Zambia: interning with a non-governmental organization called Pact, describes Lusaka

I'm staying in a standard-hotel-type room in a small guesthouse, which, though expensive, gets me a clean room everyday and a kitchen in which I can make all my own food. It's in one of the nicest areas of Lusaka, where lots of government workers, diplomats, and business people live, and in fact the Zambian State House, the equivalent of the American White House, is the halfway point in my twenty-five minute morning walk to work. The State House is right across the street from Lusaka's main army base, and everytime I walk past I can't help but ponder that ironic metaphor for the power dynamics in so many African countries past and, though much lessened, present.

I work in a colonial-style compound house that looks more like it should be hosting embassy parties than the staff of an NGO. It's the middle of the dry season now, and if you drive out away from these suburban streets into the bush that surrounds Lusaka you'll find fields of dry brown grass dotted with still-lush green trees. By the cusp of the wet season in October or November, as the people hold their breath for the new planting season, even those trees will have lost their leaves. But for now I get a taste of the magnificence of the wet season in the colorful flower bushes that hang over the compound walls or sprout up along the sides of the streets. The neighborhood reminds me a bit of Plano, in fact, though they've substituted thick, high concrete or brick walls for chainlink or slat fences and each compound has the blazon of its particular security guard company posted on the metal gate. I suppose it's ironic that I feel so safe here when I'm surrounded by such an ominous vigilance, but I walk everywhere - to the supermarket, to the Internet cafe, to the pharmacy, feeling a bit as if I'd been transported to a tropical Dallas.

The rest of Lusaka is less prosperous. Neighborhoods range from the middle class, which have their own, smaller houses and walls but usually lack a security guard, to the compounds - Zambia's word for the slums. Stone and building materials are cheap here due to the leftovers from all the mines nearby, so at least there aren't the makeshift wood shacks so notorious in other large-city ghettos. But a neatly-built stone house with a tin roof might be bare inside. A family's possession's in the compounds are the real measure of their wealth, which is why Robert Mugabe's resettlement efforts just to the south, discussed here by the New York Times, are so devastating.

There's also another terrible secret - AIDS. The disease officially infects about 15% of the population, which is much less than some other nearby countries, but it's still having a devastating effect on the populace, particularly, and illogically, on the educated classes, whose power and comparative wealth is a strong temptation. Things have gotten bad enough among the teaching corps, for example, that public school students here often go to school in shifts; three sets of students receive instruction for only about three to four hours each day. And though I often see televised public service announcements targeting stigmatization, it'll take a bit of time before there's really a sea change in how people think here about abstinence, fidelity, the stigma of HIV, and the status of women here.

And just a bit about the nation itself: Zambia is about the size of Texas, with half the population - only about ten or eleven million - of which a million alone live in the capital, Lusaka. It's mostly flat and covered by bushlands, though there are several major rivers, including the Zambezi, which provide some of the continents' most exceptional game reserves. The major tourist attraction, though, is Victoria Falls, the magnificent Zambezi waterfall that Zambia shares with Zimbabwe. I'll try to get some pictures up here of that when I visit later on in the summer, because it's truly a sight not to be missed.

Reflections on a semester in Spain and outlooks on a summer in Mexico

Annie in front of King Ludwig's Neuschwanstein (Cinderella's castle) in Fussen, Germany

By plane, train, and foot, I uprooted myself from Dallas, Texas and relocated to Salamanca, Spain leaving behind all the comforts of home and security of my daily life to live in a foreign environment. The city of Salamanca provided a multi-cultural backdrop due to the renowned Universidad de Salamanca which houses students from all over the world. Salamanca provided the perfect opportunity to learn and interact with both native and non-native speakers all united by the appreciation for the Spanish culture. With such a strong bond, it did not take long for this foreign city to become my new home away from home.

Intense language classes at Cursos Internacionales were complemented by a culture course. Not surprisingly, I learned more about the culture outside of the classroom walls, experiencing it firsthand. I enjoyed teaching curious four and five year olds English as they taught me Spanish at the YMCA, and meeting other volunteers at the Spanish Red Cross. Certainly, being a “guiri” had its major benefits as well. Without asking, proud Spaniards would approach foreigners waiting beneath the giant “reloj” of the Plaza Mayor and share the Spanish secrets of everything from paella and sangria to corrida de toros and flamenco.

In addition to Spain, I was able to travel the rest of Europe. Europeans have the luxury of hopping on a train and entering a whole new world in a couple of hours. Euro-railing taught me independence and allowed me to appreciate the uniqueness of each nation. Lands and cultures I only knew through textbooks came to life. My traveling time was divided between reflecting in my journal and having friendly, sometimes heated, conversations with other travelers. I was fortunate enough to befriend people from all over the world: Japan, Australia, Germany, Italy, Korea, Greece, and none other than Texas. As different as we all were, we were united by our passion and genuine curiosity to learn about other nations.

I leave for Guadalajara, Mexico in less than a week. Guadalajara will provide yet another exciting backdrop for me to appreciate a different culture rich with its own history and colonial flare. Before my semester abroad, I read as many Rick Steve travel guides as I could possibly find. I was warned of the “emotional rollercoaster” that would follow the shock of new people, places, and things. Thinking about all the new experiences was both exciting and daunting. Once I arrived in Spain, I realized that no amount of preparation could have taught me how to capture and enjoy all the nuances of the Spanish life.

With that in mind, I know the advice from fellow scholar, Abraham Rivera, will be a useful tool; however, it will ultimately be my job and pleasure to turn Guadalajara into my new summer home. If I am lucky, with the aid of more intense Spanish classes, by the end of the summer I will be able to wean myself off of the Castillian lisp and graciously thank all the natives by saying, “gracias” instead of “grathias.”



The old Puente Romano (Roman Bridge) and towering Old and New Cathedral that can be seen from every part of Salamanca



Almost all visitors search the facade of the Universidad Civil in Salamanca in hopes of finding the lucky "rana" or frog



A typical afternoon in arguably the most beautiful Plaza Mayor in all of Spain.

Impressions of Paris

My experience in Paris has been invaluable, though by no means what I expected. I am currently studying at the Sorbonne University in Paris, in an intensive language program for foreign students. Other than two hours of grammar every day, every other week I have an hour a day of phonetics. The phonetics class has yet to present a flaw, and the time is used more efficiently than in just about any other class I have ever taken. In addition to the French, I have just finished a class on black and white photography.

When I applied to study in Paris, and even when I first arrived, I expected an opportunity to learn French at the world famous Sorbonne University and experience Parisian culture. I expected to go to photography class and take pictures of fabulous and well know sights. In comparison to regular life at UTD, I expected a vacation (a vacation with a purpose, but a vacation nonetheless).

In orientation sessions upon my arrival, I was warned about culture shock. I was told that I would first be awed by the city and the experience. I would then go through a phase where I would probably be more tired than usual, would complain about Paris, would miss home, and would exhibit any other elements of dissatisfaction. Eventually, and towards the end of the trip, I would grow to love Paris and be sad to leave, even to the point of experiencing greater culture shock upon returning home.

I would love to say that I did not experience culture shock. At the beginning of my trip, almost three months ago, I thought that there would be no way I would go through those phases. I was sure that I would be different. I certainly entered with a different attitude than most. When I arrived in Paris, I was not as starry eyed with the culture and mythology of the place as other students in the program. Perhaps my attitude came from the general unease between the US and Paris, but I think more so, I simply came to the situation with what seems now to be a flippant attitude. I wanted to have an open mind to new experiences, but was not going to cut the culture any slack or be blind to the flaws in the situation.

And there are flaws. But more interesting than the flaws are the differences between the US and French cultures. Even more interesting are the dichotomies that exist within the French people themselves. One of the first really bizarre differences I noticed and inquired about is the parallel parking situation in Paris. There is almost no parking at all in the city, and the parking that is available is on the side of some streets. When the French park, they leave their cars in neutral. This allows the cars on either side, whether entering or exiting the parking place, to bump around and have a little contact. Every bumper in Paris, from the nicest Rolls Royce to the tiniest Smart Car, has dents, dings, chipped paint and scratches from parallel parking.

A more major difference between the cultures is the idea of time. In Paris, everyone is in a rush, but one can never appear to be pressed for time when dealing with a one on one situation. When I entered the tenth bookstore in a row looking for an out of print book, I rushed to the counter and asked where the grammar section was located. The man behind the counter took his time and finished stamping the book he was working on, placed it on a stack of books, looked up at me, and said “hello, how may I help you?” I wanted to scream, but then remembered where I was, that I was entering his store, that was his guest and was requesting his permission to look around. I gathered my thoughts and, composed, returned the hello, said I was sorry to disturb him but wandered if he could help me with something. He said yes, and only then did I have permission to actually repose the question I had asked more than two minutes before.

The French also put more of a priority on leisure time, as I have seen with the massive number of cafes around the city, and in discussions of the thirty-five hour workweek. In France, by law, no one is allowed to work more than thirty-five hours a week, to theoretically create more jobs. In reality, less gets done.

In seeing these and many more differences, I have realized why I came to Paris, and why studying abroad is so important. The experience I have had has not really been fun. I have seen museum after museum, lost myself in the Louvre many times, but do not feel more cultured. I have sat in cafes drinking espresso and café-au-lait’s while surrounded by clouds of cigarette smoke from neighboring tables, but do not feel more Parisian. I have eaten an innumerable number of crepes, both meal and dessert crepes, but do not feel more French. I have spent days speaking only in French, reading only in French, hearing very little English at all, and I do not feel closer to the new language and farther away from my native tongue. I have ridden every line of the metro, waited in lines, stood shoulder to shoulder with crowds of people, and walked for hours each day through ancient stone buildings, but do not feel more a part of the city.

But I feel more a part of the world.

My experience here has provided me with an invaluable level of inconvenience. My lifestyle has been forcibly changed and, though not necessarily pleasant, I feel that I understand the culture and lifestyle at home more now than I ever have before. By living in a different place, I feel that I appreciate much more what our culture at UTD, in Texas, and in the United States has to offer (I will avoid details here, because that gets more personal than necessary). And I also know that things are not set in stone and that I have a broader experience with which to question some aspects of our culture that I may have overlooked before. And for these things, I feel that my trip has already been a success.

Beginning of a semester in Orleans, France

I am currently staying in Orleans, France. I arrived on January 15th. Since that time I have been working in a GREMI laboratory as part of an internship in which I am researching a cryogenic etching process for wide aperture masks. Although this consumes the majority of my time, on weekends I have found time to visit various sites in Paris and castles around the countryside. Tomorrow, I travel to Dublin, Ireland for a few days.

Impressions of Mexico

My first impression of Mexico was surely of the severity of the poverty. Leaving the airport, it looked like downtown New Orleans, my home town, at its worst. Numbers and statistics couldn’t possibly have prepared me for the sheer quantity of people living in those conditions. I now realize that over 40% of the population works in the informal sector, a relatively low figure in comparison to the rest of Latin America. The most painful image I can fathom came when we were in the Zocalo yesterday. A very young boy lay on a piece of cardboard. Kerri almost tripped on him. He looked like he should have been able to walk by his age, but he was lying completely contorted and seemingly abandoned. There was no way to tell if his parent(s) were nearby, or if anyone was caring for him. This was so distressing. There seems to be no safety net for these people. We then saw the cathedral right on the side of the square. The opulence and ornate detail of the architecture was quite impressive. I could definitely sympathize with the efforts to keep it from sinking. What most stood out was the comparison of the child and the cathedral; it is so exemplary of the contrasts within this country…

We met with officials from the US embassy today. That was the highlight of my day for sure. There was a woman involved with public relations for the embassy in Mexico. She was fascinating explaining her experience in Albania and the way the foreign service affected her family situation. I spoke to her for a while; I would be interested to know how the poverty she has witnessed has affected her outlook on this country and the world.

Being here has made me think about the environment a lot. The smog at dusk is horrifying. At the same time, it’s completely unrealistic to hold developing countries to the same standards that developed countries are held. To realize that the US was polluting horribly during the industrial revolution, and that developing countries are just passing that stage, makes it very clear that these standards cannot be applied across the board. This makes the US policy on the environment all the more important. Our regulations must prevent our own emissions, as well as counteract the emissions of developing nations…

Dr. Hernandez talked in class about absorbing the sounds, colors, smells, and flavor of Mexico. Unfortunately, what has struck me the most throughout Mexico City has been the poverty and environmental degradation.

On another topic entirely, it’s been so refreshing to see the way people interact with each other here. Affection is much more public. It’s interesting to see how the social norms differ between the US and Mexico; people in the US are far more prudish by comparison. Men seem much more comfortable putting their arms around one another and speaking in close proximity to one another. There doesn’t seem to be the level of homophobia that exists in US culture, although maybe it’s expressed here in a different way. Couples seem to all be holding hands, and I’ve seen many kissing in public. It’s nice to see that sexuality does not need to be something to be ashamed of or kept hush-hush and private. I would be very interested to further understand the dynamic of sexuality here and how sexual orientation plays a part in this traditionally very Catholic culture.