The week of St. Patrick’s day I stumbled upon a streak of luck that placed me in the company of a great number of individuals with an indefatigable drive to change the world for the better. Myself and 7 other students from School Year Abroad France participated in the Global Issues Network (GIN) annual conference, with this year’s theme being “Caring for Humanity: Our Duty”. We met with 15 other schools from all over the world and participated both as educators and students. By the time this three day conference was finished, I had acquired some invaluable insights. My team and I presented the business of sex trafficking. We gave insight into the logistics of the abhorrent industry and proposed some solutions that would combat the demand as well as make identification of sex trafficking more efficient. As enthused as I was to present the subject that I had grown to be so passionate about, I quickly became equally invested in many of the topics presented by others. Students and keynote speakers alike addressed concerns of refugee acceptance, the power of social media for influencing social change, and the ensnaring cycle of poverty, all the while having personally made strides to address the issues they held so closely to their hearts. The initiative of one individual in particular really resonated with me. This was on the part of Jaz O’Hara, a British fashionista who in an act of compassion one day went to visit the refugee camp in Calais, France coined “The Jungle”. There over 3,500 individuals await to be processed. They all hope to be granted asylum in England, a haven just an hour away by car. After making a post on facebook inviting people to drop off any supplies they had handy at her house, O’Hara had an outpouring of support and founded an organization to intervene at Calais. Her post had been shared 64,000 times in one night, and through her suddenly all the people she had visited in the camp were given a voice and a stage. She will be making a documentary as well to further illuminate conditions in the camp. In attending the conference I learned that stories such as O’Hara’s are not well meaning farces fabricated in hopes of making us think we have the power to ameliorate the misery in this world. I learned that in identifying issues of concern ourselves, we acquire the ability to turn other heads in the right direction. This starts a chain reaction. Each person helps out in his or her way. The network of support grows exponentially more effective and significant with each new recruit. For the April break approaching, I will be volunteering for six days in the Calais refugee camp. I am honored to serve as one more voice adding to the chorus. Today I board a train for Luxembourg. Still to come is a video compiling my experiences in Spain. But what looms quite prominently in my mind, in spite of my reluctance to resign myself to its slippery powers of instigation of crisis, is the fact that now less than 100 days remain of my time in this country. More precisely, only 70 remain. While at the beginning of my journey, time seemed to be an ally, moving as slowly or quickly as I wanted, I now feel its finite quality. I am reminded of an hourglass, insistently and uncompromisingly marking every moment and never offering the gift of a redo. So many checkpoints have been marked that once seemed as though they always would remain hovering on the horizon. We have made our class sejour to Paris. We have traveled to Spain. We have taken the SAT and now rapidly approach the season for AP exams. We have celebrated birthdays with host families that have become like blood, and we have graduated from meager communication of immediate needs to deeply contemplative exchanges about the merit of existentialism as a philosophical principle. Knowing that I was coming to France stimulated a more deliberate pattern of living for me. Suddenly I was on a clock. With x days left in Atlanta, what did I want to do ? Who did I want to see ? What snack did I need to store up on for the plane ? My priorities shifted, being less oriented around the future and moreso concerning what elements of my daily life I would want to preserve some connection to. Every moment and interaction in the days before leaving presented a choice: was this something to grasp tightly or something that I needed to let go ? Here in France I have been saddled with that same presence of mind. Each day has been about getting to know the people that welcomed me into their home. Every conversation with schoolmates solicited an attentiveness. Always highlighting all my experiences was the concept of time and capitalizing on the amount that I had. Who would I share the greatest number of laughs with? Who was just enough a reflection of the me landing in France that there would be compatibility, but also so different as to spark changes, to nudge me out of the mold I had learned to fit so cozily back home? I had a responsibility to make these choices every day, as I was actively steer myself towards something that I could not yet visualize. Most importantly was an aversion to stagnancy and sameness, a refusal to return home in the same state that I departed. That has meant taking risks greater than I would have ever dared in the city of my birth. Now, I have arrived in Luxembourg for a politics conference where we discussed prostitution in relation to sex trafficking from the perspective of legislation and business. This topic holds potentially a taboo in America, where prostitution is outlawed in every state besides Nevada. Since arriving I have learned the value of open-mindedness, as it means there always will be a space for acquisition of new knowledge. Understanding, to quote a speaker heard while here, promotes empathy which promotes unity.
Bordeaux was a different story. We arrived in her arms during the quiet babble of the night, walking the 15 minutes to our apartment in tranquility and slowly taking in what was to either side of us as we located our lodging. From the beginning I found myself shocked by how much the city aligned with my quintessential imaginings of France. Our lodger arrived a little en retard( late) riding a bike and huffing with exhaustion. She switched effortlessly between French and English as she expressed her apologies. Our apartment was some older building that had been reformulated, and to arrive at the top we mounted winding, stone stairs that closely hugged a cobbled wall. Mounting still, we could see the criss-cross of pillars that did not support the building but once had been used to support potentially an old clock or some structure that no longer existed. Our apartment itself was a mosaic of the world at large, covered with items from the small country of Eritrea, and nonchalantly flaunting money from Ghana, Spain, and America sitting on the coffee table. Aside from the city itself, the trip was distinguished by the comical nature of our successive blunders. We realized two days before departing that we had booked two bus tickets to go towards Bordeaux and none to return. We had a brief yet instructive run in with a woman pushing a stroller in the dead of night and asking for our attention as we entered into our apartment. We learned how to eat two meals on a budget of about $7, meaning a quick but strategic visit to the grocery store. We learned what it means to live in close quarters with someone for multiple days at a time, when the ratio of square footage to person is less than it is in your childhood bedroom. All of this knowledge aids our traveling team of four in preparations for our next trip to Spain, as we will spend four days in Barcelona, three days in Seville, and three days in Madrid. So Bordeaux is my new Best Friend for Life, not only because of her effortless but poignant mixture between ancient and modern, or her quaint cobbled streets that host a people as electrified and lively as the gushing river Garonne that fertilizes the spirit of its citizens, but also because of the insights accrued that have further refined my admittedly fledgling travel skills. I realize now that planning a trip to another country with a budget, though daunting and initially skeptical, is a perfectly attainable pursuit with enough foresight. We found flights for as little as 30 dollars and three day lodging for prices near the same (AirBNB is your best friend if you are visiting abroad). In knowing how to plan efficiently, we are able to circumvent so many obstacles of price and logistics. Bordeaux, which is now my favorite city, after seeing her various markets and museums and sleek metros that resemble the hovertrain from Hunger Games, was a test run. To her I always will be appreciative, and I am ready to do it again. So, I have been relatively MIA. There isn’t a good reason. I got underswept by the current of the holidays and gave in to the allure of idleness. I intend to make up for it now. I subscribe to the old adage that a picture is worth a thousand words, so I’ll let them do some of the talking. But context is good too. So let’s see how succinctly we can do this. Christmas- Myself and approximately 40 other members of the David family tree all arranged ourselves at a grand table in order of descending age. There were people seated beside me who, on a whim, had voyaged to spend their days in another country with only enough money to arrive there. There were people who spoke 4 languages fluently. There were people who had an arsenal of miscellaneous facts and who you imagined you could sit and talk with about nothing or everything for hours. And all of these people, though not my family, had histories as elaborate as anything back home. For this dinner our paths would briefly intersect and just as quickly afterwards they would diverge, yet still they’d have left an impression in the form of their stories. The following day was presents and gifts and a breakfast of pain au chocolate as well as hot chocolate and only things that were sweet with all the babies of the family. Post Christmas was sure not to disappoint. New Years- Fireworks launched from the base of the courthouse, only complementing the racous yet dignified ding of the clock and the excited cheers of the individuals gathered under its gaze. I must not neglect to mention the lights projected on the body of “la Marie”. They with the start of the tightrope walker’s advance had begun to tell a story, one that did not have characters or even a plot but more so a theme. It told a story of time, showing gears grinding slowly to mark its steady march that evades our attentions. For those 15 minutes before midnight, we all for once were precisely aware of time. This moment we would remember as a checkpoint, a starting line for the next leg of the marathon of our lives. No longer would we be passive collaborators with ourselves of before and all of its habits, some of them being poisonous. Watching the tightrope walker so precariously balance on a string almost rendered invisible by the darkness, in a way represented the ambiguousness of what was to come. La Gallete de Roi (The King’s Pastry)- France touts a tradition of in the new years eating a pastry (chocolate, apple, jam) that has a little figurine placed randomly inside. Everyone takes a piece, and if chance is with them, they will find the figurine and be crowned king (or queen). My host family and I shared four pastries among ourselves in the first couple weeks of the new year. I won the figurine each of the four times. Ideally, this tradition would happen on January 6th, named the “Epiphany”. As told by the bible on this day the three wise men arrived at the stable that housed Jesus, the king. And last but not least…- This weekend brought the SAT, perhaps one of the most stress inducing hurdles for students in their junior year. The weeks before were spent in diligent preparation, yet still the day of the test I could not help feeling as though I could have done more. I will have to wait only a short three weeks to see if the studying paid off. I will be well distracted as I plow through the 600 page assigned reading on WW1 Avoir la Haute that we were given 20 days to finish and as I plan trips for the vacation to come. This upcoming weekend I will visit Bordeaux, which I am sure will not disappoint. My childhood was characterized by many anxieties, most of them being illogical but still asserting themselves just as forcefully as any other fear. For example I went through a stage where I was absolutely petrified of decisions. Just the abstract concept would send me down the rabbit hole of existential musings, as I contemplated the tragedy of a lost opportunity or of an alternate iteration of you sacrificed in exchange for who you had become. That fear was eventually replaced by an burdensome aversion to social interaction. The rapid fire conversations of my peers left me mute, as I often felt unable to relate to the subject of conversation. I did not find the same jokes funny. The TV shows so many of the other kids watched were foreign to me. I dreaded the recurring feeling of incompatibility and deep down inside feared that I never would be able to overcome what might have just been a difference in wiring. Later, there came a fear of kidnapping, which among all of my fears may have been the most grounded in reality. But now having finished a year and begun anew, it has been shockingly clear just how much progress I have made since my pre-adolescence. Over the dinner table my host mother said to me “Tu es un adult maintenant”. And though initially the concept seemed inconceivably erroneous, I realized upon further consideration its valor. The girl who once upon a time could not enter a room of new people without having her stomach drop has left her home to live with a new family. The kid who once could not tolerate the idea of having to give up an art class to take music now without any trouble is planning trips to Spain and cities hours away borne from nothing but an abstract desire to do something different. The girl who subconsciously linked her diminutiveness with being a potential victim now commands two languages with the prowess and confidence of someone who has realized their world is whatever they decide they want it to be. Surreally, this new world I am living in has appointed me the role of an adult. I, since arriving in France, have learned to take care of myself in a way that has never been asked of me before. I registered myself for the SAT this weekend. I myself schedule meetings with teachers back home to make sure I am still in the loop about academic matters. I plan my own vacations and manage a budget that I made for myself. I have shed so much of what I let inhibit me back home, and with the catalyst of a change in environment, I have made some changes in myself that I will make sure to grip tightly when I go home. And meanwhile, I imagine that in the months to come there still will be much change to do. I will be visiting Bordeaux this weekend with some friends, and I imagine that this new place as well will bring to the forefront some other aspect of who I am that perhaps up until now has not had the opportunity to emerge. In the break following I will be returning to Paris, this time not in the midst of a national crisis. In the following week, I will be visiting some different cities in Spain and plan as well to later participate in a politics conference in Luxembourg. My identity has now transcended the place where I lived for my entire life and has grown to include the world at large and all its happenings. While I visit these places, I too am a contributor. I share just as much as I am shown. Forever, self discovery is a journey, and one that I eagerly plunge into.
100 days I have spent in another country. 100 nights I have spent under the roof of someone else. 100 mornings I have taken the bus from the outskirts of town to the center of a city whose spirit rivals that of any other I ever have seen. I have seen this city alight as it prepares for Christmas, the co-conspirator to all our desires to show those we love just how much. Perhaps I am the sentimental sort, but I believe the holiday season quantifies the love that already is there. For a brief moment we all are the same. The trivialities that normally hold our attentions so tightly are replaced by a bigger picture, that picture being community. To mark this checkpoint of our time spent here at SYA we put on a talent show, a “spectacle” if we are going to use the French word. I can attest that it truly was spectacular. Everyone in our SYA class showcased their talents, but the show also included our larger family. We were joined by host siblings and French students with whom we do extra-curricular activities. When the lights dimmed to end the show, everyone gathered on the stage together. There were those who had sung, served food, hip hopped, and played piano, as well as those who would be staying behind to clean up. We all had played a role to make this event happen, just as we all play a role to construct our day to day community and make it a home unlike any other. 71 students 100 days ago came to a country where the language was unfamiliar. For the first week those 100 students doggedly clung to their English, still petrified of the incomprehensibility that accompanied their attempts to speak French. In week two we made a pact to speak only French after October 16th. For better or for worse, no matter what blunders we made along the way, we would become fluent. October 16th came, and our plan fell to shambles, yet still we casually exchanged French with an ease that surpassed even our wildest imaginations upon arrival. November came, and Paris was attacked. Some of us were there. I was there, and our community embraced us with arms that had an unending reach. Though three hours away from those who had become our honary family, we were loved and watched over. Fast forward to December, and it’s time to soon say “adieu” for vacation. Students gush about what to get their host families. Since our arrival, these welcoming souls been our anchors. They sift through our broken Franglish to find meaning. When our attempts fall short and we are unable to reach the coveted land of comprehensibility, they give us a reason to keep trying and the courage not to give up. So all of us now descend in droves upon the spectacularly alight city in hopes of showing in some way what all our new family means to us, whether it be with a scarf from the store 5 Euros or a t-shirt made ourselves. Meanwhile, we enjoy this moment of tranquility, not wanting or ready to consider that after two more 100 days marks, we will be going home. Just in case I haven’t said it before, I adore my host family. Though they do not speak English and don’t read my blog, so I will be reminding them of that this Christmas with some t-shirts I made them, courtesy of an InDesign 30 day free trial. I attached the PDFs here. I am the generation of the technology boom. We wait for nothing. Instantaneous describes most succinctly my life. Even that word is too long too type. I trip over it. I could send a message to America in the same time it takes to pronounce that word. So, I’ll shorten it. Instant. Ever since the time that technology has become prevalent, I have grown accustomed to instant acquisition. Yet still, I am old enough to remember the time before. I remember still the flip phone. I remember the rise and fall of Blackberry, and I remember when Internet Explorer was the leading browser. I remember when people feared oversharing information and when the term stranger included anyone you had not yet met in person. Perhaps when I am old, I will relay to my grandchildren the horrors of the 21st century version of the stone age. I will tell them of the brick phone. I will tell them of dial up internet and satellite dishes. I will tell them of cars that ran only on gas and of basic cable. I will tell them of the isolation of a world that didn’t have an everpresent, ethereal link between every person you spoke to on the daily basis. Friday the 11, I was pickpocketed. I lost my phone (which also is a camera as well as a computer as well as a calculator). In a moment where I was not vigilant, someone slipped from my pocket my ethereal tether to every other person in my life. This 200 ounce device composed a network that spread all across the globe, from Taiwan to Spain to China to America. The people composing that network all held varying levels of relevance to my daily life, but still were included in my daily affairs, whether that be through an image posted on social media or a message sent in an idle moment. Meanwhile, I knew of everything happening with them. All of these unobtrusive intrusions on my daily activities feel largely innocuous. They amount to perhaps a missed observation here or an ignored conversation there. Small moments were sacrificed for correspondence with another part of my life, with the friend who also is in class but across the city or perhaps with the internet chat of kids who all have never met but have a keen affinity for Sylvia Plath. Our phones make our worlds a little bigger, as no longer are we confined to any one situation or moment. There always is the opportunity to momentarily opt out. When my phone was stolen, suddenly that option no longer was there for me. Returned to my possession were all those moments lost to a message or what felt like a vital update on the happenings of the world an ocean away. My phone had kept me in a sort of limbo, as never was I truly absent from home, even if physically I was elsewhere. Checking my phone had become as habitual as looking both ways before crossing the street, and when it suddenly no longer was there, there was a notable void but also a liberation. Though the phone gives the privelage of choice, it also adds a certain demand. There is the option to share every moment. There is as well the expectation that at any given moment you will be accessible, that you will have no objections to withdrawing from your immediate surroundings for a stroll in the simultaneous happenings of far away. Without my phone comes a new choice. It is deliberateness. If I speak to home, it is because I have created a space to do so. I have brought out my computer, found myself a location with wifi, and decided to partake in the company of those I love and miss. This time is not robbed from the world around me, but instead is a deliberate reprieve. This time becomes a haven, welcoming but not insistent. In the place of my smart phone I now have a $25 pre-pay with a 2 megapixel quality camera. It as well has a calculator and is a radio, but on it I cannot call home. In some of my free moments, here’s Rennes as it prepares for Christmas from this phone’s perspective and from the perspective of a girl who has opened her eyes a little wider. Here in France Thanksgiving is not a tradition in the sense that it is in America. Never did Columbus sail the ocean blue to arrive on a land mass of welcoming natives with whom we consequently shared a filling dinner. The body that is Europe has existed for quite some time and preserved their history in such a manner that even now it can be referenced. Unfortunately, when we tell the history of America, in most instances it begins only with colonization, many times overlooking the centuries of existence and complex society that existed in the land beforehand. Most succinctly put, Thanskgiving is important for America because it has the enhanced glamour of an origin story. Here is the crucial moment that changed it all. This is when everything could have fallen to pieces. This is the moment when our society as it is now won out among all the possible fates jumbled in the hat of chance. Over the years it has changed into something altogether different for many. It instead of being an origin story is more so a time of collective thanks. Family comes together and shares perhaps even out loud what all they mean to each other. Thanksgiving does not exist here, and I did not anticipate celebrating it. However, my school community came together to remind me once again that we too had made a little family. Lunch we shared together. Song we shared together. And on the following Saturday a few of us took the celebrations further and made sure Thanksgiving included all of our family that could be present as well, our host families. Everyone in the room identified one thing for which they were grateful, and though later my family confessed that to them it all seemed a little weird, I was delighted to have something of value to share with them in exchange for all they do for me. In terms of other things for which to give thanks, I went to my first concert in France on the Friday between thanksgiving and our collective Saturday celebration. Words cannot embody my level of astonishment. In France American music and culture is quite popular, and even natively French groups often sing in English to try to emulate this. The concert was a collection of four such groups, but the one I loved most was “The Avener”. Between 3,000 and 4,000 people came. This video cannot at all do the concert justice as the most thrilling moments I felt would be better preserved in my memory if I profited from dancing and really hearing the bass that rumbled through the core of the crowd and let the lights dazzle me, banishing to the corner thoughts of fatigue or even thirst. I can say though that this first concert in France is the best I ever have had, and in spite of not taking a ton of pictures, never will I ever forget it. |
Archives
May 2016
AuthorJolisa Brown hails from Atlanta, Georgia. This is her first attempt at a blog, but she hopes everyone enjoys reading it as much as she enjoys writing it. Categories |