Buckie and back again

Last night, I returned from Aberdeenshire in the North of Scotland. Some of the Human Ecology students went this weekend on the invitation of one of our cohort, Gerry, for trekking about in the country (special thanks to the whole Aiken family for letting all six of us sleep about on your floors and beds).

First, there is a lot of open space in Scotland; it’s a country made for walking around. Second, it’s made for pleasant walking (unless it’s absolutely pealing rain and wind which, thankfully, this weekend it was not).

We arrived in Buckie, a small town that was formerly a fishing village (however, as the stocks have collapsed, it is no longer. The fishing harbour lies silted up and there are only remnants of the past economy). That’s not to say that the town itself is run down and depressing; they’ve moved on to other ways and means (I get the impression that Scots are fairly industrious in that regard). It was however—grey; every building was grey, the rocks were grey, the sky was grey, the grass was an amazing eye-piercing green. This was the farthest north I’ve ever been; I can’t imagine what it will be like in a couple months when the days are even shorter and greyer. I think this must be why Scots seem to be such good conversationalists; in the winter months there is little else to do (may also hint why they traditionally have large families).

We walked mostly along the coast; the coast looks just like what it looks like in books and films. Which means that I expected the English to try invading at any moment only to be repelled by hearty men and women in kilts—or just the quiet wind and mist to continue unmolested till the sun sat. (Note that I did not take my camera this time; it’s not that I’m tired of taking pictures, I’d just like to see some things without having to think every moment about the camera…but it’s a definite pack-along next time).

Then, the highlight, we went to spent the night at a Bothy (these are old stone houses in the wilderness that are now used as overnight shelters for hikers). We went to a wildlife preserve which, oddly and perversely was wired with lights and sound for “Between the Two Worlds” event. A three-hundred year old tree was rung with flashing white bulbs and speakers playing what can only be described as “faerie music.” It was quite disconcerting.

The bothty itself stood alone in a wide glen surrounded by heather and small bushes. And it was quiet. And dang cold. Fortunately, we had chicken and mushrooms and mince pie and scotch whisky! We built a fire in the fireplace and had conversation and eventually fell asleep with the fire dying down…then I woke up with food poisoning. What is this, my curse! What do I have to do? stop eating?

So we had to walk out (after I had vomited about four times); the guys wiring up the trees and heather were kind enough to give us a ride into the nearest town. I saw the country doctor (perfect image of Scottish doctor; wearing tweed, frumpy leather shoes…) He gave me a shot in the butt (which is sore today) to stop the nausea (and, since I’m in the UK and they have national health care, this didn’t cost a thing). Then, after a couple trains and taxis, I finally got home to my own warm bed. (Here I have to send good onto Gerry and Stephen who stepped me through the whole thing and helped my back.)

Next time I go anywhere, I will only eat in people’s homes or just eat vegetables. Will definitely go trekking again though; think it could be addictive here.

Words come back around

This was written by my friend Sara; it’s so good, I’m re-posting it here:
When I Find the One that Likes Me Too

Instead of hours, on and on,
over pints, or through the park
about my Past,
I’ll take you to SkateLand, where we will couple’s skate,
skirting the fallen, popular tweens, one standing, the other,
a half-circle Sit-N-Spin on the seat of jeans

We will go to the Air and Space Museum
to pulverize astronaut ice cream like florist-foam, brown
and pink. There, a shy girl-nerd studies the suspended
Cold War jet, the IMAX marquee, various capsules,
diesel Blue Birds idling in line,
vehemently ignored,
by nerdy, high-school boys

We’ll go to a symphony at a conservative religious university
and hold hands. No longer library staff, I will
not police the stacks for stolen kisses.
We’ll instead pretend to look up Ezra Pound and,
between the shelves, I’ll take your lapels,
a mix of permission-asking and desire,
and kiss you, there, myself

Sit on the couch,
at dark 5-o’-clock while I write
and the dim light shows up ghosts. You
won’t see them, but you’ll believe, for me,
and I won’t be afraid, with you.
And that’s all you’ll need to know.

Video from Congo and Albania

After a couple years; International Ministries has finally posted some video from my trips to the DRC and Albania. I did most of the videotaping of this material. Francisco Litardo did all the editing and post-production (he is the narrator and, I’m assuming, chose the swanky hep muzak as well).
First, an overview of their work in Albania:

Then, Into the Heart of Darkness:

And Wayne (note that the video rather sounds like Wayne and Katherine are siblings that later married and came back to Congo as missionaries; don’t fear, they grew up in Congo as the offspring of two distinct sets of parents).

And, this is the kind of thing that makes me bust out crying behind the camera…

I’ll not post them all here; you can go to the God at Work page on the International Ministries website to see more. There are selections from all over the world showing what IM missionaries are up to. One thing I especially respect about them is that they are looking at the real physical needs of people instead of just dropping Bibles from 10,000 feet. The IM missionaries I’ve worked with are seriously dedicated people who are right there on the front lines with people in palpable need. Even if you don’t share the same religious ideology or fervour, it’s the commitment these people have to making real change in the here and now of people’s lives that commands respect.

We spend all this time and effort to get the highest quality video possible; I obsess over all the technical details—and the final product gets compressed down and shown on YouTube. Alas.

Abusive Viewpoint

Earlier this week, As part of the Scottish Mental Health Arts and Film Festival, the Centre for Contemporary Art hosted a day-long seminar on using the arts to work with youth experiencing mental health issues. I attended several discussions and workshops; Lorenzo Mele, of 7:84 Theatre Company Scotland led a brief workshop on producing collaborative drama (or Forum Theatre...this is “of the oppressed week” for me as we are reading Pedagogy of the Oppressed for my MSc and I am now reading Augusto Boal’s Theatre of the Oppressed from which forum theatre is based). After the workshop, Lorenzo invited me to a performance today at The Tron, a theatre here in the city.

The performance (though, as you will see below, that’s not quite the correct term) is short drama dealing with domestic abuse. The material for themes and scripting came from youth in several Glasgow schools. It was staged with two actors; one actor played the part of a man at various stages from youth to adulthood. The other, a woman, played his girlfriend, mother, father, teacher, and counselor (both wore masks). The viewpoint character was the man (this was rather disturbing to some in attendance because, at first consideration, it seemed he was supposed to be a sympathetic character).

The actors went through the whole performance once (about 45 minutes) then began again; however, the second time through, members of the audience could call for the action to stop and request that one or the other characters lift the mask and reveal his or her thoughts. (The dialogue here came from a mix of the actor’s understanding of the character and the young people who contributed to the scripting).

Unfortunately, we were not able to proceed on to the third (and, arguably, most important) stage. The actors would go through the play again; this time though, the audience would become actively participative in the story itself. At any time they could call out, stop the action, and make suggestions for how the characters should act to change the situation (or actually step into the role of one of the characters). I think this would have cleared up some of the misgivings about showing the man as a sympathetic character; this was drama written by and for a very specific audience (young people at risk of abuse or becoming abusers).1 The point was to set up a space where they could explore these issues head on—yet still be in a “safe” place where the action can play itself out. The session this afternoon was an adult audience who work with youth in these situations and are considering ways to address them creatively.

Kudos to 7:84 for doing this project; it’s not something that can just be done on paper and it’s not something that can be performed “at a distance.” The actors involved have to have a good understanding of the issues and be willing to “act” face to face with someone who may be playing these things out in reality.

1 though I think that is not really a separate group of any society; everyone is at risk of some form of abuse and we all hold the potential of doing great harm (or great good) in the lives of those close to us.

Quote of the Day–Freire

I’m reading Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed for my core course in the MSc. It’s brilliant; however, the translation reads like someone absorbed a bunch of Marxist literature and decided that the key component for successful writing is plenty of verbiage. For instance:

In general, a dominated consciousness which has not yet perceived a limit-situation in its totality apprehends only its epiphenomena and transfers to the latter the inhibiting force which is the property of the limit situation.

Why do people feel compelled to write this way? I can understand what it means (after a bit of parsing); however, the major theme of this book is collaborative work with the masses of people who are dispossessed and have little access to “traditional” education. What good are these thoughts of they are only accessible to people who have a high level of literacy? (I realise this argument is moot as Freire’s works have definitely proved themselves over the past 30 years; perhaps I should learn Portuguese and read the original texts.)

An embarrassment of books

I spent the day wandering around the nearby Glasgow University; I went to their campus bookshop and the library (the library is a 12 story building with more than two million volumes; I have a feeling I will spend some amount of time there as it is within walking distance and, as a Strathclyde graduate student, I can check out books).
From there, I made a general loop around the wider neighbourhood. I first went into a little back-alley bookseller where books were literally piled in heaps on the floor. Most of the shelves had books two or three deep in ranks. I don’t know if they occasionally rotate the stock back to front or if the rear volumes have been there since the 1930’s.

In this bookshop was a black and white cat; when I entered, it was sitting on a pedestal by the door. I assume she is the security of the place as she gave me a look over. While I was there, the fellow at the desk let her out (notable later).

Behind this place is a funky little tea house named Tchai-Ovna; the owner is half Czech and the waitress and I exchanged a few words in Czech (she is taking classes at Glasgow Univ.). They serve, of course, Middle-Eastern food.

After that, another bookshop…and then another…and then I stopped at a book fair. I am proud of the fact that, while I saw a lot of books that looked interesting, I did not purchase any books today. One, I am trying to save money and know that I will have to buy books for school; two, I know that I will have to move all these books at the end of the year.

The cat showed up twice after her first appearance. Once was just down the street. She was stalking a small bird. After that, some distance away, she was sitting in the entrance to an antiques shop greeting visitors there. She must provide security services to several shops in the neighbourhood.

I also stopped at the Botanic Gardens; there is an exhibition of bonsai trees on right now. They had some really wonderful examples on display (in peril from the curious fingers of children who were gleefully wandering about the glasshouse).

I’m going to set down with a book for the evening; something’s put me in the mood to read.

Glasgow Botanic Gardens

I’ve just returned from the Glasgow Botanic Gardens (it’s a five minute walk from my flat). I’ve found the place to go this winter when I need to take a stroll and clear my head. It’s like walking through a giant Victorian terrarium; every inch of the place seems covered with exotic plants. Lovely.