My life is not normal!
Jan. 30th, 2006 11:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
violachicSo I have another story. A true story.
So there we were in Tuwani, and it was the first day of Eid Al-Fitr. Our team had spent some of the day sitting on the hillside doing checkpoint monitoring, but decided to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening doing the celebratory visiting of friends and neighbors that is one of the hallmarks of the day. We were served the delicious biscuit that is made with a filling of dates or almonds and dusted with powdered sugar, and vats upon vats of the sweet, sweet tea in small glasses. We stopped in to see one family as they were preparing supper of Makloube (which means "upside down" in Arabic), and we were invited to join. We stuffed ourselves as much as we could on top of the heavy cookies and gallons of tea still sitting in our stomachs- our taste buds wanted it, but our bodies just couldn't handle it!
We knew that the olive harvest was supposed to start in two days, on the third day of Eid, and knew that we needed to have a key role during that time as accompaniers. After dinner, we were informed that the men of the village were having a meeting about olive harvest that evening, and we were invited to attend. The four of us- Matt, Mike, Jenny and I- did.
Now, in CPT training, we work a lot on group dynamics, facilitating meetings, and the consensus process. We do role plays, we learn how to "actively listen", and we use a lot of flip charts. When you work so hard on it, its easy to forget that not every meeting will go the same way. This one, while entertaining and informative, certainly did not.
Picture a very large room, made entirely of cement floors cinder-block walls, and high ceilings. The only actual furniture in it is a television on a small cart. The other furnishings consisted of about a dozen foam mats, which are used for sleeping and sitting, in lieu of beds and couches. My aim here is to point out exactly how acoustically live that room is. Add to the mix about twenty five men, carrying on about ten conversations at once, and us- the best Arabic speaker in the bunch is only so-so, and the only English speaker in that group was not seated very close to us- trying to catch on.
It was a melee. Sensory Input Overload. Voices resounding, arms waving. From time to time a new person would join the room, and five or six men would take the time to try to bring him up to speed on decisions we had no clue about. There was no consensus, no "active listening", and there were certainly no flip charts. We sat patiently, trying to catch conversation, and asking questions to things that related to our role for that day.
All of a sudden next to me, Jenny fell silent. She was one of our two Arabic speakers, and had been listening hard to keep us two non-speakers informed. She kind of just sat back against the wall, now, and silently observed the room.
And then she said, barely turning to me, and sort of sotto-voce, "Amy, my life is not normal."
Silence again.
And then "I mean, look at my life- look at this! This is not a normal life!"
And truly, she was right.
And I empathized.
My life is not normal. It never will be again. I must learn to accept this. It is exciting, but it can be wearing. Or is the other way around?
So there we were in Tuwani, and it was the first day of Eid Al-Fitr. Our team had spent some of the day sitting on the hillside doing checkpoint monitoring, but decided to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening doing the celebratory visiting of friends and neighbors that is one of the hallmarks of the day. We were served the delicious biscuit that is made with a filling of dates or almonds and dusted with powdered sugar, and vats upon vats of the sweet, sweet tea in small glasses. We stopped in to see one family as they were preparing supper of Makloube (which means "upside down" in Arabic), and we were invited to join. We stuffed ourselves as much as we could on top of the heavy cookies and gallons of tea still sitting in our stomachs- our taste buds wanted it, but our bodies just couldn't handle it!
We knew that the olive harvest was supposed to start in two days, on the third day of Eid, and knew that we needed to have a key role during that time as accompaniers. After dinner, we were informed that the men of the village were having a meeting about olive harvest that evening, and we were invited to attend. The four of us- Matt, Mike, Jenny and I- did.
Now, in CPT training, we work a lot on group dynamics, facilitating meetings, and the consensus process. We do role plays, we learn how to "actively listen", and we use a lot of flip charts. When you work so hard on it, its easy to forget that not every meeting will go the same way. This one, while entertaining and informative, certainly did not.
Picture a very large room, made entirely of cement floors cinder-block walls, and high ceilings. The only actual furniture in it is a television on a small cart. The other furnishings consisted of about a dozen foam mats, which are used for sleeping and sitting, in lieu of beds and couches. My aim here is to point out exactly how acoustically live that room is. Add to the mix about twenty five men, carrying on about ten conversations at once, and us- the best Arabic speaker in the bunch is only so-so, and the only English speaker in that group was not seated very close to us- trying to catch on.
It was a melee. Sensory Input Overload. Voices resounding, arms waving. From time to time a new person would join the room, and five or six men would take the time to try to bring him up to speed on decisions we had no clue about. There was no consensus, no "active listening", and there were certainly no flip charts. We sat patiently, trying to catch conversation, and asking questions to things that related to our role for that day.
All of a sudden next to me, Jenny fell silent. She was one of our two Arabic speakers, and had been listening hard to keep us two non-speakers informed. She kind of just sat back against the wall, now, and silently observed the room.
And then she said, barely turning to me, and sort of sotto-voce, "Amy, my life is not normal."
Silence again.
And then "I mean, look at my life- look at this! This is not a normal life!"
And truly, she was right.
And I empathized.
My life is not normal. It never will be again. I must learn to accept this. It is exciting, but it can be wearing. Or is the other way around?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 06:24 pm (UTC)As for normal ... like the button says ...
no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 08:10 pm (UTC)Tinker away!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 09:40 pm (UTC)But yes, most traditional recipes were created to be very adaptable/variable to whatever garnishing ingredients happen to be on hand. As long as you have the basics - like rice, and a suitably sweet but firm veggie. And the cumin. ;)
My house is going to smell wonderful on Saturday, I think.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 09:46 pm (UTC)I think I will be jealous of you come Saturday :-)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 06:50 pm (UTC)(I love you!)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 07:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 07:44 pm (UTC)I don't know if that makes any sense.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-31 03:13 am (UTC)