pigeons and social commentary

I spend a lot of time thinking about human rights; it was this way long before my day job involved organizing, advocating and defending the rights of humans. Most people who know me for more than five minutes can vouch that I constantly analyze, process and criticize seemingly normal, certainly commonplace situations and often note a racist, sexist, bigoted or otherwise discriminatory aspect to them. Our society is normalized to include these aspects; I just try to see it and name it.

Today was no different, and while having a snack-and-chat with a friend I witnessed something I feel the need to comment on. Mona and I were sitting in downtown San Francisco on a park bench practically in the middle of a busy intersection, surrounded by your average drove of city pigeons. We were talking away and the birds were doing what birds do, picking at the ground and making weird bird sounds and milling around. Suddenly Mona and I abruptly stopped talking, having both noticed a male pigeon on the prowl. Out of a flock of at least thirty birds he picked the female he wanted, puffed up his neck feathers, and began strutting towards her. She continued on her way but he followed her, blocking her path and pecking at her to get attention. She was clearly uninterested but he was not to be dissuaded and jumped onto her back so that he was standing completely on top of her! At this point Mona and I (a little horrified) were noting how similar this is to experiences we see all the time: the male gets puffed up and thinks he can have any female he wants, does not take the hint that she isn't interested in him, and he moves forward anyway without any regard for the word No. So back to our damsel in distress... The male is on top of her when suddenly four or five other females come to the rescue! They peck at the male and chase him away, not letting him return to their friend or any of the others. One female was very tough (like the Mother Hen, as I said before I realized that we were already talking about birds) and kept watching him, refusing access to any of the other birds. Those sexist, pig-headed, presumptive machismo men!

Okay, so it is possible that thinking about human rights non-stop is causing me to go a little overboard and I agree that maybe today's pigeon analysis is taking societal critique to a whole new level. Now that I've had a chance to reflect, I realize it is possible that the villainous bird may have been a female attacking a male and the helpers were males protecting their bro (Way to go feminist pigeons! You have my support!). Along that line, I've also presumed the pigeons were heterosexual. Maybe it was just one bird who wanted something from another and that one was uninterested so it's friends intervened, all gender, sexuality and power dynamics aside.

I still think there's far more evidence to support the dominating physical and sexual violence against women theory, although I'm open to other suggestions. Perhaps, biologically speaking, males of all species are genetically wired to think they can dominate females, especially sexually. Or perhaps pigeons, which seem to spend a lot of time in spaces shared by humans, are simply mirroring what they see. Either way, the power of community organizing cannot be denied; but that's a topic for another day.

my ideal self

I have a good friend who often speaks of her ideal self (as in, "my ideal self finished her thesis and is taking a nap in the garden") and I find that I've picked up the habit. My ideal self doesn't take two weeks to respond to an email. My ideal self likes almond butter, but regardless of how hard I try and how many times I taste it my real self just does not. My ideal self also enjoys and is good at yoga, but my real self thinks it's hard and frustrating and would rather hit a volleyball or play frisbee. It's not at all about disliking who I am but about imagining ways that would be interesting to be and that, alas, I simply am not.

My ideal self is a runner and I've been trying to introduce my real self to my ideal self by going running a few times a week. The neighborhood I live in is not very conducive to this because, although it is beautiful and wooded and full of incredible houses and baby strollers, there isn't more than one block that is flat and I spend a lot of time thinking about how much my legs hurt and that I can't breathe as I struggle up and down hills. But I persist and think it has got to start getting easier one of these days.

During the walking part of my run today I came across the Character of the Week. This woman, who could have been named Luann, was a hefty 60-something with long white hair pulled into a ponytail. Luann's walking partner was another older lady with a huge black doberman. Luann, mind you, was walking not one or two but SIX small dogs at once on six leashes and after trying to count them a few times and getting lost in the tangle of Small Dogs that Yip I just started laughing at how many she had. She looked at me and I said, "You have SO MANY little dogs!" but she didn't seem interested in talking to me about them. Then I realize there's this tiny little Chihuahua in the very back on the longest leash who appears to be horrified that he is on a long walk with so many dogs, one of which being approximately 100 times his size, and he keeps sitting down and shaking. Luann says over and over again, "Come on Owen. Come on." Then she notices I am laughing again and says, "Come ONNN OWEN!" I was dying laughing - poor little Owen! I passed them again coming back and laughed at the hilarity of so many dogs on so many leashes and got another round of instructions for Owen to COME OOONNNNN!

Since my ideal self is also a good cook, I made brussel sprouts for dinner. There are some parts of my ideal self I can aspire to...

as a tourist

Although I moved to Oakland almost exactly eight weeks ago it feels like I am still completely new. I don't have a favorite restaurant, coffee shop, park, street, bookstore or neighborhood. It doesn't feel like I've seen or explored much in the city or the area around. Granted, the whole moving-across-the-country and starting-a-brand-new-super-intense-job things surely and legitimately engage much of my time. Not only do I have two hours of commute added onto 10+ hour workdays, but the learning curve for my work is as steep as California St. and I don't think I'll have a solid feel for it all until at least the 6-month mark.

My weekends have also been consumed: moving, unpacking, working 3 weekends, pre- and post- appendeptic for 2 weekends, complete downpour of rain last weekend, a quick trip to Santa Cruz and Seattle... But now things calm down and the exploring will commence. The weeks are still nuts, but my weekends are mine starting today.

My family is visiting for Mother's Day and I am spending the entire weekend on holiday as a bonafide tourist. I took the day off work today (and was connected to the crackberry until my dad gave me "the look" and I put it away) and we are all staying in a hotel in the city. We decided to spend the afternoon at Pier 39, which is Tourist Central for San Francisco. I wouldn't typically peg myself as a Fisherman's Wharf sort of gal but I really like being there and taking it all in...maybe this will wear off in a few months but for now I enjoy the energy of it. We had a delicious seafood dinner of crab chowder, crab cakes, crab lasagna and a whole crab; watched a goofy magician/comedian on the pier; practiced our barks with the sea lions and discussed their behavior, poses, and attitudes at length. This trip is a deeply important one for my grandmother and so far it is going really well.

After dinner my brother and I took a walk from the hotel, which is located at the intersection of the Financial District, Chinatown and North Beach. We wandered through Grant St, the main drag of Chinatown-for-tourists, huffed and puffed it up California, meandered back through Chinatown-for-real-people into North Beach, analyzed religious symbols at St. Peter and Paul church on Washington Square, and found ourselves climbing Telegraph Hill up to Coit Tower. Once there I had what is now a typical "I'm so in love with San Francisco I truly can hardly stand it" moment. From the tower we could see the city below us, rising and falling in perfect white and pastel hills, the Golden Gate bridge with the sun setting behind it, Point Reyes and Marin in the distance beyond the north bay. The city is so beautiful and inviting, stunning and magnificent in perfect complement with the natural wonders surrounding. The houses and buildings with random spots of color, perfectly matching the sunset without overpowering. The list of places to explore grew longer: the Presidio, Golden Gate Park, Dolores Park, the Sunset, the streets that connect them all.

For next weekend I was debating between hiking at Point Reyes to see the wildflowers or exploring the city - I think the city is winning out. I took the advice of a friend and picked a move-from-Oakland-to-The-City date: August 1 or sooner. This gives me time to be rational and intentional, save a little money, and move before my AZ plates expire. I have started looking for rooms and roommates and need to have a better sense of where I want to be. So far I know I don't want to be in Pacific Heights or the Marina, and that the Mission District is on the Go List. Hopefully the wildflowers will wait for me.

desiderata in disguise

I've been thinking about my recent history and reflecting on just how different things are now than at this time last year. I am gainfully employed, not in transition, and emotionally settled. Except for a recent incident with the appendix I am healthy. I know, insh'allah, where I will be for the next three years and I can finally unpack the boxes I sealed up two years ago. I can hang pictures on the wall and not have to take them down for a while; I can plant a tomato garden and stick around long enough to pick tomatoes.

I have been to only a handful of places in this world, but I can say with near certainty that San Francisco and the surrounding area is one of the most magical, beautiful and inspiring parts of the planet. (The only rival I can think of being Cape Town, South Africa, and I cannot compare them any further for fear that one may come out on top.) I am living in Oakland, working in San Francisco, and counting the ways in which I plan to explore everything between, around, and beyond. I am overcome each time I drive around the curve of the highway into the city and see the glorious, shimmering cityscape, the open bay dotted with small sailboats and massive freighters, the Golden Gate in the distance. There is everything I could want here: a magnificent city and all things great cities bring; ocean, beaches, forests, parks, mountains; hiking, kayaking, camping, backpacking, climbing, exploring. My wonder does not wane.

As for gainful employment, I can say in all honesty that I love what I do. Working for Amnesty International is as close to a dream job as I can imagine. Each day I am humbled and inspired, privileged and honored to work with and on behalf of truly incredible human beings all over the world. It is painful and my soul often aches. I am looking for my place in this shared human experience, and learning how to hold on to hope.

I first read The Desiderata by Max Ehrmann sometime between Zambia and New Year's. I decided that one of the first things I would do upon settling somewhere, after getting a hoya plant, would be to find a copy and put it up to read as a daily source of inspiration and to help me live with intention. Two weeks ago I found the perfect hoya, and this weekend I found the perfect copy. I looked up 'desiderata' and learned that it is something considered necessary or highly desirable. I am so thankful for where I am and the path that brought me here. It feels like I can breathe again, but I didn't know how much trouble I was having breathing. I feel like myself again, but didn't realize how far from that I had wandered. I believe I am exactly where I should be and doing exactly what I should have been doing all along; my desiderata in disguise. For this, and for the awareness of this moment, I am grateful.

Week 1: Check.

I officially survived my first workweek at ZEHRP. My first day of work in Lusaka was Tuesday (we have Sundays and Mondays off) and it was a little hectic. We have two sites in Zambia – Lusaka and Copperbelt – and Lusaka is much crazier. The old interns are on their way out, new interns are on our way in, and our overall director from Emory is here visiting, so there was a lot going on. All new interns go through rotations, which involve spending a day or two in each department to learn the ropes before we receive for specific training in our respective areas. Because we knew I would eventually be working in the Copperbelt, we weren’t too sure how much time I’d spend in Lusaka, but we thought at least a week. But, on Wednesday morning I learned that instead I was going to fly to Ndola (the main Copperbelt site) that day. So I went home, packed, and flew up here, where I will complete my rotations.

I am happy that I have been placed in the Copperbelt. The project site is really nice and pretty and much more manageable than the main site in Lusaka. We have about 35 staff across five main departments: couples voluntary counseling and testing, laboratory, medical, data, and administration. There are three medical doctors that run the project, and three interns; we supervise the staff in each department and are responsible for making sure all facets of the project go as intended. I spent my first three days in Ndola meeting staff, completing human subjects trainings, and reading the project’s standard operating procedures (of which there are hundreds). I also went through rotations in two departments, and am starting to better understand how everything works and what my role in that will be. It is going to be a lot of work – like 50- 60 hours a week – but I think I will really enjoy it and will certainly gain a lot of skills and useful experience for whatever I do next.

I live in a house with two of the other interns about a 25-minute walk from the project. The house is really nice and I’m starting to feel settled. I have a king-sized bed that is beyond massive and really blank walls, but I found a nice little floor rug in the market and put up a couple Ansel Adams pictures. There isn’t a mosque anywhere nearby as there was in Lusaka but I still enjoy my candles, as the power goes off about every other night. I take a bath every day and have quickly come to appreciate it more than a shower because it forces me to slow down for 15 minutes each day and just enjoy the warm water. (Actually, the water is so hot I burned my thumb on it the other day when it started squirting unexpectedly.) I found a small produce market within walking distance and am going crazy with tomatoes, garlic and onions when we have electricity to cook. When we don’t have electricity I’m learning to play hearts and rummy. I’m going for runs and enduring stares from everyone I pass that seem to say, “Why in the world are you running for fun?!” I’m preparing a spot in the backyard to plant tomatoes. I’m trying to learn the Congolese rumba. And now that my weekend is ending I am preparing for another busy week…

The Move

I have officially moved to Zambia! After a wonderful week in Kenya, I arrived in Lusaka and am getting settled in my new, if only temporary, home. Irene and I spent most of our week in Kisumu visiting friends and colleagues from last summer. One day we went to Maseno Hills, which is a mountainous area behind Maseno University with massive granite boulders and a path we followed up into the hills. The view was amazing and we saw two huge geckos, a bright purple and orange one and a bright bluish green one. And, like proper tourists, we visited the Equator.
We also spent two days and a night with Irene's family just outside of Eldoret. It was wonderful and a highlight of the week. Her family is incredibly loving and welcoming and it was so good to have time with them! I had brought two frisbees and they were a huge hit. We played and danced and ate (and learned how to use the well).

(Becky, Ruth, and Wanchaco)

Our last night in Kisumu we went out for talapia, which is something you can’t not have if you are anywhere near Lake Victoria. It was delicious and a really nice last night together. We took a really long bus ride Saturday to Nairobi, spent the night with Paul, and got up ridiculously early to get me to the airport.

The flight to Lusaka was uneventful, save for being one hour delayed. The customs line was obscenely slow and my luggage practically came out last. I had been assured someone from ZEHRP would be there to fetch me, and I was worried they would leave me there if the flight was too late. Turns out this wasn’t the case – they didn’t come for me at all. After searching the crowd for a sign with my name on it I decided to just stay calm and wait. Two hours later I was still calm but didn’t want to spend the whole day waiting at the airport, and I had nearly finished the book I was reading, so I went on a search for someone to help me. I didn’t have a phone or a phone card, and there wasn’t an information desk or help desk, so I marched into the airport police station and announced that I had been forgotten and could I use a phone? The officer informed me that I could use her cell phone if I bought credit for it, so we did that and then I called the project director, who told me he would figure out where my ride was. About an hour later, and many conversations with taxi drivers that yes, I am sure my ride is coming, it did indeed arrive.

The ride to the flats did not feel like I was in an African capital city; I still don’t feel quite like I’m in an African capital city. Granted I arrived in the middle of the day on Sunday, but the feel is still so much less hectic than Kampala or Nairobi. The streets are wide and have painted lines. There are stop signs, and people actually seem to stop. I think this is in part because both the airport, work, and the flats are outside of the main city, so it’s like living in a suburb.

The flats are really nice and just a couple blocks from work. We have hot water, bookshelves, wireless internet and blow dryers. I have been blown away by all of our amenities. The girls in my flat are really nice and incredibly helpful and welcoming and it feels really good to be here. That afternoon we went to the grocery store (where we bought mostly Western groceries) and wandered around a market (surrounded by mostly Western expats). Life feels normal.

I have two favorite things so far. The first is the mosque around the corner. I love hearing the calls to prayer five times a day – there is something peaceful and calming about it, a feeling of connectedness. And we seem to have Islam-observant dogs here at the house, as they start howling along with sound of the mosque at each prayer time. It is absolutely hilarious. My other favorite thing is that we use candles. The power goes out several times a day, which means we get to shower, eat, read, and sit by candlelight just about every night. It is beautiful and calming as well. (Granted, not being able to cook food or boil drinking water is problematic, but I try to keep peanut butter and tuna on hand for such occasions.)

I am still having moments of, “What in the world I just do moving here?!” but they are becoming less intense and less frequent. I imagine I would sort of be feeling this way about any job I had decided to take, because I likely would have been moving somewhere entirely new and without any community or support system in place. I just happen to be nine time zones and three flights away. But, as I’ve said before, here I am. So here I go.