My Australian Pet Peeve is Beautiful

According to the experts, when one moves abroad they go through four phases of adaptation to the culture:

1. Elation- or the honeymoon phase when “Everything here is so different and exciting!”

2. Resistance- when expats compare the new environment to what they are accustomed to at home: “XYZ is better back home than here.”

3.  Transformation- about nine months after moving abroad, expats begin to see the positive side of “all those differences”, and

4.  Integration- when the new location becomes “home”.

Having lived overseas a bit, my transition to life in Australia has been pretty easy.  I am experiencing resistance to only one aspect of Australian life: ADJECTIVES.  You heard me right… ADJECTIVES.  Actually, just one adjective in particular.

The first week I arrived in OZ, The Great Australian Spelling Bee was one of the top programs on television.  I kid you not.  Being a nerd, I mean, a professor, I thought it my duty to diligently tune in to channel 10 each evening.  I quickly learned we don’t fly in airplanes in OZ, we fly in aeroplanes.  And it’s not Aitch-R (HR), it’s HAITCH-R. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go ahead and say your nice, American “H”.  Now, make the “hhhhhhhh” sound and immediately tack the letter “H” onto the end. If you still can’t figure it out, watch this, and try not to feel too inadequate.)  On principle, I still fly in airplanes and file my employment paperwork at Aitch-R.

If you have ever participated in a Spelling Bee- I did, in the 7^th grade, and no, I did not win- you know that a contestant may ask for a definition, or that the word be used in a sentence.  Enter the dictionary.  Australia does not use Webster’s, as is most common in the U.S.  The official Australian dictionary is the Macquarie Dictionary.  I recently became well acquainted with the Macquarie Dictionary when I felt the need to look up a word which is grossly overused Down Under: beautiful.

My first day on campus a colleague introduced me to her graduate student, who took me on a little tour.  When he returned me to his professor’s office, she asked me, “Did you like Student X?  Isn’t he just beautiful?”  A puzzled look on my face, I replied, “Uhhhhhhhhhhh… what?”  I thought perhaps this professor was either crazy, or maybe she was just an overly emotional type.  She responded, “He’s such a great person.  He’s really beautiful.”  I did not respond.

Not long after meeting the beautiful graduate student I was in the lunchroom at work and was offered a strawberry from a colleague.  “Here Kelly, have some strawberries.  I grew them myself.  They are beautiful.”  They did look quite nice, and they tasted good.  Of course, I still couldn’t figure out whether designating the strawberry as beautiful was intended to refer to the outward appearance, or the deliciousness.

I’m convinced that over the last six months I’ve heard the word beautiful used more times than in the previous 35 years.  Meet a new neighbour?  The neighbour is beautiful.  The park down the road?  Beautiful.  How was the night you spent in jail?  That’s right!  Beautiful.

But the tipping point in my newfound hatred of this word came recently when my roommate returned from the pool.

Kelly: “Hey roomie.  How was the pool?”

Roomie: “Ah!  It was beautiful!”

Kelly: “Well, was the water cold?  Or was it comfortable?  Were a lot of people there?  What about the chlorine?  I don’t like swimming in pools that are over chlorinated, so, how was it?”

Roomie: “It was beautiful!”

Kelly: “WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?!?!?!” 

Ok, I didn’t really say that, but I sure wanted to.

Apparently, there are no other adjectives in Australian English which convey a positive sentiment.  It’s either beautiful, or bust.  The problem is that the word is so overused here that it is completely ruined for me.  I was telling a friend recently that if a man ever told me I was beautiful I would be forced to dump him immediately because quite frankly, I wouldn’t believe him.  “I’m beautiful?  Well, the other day you called the garbage can beautiful.  So, by default you basically just called me garbage.  Is that what you are saying?”

After hearing about the beautiful pool I was forced to spend some time with Macquarie’s to see if beautiful has a different meaning here.  And lo and behold, it does.  Not only does it describe visual appeal, it can also be used to mean anything pleasant.  In fact Macquarie’s used the example: a beautiful meal.

But, I don’t care if it is in the dictionary.  I will resist using beautiful until my last dying breath.  And I never thought I would say this, but, please don’t ever call me beautiful.

UGG-ly Americans

“PLEASE!  Tell your American friends they are doing it all wrong!”

And with that exclamation, I bring you today’s blog post.

At my previous university, I used to take my students to New York City each November for the Hotel Show.  During those trips we stayed at The Wellington Hotel on 7th Ave, just south of Central Park.  Directly across the street from the hotel was an UGG store.  The first year I took students on this trip UGGs were becoming all the rage in the U.S.  My students went to the store, eager to make their overpriced purchases, and exited with their boots and the decision that is was “unfortunate that UGGs only come in two colours.  They should have more variety.”

Here’s the secret: there is a WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE variety of UGGs available here in Australia.  Purples and electric green.  Leopard prints and Swarovski crystals.  Open sling-back versions and knee high boots.  And everything in between.  However, they apparently don’t release all those styles overseas, particularly in the U.S., because as my colleagues proclaimed at dinner last night, “Americans are doing it all wrong!”

Shortly after arriving at my friend’s house for dinner, I realized the entire family had removed their shoes and were all wearing UGGs.  I didn’t mention it at first, but started to think about it, and soon realized that I had never seen anyone wearing UGGs outside or in public here in Australia.  I explained that in the U.S. people wear UGGs outside, to the store, or to class.  It’s not atypical to see young Americans wearing them in bad weather, sometimes even in the snow (often with short shorts).  You would have thought I had cursed in church!  “Oh no!  You don’t wear them in public!  They are house shoes!  Only bogans (the Australian form of rednecks) and uneducated foreigners wear UGGs outside the house!  PLEASE!  Tell your American friends they are doing it all wrong!”

And there we have it.  From the experts themselves.  So, to recap, this is wrong.  Kim Kardashian, you should know better!:

This is the correct way to wear your UGGs:

Here are the UGGs sold in the tourist shops:

And the UGGs sold in stores where only the locals shop:

In fact, I almost think it’s a super-secret club of some sort because the saleswoman in the “real” UGG shop told me I shouldn’t show any other Americans the “real” UGGs. 

Citation Nation

As an undergrad, I didn’t fully understand what professors did.  I would like to say that now that I am a professor I comprehend this better, but I still can’t be sure.

At Hopkins, where I did my undergrad, to a certain extent the professors had a poor reputation amongst the undergrads.  That’s not entirely true.  We loved them.  But at times we also loved to hate them.  I remember having a conversation with some peers which equated to, “What does that guy do anyway?  He teaches one class a semester.  He lectures two hours a week, his TAs do all his grading, and he’s never on campus.  How do they justify paying him six figures?”

You know what obnoxious undergrads who say those nasty things become when they grow up?  That’s right.  They become THAT GUY!  And so, almost twenty years later I am THAT GUY.

If you aren’t an academic, or closely related to one, chances are you don’t fully understand what professors do. Let me give you a quick overview.  In theory we teach, but not really.  If a professor works at a community college, liberal arts college or “teaching” university, chances are they teach four classes a semester and don’t get paid particularly well for the massive amount of work they do.  When a professor is employed by a research-focused university, they teach less (perhaps only one or two classes a semester) and are expected to publish.  The more research intensive a university is, such as Johns Hopkins, the less they teach and the more they research.

The University of Queensland, where I recently began working, is one of Australia’s “Group of 8” universities.  Basically, it’s an Australian Ivy League school.  It is also ranked among the top 50 universities in the world. Suffice to say, they expect us to do a lot of research here.  I’m excited for the challenge of being a faculty member in a very research intensive university.  However, with that challenge comes a new set of expectations.

Those higher expectations affect our long-term careers in terms of promotions and tenure. Tenure is when an institution grants a faculty member job security for life for attaining a certain level of achievement.  Tenure at each university is a little different.  For instance, at a teaching institution, tenure is based primarily upon teaching scores.  At research institutions, your publication record is more heavily weighted.

I received tenure at my previous (U.S.) institution a few years ago.  When I chose to leave and come to Australia my tenure was not honoured (which is pretty typical), particularly because I was moving up to a more highly ranked and competitive university.  I don’t start from scratch, but I have a few more boxes to tick before I get tenure here.

At my previous institution (1^st U), tenure was straightforward.  We had to have about 10 journal articles published within five years of our start date.  We could publish in any good journal we wanted related to hospitality and tourism.  There are roughly 100 decent hospitality and tourism journals.

Last year when I was doing interviews, I was at university X (a research university) where I was told to publish in their list of required journals.  If I published outside university X’s list (which consisted of about 18 journals) then my articles wouldn’t count toward tenure.  I was also told half of my publications needed to be in SSCI rated journals.  There are 11 SSCI journals in my field.  In case you are curious, I was offered the job at university X but elected to come to UQ instead.

Now that I’m in Australia, I’m expected to publish in journals ranked by the Australian Business Dean’s College (ABDC).  Ideally, I should be publishing in A and A* ranked ABDC journals.  Incidentally, there are about eight ABDC A and A* journals (which are also SSCI journals).  Do you see how this field has shrunk from 100 journals to fewer than a dozen?

However, now there is an additional hoop to jump through: citations.

A few years ago a grad student asked me how important I thought citations were.  I told him I had never heard anyone mention them as being important.  1^st U didn’t care about citations.  University X never said anything about citations; they were focused on their own list and SSCI journals.  It now appears that citations are what separates the men from the boys.

Citations are when someone writes a journal article and they refer (cite, reference) to an article which I wrote earlier.  The point is, you can’t just do research and publish it anywhere.  You have to publish in good journals.  And now, you can’t just publish in good journals.  Now you have to publish in good journals AND get people to talk about your work in their articles.

And now for the burning question:

How many citations do you need for tenure Kelly?

Excellent question.  Drum roll please…. ONE THOUSAND!

Oh wow.  Kelly, that’s a lot.  How many do you have?

Not that many!

I basically have to increase my current number of citations five-fold.

So, to all those aspiring future professors out there, may I offer you a piece of advice?  Pay attention to your citations.  Every year the job market becomes more competitive and the requirements for tenure become more rigorous.  I can’t possibly imagine what the next benchmark will be for tenure and promotion, but chances are they will be even greater.  Since Ron Burgandy (Anchorman) makes everything better:

The National Passport Center: "No Hope for the Desperate”

At my previous university, I had a reputation for being particularly tough on my students.  In fact, I was once told I was “heartless.”  Many of my undergrads fondly recall the day when I kicked one of their peers out of class for texting.  Of course, my graduate students would probably argue you haven’t felt pain until you’ve experienced the “Mighty Red Pen of Phelan”.  Then again, I tend to receive emails from them after graduation telling me how they miss the “Mighty Red Pen;” perhaps they are all masochists.

Nevertheless, I’ve never been known for being particularly…. I’m not sure.  How should I say this?....Warm and fuzzy?  I’ve never seen a semester go by without a student- a grown man student that is- coming into the office and telling me I’m intimidating and then grovelling for something.  Given my alleged lack of compassion, bargaining for grades, “rounding up” (ha! Insert eye-roll here), and offering extra credit or make-up assignments are of no interest to me.  I’m told none of those things occur here at UQ, but stay tuned as I will let you know when I find out if this is true.

While I don’t believe in extra credit, I used to offer my students “extra effort” opportunities.  There was never a specific number of points they could earn to boost their grades, but I told them they could present a relevant current event article which related to the class in which they were enrolled.  Last semester, one of the girls in my Tourism class told us that the U.S. government was going to stop allowing people to add extra pages to their passports.  This was the most useful extra effort presentation I’ve ever seen… because it related directly to me.

For most people, extra passport pages are a non-issue issue.  For me, they are a big issue.  When you get your passport you have about 50 pages.  If you fill up all those pages you can send in your passport to the State Department and add another 50 pages.  If you fill those up, you can go through the same process a second time.  My passport was issued in 2011.  Before I went to Africa I had pages added.  After Africa I had four blank pages, which I knew would never last me until my passport expires in six years.  Given my move to Australia, and after finding out after December of this year new pages can no longer be added, I decided to apply for new pages now.  (After December 2015 if you run out of pages before your passport expires you have to get a whole new passport.  This is a bigger deal for me since I’m living outside the U.S. and my Australian visa is tied to my current passport number.)

I came out to Australia to visit the first week of May.  The day after I arrived back in the U.S. I sent in my passport so I could get my new pages.  According to the State Department website, it takes 4-6 weeks to process a passport.  At 5 ½ weeks I hadn’t received the passport and the online tracking site was “down” and directed me to call the National Passport Center.

It took six attempts before my call finally went through.  During the first five calls I was either disconnected while going through the automatic messaging system or the call never connected in the first place.  On the sixth attempt I was put into the queue and forced to listen to the same dreadful music continuously for 49 minutes.

At minute 49 Evelyn picked up and told me she couldn’t give me any information at all, aside from saying the passport had been received.  I did find out however that more than 500 people work at the National Passport Center answering the phones (apparently none of them are able to answer your questions about your passport either, so don’t bother asking), the passports are indeed processed in the United States, not outsourced to India or Mexico, and even if you call at the start of the business day Evelyn does not have a sense of humour (I would hate to call at 4pm, eh!).  That led me to ask for her supervisor.

Twenty-six minutes later Nathan answered.  My first question to him was, “What is the name of that song I’ve been listening to for the last hour?  Oh? You don’t know?  I’m pretty sure I know the name.  I believe it is ‘No Hope for the Desperate’.”  Nathan thought that was hilarious by the way.  He must be the token person at NPC with a sense of humour.  While I enjoyed my conversation with Nathan (we have the same birthdate by the way) the conversation ended with, “Well, you can pay an extra $60 to have the passport rushed, but to be honest, they won’t guarantee it will be processed within two weeks (when I needed to depart for OZ).”

In the end I received my passport in time.  In fact, “rushing” works!  I actually had the passport in three days. Not too bad.  Here is my advice for you:

1.      If you travel a lot, don’t have many empty passport pages, and your passport doesn’t expire for a while, get your extra pages now.  After December you won’t have this option.

2.      If you need to renew your passport (or get extra pages) give yourself at least two months between when you send in your passport and your next trip.

3.      If you can’t comfortably be without your passport for two months, pay the rush fee up front so you don’t have to worry about it.

4.      If you have a question about your passport, don’t bother calling NPC.

5.      If you refuse to listen to #4 and insist on calling NPC and Evelyn answers tell her I said hi.  Then immediately ask to talk to Nathan.  When Nathan answers ask him the name of the song played while you were waiting.  If he doesn’t know the name, tell him you believe it is called, ‘No Hope for the Desperate.”  Then tell Nathan I said ‘Hi.’”

In case you were curious what an extra-large passport looks like here you go.  On the left is my passport which now nears the size of a phone book, and on the right is an original passport without any extra pages added.:

Happy Travelling!

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!

Four Weeks Down… Eleven to Go

I’m NOT counting down the days until the end of the semester.  Really! I promise!  It’s just that this is right about the time when I realize I am starting to get behind in teaching and if I don’t speed things up a bit (read: discourage my students from asking questions about topics they are interested in which are related to the class) then I won’t get to cover everything I want.  And the truth is, there is no chance I will tell my students to stop asking questions, because hey, at least they are interested and taking an active role in their learning.  So I’m not going to fault them for that.  The truth is, there really needs to be two tourism classes in order to cover everything to the level I would prefer.

Yesterday I gave my students index cards and asked them for feedback about my class.  These were anonymous comments, so they could say anything they liked, good or bad.  But I specifically asked them to tell me if there was a destination or topic they wanted me to cover.  I figured if I asked them for feedback now there was enough time in the semester for me to work these areas into my class.  Apparently I need to talk more about Australia.  Mention of tourism in Area 51 would also be appreciated (by someONE).  That’s the first time I ever got that request. I just hope that area 51 person is present the day we talk about it.

There is a little bit of concern over the impending map quiz they will receive.  At the beginning of the semester I asked my students to draw a map of the world and name whatever they could.  Some were quite impressive.  Others were…. Creative.  According to a recent poll by the Washington Post one in six Americans can locate Ukraine on a map.  Granted, that’s a weird one.  After all, until the recent argument with Russia over Crimea, and then the Malaysian airlines crash in Ukraine, what would make Ukraine stand out?  Ok, bad example.  Let’s talk Iraq.  We should know Iraq, right?  We’ve only been AT WAR with/in that country for over a decade.  Apparently our geographic literacy is even worse than we think.  Six in ten Americans canNOT find Iraq on a map.  That makes me sad.  One more shot…. CHINA!  The Olympics, they are taking over the world with their ever-growing population, they are responsible for more pollution that anywhere else and most importantly ALL THINGS ARE MADE IN CHINA!  Survey says, 70% of Americans can point out China.  Ok, that’s better.

I’m not worried though.  I am confident my students will ace their map quiz in a few weeks.  In the meantime, here are a few maps we discussed in class:

There is one thing we know.  That is where Ebola comes from.  Of course, Ebola is only in five countries in Africa.  The other 49 are chugging along just fine.  So, the spread of Ebola seems to be overstated here.  Then again, the Panama Canal is also overstated here as it is HUGE!:

Now, we do have some Americans at the opposite end of the spectrum.  This is probably similar to how my map would look if I was asked to draw it, smart-ass comments and all:

In case you were curious how Europeans view the U.S. here you go:

I’m pretty sure this is exactly how Texans view America as well.  I will give them one thing.  More than half my class identified the U.S. on their maps, and then specifically added Texas to demonstrate they knew exactly where it was.  Apparently, no other states are all that important.

The Candy Ladies

In my class recently we were discussing the history of the tourism industry.  As I was covering some of the major highlights I asked them to finish the phrase, “All Roads Lead to …”  The answer I was given was Palapaye.  I couldn’t possibly fathom their reasoning, but after examining a map to make sure I knew what they were referring to, I realized their hypothesis was logical.  Here in Botswana, if you want to go north from Gaborone you go through Palapaye.  If you want to go from South Africa to Zimbabwe, you go to Palapaye.  Nevertheless, I told them the phrase as it is known to the rest of the world is “All Roads Lead to Rome” because the Roman Empire developed the first extensive road system to connect all their cities and provinces.  With the rise of the road system, travel throughout the Roman Empire became quite commonplace.  In fact, tourists would go sight-seeing, use guidebooks and tour guides to enhance their understanding of various areas, and collect souvenirs to take home with them.

Over the years I’ve collected my share of souvenirs and passed many on to friends.  Until my early-20s I collected postcards.  Friends would send them to me from wherever they visited.  And I would send them to myself as well.  Having a pristine, unsent postcard with no message just seemed a waste, hence why I would send myself postcards.  I have countless cards that read, “Dear Kelly, Having a great time.  Wish you were here.  Oh wait!  You are! Even better.  Be home soon, Kelly.”  I no longer collect postcards, but I still have over 500 packed away.  Once I began making money and could afford more costly souvenirs for myself I began collecting clothing.  I bought a silk jacket in China recently, a sari in India, and I still have my kuspuk from my time in Alaska.

My graduate student, Matt, likes to collect gum.  Each time I travel overseas I bring him gum.  As a result of this request I think of Matt every day when I pass a Candy Lady.  All over town you see little tables which are set up on highly travelled pedestrian paths where women make their living selling little candies and gum.  Imagine Halloween and the packages of mini candy bars you buy to hand out to Trick-or-Treaters.  Essentially these women will buy those packages, break them apart and sell the candies one piece at a time.

To us, it might seem like a difficult way to make a living.  And apparently, it is.  I see the same two Candy Ladies each morning on my way to campus.  I occasionally buy something simply to make conversation and help them out a bit.  A candy is typically about 1 pula which is equivalent to a little less than 12 cents.  I asked one of the Candy Ladies recently how much she would need to make in order for her to consider it a successful day.  She told me 100 pula is good.  That is about $11.75 A DAY!

From the customer perspective the Candy Ladies may be the only way they can afford these treats.  To buy these packages of candies in the stores may be more than most can spare, but most have an extra pula or two in their pocket and can enjoy their favorite sweet one little piece at a time.

#BringBackOurGirls

Today I wrote an op-ed article which was featured in The Baltimore Sun newspaper about the Nigerian schoolgirls who were kidnapped by Boko Haram last month.  Please check out my article by clicking here.

You can also cut and paste the link directly into your browser:

 http://www.baltimoresun.com/news/opinion/oped/bs-ed-girls-education-africa-20140513,0,1994915.story?track=rss

Categorical Dating

I have never been one to have a “type” in friendships or romantic relationships.  But I definitely have some friends who actively pursue significant others who fit into distinct categories.  I can think of a few girlfriends of mine who like to date men with foreign accents because they are “sexy and exotic.”  I don’t really comprehend this because I’ve seen a few cases of, “I know you think he has a ‘sexy and exotic accent’ but he doesn’t bathe, he can’t eat without spitting all over himself and everyone around him and the reason his accent is sexy is because he doesn’t speak any English at all, so you have no idea what he is saying!”

Or there are the women who like men in uniform.  Similar to the confusion I have over the accent, more than once I have said, “I don’t think the UPS delivery guy counts as a man in uniform.”  Unfortunately, and embarrassingly, I have become part of this categorical dating phenomenon.

On Monday I was invigilating a final exam.  The Math professor who was giving his exam in the same room kept approaching me and being unnecessarily friendly.  I knew where this attention was going which was disheartening as judging from the ring on his finger I was pretty sure he was married.  About 90 minutes into the exam I left to get some water.  As I re-entered the room Professor Math met me at the door and asked if I would be interested in “kicking it” sometime or perhaps even becoming his “little house.”  If you aren’t familiar with kicking it please read this blog post.  I quickly dismissed him with a stern, “No.”

At the end of the exam as we were completing paperwork a Math student approached me and asked me if I would go out with him.  Professor Math got offended, scolded the student, told him I had already been spoken for, and then looked at me as if I was to blame.  To make matters worse, the other Tourism professor with whom I was invigilating the exam came over and asked if I was ready to go home, having no clue as to the awkward conversation he was interrupting.  (To clarify, the exam ended at 9pm and it was dark out.  It isn’t safe to walk home at night, so I had already asked the Tourism professor if he could give me a ride.)  Professor Math and Student Math looked at each other as if I was cheating on both of them with Professor Tourism.

Long story short, I don’t like getting this kind of attention.  I get propositioned every day because every guy in Africa wants to be able to brag to his friends that he has been with a white girl.  Thank goodness I’m not pretty or smart or have a good personality.  In that case I don’t know how I would even be able to walk down the street without stopping traffic!  Actually, sometimes I do stop traffic.  And we all know how that turned out.  But I am definitely looking forward to not being in a preferred mate category when I do eventually return to the U.S.  Men in uniform with sexy foreign accents- I now understand the burden you must bear.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

This is my favorite time of year.  I know the song refers to Christmas time, which it is not right now.  Though it does feel a little bit like Christmas.  It is very cold at night and as such there are marshmallows for toasting and parties for hosting… though no mistletoeing… but hearts are definitely glowing… and very soon I will have loved ones near!

But, in all reality, final exam period really is the most wonderful time of year for me.  I love the down time after classes end because I tend to get a lot of projects wrapped up in between proctoring and grading exams.  However, being in Botswana has made me realize something… I am spoiled.  I don’t have my posse of graduate students right down the hall to help with things like grading or coordinating class schedules for the upcoming semester.  Plus, the system is a lot different here, and apparently I don’t like change.  That’s actually not true.  I don’t mind change.  I just don’t like change that requires me to do a lot of extra, unnecessary work to which I am unaccustomed.

Here is how exams (and the extra, unnecessary work) occur:  I’ve already mentioned before that for everything we do here we have a policy in place to assure quality.  First you write your syllabus (or exam or project or whatever) then the entire faculty in your department reviews said assignment, then there is an extremely painful meeting to discuss whether it is appropriate, how it needs to change, etc.  Well, this process becomes even worse when we are talking about giving and grading finals.  For every class I teach I am paired up with a colleague with whom I “share the work.”  But it’s not sharing, it’s doubling the workload.  What this means is that for every exam each of us is responsible for we must both proctor (called invigilation here) the exams, grade the exams and then agree on the final grades.

On Monday my finals-buddy, Biki, gave an exam for his class.  Not only did he report to invigilate the exam, but I also invigilated.  I can understand having a second person in the room.  I mean, what if Biki choked on the coffee he was drinking and needed the Heimlich maneuver?  Thankfully I was there, ready to go.  No choking incident occurred.  But here’s the thing:  Every examination room has a minimum of two classes in there taking a test simultaneously.  They do this in order to make sure no one can sit next to a fellow classmate.  So all the classrooms are set up ahead of time and there is an exam placed at each desk, but they alternate (Tourism test- Math test- Tourism test- Math test…).  This means that the Tourism professor, Biki, and the Math professor are both in the room.  In theory the Math prof could have given him the Heimlich maneuver if necessary.  But instead, Biki and I were both there to invigilate the Tourism exam while the Math professor and his finals-buddy were invigilating the Math exam.  Do you see the redundancy here?  Well, the bummer about this is that I teach two classes and Biki teaches two classes.  So every day this week we have to watch students take a test and wait to save one another’s life.

Let’s fast forward to after the exams are over.  Then I take my exams and grade them while Biki grades his exams.  BUT!  Then Biki and I switch exams.  Then I grade his exams and he grades my exams.  Once that is over he and I meet to ensure we agree on the grades.  After he and I have our pow-wow we must go before the entire departmental faculty, present a report on the exams (i.e. how did they go?, where there any problems?, where there enough seats?, etc) and then explain and justify our grades.  Did I mention everyone else in the department also presents their results to us at the same meeting?  Last semester this meeting was… six hours long!  Not a lie.  The worst part is that if we gave out any failing marks for the final or for the semester we must be able to explain it.  Last semester I gave three Fs in a class of 126 and was grilled for nearly 20 minutes explaining that “I had to give the student a zero on the final!  He didn’t show up to take the test!  Zero attendance at the exam means zero grade.”

So, that is what’s going on in my life right now.  I know a lot of professors out there read my blog so just think how lucky you are that none of your schools have adopted the esteemed Setswana system of quality assurance.  The good thing about invigilating each other’s exams is that there was a funny/awkward/irritating incident at the culmination of Biki’s exam Monday night.  But I’m going to save that story for a separate blog post.  Stay tuned.

Learning Bad Habits Early: UB Student Elections

Recently we had student elections here on campus.  It was quite an interesting experience for me as an outside observer.

Before I get into the elections let me mention something about corruption in Africa.  I know I’ve talked about bribes and questionable behavior previously on my blog and mentioned that Botswana has a reputation of being largely immune to these problems.  But if you ask a local about corruption in Botswana they would say it is rampant.  I found out not long ago that country rankings for corruption is based in part on actual corruption, but even more so on publicity about corruption.  In other words, South Africa is considered highly corrupt.  Well, the reason for this is because there is so much discussion in the national and international media about SA’s lack of ethics.  But no one in the media talks about corruption in Botswana.  Botswana just isn’t that interesting.  So it appears there is no corruption, but the truth is that no one cares enough to talk about it.

The student elections last week gave me some serious insight into corruption in Botswana.

Student elections are a subset of actual politics here in Botswana.  Student candidates are sponsored and supported by national political parties.  I’m sure that sounds totally foreign to everyone reading this.  Can you imagine the Republican Party paying for advertisements for the 20-year-old kid running for President of Student Council at Texas Tech? Yeah, me neither.  But here that is exactly what happens.  Part of the reason there is backing for student candidates by political parties is because most of these student politicians will actually end up going into government positions and becoming Ministers or members of Parliament in the future.  In a way, this sounds like a good idea, right?  Basically these kids are getting practice for their future careers.  But it’s not quite as nice as it sounds.  They are getting practice all right.  But they are also getting exposed to all the ugliest aspects of politics early on.

Last week the political party supporting one candidate paid thugs to beat up the opposing candidate and his supporters.  And then they stuffed the ballot boxes so that their candidate won.  Everyone knows this happened.  This is common knowledge.  Remember the 2000 elections and the recount that took place in Florida?  At least that was a situation where the outcome truly was unsure.  Well, here in Botswana everyone KNOWS the ballot boxes were stuffed by hired hands.  Yet the results of the election are still being honored.  If that isn’t blatant corruption then I don’t know what is.  And what is even worse is the fact that these kids are being taught horrible habits before they actually become REAL politicians.  Will this type of behavior become heightened when they run for actual office in a few years?  If it’s ok to beat someone up today will be it ok to kill someone in a few years in order to win an election?

As I’ve said before I really don’t like politics or politicians.  I think a lot of U.S. politicians engage in plenty of questionable behaviors, but at least they aren’t making it blatantly obvious and then bragging about it. 

A Few Final Pictures from Congo

While there are 54 countries in Africa, a lot of those nations may look very similar to the outside observer.  And for good reason.  Many countries across Africa suffer from some of the same challenges: poverty, food shortages, health problems, etc.  In many ways Congo looked similar to several other areas I’ve been to, but there were a few distinctions, or at least phenomena which were more prevalent here than in other places, that I wanted to share.

Petrol (gas) stations were few and far between.  I think I only counted three the entire time I was in the country.  So aspiring entrepreneurs will travel into town, purchase fuel, and then sell it in plastic water bottles scattered throughout the country.  If you remember during Hurricane Sandy last year New York residents began showing up at gas stations with empty 5-liter water bottles, or plastic gallon milk jugs because all the retail stores ran out of gas cans. But the gas stations refused to sell to anyone without a proper gas can due to safety regulations.  Congo does not appear to have those safety policies in place: (Sorry, you need to turn you head 90 degrees to the right.)

In 1994 after the Rwandan genocide, two million genocidaires crossed the border into Congo in less than a week to avoid being prosecuted for human rights violations.  The UN and international community set up refugee camps to accommodate the massive influx of people.  Those refugee camps still exist!  And they extend for MILES.  The reason those people are still refugees after 20 years is partly due to the fact they don’t want to go to jail for crimes during the genocide, and part of it is because they simply don’t have the money to return to Rwanda or move elsewhere:

During the volcanic eruption in 2002, the water pipes in Goma were destroyed.  They are attempting to lay new pipes, but I’m told digging through hardened lava is quite a chore, so it is slow going.  Similar to the fuel-filled water bottle ventures, here are people filling jerry cans in Lake Kivu and then cycling around town selling them:

As I mentioned, part of the reason for my trip to DRC was to visit the Tourism Program at the University of Goma:

The class I visited:

Do you see the wooden bike on the right hand side?  These things were all over the place in DRC.  It was the main method for transporting goods since no one really owned a vehicle:

And finally, the Nyiragongo Volcano:

Overall, it was an interesting trip to Congo.  I’m glad I went and can’t imagine ever going back.  But if nothing else, it gives me a new appreciation for… EVERYTHING.

The Human Zoo (Part Two)

Back in November I wrote a blog post about how I felt like I was living in a Human Zoo because I was inside the house (i.e. the cage) and the monkeys were outside looking in at me.  Today I was reminded of that again.

The gate where I exit campus often has a lot of solicitors where people will sell candies or fat cakes or other food items.  Students, faculty and staff members will often stop at these food stalls to purchase snacks in between classes.  Since it was a Friday I left campus early, around 1pm, which is generally lunch time here, so the lines of students waiting to buy their fat cakes and hot dogs were particularly long.  I walked past the many queues and out of campus to find a game-drive vehicle full of tourists who were watching the students and taking pictures.  I thought it odd that people would stop to watch what I consider a normal part of my life.  Of course, that feeling was heightened when an individual in the vehicle pointed at me and said, “Look! A white person!”  He said it with the same amount of enthusiasm as I would tell my companions on an actual game drive, “Look! An elephant!” after a particularly challenging spot.

I looked at the individual who pointed me out quizzically as if to ask, “What are you looking at?”  And he stared back as if to communicate, “What are you doing here?”  I feel as if I better understand what it is like to be an elephant staring at a group of safari goers now.

I frequently receive the finger point and subsequent, “Lekogwa!” (white person) from the Batswana, but I don’t think anything of it.  I tend to think of myself as a local attraction (since the locals stare at me), as opposed to a tourist attraction (because tourists typically don’t pay attention to me).

I continued my walk home pondering the tourists looking through their binoculars at the students buying lunch.

In recent years slum tourism has grown in popularity.  If you are unfamiliar with slum tourism, it is exactly what it sounds like.  People pay money to take tours of slums.  Sometimes customers are paying exorbitant amounts to see what it is like to live in a tin shack with 10 of your relatives with no indoor plumbing, sanitation or belongings.  I’ve spent enough time in slums in Africa that I don’t understand the draw, and to a certain extent I resent it.

Some make the argument that slum tourism is educational and socially enlightening.  I’m not sure how convinced I am.  Spending three hours being shown around a slum by an orphan with AIDs who is probably being paid $1 when you’ve paid $50 for the ticket, and then returning to your 5-star hotel, isn’t my idea of social enlightenment for the masses.

I’m not entirely sure I would equate the game drive passengers watching college students to slum tourism, but it felt eerily similar. 

The Art of the Queue

Africans have an incredible amount of patience.  I sincerely believe it is a trait which is instilled from birth.  They don’t really tend to complain much and they have an amazing tolerance for inefficiency and lack of performance.  This always stands out to me when I go somewhere and I have to wait in line.  I once walked into the Post Office to buy a stamp.  There were easily 100 people waiting in line.  I took a look around, asked someone towards the front, “Is this really the queue?  All these people are waiting?”  When she replied in the affirmative all I could say was, “You’ve GOT to be bloody kidding me?!?”  And then I turned around and left, sans stamp.

No one thinks twice about waiting in line for hours.  No one questions it or gets irritated at the wait.  It is accepted as a part of life.  It is such a natural state of being that people, and companies, have adapted to this culture of “Don’t hurry, ‘cause you’re gonna wait anyway.”

The reason I say everyone has adapted is because any time you walk into an office lobby it is typically overflowing with chairs- to accommodate the queue.  I remember the first day I arrived I was immediately taken to the Water Company to transfer the bill into my name and pay the deposit.  I went in and stood behind the person at the counter.  Someone came up to me and instructed me that I was jumping the queue.  Apparently the 20 or so people sitting in chairs were all in the queue.  I didn’t exactly understand this concept until I saw the person at the counter complete his transaction and leave.  The person in the chair closest to the counter rose and approached the now available customer service representative.  Then everyone sitting in the chairs got up and shifted one chair to the right.  I was stunned.  I went to the first empty chair on the far left and then as each person ahead of me moved, I moved.

For months I have been sitting in queues wondering why no one institutes a number system, like you have when you go to the deli counter, to avoid the massive queues.  Back in January I went to get my Botswana driver’s license.  The office was scheduled to open at 8am; I arrived at 8:17am.  I was delighted to see they utilized a number system.  I took my number, number 142.  I figured there was no way 141 numbers had been distributed in only 17 minutes.  I figured they were carrying over the numbers from the previous day.  Sadly, that was not the case.  The electronic board announced number 12 was being serviced.  I did a quick calculation and figured 12 people in 17 minutes would mean that I should be helped in about three and a half hours.  I left and returned at 11:45am, just as number 121 was being called.  Fortunately I only waited about another 45 minutes before being helped.  In reality this was a record GOOD time!

I’m pretty sure when Mr. Miyagi said, “Patience young grasshopper” he was not referring to queuing practices in Africa.  Nevertheless, this has become a sort of mantra of mine here.

Here is a photo I took of students waiting in “line” at the beginning of the semester to register for courses.  You may also notice that there are no advisors sitting at the desks with the computers to help them.  The advisors were on their lunch break.  But the students patiently sat there for over an hour until they returned: