Tidbits: The Cops

There are some parts of Africa that I have gotten used to (read: experience without thinking to blog about.) The police force is one of these.

The cops in Africa are generally terrible people. Their number one activity is standing on the edge of roads and checking paperwork in (white people's) cars. In the city, the the middle of the month, if you have your papers in order, they let you on their way. Outside the city, especially near the end of the month when the rent is due, if you're papers are in order, they will find some absurd reason so give you a ticket.

Today they said we didn't stop at the sign to look for a train crossing when the sign was 20 feet in front of the tracks, making it impossible to actually see down them. Maybe it's too many people in a car. Maybe they say your car is overloaded with baggage-- in a city where this is a pretty common sight.

(Not my picture, but you get the idea)

If you get a ticket, they confiscate your driver's license, and you have to find some small building, in some random town on the highway, wait in line for a long time, pay them, get another ticket, and return to the cop that gave you the first one in exchange for the license. Of course, the friendly neighborhood cops could help you out by collecting the fine there, and putting it in his pocket.

If you've actually done something wrong, then it really hits the fan. It's the kind of situation where one might reasonably decide to just take the jail time instead of trying to reason with the African judicial system in any way, shape, or form.

There may be a single lone ranger, tame-the-Wild-West kind of a guy going through the city and cracking down on crime. But no one's ever seen him.

And this is in a good African country.


-Will


"Don't take no for an answer?! He was gonna call the fuzz."

Every Time a Bell Rings

Here's a review of "It's a Wonderful Life I did for the school newspaper, which ended up not coming out because of all the power cuts. Hopefully I did this movie some justice.

Since it never snows here, and this year it’s not even pleasant out, I’ve really appreciated the other, less weather-dependant events that signal the arrival of Christmas. Setting up the plastic tree is entertaining, as is making sure every branch is bent to reach maximum realism. Christmas cookies are delicious. Who can help belting “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” at some point in December? Near the top of the list, though, come the Christmas movies, and reigning supreme among those has to be “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Starring Donna Reed, and Jimmy Stewart’s in arguably his best and most famous role, “It’s a Wonderful Life” is about the life of a truly selfless man (Stewart) and a fateful night where his world seemingly comes crashing down and he contemplates suicide. Hopefully most have seen it, but if you haven’t, I’ll leave it at that.

Every character from Mr. Gower to Zuzu is well-played, but Jimmy Stewart goes from bliss to depression to insanity and back again in a convincing way that you can watch year after year and still be amazed by.

Even the bad guy is excellent. Mr. Potter is less iconic but more evil than Vader. It’s rare that any villain be portrayed as so thoroughly rotten, but Potter is one that you abhor more by the year.

And to cap it all off—it’s funny. Really funny. Normally humor has the shelf life of bread, but somehow a film made in 1946 makes me annually laugh out loud. I know exactly what they’re going to say, yet the situations (pool under the gym floor, anyone?), the endearing (seriously—Jimmy Stewart is incredible), and the lines themselves (“No man is a failure who has friends”), prove timeless.

However, it has a tendency to fall into one of those book cover judging deals—it’s in black and white (don’t bother with the colorized version), and the sound quality is less than stellar, but let me assure you that has nothing to do with the quality of the movie. Don’t write it off because it wasn’t ever converted into 3D.

The movie is not only entertaining but filled to the brim with moral values. Right from the beginning of the movie George Bailey is shown willing to sacrifice for the good of others, and the value placed on human life as a God-given gift has rarely been seen, if ever, in a movie this popular since then.

It’s really got everything: a loveable protagonist, a truly evil villain, romance, comedy, and a whole heap of wholesome. As far as movies go, and especially at Christmas, you can’t go wrong with “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Merry Christmas!!

-Will


"Remember, George: no man is a failure who has friends."

Never Thought I'd Be So Happy to See a Toilet Seat

DA culture lesson #42: Outreach
Usually twice a year, about 130 students and staff go out to an African village for a weekend and separate into teams to build a church, run drama and VBS skits, run a simple medical clinic, make benches, and sing on evangelism campaigns. Showers and toilets are holes and buckets.

First off, I want to give a disclaimer. This is the only "African" thing I do in Africa. I'm not gonna lie, most of the life the other students at DA and I is spent in the semi-comfortable DA bubble that consists of the school and the small surrounding area (I just couldn't bring myself to type regular-comfortable right then.)

On outreach weekend though, we pack up a couple of big, white, beat up buses called ngagen ngais (pronounced something like jaggen jais) to the brim and pretty much drive to the middle of nowhere. Not quite Timbuktu, that's in the next country over, but the sort of area you might picture it to be. Lots and lots of sand, baobab trees lining the horizon, villages with thatched roofs and not running water or power, we're talkin' the whole nine African yards.

Then we proceed to spend the next couple of days becoming as dirty as one can possibly be. Add cement, sand, mud, lots of unfiltered water to wash with to a teenage dude and you have anyone coming back from outreach who was on foundation. If they were on drama, switch cement with face paint. For benches, think sawdust. I don't even wanna talk about medical.

At night it's time for (sometimes group) bucket showers and an excursion to a Turkish toilet, which sounds much fancier than it actually is. Just in case you don't know (I didn't before I came out here), it's a fancy hole in the ground. Hence the title of the post. After that, we go out even further into nowhere and sing a bunch of songs in something like four or five different languages. On the way back, there's a really good chance a van will get stuck, so the guys get out and push or haul it out of the sand. On Saturday we do it again. On Sunday we head back to Dakar after a two to three hour church service.

While this description may sound kind of negative, the time actually manages to somehow seem almost fun. It's not something I would do for the specific purpose of fun, but it's definitely there. Even though it's gross, tiring, and time-consuming, it's not without positive elements. It's the only time all year I get to see stars-- and man could I see stars, they were amazing. I really enjoy the singing in the evenings. Having a tent filled with Halo Gang members was a blast.

Probably the most interesting things about outreach though surprises me every time I've gone (which is only two at this point). Without fail, and especially this weekend, I experience serious but super-late culture shock. Riding on the back of a pick up truck while the purple-red sun sets on a sparse savanna and a group of birds fly by makes me realize "Holy crap I'm living in Africa" in a way that a city, no matter how un-American, can't. The fact that I'm living on the same continent as lions has probably hit my friends and family in the States more than it's hit me-- I've noticed the effects more than the fact itself.

This is really comforting to me, in a way. Culture shock inherently means that I'm not entirely comfortable here, and though I've grown to appreciate Senegal and DA, and will definitely miss it when I graduate, I still don't think it should feel like home. Call me stubborn, but I don't know that Africa will ever be my "normal." But hey, if "abnormal" is anything like outreach, I'm totally okay with it.

-Will


"Where it began, I can't begin to knowin', but then I know it's growin' strong."

Here, Football is Played by Men

There's an episode of Spongebob where Squidward gets sick of where he lives and goes to a wonderful city made just for his kind. There's a part in that episode where Squidward accidentally bumps into another squid and they insult each other for a minute. Then the other one walks away, and Squidward (with a huge smile on his face) says "This place is even better than I expected!"

Yesterday, as I was walking around downtown Boston with my bros, after the world cup final ended, and heard a loud honking. We looked down the street and saw some guy with upwards of 4 Spanish flags waving from his sports car, pumping his fist and holding his horn down while he drove. This of course was the "Avengers, Assemble!!" call for pissed off Bostonians, and by the time he passed us there was a veritable wall of middle fingers, a wave of expletives, and many yelled "we don't care about soccer" comments.

It's good to be home.

Even when we were honked at profusely for crossing the street while the light was red, I had a huge smile on my face. I feel bad that rudeness and dislike of soccer is the first thing I've written about during my very enjoyable and lucky trip to America, but I can't tell you how refreshing it is to see at least the end of the world cup from my homeland's perspective and not from the rest of the soccer-loving world. The fact that for every one guy sitting in one of the city's countless pubs watching the game there were four outside walking past indifferently is a huge deal.

At the end of the episode, Squidward gets sick of his new home, goes insane, and rides a leafblower into the sky. I doubt that after 15 years and two summers that will happen.

But I do love leafblowers.


-Will


"He says that illegal Mexican immigrants are taking jobs that Americans don't want anyway. I didn't know you could get paid to watch soccer."

Graduation

When I left America to "learn french" in Quebec, one mental wall I had to break down (with the sort of mental sledgehammer I suppose we all develop,) was the fact that I was not the only one who moved on.

Moved on literally-- I moved to another country, then to another continent, so it was easy for me to mentally separate middle school from high school. I wasn't the only one who graduated (from 8th grade,) everyone else got that middle school diploma and went out to face many different high schools. I could ramble for paragraphs about how people have moved on in the "now I hate all of our old friends" or "now I think drugs are just okay" sort of way, what I'm talking about is how none of my Charter friends go to Charter any more.

It was weird to think about. What really bummed (and bums) me out is that there was no longer a way to see all of these people in one place. Many I knew I'd see again, but there's no way I could hunt down and spend time with each person individually, and there's also no way I would want to see everyone anyways. Lot of bad blood in those seedy 8th grade classrooms, ya know? Not really though.

And now it's happening again. With the passing of this year's 8th grade class there is really no students I know at the school any longer. When I went back to Charter after my year in Quebec I was surrounded by kids I was in choir, the play, band, basketball, etc. with. Now if I could make a journey, during school, the only people I'd know would be the teachers, and few of those who I actually knew still remain.

And then we have Quebec. I miss those guys. I met a lot of great people in Quebec, none of whom I'm good about keeping in touch with, and thanks to that alien Canadian school system, my class graduated this year. Congratulations to them, first of all, but since I had lots of acquaintances and few real friends there-- I was only there a year, after all-- it'd be hard to see everyone I would want to again. Because no one goes to QHS anymore, they're all in a manner of different CEGEPs or whatever you guys call 'em.

So, to all the acquaintances whom I've enjoyed meeting but never took the time to become friends with-- I'm sorry. We may never meet again, but I'll miss you.

-Will


"Can't repeat the past?…Why of course you can!"

Another Round of Goodbyes

Okay, before I get started...

DA culture lesson 65: The Wailing Wall
This is the wall on one side of the outdoor basketball court where the seniors line up every year at the end of grad for final goodbyes. The "wailing" part should be pretty self-explanatory.

DA culture lesson 74: Departure
For some reason or another, 90% of DA parents, students, and teachers have left the country by the weekend two days after grad. Why everyone leaves this quickly is beyond me.

I was going to title this one "3/4ths of the Way Done," but when I thought about what I was actually going to say, I realized that really wouldn't have been fitting. Because even though all freshman year I was thinking "only 3 more years and I'll be in America," a my goal sophomore year was just to survive (which I did,) when I was reflecting on my first year as an upperclassmen, I saw that my perspective had changed. I wasn't entirely sure I wanted this year to end.

Don't get me wrong-- I was looking forward to Junior-hosted banquet to be over (which it is,) for my homework load to drop to "eat, sleep, video games" (which it has,) and for exams to go well. I haven't gotten my scores for them, so I can't comment on them. But saying goodbye to some staff, the seniors, and one graduating girl in particular has been and will be hard.

For instance, a math teacher who came when I did and has as rough or worse a transition. A history teacher who jumped of the roof with the guys and I for kicks. A french teacher who played Punch Out!! on his computer when we took tests. A gym teacher who almost got fired after dancing at a party she was supposed to be chaperoning. I've known these staff members ten times better than some of the people in my own class. What will the school be like without a few young teachers to stir the pot?

And then we have the seniors. I doubt I would have considered myself friends with anyone in the senior class at the end of last year, and here I am missing some of them already. What am I going to do without my fellow Bostonian Red Sox fan? Or my geek friend who I talk to about Zelda timelines with? Or any of my musical buddies? (Plus there's always my ex-wives and awkward make-up appliers.) Or my goofy, crazy bro? And don't even get me started on that girl. She needs a whole 'nother blog post.

Now I'm entirely sure I didn't want junior year to end. It was stressful at times, but in the end, I'd organize three more banquets to get another year with these guys. I'm going to miss you. I'll see ya when I see ya.

-Will


"Despite the fact that I'm not your teacher and I never was, this might be considered inappropriate. Rub my back right here."

Spring Break 2010

So, school has started up again after a two week break and my brain has officially begun its rebuilding proccess. However, that isn't to say that I didn't learn anything over break.

I learned how to play Mexican train. I learned that the answer to life, the universe, and everything is 42, and that the secret to flying is throwing yourself at the ground and missing. I learned that my Halo skills have fallen considerably since the last Halo party. I learned that MagicTime, a Florida company who made a shipment to Dakar with for real peanut butter and (excellent) knockoff Lucky Charms, is the best company of all time.

I learned that sunscreen actually works, you just have to put it on first. Then I retested this lesson and proved it wrong. I learned that while the 5th Harry Potter book is the worst, the 5th Harry Potter movie rocks the casbah. From Dumbledore, I learned that a fiery head clap is a great way to make an exit. I learned that it's impossible to be good friends with someone of the opposite sex without everyone and their mother thinking you have ulterior motives. I learned that the defaults on Microsoft Word 2007 are awful. (I already knew this, but was reminded over break. If there's an option to automatically save backup copies of files, why isn't it automatically turned on? And has anyone, ever, for any reason intended to create a document with 11 point Calibri font with 10 point spacing after lines?!)

Most importantly I learned this: the only way to fully appreciate a lazy, relaxing vacation is having a school year that is crazy busy and maybe even, dare I say it, occasionally stressful. Junior year has been significantly more packed than my last two years of high school combined, and it only gets worse from here on out. Today went by minute by minute, but looking at my planner, I know that this quarter will be over the day after tomorrow. Add up a musical, lots of SAT prep, Junior-Senior Banquet, planning and asking someone to Junior-Senior banquet, finals, the Halo: Reach beta, a youth group retreat, goodbyes to Seniors, and of course the accelerated, end of the year, finish-the-textbook pace that all classes will now operate on, then you've got what I'd call a booked schedule.

Spring break was great. It was lazy, sure, and there were days where I did nothing but sit on my butt, play video games, and watch movies. But this time around, moreso than previous vacations, I felt like I'd earned it. Okay, maybe not the Jack Black movie, Office, and Harry Potter marathons. At least of of them though.

-Will


"I think I pulled a muscle in my upper neck!!"

Care Package

I am sipping root beer right now. And now I'm just smelling it, letting the aroma of it waft into my nose like the smell of root beer wafting into one's nose. It is fantastic. How and why do I have root beer? Because I have awesome friends.

I came home at midnight tonight (it's spring break over here) expecting to go to bed after a long day of sitting on my butt and watching a Harry Potter movie marathon. Yet there was much unforeseen sipping of heavenly drinks to take place.

Carlen and Marina and Mrs. and Mr. Smoske are now on par with that awesome Ohio church that sends us Christmas presents every year. And Awesome Ohio Church, to me, is on a very high level. After a trip through the wonders of the African postal service, I got the care package they sent me. It was not only filled with a score of American lollipops, but with a dozen A&W root beers, a pair of sweet books, as well as what has potential to be the greatest movie of all time movie from Tim. It's pretty late, and I keep giving the characters in the comic book British accents- 14 hours of Harry Potter would do things to any man. Because of this, I'm going to stick with the food for now, but by golly it's swell.

All this to say one thing. Thank you. Very very very much. This was a fantastic day for it to arrive. It's hard to explain the feeling of receiving a dozen root beers by mail, and I will go out on a limb by saying that it's almost worth not being able to get root beer for said feeling. Not quite, but almost. Slices of home are really what keep me going, and you just served me like a pie of home. You know who you are. I love your pies. Thank you for them.

-Will


"This care package is friggin' awesome"
-Me, 30 seconds ago

Senior Cafe

I am bummed. But not as bummed as I was last night. This weekend, among other things, was the weekend of Senior Cafe. At Dakar Academy, that roughly translates to "Annual Talent Show," which is put on by the seniors. Each year has a theme, last year's was space, this year's was "Night at the Library," etc. That sounds wicked lame on paper but somehow they made it pretty awesome. "Talent Show" isn't an exact translation though, because generally the winners are the crowd pleasers, not the ones with actual talent. If only that was the case this year.

Me and my bros Jon, Joe, and Lee had been panning our act since June of last year. Planning may be too strong a word, but suffice to say that by October we knew we were going to air band (like air guitar with the full ensemble) Boston's More than a Feeling. This is arguably the greatest air banding songs ever, as proven by Turk's Cool Cats in Scrubs.

So for the past week we got in practices around several sports and a play to work on our stage presence and killer moves to said tasty song, and on Friday night it was time to show the world what we were made of- air.

Looking back, our contrived costumes were both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, Joe's inconceivably tight, borrowed-from-a-girl jeans got some major applause. On the other, juxtaposing 80's rock fashion onto a modern setting, and a library-themed one at that, meant that at best we looked like Napoleon Dynamite's older brother and at worst we looked like convicted sexual predators.

But when we got up on stage, and the lights turned on, I lost it. In a good way. The music was cranked and my fingers glided across the imaginary guitar slung in front of me. I duck walked, windmilled, and headbanged before the solo even began. The audience was into it, clapping and cheering as if we could actually play music. When the solo finally kicked in, I, if I may say, rocked the casbah. On the last high note I power slid a good couple feet to what to me was the loudest cheering all night. Plus, I could tell by the overall pitch of the cheer that the ladies were really digging my bushy sharpie moustache.


We finished to some fantastic applause and came of stage in a volley of chest bumps and high fives. We were both pumped an pleased to the point that we were looking for encore songs in case we won (we landed on "We Will Rock You.") I have rarely been so optimistic about winning anything. By the time they started announcing winners, we were in ready stance to book it towards the stage. In 3rd was "The Worst Music Video Ever," a parody of a Finnish music video from some decade no one wants to remember. I was actually in that one, but I don't wanna talk about it. My partner was my 60 year old Bible teacher.


2nd place went to a girls trio who sang "Tattoo," which, like I mentioned before, was filled with talent, so people were pretty shocked that it won anything. And finally, First place goes to...

The Junior Girls rendition of "Hoedown Throwdown" by Miley Cyrus.

I would be more bitter about this, being beat by someone who gained fame through the Disney Channel and all, except for the fact that my awesome math teacher was the lead lip synchist and did a fantastic job. Never knew she had it in her.

Anyways, we were pretty devastated. I couldn't be sure but I think I saw a tear come to our bassist's eye. After a few minutes of shock we decided that we would win on Saturday night, and rationalizing always helps things.

So on Saturday we assemble our costumes once more, plan another stage move or two, and eventually get up on stage one more time. This time Lee had talked with the guys doing lights so they got the light flashing and a spotlight going. Props to them for that, because if anything could've pumped me up more than I already was, it was flashy lights.


So, again, the winners were announced. In 3rd...More Than a Feeling by the Cool Cats. Well, okay. 3rd is decent. My brother's magic act came in 2nd, and he practiced way more than us, so I'm okay with that. 1st place, however, annoyed me. Not because it wasn't good- it was- but it was because they cheated. The Korean dorm's choreographed dance number blatantly ignored the rules of play.


There was no way that four teenaged dudes, even at our best, could compete with that. Just you wait 'til next year, adorable little Korean girl. Then you'll see. The Cool Cats never stop believin'.


-Will



"He smoked a big cigar and drove a Cadillac car, and said 'Boys, I think this band's outta sight.'"