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"I made a new friend." "Real, or imaginary?" "Imaginary." -- Donnie Darko
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Clare's pics
:: currently cooking ::
Grilled Tomato and Red Bell Pepper Soup
Why is everything better when you grill it? This soup is definitely worth polluting the air for, plus it gives you a great excuse to buy three pounds of tomatoes at the farmers market.
:: currently reading ::
The Plot Against America
by Philip Roth
Alternative history in which FDR is defeated in the 1940 presidential election and, instead of fighting against Germany & co in WW2, the US tacitly allies with them. Bad news for Jews everywhere. Good reading.
:: archive ::
:: Monday, January 30, 2006 ::
Bryan and I had a lovely weekend renewing our acquaintance. We got haircuts, cleaned the apartment, went shopping in San Francisco, ate at this fabulous joint, and drank more than was strictly good for us on more than one occasion.

New culinary experience: Ate slices of smoked duck that were quite raw in the middle and a shrimp head.

Classes are picking up, making me very glad I'm not doing anything silly this semester, like working. Who wants that?

During my quant class today I tried to imagine my reaction if at any point during the last ten years someone had told me that I would go to grad school and the lecture slides would look like this:


:: Leslie H - 12:38 PM - ::

:: Wednesday, January 25, 2006 ::
Two pieces of excellent news:
1) I got my first choice for the IPA project (More K-8?) and am working with a great group.
2) Bryan finished his SIGGRAPH paper (after a final 9am Tues - 12 pm Wed stretch), so he has a normal life and I have a boyfriend again.

Double yay.

:: Leslie H - 12:58 PM - ::

:: Monday, January 23, 2006 ::
I forgot that spring in California starts in late January. It's 67 degrees outside and the flowering trees have started to do their thing. At least I got to wear a coat for a couple of days in NYC.

With the first week of classes under my belt, I can say with certainty that it's going to be an incredibly busy semester. Nothing has really begun yet--just reading to get behind on--but my calendar begins to look very ugly starting next week. Here's what I'm taking:

Quantitative Methods: Econometrics
The continuation of my statistics class from last semester. Today was our first substantive class; I found it bewildering. I have managed to glean what econometrics is, though, which is a start. (It's basically about determining causality; i.e. to what extent did your abstinence-only sex ed program actually decrease teen pregnancy rates? Answer: 0%) Exogenous variation treatment and beta-hat and company, though, may take me a while longer.

Microeconomics for Public Policy Analysis
I did well in this class last semester and hope to repeat the performance. Last semester was all about consumer behavior; this one is all firms. Today we talked about, among other things, the effects of supply shocks on various kinds of markets. I'll spare you the details.

Independent Policy Analysis
Ah, that magic class where all your skills are put to the test. Essentially, we work in groups of 4 students on some policy design/analysis/evaluation project for some client that has come looking for free grad student labor. We prioritize our choices out of about 30 projects, get our assignments (hopefully in the next day or so), and we're off. My choices were:
1. working for the West Contra Costa school board to determine whether they should open more K-8 schools, if so how, and if not how they can stop students from leaving their district after 5th grade
2. working for the SF mayor's office to assess what happens to youth as they exit city service programs (like foster care or juvenile justice) and how the city can help them make a successful transition to independent adulthood
3/4. work with a nonprofit to assess the success of federal food programs in schools and how to successfully implement summer food programs
3/4. work with a school district to reform their operations and allow more autonomy and voice in decision-making at the local level, since one of the five cities in the district tried to secede

Naturally I picked very education/youth-y projects, but there were lots of great ones in all sorts of areas; some titles: Climate Neutral Berkeley, HIV program quality, Public campaign finance, Workers family credit, Water use efficiency, etc. Whatever I end up with, it promises to be a hell of a lot of work.

Ethics, Policy, and the Power of Ideas
An unusually theoretical class for my eminently practical school, it's already taking me back to fuzzy undergrad classes. Though it will involve a 30-page paper, I think it will be a nice change from my other courses and kind of a relief to just sit around and talk about things rather than hash through the intimate particulars of how exactly to make something work. The section headings in the syllabus are as follows: lying; whistle-blowing, loyalty, and disobedience; privacy; are we all utilitarians? the market in kidneys; capital punishment and the war on terror; schools, welfare, and katrina; paradigm shifts and memes; tipping points and crowd wisdom; AND the marketing of ideas.
It's my first class in a long while in which Kant has dared show his face.

Extracurricular-ly, Bryan and I have decided to teach ourselves German. We actually registered for a German 1 undergraduate class but weren't ultimately willing to show up five days a week. Though it was actually a lot of fun to be in a class with a bunch of college freshmen. My other big task for the semester is securing a worthwhile internship for the summer. Considering all the internships I stumbled into in college, I'm not sure why the task is stressing me out--perhaps just the pressure of finding a great one since the standards are quite a bit higher this time around.

It has been great to be back in the Bay and see friends. I had a fabulous time at a karaoke bar in San Jose on Friday, where a couple dozen TFA alums reunioned to celebrate one of our fellow's marriage (congratulations, Ben, by the way). Of course I have hardly seen anything of Bryan, but his deadline is Wednesday and his long hell will end.

On that note, I should probably take a stab at this reading for tomorrow. It would be a shame to waste the $72 I spent on the reader.

:: Leslie H - 4:20 PM - ::

:: Sunday, January 15, 2006 ::
I am home. It is a beautiful day in Berkeley (sunny, mid-50s). I am clean and unpacked, and my laundry is done. My sleep schedule is gradually returning to normal: Friday I slept from 7pm to 5am, Saturday I napped so I could stay up till 11 and got up at 8--the only hitch was two sleepless hours between 3-5. I have high hopes for tonight.

After a total upload time of 18 hours, my Africa pictures are finally on gallery! (I also added captions to the pictures from Texas and New York.) There are about 150, including 30ish from Clare's gallery, which are labeled so she can get credit for superior photography skills.

Here are some representative photos from the trip:

Dakar



Transit



Tamba House (in new pants!)



Cory and Josh's village



Clare at her village well


:: Leslie H - 12:58 PM - ::

:: Wednesday, January 11, 2006 ::
One of my standard responses to "are you excited about Africa" questions was that I looked forward to the chance to see a part of the world I would probably not otherwise visit, and where I had the brief opportunity to tour around in the hands of a temporary local. I was thinking that nothing would necessarily draw me here in the future, of all the places in the world. The larger truth, though, is that I could never make it here without speaking a word of French, Wolof, Pular, Mandink, or any of the other languages that everyone here speaks several of. I have met three people who spoke any English at all (other than Americans who live here, of course), and one was an old man on a bus who knew "How are you" and "What is your name." I have never felt so absolutely useless in a place before.

My utter ignorance was most apparent in the villages, where we naturally had the most social interaction with people. My role was that of a large friendly dog. Clare would go up to people to say hello or chat, and I would trot along a step or two behind her. She would start her greetings, and I would shake hands with whomever I was meeting, and stare blankly at them when they said something to me. She would interject to explain that I was Aissatu Bah (yes, Bah, so in the great Bah-Djiallo conflict, I am a Bah; Djiallos eat beans), an American, and didn't speak Pular. But likely the person would continue through the long greeting cycle, at which point I would perform my trick, which was to say "jam tan" (peace only) in response to everything they said to me. At some point they'd get to a question that required a different response, so I would just grin like an idiot while Clare took over. During longer conversations she would pause to tell me the gist of what was happening. Then we'd take our leave, trot over to the next person, and Clare (Djenaba Bah) could introduce her simple friend all over again. Good times.

Timeline, part II

Day 4, cont: take a bus to Josh and Cory's village; eat dinner, marvel at their Robinson Crusoe-like setup; eat rice and peanut sauce for dinner; sleep in their guest hut.

Day 5: wake to barking dogs, hee-hawing donkeys, and the rhythmic thumping of millet-pounding; visit their well and garden; meet their village; walk up a hill; bond with their puppy Bruiser; eat more rice for lunch; catch a bus back to Tamba for the evening.

Day 6: bike early to Clare's village; meet the family and select others; pull water from the well; walk through the fields to the dried lake and baobab tree; take bucket-bath; socialize; see child set on fire by other child (no lasting damage); read; retire.

Day 7: crack peanuts; demonstrate new peanut-grinder (gift to the village from Clare's parents) to village; read; wait for heat to pass; poop into tiny hole; play with needy kitten; bike back to Tamba; revisit the market; dinner, movie, bed.

Day 8: leave early to get a car back to Dakar; ride for 8 hours in most decrepit car I've ever seen; arrive in Dakar with half my face sunburned (peril of the window seat); take hot shower(!); eat, sleep.

Day 9: Today! Bum around Dakar and attempt to see some holiday revelry as today is Tabaski, the Muslim Feast of the Sacrifice, during which families slaughter a sheep to commemorate Abraham's almost-sacrifice of either Isaac or Ishmael depending on which source you consult. (It's one of the two biggest holidays of the year and has accounted for much crowding of marketplaces and absolute hordes of sheep during our entire week.)

Day 10: leave early for the airport; fly through Casablanca to NYC; return to gooey embrace of American culture.

Anecdote, in which a bus ride becomes an event in itself

The bus trip to our first village was supposed to take an hour. (By "bus" I mean full-size van, with five people crammed into rows meant for three.) Clare wrangled us into the first row of one that was close to leaving for 800 cfa (under $2), though we were a little concerned when a half dozen people started pushing it out of the yard when our bags were in it but we were not. It needed to be push-started, we were told, and then we could get on. In retrospect, it would have been wise at that point to claim our bags and wait for the next one. But instead we watched and waited as it was pushed back and forth about ten yards four times, and then a little way down the street before the engine started. We got in, four to a row, which was cramped but not unreasonable, and were reunited with our bags. We picked up more passengers on the way out of the city, including a mother with nursing child who piled into our row, leaving me with one buttock on the seat, one on Clare, an arm around the mother, and the child eyeing my breasts thoughtfully, presumable wondering if they were also good to eat.
We left the city. Things were going well until we had to stop and the engine died. We piled out, sat on the side of the road, and someone was dispatched to Tamba to fetch us another bus. But then we managed to push-start our own again--I seized the opportunity to give my other buttock a turn at the seat--and we were on our way. Until the next time we stopped. We sat; some passengers complained a little more stridently; and eventually we got going again when the bus behind us shoved up against our bumper and gave us a boost. On the road again. Until, of course, the next stop. At this point we gave up on our bus completely, got in the one behind us that have given us the boost (I'm not sure what happened to all its passengers), and continued to the village. I felt like my $1.60 had paid for a theme park ride--money well spent. It took three hours.

Food Highlights

Best Breakfast: toast with peanut butter and jelly at J&C's village
Worst Breakfast: corn gruel at Clare's village
Most Creative Meal: hamburger consisting of tiny patty, a fried egg, french fries with ketchup, all on a bun, ordered in Tamba
Best Dinner: tuna salad sandwiches on excellent bread with fresh tomato and cucumber, with side of green beans and dessert of fruit salad
Most Thoughtful: gingerbread pancakes from Kirby Lane mix, made and served by Clare in our roof-bed at the Tamba PC house
Most American: macaroni and cheese, hotdogs, green beans, and applesauce, in Dakar at the house of American foreign service employees


I may save further narration of the trip for the captions of the hundred-plus pictures I've taken. I won't be able to put them up until I'm back in California, but I'll be sure to link to them here as soon as they're ready.

:: Leslie H - 3:17 AM - ::

:: Friday, January 06, 2006 ::
So here I am in Africa. This morning I woke up on the roof of the Peace Corps house in Tamba, shrouded in mosquito net, listening to not only the call to prayer but the entire damn prayer that followed being broadcast through the neighborhood. Then to the market, for fabric, vegetables, and, for Clare, a yellow t-shirt with a Buddha on it that says “I may be fat, but my cock is huge.”

I am having a fantastic time.

Clare, by the way, is a rock star. Maybe it’s just in contrast to my complete helplessness. I have never traveled in a country where I spoke no language in common with anyone. Even in Thailand, English was the language of tourism; you could haggle with it in the marketplace, and it seemed like most people learned it in school. Here, it’s French (or Wolof, or Pular, or some other African language, but French is what all white people are expected to speak). So I get spoken to in French and generally just grin like an idiot. Clare, on the other hand, speaks French and Pular, haggles with taxi drivers, knows where she’s going, charges fearlessly into at least daunting situations--our predawn journey into the “gare,” a dark dirt lot full of cars and people wrangling their way into shitty station wagons on their way to cities all over Senegal--and generally kicks a lot of ass. I have been incredible impressed.

An anecdote, in which Leslie is clueless

My own ignorant status began in the Moroccan airport, where I arrived at 7am Monday for my 12-hour layover. We were shunted through customs and then into the baggage claim area, and I couldn’t figure out how to get back into the main area of the airport where I could find a corner to, hopefully, sleep. At least a few people spoke English, so I just started shoving my ticket at people and looking desperate. A series of grim-looking guards came to my aid, one even leaving his post to walk me to the office when I clearly wasn’t understanding his directions. I waited in line in some random room, where a man looked at my ticket and filled out a piece of paper, to discover that Royal Air Maroc was putting all of us Dakar-bound travelers up in a hotel for the day, complete with bus to shuttle us there and back. Clutching my new form to shove at people, I went off in search of this bus, which I found after accosting three more official-looking people. The process was a little stressful, but the upshot was a tour-bus ride through some very rich areas of Casablanca and a day spent at a beach-side hotel rather than a corner of the airport. And after 24+ hours of travel, I arrived in Dakar, where Clare met me at the airport. And I haven’t had to do anything on my own since then.

Timeline of my trip, part I

Day 1: Arrive midnight, having been awake over 36 hours. Sleep hard in the home of an American embassy family where Clare stays when in Dakar.
Day 2: Get out of bed at 8:30 only after Clare medicates me with coffee. Taxi through cental Dakar and ferry out to Ile de Goree, an incredibly beautiful and picturesque island full of crumbling French colonial buildings and flowers.
Day 3: Rise at 5:30 to get a car to Tambacounda, the a city in central Senegal and the Peace Corps HQ for Clare’s region. Ride in a very full station wagon for 8 hours. Arrrive. Take a very peaceful shower in the backyard of the PC regional house. Eat dinner; watch a movie; drink beer; go to sleep on the roof.
Day 4: Today! Awoke in net tent when Clare arrives with pancakes she made for us. Go to the market and take sneaky pictures of her as she bargains for fabric and vegetables. Later: make lunch, get a bus to a village where two friends of hers are stationed.

Some things I’ve learned in Africa

1. Donkeys can scratch behind their ears with their hind legs.
2. My sunscreen makes me break out.
3. When a sheep is tied to the top of your car with the luggage, roll up your windows in case he gets nervous and starts to pee down the side.

Best quote from Clare, when asked if she had gotten sick from the food or water: “I haven’t taken a normal shit in a year and a half.”

:: Leslie H - 5:15 AM - ::


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