Trust.

2 interesting things happened recently:

1. A guy was mugged at knife point in broad daylight in the park I walk through every day to go to school.

2. I ran into an empty ladies restroom busting to pee, and knowing the stalls were barely wide enough for an average-size human to squeeze into and close the door, I dropped my backpack outside my stall door, locked it, peed, flushed, and came out to wash my hands. An older lady who'd just come in was standing by the sink, staring at my bag. She looked at me, wide-eyed and said "Is that your bag?" I said it was indeed, and she gaped at me, shook her head, and then said "You are so trusting." I wish I could say this came out in a sort of jovial, complimentary tone, but it was more like she was chastising a toddler for wetting its pants. It didn't end there. "I would NEVER leave my bag unattended in here. Do you know how dangerous that is?! Someone could come in SO easily and grab it." and, one more time for good measure, with her eyes narrowing this time: "You are soooo trusting!" I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. What do you do when someone's insulting you with a compliment? I explained that the stalls were awfully narrow and my bag was in eyesight the whole time I was peeing. And then another thought dawned on me: we were standing in the second story restroom of the University of Sheffield's School of Health and Related Research. Hardly gangsters paradise. Even this didn't dissuade her.  "I'm not trying to be funny," she continued (still trying to work out what she meant by this, because I certainly wasn't laughing). "I just think if you had ANY valuables in there... cash, camera, phone... they'd be gone SO fast..." I mumbled a confused 'thank you' and ran out the door to class.

First I must say that I do appreciate that people are looking out for me. Secondly, one of the biggest challenges living here is knowing how and when and where and why to trust people. It seems that either you live in constant paranoia of being robbed while going about your daily business, or you try not to let all the news headlines and police sirens get to you and wind up being chewed out by someone in the women's restroom. If anyone knows where the happy medium is, I'd love to hear it. Until then I'll be peeing at home and trying to avoid university bathrooms.

Graveyards & Grammar.

2 weeks ago, in urgent need of an extra grocery bag, I ran into a charity shop and bought a cheap cloth one that said on the front "I Heart Sharrow Vale Road". Upon further investigation, I discovered Sharrow Vale Road is a major tourist attraction of Sheffield, which is a big deal considering there are no tourist attractions in Sheffield. So my Nova Scotian friend Catherine and I went gallivanting around last weekend to check it out. It was a pretty cool road, but what was even cooler was literally stumbling into this ancient, overgrown cemetery, which looked like it had been through some sort of earthquake. All the headstones were tipped or broken or smashed into each other, and we even found a slightly open tomb. If anyone's looking for a ready-made set for a horror film, it is prime material. We were pretty happy to be there in broad daylight.

Also, I've been trying to put my finger on some definitive Yorkshire vocabulary. I feel like there's a confusing word in almost every sentence I hear, but the list I compiled is surprisingly small in light of that..

i don't mind. -- i don't care. 
you alright? -- how are you?
hoover -- vacuum
bin -- garbage
rubbish -- garbage
tea -- breakfast, lunch, or dinner. or tea.
pissed -- drunk
pants -- bad, awful 
for foook's sake -- ???

words that have no equivalent in north america, because we never use affectionate terms of endearment to speak to total strangers: love, sweetheart, dearie, duck.

This concludes your Yorkshire English Language lesson.


Busy week ahead with semester 2 work piling up.
Miss you all, wish you were here, or i was there.

Truth Be Told.

I think Americans romanticize England. Based on what we see in the movies and news (mostly about the royals) it's easy to view it as a generally wealthy country with swanky schools, posh cafes, and upper class citizens with proper Queen's English accents. I knew some truths about England when I arrived, but have come to the realization that America's idea of the country is a reality for maybe 1% of the population. The rest of England (or at least the city I live in -- 4th largest in the country) is a ghetto. It is overcrowded and overpaved. It is dirty. Rubbish bins are everywhere.. and so is rubbish, because no one uses the bins. People smoke like chimneys, eat like they've never heard of fruits and veg, and cuss like sailors. And drink like fish. You're hard-pressed to find any sort of cafe around that's not a chain, but guaranteed an independent pub on every corner. This week it was announced that the National Health System spends £2.7 billion on alcohol-related conditions each year (£90 per taxpayer). Over Christmas a girl was hit by a bus after stumbling out of Sheffield University's bar that opened at 10am offering £1 drinks. Ambulance or police sirens are going off constantly. My flatmate got mugged last week, and in the past month in nearby towns, a pastor was murdered, a girl randomly stabbed walking through a park, and a decapitated head was found. Last night at 12am there was a gang of men running drunkenly around my neighborhood chanting, playing loud music and screaming at each other.

To put it bluntly, Sheffield is not my city. England as a whole has never been on my list of 'must-see's'. I love how much history it contains, I think it has wonderful people and some lovely places, but I would never, ever choose to live here. I realized this fairly early on last year, but figured it was better to look at the bright side and not dwell on it.

This past month has been rough. It has involved a lot of hurdles, both anticipated and unforeseen, and has tested my resolve. It has been really difficult, and I feel like being honest about that.

I also feel like there is hope everywhere, and something to appreciate about wherever you are.

For instance: sunsets, brick houses, quirky parks, crocus defying the cold, cobblestone lanes, people who give generously to birds, and cleverly camouflaged garbage bins.

 

 

I just can't get enough of that bin. It makes me laugh every time I walk by it. I envision it's owner complaining to the garbage man about not having his garbage taken out for 4 consecutive weeks, and the garbage man responding, "Wait.... that's your GARBAGE BIN?! Unbelievable. All this time I thought it was an ivy bush!!!!"

I Heart Climate Change.

This photo was taken back in late November, in Manchester. Note the blooming tree in the background. It was another balmy winter day in England, where I had envisioned a year of frigid, grey, soggy, depressing, endless days. I realized England didn't fit that weather stereotype in October, when temps were hovering around 80 degrees (f) for a week straight. BLISS. If this is global warming in action, bring it on.



Riding the underground back to Sheffield after 3 weeks in Kenya last month, I read that this past winter has been the warmest on record for England. Which makes me think that God really does care about some of the smallest details in life. It has made it so much easier to be here the past 6 months.



That said, last week, at long last, it snowed. Seeing as snow usually involves frigid temperatures and general wetness, I'm not always a huge fan. But it was beautiful. I left my window blinds open that night and the gold light reflecting off the snow lit up my whole room.

My flatmates attempted to build an igloo but were quickly assailed by violent neighbor children with
large snowball stockpiles.


I'm fairly confident the temperature in our house dropped at least 10 degrees from it's normal drafty state, and I was forced to double up on tights AND socks just to stay warm inside.



My view for the last few weeks. Tea, laptop, field notes, medication, photos of warm places, and my stash of Christmas chocolate, now sadly depleted. I briefly considered writing a research project outline examining if intake rates of good quality milk chocolate rise sharply during periods of heavy paper-writing for grad school students, but it seemed like a pointless study.

Miss you all.

Long Overdue.

Apologies for the delay. 6,000 words and 400 pages of reading later, I'm ready to face Semester 2, which is convenient since it began today. What was supposed to be a two week break hasn't felt like much of one thanks to writing up all of our findings reports on Kenya, designing a professional website, and doing a book review for an academic journal. But ... nice to start the semester with only upcoming assignments instead of last semester's too. It's also been a good distraction from the fact that I'm back in a very cold, very wet, dark place. To modify a famous quote: Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Kenya anymore.

But we can still pretend.

                                                                   Bikes and bananas.

                                                     With a respondent at her home in Tikeet.

                                                                    Heading to the river.

 

                                        The Masters in Public Health and International Development,
                                    Masters of Environmental Change and International Development,
                                                  and Masters of International Development of
                                                     University of Sheffield's class of 2012.

                                                                   (What a mouthful.. 

                              this explains why I have little desire to go to my graduation ceremony..)

     

 

Pink toes. Can't get enough. 

                                        With my French classmate Manon, and dear adopted family
                                                                   at the Veronica Home.

                                               Some hooligans I found on the side of the road.
They turned out to be 3 siblings -- a brother, Willy, and twins Faith and Lillian  -- my friend Ina worked with in 2008. She helped their grandma (who cares for them) start a shamba (garden), which is now massive and thriving. The boys in the black and white shirts are  Isaiah and Camou, who I worked with 4 years ago at the drop-in school for street kids in the city. All 5 of them have grown about a foot since then and are all
            attending the local primary school. Amazingly sweet seeing their faces again.