourself into the ground. That’s what I’ve learned over the summer and I’ll pass it on.

How DC Stacks Up

So I spent eight weeks of my summer interning in America's capital. I had mixed feelings about it initially as I continued hearing comments like, "DC...yeah...it's not bad....""Yeah I've found things to enjoy about DC...""Oh my gosh! The crime! I had that freakin' city! And Dulles? I don't have words for Dulles....""DC tries to be cool, but it's not." I never heard anyone praise the city while gushing about it's wonderous sights, like say Paris or NYC. DC is just...blah. Yeah. Next please!

I have to agree with them. If you don't like politics, government or happy hour, DC is disappointing. There's no Champs Elysee where people strut their Prada and shop their hearts out. There's no Disney World where kiddies and parents scream on big rides. There isn't glamour, or culture or any real style. There isn't even anything that old. DC is a pretty modern capital when stacked up against world heritage sites.

DC is a political center. It's where latte-drinking, Gap-wearing, elite-educated type-As come with their determined face, going to change the world. It's not a place for hippies or culture-shakers. Life seems to revolve around happy hour where these trimmed individuals network over a margarita and extol the virtues of the current president. DC wants to be progressive. I can't say if they actually are. It's a culture of driven people, some fed up with bureaucracy, other's comfortable in their position in the hierarchy of power. Some out to change the world, others to change the country, and then there locals who simply call DC home and don't have anywhere else to go.

I've been amazed how much DC is an African American city. I know Africa. I love Eastern/Southern Africa. All I know about African Americans is what I've seen on TV which is ironically the same medium Africans learn about white Americans. I've been intrigued by a sub-culture I see here, one which I know nothing about but is such a large part of the country. It's such a large part of the city, but they don't seem to affect the city's group of driving world-changers.

If you love US history. DC is a blast. I've had my fair share of amusement and utterly delighted that I know many of the names, places, and dates on artifacts. (I did enjoy 11th grade US history while living in Addis Abba.) I had a field day gazing up at the US. Capitals rotunda and seeing the original flag inspired the Star Spangled Banner was a unique experience as I tried to connect to my American roots. If you want to go shopping. There's Georgetown but you should take the AmTrac to NYC. Every American has to do DC, and 4th grade school trips don't count if you can't remember it. There's a lot to like and there's lots of good food. That's for sure!

Stacked up against other cities....DC...uh....maybe... I truly couldn't say. There isn't anything really bad about it. I've live here two-five years, no more. I could do that, play the part and enjoy the glories of urban life. The crime is terrible but it's sure nice to have so many coffee shop choices and there's a fantabulous selection of world cultures. However, the nomad communities are largely South/Latin American, and I'm more of a Europe/Africa/Asia lover myself.

I'll give DC a seven out of ten...I think I'll keep shopping. I've got time...

How Frisbee is the National Sport

One of DC most famous locations is "The Mall"...a long stretch of grass flanked by multiple museums, with the Capital at one end and the Lincoln Memorial at the other. In the center stands the the Washington Monument (I got my ticket to visit in the mail today, ha!). The Mall is a nice stretch of grass available for all sorts of activities.

Saturday I ate my lunch at The Mall (on The Mall? in The Mall? Uhhh....). While my favorite Bollywood song charged through my Ipod, I enjoyed a feast of visual amusement. I watched the tourist in Chicos wandering up and down hitting the sites, taking photos with the Capital or Monument in the background. Many attempting to humor their screaming children with promises of treats or threats of naps. There were a few bikers (also in Chicos), a few isolated individuals attempted to make political statements (mostly in dreadlocks)...and then there were the athletes (also frequently in Chicos).

I've been on The Mall quite a few times. It's taken a while to crash all the museums. I've always been amused by what people do on that grass. If it was France, Kenya, Zambia, or most places on earth, soccer enthusiasts would be kicking a spotted ball around. It it had been Zim or Pak, the insane cricket freaks would be standing bored in white outfits waiting to dash after a red cork ball. But this is America. And the only sport people engage in on the green Mall is....Frisbee. Once I saw baseball which was drawing a sizable crowd, but that's it. I was amazed, and humored.

I wondered what this said about the American culture. I deduced several good things. It's easy to join in on Frisbee. It's easy to learn. It's easy to play. The equipment is super cheap. It's sociable and you can talk while you play. Anyone of any age, size, gender, ethnic background can join in. There's some skill involved in Frisbee but it's hard to feel like an idiot no one's left feeling like an idiot. Frisbee enthusiasts play the more sophisticated, "ultimate Frisbee" which because I've never played, I can't in good faith blog about it but I've heard is fantabulous.

Thus, through inductive reasoning, I theorize that Frisbee is the national sport. Now like good capitalists we need to develop the perfectly shaped Frisbee, the right color, the right squeezable grips on the sides, and then outsource production to Asia and sell them en mass on Amazon.com. It's the American way. Go find a Frisbee. Embrace it. It's a pretty fun sport.

How to Ride the DC Public Transit System

Riding public transport is currently the rage for several reasons. 1) It's now more economical. 2) it's now more environmentally friendly (because before, it just wasn't), and 3) it's simply easier. I've historically gone to great lengths to express my unflinching support of public transit. I've spent a good deal of my time whinging that America needs more trains (and my college town needs a bus system that runs more then every hour). So imagine my unspeakable joy arriving in DC and once again being united with the power to achieve great things...via the metro.

Four days after I arrived in DC and my first day of work, there was a massive metro accident at 5pm rush hour right outside my home station of Takoma. I opted out of the metro because the whole system was utterly screwed up. So after pouring over bus maps and getting turned around, getting somewhat lost, and being on many occasionally embarrassingly late to work, I believe to have discovered...the tricks of the trade.

1. Get to the bus stop early. The bus is never on time. Mostly, it's late. But then again it could be early. You never know. You have to guess. And most importantly, you have to be early.


2. You must have a SmartTrip card. The flat bus fare is $1.25 with free transfers for up to three hours. Or you can pay cash every ride for $1.35. It's almost always cheaper then the metro. Metro increases it's fares during rush hours by almost a third so it does add up. On the weekend "regular hours," I take the metro but only if I don't plan on any transfers within a three hour period.


3. You must be pushy. People in DC are incredibly pushy and rude. I confess I was shocked when a woman cut me off the first time. I'd let elderly people, or small children go before me (duh!) but to have a rotund women several inches shorter then me in perfectly decent health practically kills in order to board the bus before me...crass. People for all their pushy-ness, typically give up their seats for the elderly and handicap...sometimes children.


4. You must remember the importance of gender sensitivity. Men sit next to men. Women sit next to women. It's just how it goes. However, (like in the French language) exceptions always exist during rush hours. Typically people will stand rather than sit next to someone of the opposite gender and causing discomfort.


5. You must pretend to be busy. The phone rules (I mean the Blackberry). You may do whatever you wish with your phone, texting preferred, loud talking forbidden. On the metro, people read the newspaper. On the bus, they read a novel, or "The Express," or listen to their mp3 devise. Don't speak to anyone, even if you're traveling with someone. Except children. Apparently you're allowed to scream at your child.

How I Ended up In DC

Back in March, I panicked for a very simple reason. I hadn't planned out my life. I had a gaping hole between 27 April and 1 September and like any reasonable, semi-reasonable or even unreasonable student, I had to fill it.

What any student does over the summer is rarely something that's given huge consideration. Most students, just go home where plenty of options exist; work at a theme park, a grocery store, child care, take a class perhaps and don't forget, visiting friends, the beach, a good brai, perhaps visit fellow students in other locations but definitely, let mom do the cooking.

Or...there's the ambitious options. I realized I fell into this category...after I feel into this category. And while internships sound ambitious...uhh...it's not really. So back in March I applied for, 1) A job at my local library, 2) A job at Summer Peacebuilding Institute, and 3) an internship with Women for Women International in Washington DC. Budget cuts and the library didn't pan out. I've already blogged about the richly educational and highly entertaining values which SPI imparted on this lowly staff-er. But what about WWI? Amazingly, that opportunity also knocked on my door.

I learned about WWI from a friend who also did her academic practicum there. I applied. Never thought I'd get it and was dually impressed when I was offered a summer internship in their sponsorship department. Actually, I was elated, ecstatic...I may have squealed because it was Easter break and I had my suite to myself.

So...while working at SPI, I contacted a friend who contacted her church who informed me someone in their congregation had extended family that were looking for a new tenet for their basement apartment. That panned out too. And then after SPI (and hording some of the groceries our participants left), I stored my belongs, connected with someone driving up to DC from Harrisonburg, and...voila! That's how I ended up in DC!

I'm excited. I haven't been in DC since 1995 when my dad ran the Marine Corps Marathon but I do remember thinking the moon rock was cool and the White House was boring. Nearly 15 years later, I'm here for big city therapy after being trapped in a mid-sized American town. Maybe trapped isn't the right adjective. What I really need is metro-ridding therapy.

How SPI Saved EMU (For Me)

This post is unique. It's a personal confession. (I wish I could say it'll be as history-altering as Augustine's "Confessions"). In earlier posts I've told the tale of my relocation to the United States to study peacebuilding at Eastern Mennonite University. My first academic semester was challenging. It's difficult moving to a new country. It's difficult adjusting to a new environment, new norms, and new standards. The problem is exacerbated when you're constantly reminded it's your country. It's where you belong, these are your people so...like...dude....what's your problem?

Many of my problems during this semester began with me. I sought perfect grades where I might have socialized. I hid when I should have spoken out. I kept silent when I should have asserted myself. Yet the legitimacy of my faith was constantly questioned coming from a non-Mennonite background. Everything from my political affiliations, my views on the military, my views on certain protracted conflicts, my opinions on globalization, my opinions on global living and the environment, and certainly my non-Mennonite heritage were challenged and belittled. I felt judged, ignored and irrelevant in a school which claims to celebrate diversity. EMU refuses to fly an American flag on campus, a statement they are citizens of a "global village" and a symbol they are creating a "safe space" where people can express themselves. Yet as a self-professed product of globalization, I felt unwelcome. This was certainly not the intention of many people. This was instead the reality.

I ended the semester on the Dean's List yet incredibly frustrated and angry over what I perceived as rejection. Yet my summer job at SPI changed helped me process these feelings of resentment. I was only on staff. I didn't participate in the classes, discussions or many of the events yet I found that diversity I was seeking. With people from over 35 nations, there was stronger commitment to creating a "safe space." Part of my job was to insure that on-campus students were able to create judgement-free community. Unlike many undergraduates, SPI peacebuilders have acknowledged the world is screwed up. They realize they are only ever going to make small steps towards change. They are less idealistic, less judgemental, and more open to solutions in unusual packages. Because of this, they respect their neighbor and openly extended friendship. I felt this atmosphere. I felt respected for my small contributions. I didn't really say anything. I simply appreciated the acceptance. I needed it. I learned that truly wonderful people, come in truly unusual packages.

So in a way this a plug for Summer Peacebuilding Institute. SPI is awesome. That's the only word I can think of. I needed this experience to help me move forward. This was my epiphany. This was the light at the end of my tunnel. This was where I resolved to be a better person. What will it take for you?

How Your Inner Nomad Fights Back

Modern Me: Everyone does it.

Nomad Me: But it's just embarrassing. I could never do that!

Modern Me: But this is America. Poeple do it all the time.

Nomad Me: But no one needs to know what mine look like!

Modern Me: You did it in France. Have you already forgotten that?

Nomad Me: But that was in the laundry room. This is different. Really, I just can't!

Modern Me: Grow up Grace!

This debate took place on Wednesday afternoon. I had just spent $1.5 to do my laundry and was hardly ready to fork over another $1.5 in quarters to use the dryer. So as the complacent global nomad who's all to prepared to "make a plan," the clothesline it was. But after so many years in Africa and especially after living in Islamabad...well...lets just say I was not about to display my...uh...unmentionables.

"Everyone does it." said my roommate. "I mean, it's not like a secret or anything and no one else lives down here."

Inside, I cringed. "I'm sorry, but I've lived in more conservative cultures and I just can't hang my underwear out for all the world to see. That's just wrong." In my mind, I was vividly remembering being 16 living in Kenya and having a male classmate mock my girlfriends who hung their "flags" on the clothesline "like it was the UN."

The inner global nomad is still small voice inside your head. He's ingrained in you. He's inched his way under your skin and is going to dictate your behavior without you even knowing it. The inner nomad represents any collection of habits and cultural norms from any country that decide to stick with you. The inner nomad pricked me several times this past week. I saw several Afghan men this week and I quickly buttoned the top two buttons on my shirt and questioned my use of shorts as everyday attire. I met several Kenyans and instantly returned their question in my own faux Kenyan accent. I saw my fellow student teasing one of our instructors and was aghast at their "lack of respect for authority." I called the trash can, "the bin." I explicitly told people my parents are from upstate New York. I defended the weather in the southern hemisphere. I was ballistic with joy when I found couscous. And perhaps most embarrassingly, I was corrected in public that a "PE-can" is actually a "peek-UN" (how would I know that?).

Yes the inner-nomad can take over. It's not such a bad thing. I've learned to be okay with his chatter. In my own way, I don't want him to leave because if he does, I'll feel disconnected with so many things I value about my overseas life. So I'm just going to hang certain items in my closet to dry.

How Summer Peacebuilders Can be Hilarious

These are some of my favorite SPI moments thus far.

1) At lunch:
Female Pakistani participant holds up a poppy/onion bagel: "What's this?"
Me: "It's a special kind of American bread. It's best if you put it in the toaster. You have to cut it first."
Female participant, frowning: "Help me, please."
Me, after cutting it and handing it back.
Female participant holds the bagel, picks at the inside of the bagel, examines the texture and shudders horrified.
Me: "It's best if you put it in the toaster and we spread this stuff called cream cheese on it. It's really good, you have to try it."
Female participant shoves half the bagel in my hands, frowning: "I don't want this."


2) Discussing movie night for the participants:
Bill: "I have tons of movies at home we could watch, like Princess Bride or Chitty Chitty Bang Bang."
Me: "I hate that movie! It's awful! We can't subject our participants to that!"
Val: "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, really?"
Me: "It's so annoying!"
Bill: "That's it, you're fired."
Val: "Well in the past, participants like to watch a movie that addresses some issue which they discuss afterwards."
Bill: "That's why I said Wall-E."
Val: "Well..."
Bill: "It's all about environmental degradation."
Val: "Or we could post a list of option and let the participants pick what they're most interested in watching."

3) Discussion registration:
Val: "So no one had any housing issues or anything?"
Me: "Nope, I think everyone is pretty happy."
Kevin: "That or you're just intimidating."

4) At registration Monday morning:
Me: "I'm lodging and housing so if you have any problems let me know."
Participant: "Oh!! I already talked to the health person and I told them I'm diabetic but I can take care of it."
Me: "Okay, great, good to know!"

Other semi-comical episodes included:

• My supervisor (or one of three) setting her scarf on fire the opening ceremony
• Accidentally entering the mall through the lingerie section of JC Penny's with several Middle-Eastern Muslim men
• Waiting up till 5am for a faculty member to arrive in from Fiji (this actually wasn't that funny)
• Manning various explanations for room changes ("she talks on her phone late at night"). This is where I wish I'd taken mediation and/or facilitation
• The constant battle with the never ending spring rain (and my bike adventures back and forth from residence, work, dorm, and information desk)
• And last but not least, working in an office with three hilarious people who talk to themselves continually and who's random thoughts intersect in such bizarre places I'm always amused. SPI is the most fun I've had in a long time. And the funny thing is, I'm on staff. I'm actually working.

How I ended up at SPI

In the peacebuilding field, EMU's SPI is just the coolest thing ever. Seriously! You have people coming from over 50 countries, instructors also from all over the world and you collaborate on subject relating to the promotion of world peace? Now that's just awesome.

I knew about Summer Peacebuilding Institute (SPI) long before I knew about EMU's undergrad peace studies program. This summer SPI is launching it's fourteenth annual summer courses. These four ten-day sessions are actually a branch of EMU's Center for Justice and Peacebuilding (CJP) and most people therefore know about CJP through SPI and CJP's world famous conflict transformation master program

But this is just incredibly boring facts. It's much better to actually live it. I can't say this for certain as SPI isn't officially beginning until Monday but I'm stoked! I'm working on staff here at SPI until mid-June when sessions end, I job I was totally excited to get because it means I can interact with people from all over the world again. I have an office job coordinating housing and I have a people job as a "camp counselor" in the faculty dorm. SPI has three permanent staff and I'm one of seven temporary summer/student staff who work mainly as community assistants (RA/camp counselor/order keeper) in the participent dormartory on campus. I get the best job/jobs because it means I get to do what I'm good at (organizing) and do what I'm good at (interacting with global nomads).

I may hate it. Actually I can't possible hate it because, well, I get to work with fabulous people for one thing. Right now, we're kind of worried about swine flu (um hum, H1N1 virus) but we're going right on ahead and enjoying life abundantly. (Masks are in the kitchen cupboard.)

How to Survive Finals Week

Finals week is completely new to me. I know all about exams and papers and drinking coffee to stay alive but...finals week?...that's new. We have a week dedicated to just finals? Okay, I've never done finals week before. I just study and take exams all the way to the end. But, when in Rome...well...you know how it goes.

Finals Week: A period after classes have ended dedicated to handing in papers, taking exams, partying, cleaning out/packing one's stuff, and putting final touches on summer plans. (This definition is from the author's private stash.)

It's only Monday of my final week and I've pretty much finished my work. No more papers (one left to proof though), no more exams, no more reading, it is finished (hands now folded in a mock yoga position). After fifteen weeks of non-stop running, I can finally breathe. I realize I've been in the States for almost four full months, about four of those months missing different aspects of overseas life. Yet and end means a beginning and if you're familiar with overseas life, you already know it's paramount to accept and love new beginnings.

I'm not quite certain how anyone given to procrastination tendencies survive final week. I think they more or less loose their sanity. But my working ahead has paid off (that and I can't control the syllabus which in this case is working to my advantage, evil laugh in mock yoga position). I will spend my finals week as follows: cleaning up and cleaning out my room (which is already super clean and super organized, kind of boring), prepare for my summer jobs (which I will detail in upcoming blog postings and will be hugely cross cultural), update my blog (including writing some back postings to elaborate on cross cultural experiences in the United States), fit in some socializing (especially with graduating friends), catch up on emails (if I haven't emailed you, it's not because I don't love you), mock those who are running around (just a little), and generally enjoy my life. Oh and that reminds me, I need to buy coffee tomorrow.

How to Write a Conflict Analysis

Part of being a "professional peacebuilder" in training, means I'm required to analyze conflict. How did it happen. Why did it happen. What are the factors. This is typically presented in a written paper. A general part of university life is discussion about your "research methods." ("I took a random sampling which I cross referenced with xyz and then conducted interviews looking for keywords which were consistent with abc and then..." I'm taking quantitative program eval this semester so I'm now fluent in talking the talk.) Take notes now, because I'm pretty sure you may have to write a conflict analysis someday.

A conflict analysis is much the same as a research paper (a problem with my first draft). I choose to write mine on Zimbabwe, not an overt conflict but still a conflict. This ended up being both a positive and negative thing; positive in that I had a massively broad understanding on the subject, negative in that it was personal and difficult to be objective. I begin by reading. I checked out 11 books from the interlibrary loan. I only read 5. I researched online information from governmental and non-governmental organizations, human rights groups, and news services such as Reuters, BBC, and AP. It was a somewhat gradual process using about one free evening a week to research for 4/5 hour blocks at a time. I think I kind of when overboard with the research.

A conflict analysis has an outline. Unlike a general research paper on any given country, you're focusing on power, parties, sources for conflict, identity, gender, human rights, and any historical interventions. Peacebuilding is an interdisciplinary field, and in minor refection of that, all categories sort of mesh together with sources drifting into parties which leads into identity, and on it goes. Most challenging for me is that you do need to analysis the data, it is conflict analysis. You need to interpret the data in an academic non-biased manner, and share these findings.

Volia. These are the fundamentals. I wish you well should you ever attempt writting one yourself. (I have to do another next year.)

How to Spend Spring Break (The Best Way)

Spring break is nonexistent at EMU. This is primarily for one reason, it takes place the first week of March. The first week of March is not spring for obvious reasons. Somewhere I read it was actually "mid-semester recess." This is a better term for this week which though it falls directly mid-term, is still in the middle of winter. The Monday of my spring break, it snowed, hard, in Virginia.

There are three ways to spend Spring Break.

1. Hit all the beaches in Florida (and/or Mexico), get drunk, lay nude in the sun, party, and have an AWESOME time!!! Whoohoo!!!!!


2. Go home where your family will no doubt have a long list of chores for you. They might actually be excited about seeing you again but they'll still make you work.


3. Visit friends or extended family, do homework and enjoy the peace and calm. Read a book.

My spring break is the later. I get to visit family that I haven't seen in almost two years, I get to kick back and work on papers due the second half of my semester. Ideally, I would kill to visit some random place I've never been to before (that's the overseas dweller in me which can never be successfully repressed). But duty first and I do have a lot of homework and my preference is to spread a little bit of homework over a long period of time to generally avoid stress and all-nighters. This is also the overseas dweller in me, always be prepared in case of evacuation, power outages, or a pandemic flu.

Spring break is designed to be just that, a break. For me, it's a break from trying to understand an alienating culture and remember what it's like to think without external coercion. But if kicking back and getting the academic out of your mind in Myrtle Beach with all your pals works, more power to you. I wouldn't enter into it expecting to make decisions free from external coercion, just remember that.

How Reverse Culture Shock Hit Me

As the end of my fifth week as an American college student draws to a close, I've begun to realized I've developed a pattern.

Monday: "That was a interesting class! I love this country!"

Tuesday Evening: "I hate this country! Everyone is so opinionated and I can't relate!"

Wednesday: sigh..."I should do homework...nah...I need coffee first."

Thursday: "Who am I kidding?! What the heck am I doing in Virginia?!"

Friday: "The weekend! I'm going to get so much done!"

Saturday morning: "I love sleeping in...maybe I should walk to Food Lion."

Saturday evening: "Weekends suck! Everyone goes home! I can't go home! I hate my life!"

Sunday: "I love church. I love my church friends. America is a decent place."

And it repeats, going into week six.

As a TCK, life in a small American college is a series of ups and downs; the desire to be American combined with the desperate attempts to find something familiar. Life here has only made me more aware of my multiculturalism. While EMU celebrates diversity, it doesn't exactly know how to encourage the manifestation of it...unless you plan on marching in a peace rally or play bluegrass on the guitar. EMU is a small school. If you're not related to someone, you must have attended high school with them or at least been best friends with someone they dated.

I'm still discovering how my unique TCK inspired identity fits in here. This is only fitting because as classes increase in intensity, I realize the social is reserved for the freshmen and sophies. This is where I want to be, I remind myself several times a day. If I drink enough coffee, maybe my life will make more sense.

Today is Thursday...typically a rather low day but today is actually pretty good! So while I continuing my attempts to understand all I encounter, I can attest to the fact the reverse culture shock isn't a myth...

How Americans Perceive College

Since returning to my country of origin in the United States, I discovered any interesting truth. People suddenly understand me. It's not because I came from Pakistan (gosh no!). It's not because I'm suddenly a better speaker (verbally I'm a total retard). It's not because I'm suddenly more American (yea right!). It's because I'm going to college.

People understand the concept of college. You get into your little old car, pack all the stuff you ever owned including the kitchen sink, you party your heart out, you stay up all night, you pack on a few pounds, you meet someone and get married and hopefully in there somewhere you learned enough to earn a slip of paper at the end of four years to make it all worthwhile. That...is college in the mind of mainstream America.

I don't really know what college means to me yet. 18 months distance learning taught me the value of education and the need for application into the environment in which you live. I enjoyed the learning process and more then anything I enjoyed practicing time management. Having finally arrived at college as it exist in the traditional sense, I find myself baffled as the learning remains but there is a limited environment in which to apply your findings. There exists only a campus of fellow students who may or may not have chosen college for reasons other then that elusive slip of paper. We certainly are encouraged to practice application, yet for me it feels strange after living in the drama of Pakistan and Zimbabwe. That it itself is a huge adjustment for a little overseas dwelling person like me!

I have a lot to learn about life at college. I already know about college but life at college is another subject. While I'll be taking globalization and justice, peacebuilding theories, and program evaluation among others, I'll be learning and analysing what exactly gives college it's charm. To me, that's of huge interest!

How a Blog Refects the Author

As most post, this one will be informative (or at least that's what happens with...some...a few...maybe none of my posts are informative). With my life taking a new turn, so will my blog in refection of new experiences and new ideas.

Over the holiday season I returned to the United States to finish the last two years of university. With the first two years out of the way by using online programs, I'm physically attending Eastern Mennonite University in Harrisonburg Virginia as a student in their world-known Peace and Justice department. The subject falls in line with much of what I might have shared in this blog and I'm honored to be part of the program and attending a university which celebrates diversity.

Upon my return to the States I discovered what I've long suspected, I have a muted inner-American. This was only confirmed with my craving for foreign food, the discovery that life without mosque noise is bizarre, and perplexity in the knowledge I'm now an ethnic majority. After life in foreign lands I'm innately multicultural. Yet despite the fact I now reside in my country of origin, I continue to view my new world and the world at large multiculturally and will pass on the insight to you.

I'm already facing new adventures including the need to learn the local language. Virginians are proud of their accent. I intend on finding many more adventures at university. First of all, living in a dorm with strangers, adapting to American food in a cafeteria and adjusting to a new climate, are challenges enough.

How New Years Divides Us

Happy New Year to anyone who thinks it's New Years! Perhaps this seems strange, I'll admit I'm being very strange indeed but needless to say for some people, it's just an ordinary day. I say this because I've found calenders, dating systems, and new year celebrations to be some of the most diverse around the world.

Contrasting Christmas, New Years has the most flavor of any holiday. The Muslims have their own calender dating from Muhammad, the Ethiopians have their own calender and clock (living there had many communications difficulties. The Chinese are the most famous in terms of the alternative calenders.

As a kid I thought the ball dropping in NYC was absurd. I thought staying up till midnight was fabulous until study habits changed and staying up till midnight became a normal part of life. As a kid I loved getting free money in red envelops with the rest of the Chinese children during the three days of New Year. But one thing I've never grown tired of is celebrating New Years, in whatever nation, on whatever calender and at any time of the year. This does create problems concerning the establishment of revolutions so in that case, I selected January 1 as my New Years. Happy New Year!