Happy World Elephant Day!

For the past five years, April 12^th has been designated as World Elephant Day in an effort to raise awareness about poaching, the mistreatment of elephants in some locations (particularly Asia) and the human-elephant conflict.  The elephant is my favourite animal, and despite seeing thousands of them during my time in Africa, I continue to stare in awe whenever I see them in the wild; I don’t think I will ever go to a zoo again.  In honour of World Elephant Day I would like to share my favourite facts and stories about elephants.

1. In African elephants, both sexes have tusks, but only males have tusks in the Asian species.

2. The African elephant is the world’s largest animal, averaging over 20,000 pounds.  Asian elephants are about half that size.

3. Elephants are also Number 1 in terms of pregnancy.  As in, they are pregnant for 22 months.  That’s almost two years!  And when the baby ele is born it weighs about 250 pounds.

4. Throughout their lifetime, elephants have six sets of teeth.  Each set lasts about 10 years, so if an elephant lives past 60 or so they end up dying from malnutrition and/or starvation.  As they get older, they can only eat soft food (grasses that are waterlogged) and have to break their food down before they eat it, otherwise they can’t chew and digest it.  Here is an example of how they do this:

5. Elephant poop is huge!  Like, bigger than my foot!

6. Elephants are nocturnal animals.  Yes, you often see them during the day, but for every one you see during daytime there are 10 more than come out at night.  Also, their eyes do not reflect light, so it is incredibly difficult to see them.  I know what you are thinking, “How can you NOT see a 10 ton animal?”  Trust me, I tell you this from experience.  More than once I’ve come face to face (within a couple of meters) with an elephant because it was night time and there was no advance warning.

7. They are a matriarchal society.  This means if you see a lone elephant, it is probably a male.  After the males hit puberty they are kicked out of the herd.  A herd is anywhere from 10 to 100 elephants, which consist of the mommies, the babies, and pre-pubescent males.

8. Elephants are incredibly intelligent.  When I lived in Botswana, every other day I heard about how elephants would “break into” people’s gardens and steal their produce.  One of my students told me his father spent a week building a fence around their property to keep the elephants from destroying his tomato plants.  During the time it took to build the fence the elephants never entered the garden (they would normally do this at night, of course).  My student’s father went to bed the night he finished the fence, only to wake up the next morning and find the fence missing!  The elephants had patiently waited and watched him build the fence.  As soon as the project was finished, the elephants uprooted the entire fence, seemingly making it disappear without a trace.  The dad found the fence later that morning three miles down the road.

9. Even though they are really smart, I’m not sure that they necessarily read the elephant warning signs:

10. Or maybe they do read the signs and try to be considerate, like this elephant here who, instead of walking through the fence, actually stepped over it:

I like to think of myself as a “pseudo” park ranger, at least when it comes to elephants. I could go on all day with stories, videos and pictures of my elephant encounters, but I think that should suffice for now.

Happy World Elephant Day to one and all!

The Ben & Jerry’s Human Development Index

When I travel I love to visit grocery stores.  I think this is an excellent way of determining the cost of living, the local tastes and it’s an interesting opportunity for people watching and seeing how people interact with one another and the level of customer service.

In Africa, the grocery stores were a bit unusual.  If you found something you liked you bought it immediately because you never knew if you would see it again.  I saw lots of unusual products, like eland, kudu and warthog.  And it was always fun to try and explain a product you desired and have the salesperson give up and offer you a condom.

In Italy I remember seeing baby food made from horsemeat.  In India, we drank Thumbs Up! soda.  And in China I tried durian, which kind of looks like a spiky watermelon and smells like feet.  But in the end, after trying whatever exotic and strange food (zebra testicles anyone?) is available I navigate myself towards the ice cream selection.

Each year the United Nations publishes the Human Development Index.  Using three statistical indices: life expectancy at birth, mean years of schooling, and per capita income, the UN rates each country in terms of “development.”  Some countries, such as North Korea and Somalia are not rated due to the lack of information.  All other countries are rated from low to medium to high to very high development.  Most western countries (Australia, the US, Germany, etc.) are considered very high, while most of Africa is low.  Botswana, South Africa and Namibia are medium.

While the UN Human Development Index is all well and good, I prefer my method of measuring human development: Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.  Obviously, in countries where Ben & Jerry’s is absent, there is low (or maybe medium) development.  Countries which sell Ben & Jerry’s are naturally high or very highly developed.

However, I take my analysis one step further.  I like to examine the price point of Ben & Jerry’s to determine the cost of living.  In the U.S. the price of a pint of Ben & Jerry’s is roughly $4.  Four years ago, when I took my students to Switzerland, a pint was €11.90, which is about US$13.

Here in Australia, we are looking at AUD$12.50, which is equivalent to US$9.15:

In conclusion, according to the Ben & Jerry’s Human Development Index, the U.S., Australia and Switzerland are all very highly developed since they all sell Ben & Jerry’s.  However, it is evident that the cost of living is higher in Australia, and still higher in Switzerland, than the U.S. as demonstrated by Ben & Jerry’s being more than twice as expensive in Australia and more than three times as expensive in Switzerland than in the U.S.

My academic superhero is Hans Rosling, a Swedish academic who conducts research on human development statistics.  I am going to tell him about my Ben & Jerry’s Human Development Index and see what he thinks.  Maybe my 1,000 citations are right around the corner!

Where in the World is Dr. Phelan (Going Next)?

When I first began my blog nearly 18 months ago, my very first blog post was titled: Where in the World is Dr. Phelan? Botswana!

Well, in memory of that first post, I decided to borrow, but also alter, the title.  Rather than asking Where in the World is Dr. Phelan?, the more appropriate question is Where in the World is Dr. Phelan Going Next?  And so we have it….

I will be moving overseas again in a few weeks.  However, this is not a short-term sabbatical move like Botswana.  Instead, this is a more permanent position.  Granted, nothing is really permanent, but this is a full-time position without any pre-determined end date.  Hence, it is considered a permanent move.

Though my future home will be quite different from Africa, and the U.S., there is a lot I’m looking forward to.  Unlike Africa, I’m not expecting excessive power cuts.  But there will be lots of wildlife.  I won’t be the token white person, so I won’t get in trouble for walking with the intent of causing a car accident.  But, there will be a slight language barrier I will need to overcome.  I will need to get a new driver’s license, though since I more or less know how to drive on the “other” side of the road now, I should be able to forego driving lessons.  There is a Little America in my new country, but the necessity of sunscreen will still be strong as ever.

Any guess yet where I might be going?.... 

Want a hint?.... 

In case you didn’t get it the first time, how you could forget?  There are two addresses EVERYONE in the world knows, YOUR address, and….. 

Now, this isn’t entirely accurate.  I’m not moving to Sydney.  But I am moving to Australia!  I recently accepted a position at the University of Queensland, which is in Brisbane, which is here:

I know I said this when I moved to Africa, and only a handful of people took me up on my offer, but I REALLY HOPE YOU’LL COME VISIT ME!

What to do (and not do) When In… Botswana

Since I returned to the United States in September, I took a new position as the Fulbright Grant Administrator at Texas Tech.  Over the past six months I’ve been busy helping professors write their grant applications, and more recently, I’ve been assisting Fulbright fellowship award winners to prepare for their sabbaticals in their host countries.

Just last week I was speaking to the woman who received a Fulbright grant to Botswana.  We spent over an hour on Skype discussing how to get a research permit, what to expect when it comes to trying to obtain a residency visa or when you go to the doctor’s office for a check-up, how not to get deported, the importance of the headlamp, dating, mating and shopping for real estate, and high-end designer duds at the Dead Muzungu Market (it’s not Louis Vuitton, but it IS an experience).

In addition to aspiring Fulbrighters recognizing my wealth of knowledge about travel in Africa, The Economist recently commissioned me to write an article for inclusion in their lifestyle and culture magazine, Intelligent Life.  Take a look at my article, which recounts what to do (and not do) when visiting Botswana.  If you understand each of these statements it means you read the corresponding blog posts, so thank you for your attention!  Enjoy:

http://moreintelligentlife.com/content/places/kelly-phelan/when-botswana

World AIDS Day

I’m not sure if you have been reading the news, but today, December 1^st, is World AIDS Day.  According to one news article I read, the intention of World AIDS Day is to raise awareness and money for research and medical care with the intention of eliminating the disease by 2030.  While an admirable goal, I think it will be difficult to obtain.  Here’s why:

When I was in Congo eight months ago one of the men I met told me that Congolese are more concerned about Ebola than AIDS.  Given our current predicament in Africa with Ebola, this seems poetic.  Back in April when I heard this I thought that was rather foolish.  Now, seeing how quickly Ebola spreads and how difficult it is to contain in Africa, where sanitation is grossly lacking, I understand his reasoning.  Nevertheless, I was surprised by his laissez-faire attitude toward the risk of HIV/AIDS.

Another man I met in Congo told me how AIDS was not a problem because, “we use the condom.”  Well, not long after that I learned what that meant.  The government and NGOs in Congo- Congo reportedly has more NGOs and UN Peacekeepers that anywhere else on earth- have launched nationwide campaigns to “condomize.”  That’s right, it’s so important we made it a verb!  While safe sex propaganda is everywhere in Africa it turns out there is a problem with the marketing message.  As someone who teaches Marketing, perhaps we need to be a little more direct.  Olivier went on to explain that in order to please their government, they wear condoms.  But, the whole point of sex is to join together bodily fluids.  So in order to achieve both goals, they wear condoms, but first cut they tip off so that bodily fluids may be exchanged. WHAT THE #&$*?????  Yes, that was my reaction too.

As I was telling my class last week, the good thing is that no one actually dies from AIDS in Africa.  Before I moved to Africa I had to take a physical.  As mandated by the Botswana government, I was required to have a TB test to enter the country.  Without the test I could not become a resident.  Sitting in the doctor’s office in Lubbock my doctor thought this was ludicrous.  “I can’t imagine they care if you bring this into the country, if anything, shouldn’t we be concerned about you being exposed to it while you are there?” she asked.  My doctor couldn’t even remember the last time she had administered the test, and as a result, filled out the form incorrectly. I ended up having to return a second time to get retested. But as I was saying no one in Africa dies from AIDS.  No, not at all.  But TONS of people die from TB.

You know, “The first rule of Fight Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club?”  Well, it’s kind of the same deal.  We talk endlessly about HIV/AIDS- go to this workshop, get tested, read this brochure, tell your friends.  Yet no one actually has it and no one dies from it.  I can’t tell you how many funerals I have been invited to (in Africa), where someone has died from TB.  Answer: A LOT.   People willingly talk about and show evidence if they DON’T have it, but AIDS patients in Africa are like unicorns, everyone has heard about it, but never actually seen one before.

As I was saying, I think the desire to eradicate AIDS in the next 15 years is admirable.  However, I have little hope that this can be achieved because I think there are a number of cultural barriers which make this a serious challenge.  I should also mention that perhaps the most significant explanation for why I think this will fail is because this is a “preaching to the choir” sort of situation.  In Botswana there is at least one newspaper article every week about HIV/AIDS.  Guess how many newspapers in Botswana ran front page articles about World AIDS Day? Not one.

In case you were interested, here are some of the medical PR campaigns I’ve seen around Africa.  Sleep under a mosquito net to avoid malaria:

Get your Yellow Fever vaccination:

Use a condom:

And this is also related to HIV/AIDS and methods to prevent the transfer of the disease from mother to baby during birth:

The Church of AMERICA!

Late last night I wrote a message on someone’s Facebook wall: “It’s almost Thanksgiving!  I think that means it’s the beginning of the festive season (at least for us Americans). Compliments!”  If you are unaware of the meaning of “Compliments!” read this blog post.

That’s right, tomorrow is Thanksgiving in the U.S.  The Canadians began their festive season REALLY early, because they celebrated Thanksgiving almost six weeks ago.  Good for them- they beat us at something.  Oh yeah, of course, there is hockey too.

Today I was speaking with one of my Motswana friends in Setswana about Thanksgiving.  Here’s the English translation of what I said, “One day, a long time ago some Englishmen wanted to be free from the church.  They got into a boat, and were at sea for many months.  One day they saw shore.  They got out of the boat and there were Americans looking at them.  The Englishmen were very hungry.  Then the Americans gave them a cow.  Thanksgiving!”  The funny thing is… I know those of you who know me can imagine me telling this story....  That face you are making right now, and that laugh… apparently that part translates REALLY well!  My friend Topo thought this story was hysterical.

I’m not sure we have turkeys in Botswana and I couldn’t remember the word for large chicken.  And in Botswana a cow is the best present you could possibly give someone.  That’s why when you get married the bride price is paid in cattle.  And if you give the new couple a cow as a wedding present you will likely get one of their offspring named after you. Hence, the Americans giving the hungry Englishmen a cow was quite generous.

Last year I remember using Thanksgiving to get out of a faculty meeting at UB.  In all reality, I really did have plans.  (Side note- If you ever become an expat become really good friends with someone who works at the U.S. embassy in your country because they throw the best parties.) I apologized to my dean and asked to be excused from the faculty meeting because it was Thanksgiving and I had plans.  Also, the faculty meeting was scheduled at 5pm, so it’s not like I was really skipping work.  Not to mention it probably started late, and then they paused for tea, etc, etc. I probably got back from my party before the faculty meeting ended anyway. After I mentioned Thanksgiving my dean turned to two or three other faculty members with a confused look, then back to me and said, “What church is that?”  I couldn’t help myself, “The Church of AMERICA!”

Sadly, not all Thanksgiving traditions translate as well as my narrative above.  I have tried countless times to show pictures and explain the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade to my Batswana students.  They like the pictures, but they don’t get it.  One thing I have learned is that there is no such thing as a parade in Africa.  There are processions, such as when Nelson Mandela died.  They understand that.  But the victory parade or holiday parade doesn’t exist in Botswana.  Of course, this is a first world problem.  Perhaps once the electricity and water become more consistent we can consider marching around with 40 foot Snoopy balloons.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

That is Sedition!... That is the Truth!

One of my favorite movies growing up was The Last of the Mohicans. If you are unfamiliar, it is based on the historical novel of the same name about the French and Indian War and the use of Native Americans by the French and British Armies.  If you are not up on your history, here’s the Cliff Notes: the French and the British fought each other from 1754 to 1763 for control of North America.  Since neither the French nor the British knew the continent all that well they used American Indians as informants in an effort to outmaneuver each another. Obviously the British won which is why we don’t speak French. Moving on…

As I was saying my favorite movie was The Last of the Mohicans.  My brother’s favorite movie is equally cerebral, thus proving we are related: Dumb and Dumber.  In The Last of the Mohicans there is a scene where one of the Native American informants is arguing with a British army officer.  The British officer didn’t like that the Mohican was questioning his judgment and shouted, “That is Sedition!”  The Mohican responded, “That is the Truth!”

Sedition is a word which is seldom, if ever heard in developed, western countries.  Sedition involves speaking out against a political ruler (or nation) and encouraging others to rebel as well.  In the U.S. we have freedom of speech (or freedom of expression), so we can voice our opinions regardless of whether they are in opposition to authority figures. We have freedom of assembly, so people can gather together and protest.  We have freedom of the press, so the media can report without fear of legal repercussions.  There are countless examples every day of acts which could be considered seditious, but in reality they aren’t.  That is the benefit of being American.

Botswana is different.  Botswana recently arrested a newspaper editor and charged him with sedition.  The paper ran a story stating that President Khama had been involved in a car accident and apparently compensated the other driver by giving him a new Jeep.  And what is seditious about this?  I don’t know either.  Here is the article if you would like to read it.  Seems pretty straightforward if you ask me.

I will say the one thing I found curious about the article is that, “…while someone is holding the office of president and during his tenure, no civil or criminal proceedings can be instituted against them.”  Hmmm… that is unsettling.  And it reminds me a lot of our evil dictator to the north, President Mugabe of Zimbabwe.  At 90, you would think Mugabe would have retired by now, particularly since he’s been at the helm 34 years.  Of course, that will never happen.  He must die in office.  If he retires he will either be tried by The Hague for human rights violations or his own people will kill him for all the suffering he’s put them through.

Back to Botswana, I have to say, I am disappointed.  Botswana has been the shining beacon of hope for Africa for decades.  It is the only consistently stable democracy which has never had any major problems, aside from HIV/AIDs and poverty, but then again, you can’t change the weather. Of course, there was that issue with the student elections which demonstrated the government is more corrupt than people give them credit for. I do hope this sedition situation is an outlier and not a sign that Botswana is moving the way of many of the other African countries (i.e. dictatorships).  This is yet one more thing that reminds me why I am proud to be an American.

Requiem for a Suitcase

Another one bites the dust.  Actually, another one, two, three bites the dust.  Remember how when I first arrived in Botswana one of my bags had a giant hole in it?  Well, there is something to be said for duct tape and shrink wrap.  I didn’t want to buy another piece of luggage while in Africa, so I saved it, duct taped it back together, filled it with a bunch of stuff, and then had it plastic wrapped at the Joburg airport.  TA-DA!  It actually made it all the way home.

And then there was my luggage that was forever lost.  First in Ethiopia for several weeks.  Then it went MIA when they forgot to put it on the plane from Joburg to Gabs.  I used that one most of the time I was travelling around Africa for the past year.  But by May the zipper had broken, so I could only half unzip it.  By June it had deteriorated to not opening at all.  So, yet again, I duct taped it together and then had it wrapped at the airport.  Thankfully, that one made it all the way back to the U.S. as well.

Then there was my rolling carry-on.  The wheels on that broke months ago.  So by Christmas it no longer rolled.  It was simply a “drag it all over the place and explain to porters, bellmen and anyone else who tried to help me with my bag not to worry because it was already broken” kind of bag.

Well, today I finally made the move to bury (in the dumpster) my three pieces of luggage, taken to Africa, only to meet their maker and return lifeless.  I suppose this is just one of the steps to moving forward and saying good-bye to my time in Africa.

On the bright side, I got new luggage!  I highly recommend my new TravelPro roller bags.  They are lighter and seem to have more room than my old luggage (which by the way lasted me a record 239 passport stamps!).

Out with the old….

In with the new….

Of course, that being said, I wouldn’t be terribly heartbroken if I didn’t take an international trip for a while.  Then again, you never know.

A Different Take on Race

Late Monday I sent a book chapter to my editor.  I awoke Tuesday morning to an email stating, “This is great!  We should talk ASAP. When can we chat?”  We agreed to Skype that night.  As the day progressed I became more excited about the positive tone of the email.  By the time our Skype appointment rolled around I had convinced myself I had A Sorcerer’s Apprentice situation on my hands.  You know how Mickey started off with that one broomstick?  And then it multiplied until he was surrounded by thousands?  I was convinced my 18 pages had grown into a full length book.  No such luck.

This Skype meeting was the first time my editor and I had actually seen each other.  Until that point in time I had no idea he was… black.  And the reason he wanted to talk to me was because I had several statements in my chapter about black Americans and how they are viewed by the locals when they go to Africa.  Since he found this so interesting, and surprising, I figured I would share some of the highlights of our conversation.

Before my trip to Congo I was visiting with some friends in Botswana.  As I told them about the plans for my trip, one of them, a Motswana, said to me, “You can’t go there! There are BLACK people there!”  I was shocked.  She was black.  The other four friends at that get-together were black.  I was the only white person I had seen in weeks.  I was ALWAYS surrounded by black people.  How was going to Congo different?  I couldn’t help but say quizzically, “Huh? I don’t understand.”  She went on to explain that she, and other Batswana, were not black.  They were brown-black.   And as you go further north people become “more black.”  “Ugandans and Kenyans, they are blue-black.  But the Congolese?  (She shakes her head.) They are black-black.”  It had never occurred to me that Africans had their own racial distinctions among themselves until that moment.  But this prompted me to start paying attention to this, and from that point forward I realized that they do differentiate.

When I visited Kenya everyone would immediately want to talk to me about Obama, of course.  “We are very proud to have a Kenyan as President of the United States.  He is a very good muzungu.”  I was surprised to hear Obama referred to as a muzungu, but figured it was because he was light skinned due to having a white mother.  I later came to learn that all African-Americans are muzungu (in East Africa).  Or lekogwa (in Southern Africa). Or obruni (in West Africa.)

Many African-Americans visit West Africa because of its slave history.  Ghana and Senegal in particular have become huge slave tourism attractions.  However, many black Americans who make the trip to these destinations leave less than satisfied.  I have been to some of these former slave prisons, dungeons and trading posts, and they are by nature, sad.  It’s understandable that people aren’t laughing and happy when they depart from these locations.  But African-Americans tend to struggle not just with the historical aspect, but also their interactions with locals while they are there.

When African-Americans travel to Africa they typically have the ideal that they are going “home” to visit “relatives.”  But when they arrive they are called “obruni.”  “Obruni” means “whiteman” but it refers to any non-African.  In other words, Europeans, Asians, people from the Americas are all called “obruni,” so it actually has a second meaning of “foreigner.”  This terminology projects the opinion that Africans do not see black Americans as “black Africans coming home.”

Some tourist destinations have realized this attitude is detrimental.  Ghana launched a PR campaign not too long ago designed to change the behavior of residents toward African-American visitors.  Ghanians were discouraged from referring to them as “obruni” and were instead told to say “akwaaba anyemi” which means “welcome brother (or sister).”

Our conversation lasted for the better part of an hour.  We bonded over our shared muzungu heritage, began planning my editor’s dream itinerary to visit Africa (he’s never been) and discussed my book.  Though I haven’t perfected my spell casting skills yet, at least it appears my new project is off to a good start.

Here are some photos from Bunce Island, a former slave fort in Sierra Leone:

Reentering the First World, Part Two

First of all, please let me apologize to my loyal blog readers for being absent for the past week.  I was driving from Maryland back to Texas and stopping to visit friends along the way.  I thought I would keep up with my blog while on the road, but in the end nine hours of driving a day plus mandatory (and necessary) social time with friends I haven’t seen in years equaled an exhausted Kelly unable to open her laptop.  But, rest assured, I am back!

Yesterday I arrived in Lubbock, Texas and was greeted by my posse of graduate students- current and former.  Thank goodness they were here to help me unpack my car, move my things from storage to my new house, rearrange furniture, etc.  They are currently scrubbing the toilets and cutting my lawn as I write this.  Totally kidding!  But they did help me with the move-in process which was a huge relief.  And it was a lot of fun because it was a mini-reunion (mini because we were missing a few Phelantologists who have graduated and moved on to bigger and better things).

I spent the better part of last night and this morning unpacking and cleaning, but you know how moves are.  You unpack 20 boxes only to realize you apparently packed all the plates and utensils, but somehow the glasses and bowls missed the boat.  This is made all the more shocking because somehow there are three used toothbrushes and a half empty roll of toothpaste in a box.  I know, I thought the same thing, Why in the world would I keep those for almost 15 months? Ewwwww….

Around 10 this morning I had a pretty comprehensive list of items I needed to purchase to make my new digs more habitable and so I ventured out to the store.  I know I arrived back in the U.S. about a month ago, but I’ve been so busy with conferences, social visits and family vacations that I haven’t spent any time doing normal day-to-day stuff- like going to the store.  This morning’s visit to Market Street (a grocery store) was a bit overwhelming.  I went in with a list of about a dozen things to buy.  But as I perused the aisles I kept thinking, Oh wow! They have XYZ product?  I should totally get one of those!......  They have ABC!  That’s amazing!  I haven’t seen one of those in…. hmmm…. a year, if not longer.  I definitely need that too…...  I don’t even know what this thing is!  But it looks AWESOME!  I’m totally getting this.  I don’t know what I’m gonna use it for, but I’m pretty sure I will LOVE IT! 

In aisle 8B I realized I had a problem.  Actually it was pointed out to me by Tim, a friendly shelf stocker.  I saw canned artichoke hearts and took EVERY SINGLE can off the shelf.  He stood there and watched me do this and said, “Are you sure you need ALL of those?”  I didn’t count them, but I would guess I had at least 100 cans of artichokes in my cart.  In the end I didn’t buy any of them because I realized I probably wouldn’t eat them this week anyway and I could just wait for them to go on sale.  And when they DO go on sale, they will actually be there.

Last night I was visiting with one of my former grad students and her husband.  Joe asked me, “What was the hardest thing about living in Africa?  What is the biggest adjustment coming home?”  I told him that it’s not the big things that make living abroad hard.  I knew before I went to Africa that there would be lots of power outages, that water rationing might mean you couldn’t take showers for days, that there were food shortages, so there were times you would go to the grocery store and there would be no fresh food on the shelf.  But you expect those things.  The things that drive you nuts are the little things.  Here in the U.S. if you need a battery you go to CVS a block away, run in, pick out the battery you need, pay for it and get out of there.  It should take 5 minutes or less to run that errand.  But that’s not how it works in Africa.  That task could take you all day, or several days.  (Remember when I tried to get my university ID?)

The best example of the little things driving you nuts involved two monkeys, a toothbrush, and what else? A condom.  Because in the end everything (in Africa) involves a condom, right?

One day I was in my house in Botswana, working at my desk on the first floor.  I heard a lot of commotion upstairs and went up to investigate.  Two monkeys had gotten into the house through my open bedroom window and were tearing my bathroom apart.  In the scuffle to get them out of there they knocked my face cream and toothbrush into the toilet.  Now, I wasn’t happy about the face cream because do you have any clue how difficult it is to find face cream for a white person in Africa?  Answer: Very hard.  But I could live without face cream.  I could NOT live without a toothbrush.  I finally got the monkeys out of the house and set out for the store to buy a new toothbrush.  It took me seven hours to (I think) nine or ten different stores in search of a toothbrush.  In the second to the last store I looked around, was unable to find a toothbrush and so I asked for assistance.  The store clerk said they did not have any toothbrushes, but instead offered me a box of condoms.  Though I desperately attempted to keep my cool I failed.  I started flailing my arms and told him, “I CANNOT CLEAN MY TEETH WITH THAT!!!!”  Thinking back on that now I remember the clerk nonchalantly shrugging as if to say, “Hey lady, here’s your option.  If you don’t like it, oh well.”

They say a lot of people who move overseas experience culture shock.  Many individuals also have similar challenges adjusting when they come home.  I suppose the artichokes are my reverse culture shock.  When I was at Market Street today I also stopped to stare at the wall of a thousand toothbrushes.  Sadly, Tim was there for that too.  I thought I was using my inner monologue when I said, “Wow, so many toothbrushes.  They are beautiful.”  But when Tim responded and said, “Yes, we have lots of toothbrushes.  But remember, you can only use one at a time” I thought it best to tell him, “I’m not strange.  I’ve been living in Africa.  I haven’t seen most of this stuff in forever.”  He nodded his head as if he truly understood me and said, “Well, in that case, we are open 24 hours, take your time looking around.” 

Zonkies: The Cool Kids of the Animal Kingdom

When I went to college I was in one of the first classes to have a significant number of multiracial students.  In an effort to be as transparent as possible I will take this opportunity to admit I actually had to look up the proper term.  A multiracial American is someone who belongs to two or more races.  This is different from being multiethnic.  Most Americans are multiethnic by default.  If you say you are an American whose ancestors are from Ireland and Germany you are multiethnic.  But someone who is multiracial is from two (or more) different races: black and white, or Asian and white, or Native American and Asian, etc.  Again, please keep in mind, I am a professor of tourism, not a race or ethnicity specialist.

But as I was saying, when I went to college I had a lot of classmates who were multiracial.  This made a lot of sense because kids born in the late 70s/early 80s had parents who were the first to consider and accept interracial marriages in the U.S. And all these kids were very open about this; they really embraced and were proud of the fact that they were a little bit different.  A lot of my friends had dads who were former U.S. military and met their wives overseas during either the Korean or Vietnam wars.  And then I had a lot of other friends who had one black and one white parent.  There were so many of these interracial kids at Hopkins they actually formed a club: the Happy Halfies.  They would introduce one another as, “This is my friend Chris.  He’s a Happy Halfy, just like me!”   To be completely honest, those of us who weren’t halfies were almost a little jealous because they were definitely the epitome of cool kids.  And they were all good looking.  I’m not sure if there is a biological explanation, but there wasn’t a single bad looking guy or girl in the group.

A few years after I graduated I moved to Galena, Alaska to work in a boarding high school.  All of my students were native Alaskans.  Some were Inuit, others Yupik Eskimos, Athabaskans, Aleuts and a few Inupiaqs.  Each year Galena would host a huge basketball tournament in which teams from around the state would fly in and compete.  I always looked forward to this event because there was a huge cultural component, and it gave me a real opportunity to learn more about the differences between the various native groups.  The team from Aniak always amazed me.  Their mascot was the halfbreed.  In the 1970s the Aniak high school students selected the mascot because “it made sense.”  There was a large population of white settlers who intermarried with Yupik Eskimos, resulting in mixed-race kids.  When I was in Galena almost 15 years ago, the mascot was shown as a face cut in half: one side of the face looked like a white settler, the other half of the face had native features and a long braid.  The portrayal has since been changed:

The reason I am writing about my friends the Happy Halfies and the Aniak Halfbreeds is because a story about a zonkey in Crimea recently went viral.  (At least something positive is coming out of poor Ukraine.)  I was looking at CNN this morning and there was a zonkey born in a Crimean zoo recently.  When I was in Botswana I used to see zonkeys from time to time.  They aren’t terribly common, but when a zebra and a donkey fall in love, or have the opportunity, a zonkey is what results.  I am certainly not equating my friends to animals, but anytime I see a zonkey I was always reminded of the Happy Halfies and the Halfbreeds.  In case you are unfamiliar with a zonkey here is a picture from Botswana.  We used to have donkeys wander around town all the time, but here is one of the zonkeys not far from UB: