Tag Archives: Cameroon
This beautiful 4 inch African bug greeted me at my door this morning at school: I would LOVE to know what it’s name is. He has hung onto that door all day long, every students pointed it out. Awesome.Art is born of the observation and investigation of nature.- Cicero
The Meaningful Mural Project has been an interesting experience. Both rewarding and challenging. My students created an inspirational piece for the Foyer de l’Esperance Orphanage in Yaounde, with the concept that it could change the boy’s everyday lives. I think they’ve managed to accomplish this. This orphanage is full of boys who have run away from home or have been put there by their families. It is one of the better facilities and the boys seem happy. Yet we wanted to give them something to motivate them to achieve above what is expected and remind them to believe in their dreams. The very last finishing touch, a quote from Martin Luther King Jr. states, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”
Students taught the boys side by side how to paint with a brush, which they had never used before, mix colors and share a space to create something beautiful. They learned how to grid and will hopefully be able to use this new skill in their future.
They worked as a team and developed trust for each other and my students.
Our 1st day at the orphanage we interviewed students in groups. Asking them about their hopes, dreams, likes and dislikes. This would fuel our concept for the mural composition.
We were given a tour by the head nun and got to see where the boys slept and a classroom they learned in everyday.
After this first week we went back to the classroom to brainstorm and create our image. Students combined their ideas and came up with one complimentary concept of all their visions.
We then added a proportionate grid to our chosen wall and began to transfer our small drawing to scale.
After we began painting, the boys joined in and my students taught them one on one or more..
After about 20 hours of painting we had a finished product. Check out our whole painting team!
The beginning of this project required a lot of brain storming. We first interviewed the kids at the orphanage to find out what their hopes and dreams were, as well as their likes and dislikes. We held the interviews in bilingual groups some students translating english questions into French. We then went back to the classroom to discover imagery the orphans could relate to through the interview results. Through a system of tiered voting, students created compositions and then chose which ones they liked the best in the end. We then rook the winning idea and recreated it as group to make it more appealing. The final result looks like this:
Assigning buddies to my students has helped them teach the children what they are doing the whole way, one on one. After painting the wall white the students created a grid which helped us transfer our drawing using blue chalk lines, rulers, and pencils. We then labeled the grid boxes to match our drawing with numbers and letters. We had a few hiccups, causing us to shorten the drawing to fit the wall but kept moving.
Then we photocopied and blew up the gridded drawings to hand out as guides to the children and my HS students. Helping us transfer the large scale drawing in an hour and a half we had time to spare for playing hand games in a large group.
Last week we began painting. And in all honesty I was impressed with the ease my students had teaching the boys. There is one orphan, Vincent who speaks English, he acts as head honcho and translates all of my instructions. My students all speak at least a little french and have no problem communicating. The orphans think my broken French is ‘giggle worthy’ causing me to use it more often.. They love standing on the ladder. If one person gets off to get more paint, in a flash, there is another boy climbing to take their spot.
Each day when the boys are finished I ask them to “laver les mains, si vous plait”… maning in my terrible french please wash your hands. Instead they all proceed to take all their clothes off and jump into their communal bath/ pool thing. Every time, no exception, since we’ve been going. Its pretty hilarious, diving and jumping and inadvertently splashing all my freaked out students.
We got a great start and we go back today to continue working … more updates to come in the future!
- Oil on Canvas
- 36x 16 inches
We were at the fish market in Kribi and these kids were selling fried meats to the people having beers watching the tide roll in. Balancing large items on heads is a big thing out here. Its like at birth they are taught this talent. In this case ceramic plates, but there is an assortment of items that can be carried with ease. Like the man who sells plastic clothes baskets +50 at once, or the woman with the 50 lb container of water with a baby strapped to her back carrying gallon buckets in each hand I saw the other day. Some times with cloth wraps to display the weight like in my painting, many time with out like the woman with the baby.Its pretty awe inspiring. I makes me think of where this talent was tossed out. The neck is at the center of the body. So many american back problems probably wouldn’t exist today..
I was very home sick last year, I had just gotten my appendix out and I was learning how to make new friends while living and working with them at the same time. This year is different. Hurricane Sandy threw me for a doozy but as things have settled down so has my homesickness. I’m a bit behind on US stuff- Most of the time I can’t even check anything besides my email. Social Networks and skype are blocked at school due to a shortage of bandwidth and the internet may be out at home or not strong enough to use skype or twitter. I’m ok with it, but I wonder if others that feel they need the updates can understand.
I’m excited for a peppermint mocha at Starbucks, long distance calls without my phone shutting off because I won’t be using a pay-as-you go phone, sitting on the couch watching ridiculous mind numbing cable to the light of our christmas tree, take out chinese food, checking my email in 2 minutes because it loads in a millisecond, movie theaters, riding my bicycle, going through a drive through, taking public transportation into the city, a new seasonal change, knowing the water will be on at anytime of the day any day of the week, predictability of drivers, some Sandy relief help and all that normal christmasy family stuff…. all things I don’t have in Cameroon.
All things I like but don’t always miss when I’m abroad. What’s cool though is the appreciation I get to feel. I felt it last year, but this year I don’t feel the need for all this stuff as much and it seems to bring out whats most important to me. Relaxing!… oh yeah family is up there too..
Yay Christmas, Yay planes, Yay USA vacation!
When I was growing up I had a really wonderful grandfather. I spent a lot of my time at my grandparents house and most of my memories from childhood are of him. He made a lot of time for me. I remember playing, learning, and hearing stories about growing up in Jersey City. Technically Albanian his family lived in Italy for generations before migrating to the states. He always said he was Italian and we never thought to disagree.
He passed away when I was seven, so all I remember is how fantastic he was. Its like my brain squeezed out all other unnecessary memories so I could save those.
As I went through childhood, we followed Italian traditions like La Vigilia or Festa dei sette pesci The Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas eve. I remember my mother telling me the story of her big trip with poppi back to Italy. I can picture her as a young adult guilting her 6ft 4 father to get into a gondola he was scared of. I remember knowing that I needed to go and see this place, maybe it would help me feel more connected to him.
During my sophomore year of high school I got an opportunity to join a exchange program at my school following a student failing and getting kicked off the trip. I consider this fate taking action. I got to live with a family in Lucca for a week and take day trips with my school. I went to Florence, Rome, and Venice. I saw art and culture mix in a natural way that seemed like it was part of the peoples identity. I think it made me feel very comfortable in my own awkward teenage head. I could identify and appreciate it. I loved paintings and so did they. Soon after that trip I felt a pull to go back, I knew it was a place I needed more time with.
My college offered a study abroad program my third year, and I knew where I wanted to go before I knew there were any options to go there. My Parsons teachers didn’t really approve of these programs, because of the party like reputations they had. I was not interested in hearing negativity and set up plans full steam ahead.
After landing in Florence I got into a taxi by myself and set off to find the office that had a key to my new home. I didn’t know anyone, I was alone and scared shitless. It sounds odd , especially after living in NYC, but you never feel totally alone in the US. Everyone knows your language and its relatively easy to talk to people. When I went to Italy I had never been on a plane alone, and didn’t know any Italian.
After I got my key and arrived at my new studio apartment; I looked out my window, down at the leather market below, and breathed a sigh of relief. I decided to go for a walk, because I was scared to.
I think this was an ‘a ha’ moment. Being able to get over something by getting through it has helped me accomplish a lot. When I got out side I made a left, walked about half a block, and stepped into a bakery. I saw a young girl behind the counter and asked if she spoke english. After asking how to order the correct way in the language, I got huge smile and an enthusiastic short Italian lesson. This was a wonderful introduction to the hospitality that is Italy and how the rest of my time there would be.
Through out the seven month period I traveled all over Europe. I learned how to bargain confidently, see a major city in 2 days, sleep in a hostel with 10 strangers, I learned how to get lost and not freak out, I learned how to enjoy a quiet walk, and among many other things I learned how to oil paint for myself not for a project critique. I spent a lot of my free time in the many Florentine galleries sketching, and started feeling a big connection with the way renaissance and pre-renaissance painters used colors and movement. I was studying illustration at Parsons before I left, and when I came back to the states just wanted to paint. I think a few of my teachers thought I went a bit batty.
Following my study abroad experience I went back a couple times with friends and still couldn’t shake the connection. Each time coming home with feeling that I couldn’t get back soon enough. A few years later, after I decided teaching would be a great way for me to give back to the world, I found out about teaching abroad.
I thought it would be a great route for me to possibly live in Europe and have the opportunity to go to my favorite place more frequently. But after going to the job fairs I soon learned that this was everyone elses idea too and Europe would not be so easy to get to. I took the job in Cameroon on great faith that I needed to experience living abroad. Maybe that was what I was really craving, a new culture. After being here a year I think that might be the case in a lot of the ways because I’m very happy and having a great time. During my time in Yaounde I’ve gotten to think about who and what I find important, and have made big choices, felt the consequences, failed and succeeded. I’ve learned more about myself and what I am able to deal with. But I still feel that original pull towards Europe, how annoying.
In the last two months I’ve been back to Italy twice. The first time a vacation to Florence the second Turin, both ended up having a purpose. I got to visit two international schools and meet the people who run them. The concept of actually reaching my goal is a bit overwhelming and maybe to good to be true. Apparently it is very difficult to get an American an Italian visa so they will be looking more to see IF they can find an equivalent or better candidate from the EU. I won’t know for a few months from now if this is a real possibility, but I am content with any outcome. I feel like what ever happens I am closing a huge chapter and opening a new one. I have tried my best and taken risks. I have never been this close to realizing this ‘dream’. Its all very wishy washy in my mind and I think of my grandpa. Its like he’s taking me on this adventure indirectly. He implanted this seed in my brain as a kid that has helped me find opportunities now.
Ah Bella Italia..
Tags: Albania, Albanian, Art, Cameroon, Feast of the Seven Fishes, Florence, Grandfather, Grandpa, Italy, Jersey City, Michelangelo, Mother, New Jersey, painting, Rome, School, teaching abroad, tradition, Travel, Turin, Venice, YAOUNDE
Last spring I went on Safari. It was utterly breath taking and I recommend Tanzania to everyone that asks. I realize I have not written anything about my amazing trip, I think the only explanation is that its was so wonderful and so much happened that it has been difficult to sit down and consolidate my thoughts. I saw every animal I can think of. Highlights being Black rhino, tree climbing leopards, Cheetah talking to each other about 5 feet from our vehicle, elephants, giraffes and elephants running and grazing with their heards, every type of bird and antelope, we even saw a lion pride kill a buffalo, and not to mention being in the middle of the wildebeest migration.
But I could not introduce this painting with out a full recollection of the people I met. I visited different tribes to get an idea of what the country was really like past all the safari tourist groups. After my safari I stayed in Karatu and first visited the Imbulu tribe which had a basic skit set up for visitors.
“This how we plant, and this is how we make that weird drink we’re known for….”, “Come sit by me I will tell you your life..” I had my stones read, and she told me that I worked with many people.. I guess when you think about Americans, you are always working with many people. Anyway, after that I took time to walk through the village market with a swahili translator.
I bought tire shoes, met the translator’s suppliers of meat and vegitables (he was a chef during his regular job) people said “jamaba”, and told me how pretty my hair was, and I got to see the play ground installed by some American program. It was great.
Most tourists choose to see Maasai in a popular Boma at the entrance to the Ngorogoro, I was determined to see the warriors without 20 other tourists behind me, so I chose to pay to get back into reserve. I had a different swahili translator with me this time. He could say OK, Yes and No in english. That was it. After 4 hours of driving we achieved some sort of ridiculous sign language that only he and I could understand. My entrance into the Boma was interesting. They first did a welcome dance for me, this consisted of the men jumping as high as they could and then the woman. They sang and moved their head up with their chests making those cool necklaces bob around. Then it was my turn and I did not want to do this. One of the Maasai had my camera and was SUPER excited to photograph me jumping. I would made a very bad 1st impression if I didn’t, so i jumped and looked silly. But it was fun and the woman thought I was great and the men laughed. We were on the crater rim and I was alone with my new Maasai escorts. I was completely alone but felt well taken care of, my sign language buddy pushed me along and waved goodbye for the hour. My new tour guide, an 18 year old Maasai warrior who spoke excellent English, showed me where he lived with his mother and where all of his brothers and sisters lived with their mothers. The are a ‘plural’ marriage community. After the man turns 18 they look for their 1st wife and build their 1st home. They start to have kids, look for another wife, build another home and the Boma grows. The homes are made of bark and dung and constructed in a nautilus shape. He led me in to his small round 8ft by 8ft home, through the narrow winding entrance. The room was completely pitch black with an exception of one small head size ‘hole’ or ‘window’. After my eyes adjusted enough to the light and could see his silhouetted figure I asked questions about this lifestyle. He explained his home was built this way to confuse lions and keep them out of their homes. Woah. Apparently Maasai are called warriors because they can ward off and kill lions. The red cloth they wear is supposed to fend off lions because its mimics the color of fire, every wool cloth pattern has meaning.
After visiting the school where children filed in to greet me with their ABC’s in swahili and english I asked if I could wander around the village by myself. I was givien permission with slight trepidation on the part of my warrior guide. I watched woman with their children, taking the afternoon to make those round beautiful beaded necklaces, chatting etc. My short stroll around the Boma ended in the center where all of the gorgeous beaded jewelry hung around the packed cow ‘paddock’. The cows are essential to Maasai life, they spend all day allowing them to graze and while the warriors protect them from the predatory lions. The people live off the milk, meat and blood. Traditionally the blood is known to give strength. I really respect the Maasai value of tradition and their contentment in what they have. I asked my 18 year old guide if he would ever leave this type of life and move to a different type of community. He said that some do, they have one wife and life in the modern community and that os ok for them, they are always allowed to come back and visit. But he loves his traditions and is planning to keep them, he wants to find his 1st wife and start his Boma in the next year or two.
The Chaga tribe was the last group I made an effort to meet. First of all, I had no idea what I was going to see. There was no brochure and nothing online really. My safari, Fay Safaris, organized everything for me, and told me it was worth it. So I went. They live on Mount Kilimanjaro and are they don’t get many visitors. Although they aren’t as visually exciting as the Maasai, the Chaga were my favorite. I had to bring a Swahili and Chaga translator, we did not climb (I didn’t have enough time) so we drove and then walked up a separate route to introduce me to the mountain. We walked up a gravel path that turned into dirt, walked over a bridge with missing planks that took us to the bottom of a hill that we walked up to reach the tribe. It was beautiful, green everywhere except for huge white flowers on the edge of the path.
The Chaga woman in the painting.
After arriving in the village I met a woman who had to be in her mid 80’s, she was worn down but had a big smile on her face. Later I learned she was in her mid 50’s. You could tell they didn’t get many ‘muzungus’ in their home, and they were happy to see me. I was given a seat while the translators helped them tell me about their land and what they do during a regular day. While they were talking with me her daughter who is in the painting, was doing regular chores with her little boy who wore purple rain boots. The litte boy was picking up weeds and putting them in a pile for their cow to eat, but he would only carry one at a time. The daughter thought this was entertaining and had a HUGE smile on her face.
(On a side note. People in Cameroon smile, but this particular relaxed expression stood out to me)
Next the woman I thought was 80 took me into the original home her father built. It was made of straw mud and dung and in the form of a round hill. Like the boma it was pitch black inside I was asked to sit on one of two benches that used to be a beds, she explained to me how her father slept on one and mother on the other but now they use the room for cooking. All of a sudden I felt something push against me followed but a crunching sound. I jumped and screamed (like a freak) and after everyone started laughing at me, saw the culprit, a goat in the corner . After she lit a small gas lamp I also found that a giant cow was behind him chomping on some of that greenery the boy in the purple boots had collected. After I calmed down the translators helped me ask the woman questions about her life and children. She said her father taught her everything about planting and raising animals. She showed me the cooking tools he showed her how to carve. Now she is teaching her grandchildren the trades because ‘its too late for my daughter’. She was married when she was 19 and has two grandchildren that she helps her daughter raise. All the families live next to one another in houses on a flat patch of dirt surrounded by their farm of fruit trees. She wanted to know why I was traveling alone and asked me if I was married, when I said ‘no’ she responded “good for you” with a big smile. She wanted to know what I did for money. She thought it was wonderful that I could take care of myself and told me she liked a lot of the foreigners she met. Some from Australia and England. She told me she wished she could have done some traveling but is happy with her life. After our talk she took a picture with me, and asked me to come back and visit someday when I had a family. As a parting gift she offered me a fruit that looked like an orange tomato. She waited for me to eat it in front of her and then offered me another before we headed back down the hill to explore the rest of the mountain.
Tags: Africa, animals, Arusha, black rhino, Cameroon, Chaga tribe, elephants, expat, Fay Safaris, Imbulu tribe, Karatu, learning, lion kill, Maasai warriors, safari, Tanzania, teaching abroad, wildebeest migration