Alien Education.

Racist Cookies?

2011-11-05T16:23:00.000-04:00

The grocery store in my area is owned by a friendly little Turkish man (friendly because he didn't give me a dirty look when I knocked over a display of coke). So naturally, the store has lots of Turkish goodies. It also stocks these delectable little cookies. I picked a pack up because they looked like Oreos (they taste like stale coco powder mixed with pepper). However, what is amazing about them is the name – Negro Cookies. These cookies would never make it in the US – far too many things wrong with naming cookies Negroes. However, I can say that I’ve eaten a negro – actually, I’ve eaten a pack of negroes.

Pear shaped

2011-09-06T16:20:00.000-04:00

Things are well in the Congo, I mean, as well as can be expected. I’m frequently treated as an inferior being here. Not because I’m white (that’s an entirely different post) but because I’m a woman. We aren’t ‘evolved’ enough to join the other part of society as one man eloquently put it. I don’t think there has been a visiting female research candidate to come to the university in my department before me - yay for path breaking?. In that regard, I’m unique and have a bit of equal standing with people, but in reality, I’m treated as a woman – or here as a child. Some of people in the office I work in are excited that I'm there - exchange of ideas and stuff. They treat me as someone to have a discussion with. But, there are one or two people who are in the office who don't agree with this. Women are meant for making babies and dinner - that's it.
These are the men who answer questions directed at me for me, as if I can’t answer them myself. I’m pretty sure, actually, I’m definitely sure, I can describe my research far more accurately than someone I’ve just met. I mastered talking around the age of 1.5 and haven't looked back since. It’s almost as if I can’t think. Somehow, I’ve gotten here, but am no longer allowed to think for myself. Trust me, I’m think lots of things when these people are around – none of them are polite.

While this isn’t the case for all of the men I meet, the one or two twerps who play into the stereotypes typically grate my nerves beyond belief. One person has somehow gone one step too far; he randomly showed up in the compound I live in. (I don’t know how he found out where I live - I ask the taxi to drop me off three blocks away.) He’s now trying to come to Cambridge to be with me – problematic for him because he doesn’t speak English. I also get about 15 missed calls a day from him – totally creepy; there’s nothing else but totally creepy, sketch, and annoying as hell to describe it. Now, this guy just randomly stops by or calls all day long.

I live with two other American girls, and a family that consists of an Australian husband and Zambian wife (he’s in the mining business), a Congolese woman who takes care of the houses, and two Congolese guards - a day guard, and a night guard. It’s not only a problem for me but it’s a problem for them. I don’t know how to relay the subtle hint of ‘go the f*ck away’ without seeming to harsh, but I will. (In reality, I'll ask the guards to since men seem to be the focal point here). I promise, not all Congolese men are like this. I know some wonderful guys who go out of their way to make sure everything is okay – they’ve wished my family well, brought me invaluable resources, and helped me in the city. (Tomorrow, I’ll be knocking papayas out of the trees in the backyard with one of them.) The pear-shaped parts just get so, so tiring.

Otherwise, I've finished my research here for now. I got massive amounts of stuff that I now have to somehow sort into a usable form. My favourite was meeting the Lunda Emperor. He probably gave me the best interview of everyone - and one taxi driver's interview, which was pretty amazing.

My feet are in a constant state of disgusting. It's just eww looking at them. I was quite sick last week - stomach issues. I went to the doctor. It was either cholera or dysentery. I stopped listening at one point. The water and power were also off when I was sick making matters so much worse. I'm better now though. :)

That's it for today. I'll be bored tomorrow so maybe I'll write a small novella for reading.

Allow me to introduce you to...my bed.

2011-08-15T14:41:00.000-04:00

Let me introduce you to...my bed.

As one could guess, the animal print bed cover was not my choice, (the missionaries here obviously have a wild side), but it's super warm for the cold nights. Yes, it gets cold here at night, similar to Cambridge. That big white ball of fabric above it is my mosquito net. I'm not sure if I really like a mosquito net or not, but it's necessary. You can tell by looking at the picture that my pillow is at the foot of the bed (the pillow is that bright green square). There is a reason for this.

The compound lost power a little after 12 yesterday. By 6.30 I was tired of using a hand crank flashlight to try and read, so I decided to go to bed. So I cranked the flashlight as much as possible and started to 'fix' the bed. I started to tuck the mosquito net into the bed frame when *BOOM* the headrest came loose landing squarely on my foot shooting the other side of the bed across the room, ie, 4 feet. So, a few choice words later, I began to try and reassmble the bed. The power was still out at this point. I wasn't able to just smoosh the thing back together, so I took the matress off, then the wood board which the matress sits on. I was able to somehow maneuver the bed frame back together (the screw wasn't originally in tight). Remember the power was still out and I'm using a hand crank flashlight to do this. Exceptionally annoyed I put the wood base back on the bed, then the mattress, remake the bed, and tuck the mosquito net in. I thought it would be useful to sleep with my feet at the headboard in case it collapsed again. This way my head wouldn't go crashing down, just my feet. But, as I laid down in my bed, with the mosquito net tucked in, I realized I had to go to the bathroom. There was no way I was undoing the mosquito net and wiggling out of bed, so I decided to hold it, for the next 12 hours.

HOWEVER, literally three minutes later the power came back on. I wouldn't have moved from the bed except all the lights turned on. I had to undo the mosquito net and get out of the bed to turn the lights off. But seriously who is tired at 7? So, I just got back up and boiled 4 gallons of water for today and read some more. I'm still sleeping on a shaky bed. I'm already worried about knocking the net loose in my sleep but now I'm worried about the bed collapsing in my sleep.

I really miss my squeaky bed in Harvey Road. It's never fallen apart even though it sounds like it should!

In other news, I was guided around Lubumbashi today. The missionaries, whose spare house I am in, took me around before. However, they obviously took me to the more quite neighborhoods. Because today, Amani the guard at my compound, took me down the streets which were much more crowded and a little more dirty. It was interesting though, to see Lubumbashi from a local perspective rather than that of white missionaries. I definitely was called wazungu more today than before. I've just learned to ignore it and to keep my head down. I'm going to a new library tomorrow. I'm not sure what I'll find there, but we'll see.

Goal for this week: still not getting malaria, finding that amazing mass of material that probably doesn't exist any longer for my thesis...

Late Congo post

2011-08-13T14:57:00.000-04:00

I'm in the Congo - Lubumbashi to be exact. It's a little more than I expected. But, nevertheless, I'm here. I'm downloading iTunes because my iPod (which stays locked in my suitcase mother) died right in the middle of my favourite Britney Spears song. How sad is life without old Spears? :(

Anyway, I arrived yesterday and slept through the day. It was quite the trek. My first flight left at 9, so I headed to the airport at 4, was in London by 5.30 then spent the next 1.5 hours on a tube that was heavily behind schedule and moved slower than my G'mas driving. It was easy to find the desk for Ethiopian Airlines; it was much less easy checking in. The woman at the desk didn't believe that Lubumbashi and Kinshasa are part of the same country. I told her they were - obviously I don't look trustworthy - she asked someone else. Then to verify her self-belief that Lubumbashi and Kinshasa are part of two countries, she called the manager down to the desk, and then the manager's manager. This took about 40 minutes. (So, apparently Brazzaville and Kinshasa are more one country than Lubumbashi and Kinshasa. Geographically, yes they're much closer - but not one country.) 30 minutes after the original 40 I was able to proceed through security and to the gate. No problems there. I found dinner and I ate dinner at the gate. But, as I was slightly dozing in my chair waiting to board, I get called to the gate desk. Why? The woman who checked me in thought I had stolen my debit card to buy multiple airline tickets across Africa. (The normal purchase with stolen credit cards). I had to fill in a form stating that the card was mine, which if I had stolen it, I probably would fill in the form anyway. This took another 50 minutes because counter lady had to walk the form up two flights and then to terminal three herself. Some people...

Ethiopian Airlines isn't bad. I wouldn't say that it's my favorite airline but it isn't my least favorite. It lacks in-flight entertainment, which for 7 plus hours, I think is necessary. My seat wouldn't recline, the person's seat in front of me reclined far too much. (The person in front of me was a Spanish guy going on a trip with four of his friends. They were loud for about 7 hours of the flight. He also liked to throw things behind his chair that he didn't want and stretch his arms all the way to my face. We won't be keeping in touch.) I slept for the majority of the time. Had dreams where the professors in Cambridge yelled at me the whole time - for not making my bed; then Whoopi Goldberg joined them in that rant. ???? Otherwise the flight was fine. No malfunctions, like on my way to England, ergo it rates well. I think I was expecting more with Addis Ababa airport. I'm used to Heathrow, Dulles, and JFK. Everything is consumer oriented and covered in a fresh coat of paint. While Addis had some stalls on the inside, it definitely wasn't covered in a new coat of paint. Probably because everyone was smoking inside - gross. Why paint over things if the niccotine is just going to stain the paint? Security there was fun. You crowd at one end of the terminal and shove through the metal detector. The guy behind me, who somehow managed to jump 20 people to get behind me, crowded too much. He went past the personal space and straight onto touchy feely - trust me, that ended quickly. He also somehow was able to make it past me in the security line only to be stupid enough to leave his ipod and cell in his pocket. He had to walk through the metal detector muchos times and still was patted down and wanded. <--- Hahaha I breezed through (again, I'm used to Dulles which has draconian security measures). The flight to Lubumbashi was interesting. It was me, a few Belgians, and a whole flight of Chinese men. I slept; I think in a horribly grotesque fashion since I fell asleep before take off and woke up after landing.

Arrival at the airport is different. You get off the plane and mill around for a bit trying to find the way to the airport. Once in, you get in a line in customs, then pass to the yellow fever vaccine desk, then pass into another room to collect luggage. Here you wait. The luggage is unloaded by hand, so it takes a while. Someone was eyeing my suitcase once it came in, even looked at the name and claim ticket. There would have been a fight if someone were to make off with my bag. Besides, it's such an odd color that I know I'm the only one with it. They also actually check your baggage claim ticket at the airport. I didn't think that it was ever done. I had to dig to find mine. Anywho, I was proposed to. When I said that I had a fiance and we were very much in love (I don't, I'm just using my friend as my fiance, he knows), the guy told me to ditch him and stay in the Congo and be his wife. I'm sure he would have provided a substantial dowry, but I'm pretty sure that Caius would have wanted a portion of it. 75 customs checks later and finally made my way to a taxi.

The taxi driver drove me to my hotel. Or he raced me to my hotel playing chicken with the other drivers. He drove a car with the steering wheel on the British side but on the right side of the road. I was confused. It took about half of a five minute trip to figure out that we were driving on the right and steering on the right. I blame England for my confusion.

My hotel is nice. It's supposedly one of the newer hotels. I have AC, which is currently freezing me to death. I get free bottled water and chocolates on my pillows. The owner knows who I am - possibly because he booked my room for me. They all call me Madame Catherine - tres odd. I think my room is fumigated every day because it smells like bugspray. I smell like bugspray too, so we make a nice pair. I have a shower in my room but I don't know if the water is safe to use. So, I haven't showered in over two days. I have baby wipes - meh. I don't know how babies are happy with that.

I'm getting very proficient at Spider Solitaire. It isn't very safe to walk the streets at night and the sun sets around 7, so I have lots of time to improve my game. Or write an article like my supervisor suggested, but I think that will be secondary to improving my solitaire statistics.

Goals for this week: Not get malaria and to somehow manage a shower.

Apparently I write like a man.

2011-06-30T18:30:00.000-04:00

After inserting part of my dissertation abstract into what can only be the world's most scientific linguistic machine, it has been determined that I write overwhelmingly dude-like.

http://bookblog.net/gender/genie.php

I don't know if that's good or bad in academia.

Funding for field work...

2011-02-16T20:04:00.000-05:00

12. In the event of accident or emergency, indicate where you would expect any casualties to be taken:

With reference to Question 15 have you considered any potential physical or psychological
problems due to the nature of your research? Give details:

Pleasant.

Under a pile

2011-02-13T14:38:00.000-05:00

I should really work out a better organization method. Maybe some folders.

-_-

2011-01-31T21:56:00.001-05:00

Word limits really cramp my style.

Who can write an abstract in 25 words. I couldn't do that at 8.

Protest

2010-11-24T09:27:00.003-05:00

The fees protest, which has now moved to the Senate House lawn. The downside - my college library is in that gated area.

(courtesy or George's Blackberry)

Floss

2010-11-17T13:45:00.002-05:00

This was a conversation my roommate and I had today:

Me - It's really hard to find floss here.
Him - Floss? You mean dental floss.
Me - Yes.
Him - It's not hard; go to Boots.
Me - I did. There were only four types to choose from.
Him - Only four?
Me - Yeah, only four.
Him - What did you expect?
Me - About sixty different types.
Him - Is there a difference?
Me - Yes. Of course.

Alas, the difference.

Reality bites

2010-10-25T18:22:00.003-04:00

This is my dad. It actually was the day of my high school graduation - Friday, June 13. The girls were forced to wear white. I think, it was one of the hottest days that year, but my memory could fail me.

I look quite the same now as I did then. My hair is shorter and a less unfortunately less red; I think I saw the beginnings of a wrinkle the other day; I'm pretty sure my teeth aren't as white because coffee oozes through my veins, but essentially I look the same. Daddy, however, does not. He's shockingly thin now because he's sick. He's had several large operations, enjoyed patronizing several hospital wings, a nursing home, a variety of doctors and nurses but he's still around enjoying diet coke and the Weather Channel (for some horrendous reason). Every minute I spend away I spend with the underlying dread that the next form of communication I have with my mother is "he's dead." I'm waiting for it, but I'm not ready. I'm not being pessimistic, but rather looking at facts - that call will one day come.

I understand the overwhelming defeat of grief but that was my grandparents. They were old. It was deafening, but still, a normal part of life. Perhaps I never consciously thought about it; however, I never thought of my parents as unable to one day walk among the living. Now that it's a reality, it's soul crushing. I realize, that any moment could be the last, that like everything else, life eventually comes to an close it its current stage. In reality, its unfair to the rest of us and it sucks.

Daddy has another surgery tomorrow; they're replacing the arteries in his leg. It's supposed to be quite routine - in and out. Everything since May has been supposedly though.

Matriculation

2010-10-14T07:40:00.007-04:00

I'm am officially matriculated into Gonville and Caius. Technically I was about a week ago, but my "official" record was missing a space in my address so as of yesterday, I have signed said correct form and am matriculated. The process itself is quite Cambridge. First, there was a 45 minute speech on safety. From that I learned that I will be mugged in broad daylight in front of the police station while my house is burning down from an unauthorized rice cooker then the Porter's will charge me 10-20 pounds a week for my key and university card which has either be destroyed in said fire or stolen while I was being mugged. I think I can survive Cambridge if I survived Philly and Richmond. I obviously will not flaunt my 140 karat diamonds all at once.

After our rousing safety talk, the Master spoke. Imagine a British diplomat from the 1950s, this is him. His talk was of the nature of we represent over two dozen countries in a variety of disciplines and that PhDs are the backbone of the college for continuity (because we've signed onto indentured servitude for a minimum of three years). Strive, succeed, do well, make Caius proud; then he invited us to drinks.

Finally, the important part, signing the 500 year oldish matriculation register. That random piece of paper I was mailed with details about my and my parents lives makes sense now. Caius has the oldest known register of its students at Cambridge, so presumably one of the oldest generally in the English speaking world. Except what we signed was printed on fancier paper and we signed with a "special" pen (a craft pen) that can withstand the test of time. Unfortunately, it was not a quill that had to be dipped in some special ink. However, you aren't to sign it or print your name, but to write it.

(That is people signing the register. The man in the blue tie is the Master, Sir Christopher Hum. The woman next to him and the two men next to her are the graduate tutors. Different from my academic supervisor. She's my tutor. She's a historian who specializes in Neapolitan culture and ice cream.)

(Before matriculation in the MRC. See those cubbies, if you send me mail that's where it will go.)
Following matriculation we had tea in rooms upstairs that I doubt we'll see again. The Master came over to chat with myself and two Canadians. He welcomed us to a country with a heritage and a history. Charming of him.

(The two pieces of paper under the picture are replicas of the charter for the College. The real one's are in the library. They're 500 years old.)

(Random old room - suitable for that Christmas card picture home.)

(This is the view from the rooms onto the court. That's the grass - we aren't allowed to walk on it. Except during fire drills, which then, I doubt we're supposed to walk on it, but we have.)

Well, matriculation dinner is tonight. We have drinks beforehand and are divided into our disciplines. Natural Science, Physical Science, Law, Medicine, and then the Arts.

Cambridge Fresher's Fair

2010-10-06T17:26:00.003-04:00

I went to the Cambridge Fresher's Fair, similar to the VCU SOVO (Student Organization and Volunteer Opportunities) Fair, with the sole intention of signing up for fencing. Of course the fencing table is the last booth on the third floor.

I am now the proud member of about about 15 other groups (because I'm a sheep), including the Labour Club, Improvised Comedy Ents, Democrats Abroad (possibly useful because I can't print at the moment and they can get my absentee ballot), the Truth Movement Society, Pembroke Players, the Rambling Club, and Engineers without Borders. I was able to bypass all of the Dungeons and Dragons groups (there were over a dozen) and the science clubs let me pass without much hassle, but the Women in Business table really wanted me on that list, because I'm definitely starting an oil company in the DRC in the near future or a small bank.

I did sign up for fencing though - success. I start on Friday, with a busted leg (maybe I'll be smart and wait til Monday).

A picture finally!

2010-10-05T17:57:00.003-04:00

Solely so my mother will leave me alone, there is a picture. That's me after matriculation, which is an ordeal in itself. That is my gown. I wear it when I graduate but I get embellishments. Loads of them.

We've also figured that since we wear MA gowns and we have the huge sleeves, we can stuff bottles of wine in them for second hall and not be noticed. It's good to be MA.

The visa fiasco...

2010-10-05T16:18:00.002-04:00

As everyone may or may not know, I had quite the predicament with getting to Cambridge. Because I will be here for a long time, ie., longer than 6 months, I required a UK entry visa. I should have been seemingly easy. Should have.

Step one, get a CAS from Cambridge, a 15-20 odd letter and number combination given to Cambridge by the UK Border Agency that I use to apply for a visa. The only way I could obtain one of those was by graduating from Penn - I graduated in mid-August. I didn't get my CAS until the end of August. Not a problem, I knew that I would have to extradite my visa because I was graduating in August, annoying but I knew it.

Step two, have my biometrics (fingerprints and mug-shot taken) by immigration. Easy! Did that at the first available appointment because I was so proactive about the process.

Step three, fill out all my supporting documents, including my financial statements, letters from Penn, 15 page form stating I'm not a war criminal, etc. Very easy. Cambridge provided half of them, I found the other half online.

Step four, go to New York to turn in my visa application wait four hours and take it home. Theoretically very easy. The visa process should have stopped here. Again, being proactive I picked the first available date, a week before my flight to the UK. I went to New York (there are only three visa application centers in the US, DC isn't one of them) the day Obama addressed the UN. Royal pain. Half of Manhattan was shut down and it took about two hours on a regularly scheduled 30 minute bus to get to the consulate. I got there and handed my application to be told there was a problem. What? I'm not a terrorist nor a wanted woman. Nooooooo, my biometrics were lost. What?! Random IT failure on behalf of the UK. The desk agent retook my fingerprints, looked over my paperwork, and promised my visa would be overnighted the next day. I leave New York without a visa and without a passport. Depressing but the visa was on its way.

Step five, go home and wait.

Step six, the British Consulate sends an email it capital and bold letters. They've lost my biometrics and I need to call ASAP. This time it isn't a desk officer but an actual consular agent. I thought the email was a mistake but I call. Apparently, everyone who submitted their visa applications on the day I did had their fingerprints lost. While they retook them at the Consulate, the Consulate couldn't retrieve the application from the system because of the IT failure. I had to start all over but I didn't have to go to New York because it was their fault. Even more annoying, British Consulate lady was exceptionally nice about it.

Step seven, retake fingerprints, resubmit application. Call British consulate to tell my new visa number. This is Friday. I leave Wednesday.

Step eight, call the consulate on Monday, and everything is okay. She's printing out the visa, issuing my refund, putting the visa in the overnight pouch and it will be there by Tuesday. All is right in the world again. My mother said my eyebrows were no longer in a constant furrowed state and I generally look relieved. At this point, my mother and I are en route to my sister's house. We don't get any home phone messages past this.

Step nine, check the answering machine at 11pm on Monday. There's a problem with the visa. Someone in the consulate lost my supporting documents and they need to be faxed over. Actually, the desk officer didn't copy them when I was in New York, she looked at them. They can't issue the visa without them.

Step ten, 8:01 am Tuesday. Start calling the British Consulate and leaving continuous messages (with my personal consular officer at this point) about my visa. She calls back around 9:30. She issued the visa the night before because the desk officer made a note about my documents and she figured I had them initially. She's overnighting my visa to me that day. It will arrive 5pm on Wednesday. I have a nervous breakdown, start to drink, and pace the floor. British Consulate lady tries to send it early morning delivery. It can't be delivered that early to Boondocks, Virginia. I ask for it to be delivered to the Honors College at VCU early morning delivery. The label goes through, but she can't put a signature on the label. We hang up so she can get a superior to authorize the delivery and I call to beg the Honors College for advice and their UPS delivery times. British Consulate lady calls back, she can't order that delivery because it requires a signature and the package is carrying a passport. At this point it really looked like I wasn't getting my passport. However, there was one last hope, deliver it to a UPS center and not put it on a truck.

Step eleven, Wednesday 8am. We left the house. My passport had been delivered at the UPS distribution center in VA Beach and was being held for our arrival. We drove straight from VA Beach to DC, with my visa, which I look like a linebacker in the photo.

If there was an obstacle in getting to Cambridge I ran into it. We drove through downpours, I barely got my visa, my plane lost power at take off, my visa didn't scan at arrival, I didn't have a certain health form about TB.

A friend reminded me that I could have gone to school in the US and I don't need papers. I very much appreciate that now.

Don't forget to write! (or send big packages...)

2010-10-02T12:26:00.001-04:00

Catherine Lee Porter
Gonville and Caius College
Cambridge
CB2 1TA
United Kingdom

:)

And the winner is...

2010-09-08T22:53:00.002-04:00

Cambridge is officially the best university in the world. Harvard has held the spot since 2004. Yale has always been in the top 3. 2010, Cambridge took the honors. Guess it sink or swim time.

See that link for the full list (I'll figure out how to make it a blue line thing later)
http://www.topuniversities.com/university-rankings/world-university-rankings/2010/results

The journey of a thousand miles...

2010-08-08T21:30:00.003-04:00

Begins with ones of these....

This, however, did not come with its trials. Lufthansa was kind enough to charge me for two of everything. I just spent time speaking to someone I couldn't hear telling me they'd give me my money back "because sometimes that happens." Hmpf.

If they don't give it back...who wants to move to Cambridge with me? Chamber maid? Catherine keeper? I could use a good assistant.

Turning down schools

2010-07-29T17:04:00.003-04:00

So, I've had to turn down several schools this week. I'm a little late - but whatever. I've never actually had to before because when I applied to grad school before I only applied to one program (brilliant, I know) and hoped for the best.

It's quite hard to turn down schools for some reason. The field of African History isn't as large as quantum physics. Then Congolese History is even smaller. So, I've been in contact with all the professors for quite some time. I feel like I'm personally insulting them. I'm sure I'm not, but still.

Anywho, I thought it was time to turn the schools down when LSE asked me what time they should pick me up from the airport. Yeah, guess those arrangements should not be made with LSE.

I should probably detail about going to the UK for my PhD somewhere in this blog - but I'm eating right now. Priorities people.

PS - I'm currently reading a diary of a British man who joined a Kasai army in the Congo in the 60s. It's brilliant. I think I was more shocked by his explicit details of elephant hunting and how to extract tusks than anything else.

British Visa

2010-07-26T18:52:00.003-04:00

Well now....

6.11 In times of peace or war have you ever been involved in, or suspected of involvement in, war crimes, crimes against humanity or genocide?

6.12 Have you ever been involved in, supported, or encouraged terrorist activities in any country? Have you, ever been a member of, or given support to an organisation that has been concerned in terrorism?

6.13 Have you ever, by any means or medium, expressed views that justify or glorify violence or that may encourage others to terrorist acts or other serious acts?

6.14 Have you engaged in any other activities that might indicate that you may not be considered a person of good character?

If yes, please explain.

And who defines "good character"?

A new adventure deserves a new blog

2010-07-22T13:48:00.001-04:00

Since I'll soon be leaving the US for what can only be four years of trouble making, I thought I should consider actually doing this again.

I've locked the other blog, so if you're dying to revisit Switzerland, let me know, and I'll unlock it for you.

For now, I'm going to finish my thesis.

Or drink a Naked Juice, send off a few emails, maybe vacuum my floor, and then get to it.

But you get the general idea.