Of all the parasites and blisters, sunburns and indigestion I had prepared for going into Tanzania, I never considered my toenails. I have been known to on occasion come down with the excruciating pain of having an ingrown toenail. Somehow, I didn’t foresee this as a potential problem, until on the second day of the trip my left big toe was swollen and in a lot of pain. At first I figured a few days in my open toed Chacos would do the trick. By the end of the day, however, I decided I would have to do something about it. The first night I sat up on the bathroom counter and soaked my toe in hot water. I explored the contents of our medical kit and gritted my teeth trying to dig the side of the toenail that was overgrown out. I got the top part out but not the root and cried and went to bed. The second day I continued with our tree-planting project despite the pain in my Chacos. I kept my toe clean and bandaged (which with my interest in first aid was actually fun). That night I soaked my toe again, and realizing it was too incredibly painful to dig out (by now it had swollen a lot more and I had created a jagged edge from cutting part out the night before) I sat there crying, cleaned it off with some iodine, wrapped it up and went to sleep. The third morning I knew it was beyond my help. I talked to Professor Kerr who had been helping me keep eyes on it and we agreed to see if we would visit a clinic that morning to get some medical care. Luckily, there was a clinic in the town we were on the outskirts of and we made plans to go there while the rest of the group headed up another tree planting project. Our driver Christopher, Kerr and I planned to go. Then two of my friends Taylor and Mackenzie offered for one of them to join for moral support. I was, a little nervous, but I didn’t think it was necessary. Then I thought about it more and decided it was a good idea. They played rock paper scissors to decide who would go and to my surprise the winner and not the loser was the one who joined me! Taylor won and hopped into our rover for the adventure.

Planting trees on a muddy morning in my chacos!

I had no idea what to expect. You hear about all these missions to go build clinics in Africa and also scary stories of how under equipped and unsanitary healthcare can be there. Tanzania is one of the “wealthier” countries in Africa due to their tourism income, but I still was nervous. We drove up through a street of banana trees to a set of brick buildings and got out of the car. There were people sitting out on a porch area waiting to be treated and we sat down while Christopher talked with the receptionist. Next, I went into a small room to be assessed by the doctor. He was a younger looking man and was kind and serious as he examined my toe. He took out his flip phone and turned on the flashlight to get a better look at my foot! That was the first sign that supplies there were low. He wrote me a prescription for some strong antibiotics and sent me to a woman doctor to clean my toe. I sat while she carefully cleaned my toe with a sterile needle and iodine (apologizing each time I winced). She wrapped up my toe with a minimal but efficient amount of gauze and tape and sent me on my way. The whole visit cost a grand total of twelve dollars!

Getting my toe cleaned and bandaged.

The very kind woman doctor who bandaged my toe.

Although the clinic wasn’t white and shiny and our idea of a modern sterile clinic- I was very impressed. The doctors were intelligent, kind, and went out of their way to talk to us. They didn’t have a lot of supplies, so they were impressively efficient and sparing with all they had. We learned that a German doctor who was actually visiting that day had set up the clinic and Kerr got to meet and thank him! We later found out, that single clinic serves 20,000 people! That’s a lot of responsibility for a small clinic! At the end of the trip we pooled all of our medical supplies from our first aid kit and medical pack and sent it to the clinic with a thank you letter. I really hope to visit them again someday. Although it was painful, I’m so glad I had that chance to experience being a patient in Tanzania. My toe healed up well too!

With International Women’s Day coming up on March 8^th, I thought it would be the perfect time to reflect on my interactions with women in Tanzania. During winter session, I traveled with Anthropology Professor Gary Kerr and nine other students to Tanzania. Here at University of Montana I study Psychology as well as Women’s and Gender Studies. I chose a very heavy and sensitive GLI topic: gender-based violence against women. When Professor Kerr pitched the trip to Tanzania to us students, I knew it would be a trip of a lifetime. I had wanted to travel to Africa ever since I can remember and I knew that Kerr would help us make it a really great learning experience.

Going in to my beyond the classroom experience, I knew I wanted to learn about the women we would meet. I also knew that going into a foreign country and talking to women about gender-based violence with no experience was a bad idea. Instead, I made plans to learn about women’s roles in their culture. Before I left I put in a lot of work to come up with questions I could ask the women I met and to learn what was already known. I even went to the lengths of filling out a comprehensive IRB form to make sure there were no ethical issues with my quasi-research. I was confident and ready to go talk with some women about their lives and roles as women in Tanzania! I was also a bit naïve…

Our first visit with one of the tribes was with the Maasai tribe. They greeted us with an amazing display of song and dance, and even had us join in! Then, the men toured us around their small village and told us about their culture. The women stood around their beadwork and jewelry. It was clear to me that it was considered the men’s job to lead us and teach us about their lives and that it would be inappropriate for me to try to interview one of the women.

After that first experience it was clear to me that I needed to reevaluate my expectations of my GLI learning goals for the trip. I went in knowing that four tribes I would be visiting were fairly patriarchal and suspected that my visits with the other three tribes would be similar to my experience with the Maasai. I felt very discouraged to meet this roadblock, but I came up with a plan. I would learn everything I could about the concrete roles of women by asking the men and our guides every question I could think of. Second, I would learn everything I could about the women’s perspectives by soaking up all of our interactions- verbal and non-verbal. It wasn’t perfect, but I learned a lot more than I hoped I would!

Each of the women that I met in Tanzania had some things in common. They were strong, kind, and full of life. They work extremely hard and contribute a heck of a lot to their communities. They have plenty of hardships, and yet were still incredibly determined to live a good life. Although things didn’t work out the way I planned, some of my favorite memories and best learning experiences were the little exchanges I had with the women. I also had some wonderful conversations with our Tanzanian guides about marriage, sex, women’s roles and education, and more! Although I didn’t end up needing my IRB approval, it was a really valuable experience to fill it out since I plan to do more research in my academic life. Overall, I’m confident to say that I think I learned more than I would have if it all had went smoothly. What a learning experience it turned out to be!

Woman from the Datoga tribe.

Women from the Maasai tribe.

Women and children from the Hadzabe tribe.

People generally have a preconceived idea of what Australia looks like.. beautiful beaches, people that are blonde and tan, kangaroos, dessert, tropical fish, and surfers. While it does offer a taste of that, I’ve found it to be so much more than that.

Exchange is harder than you’d think and everything is very overwhelming in your first few hours and can last for days. The people were so nice and immediately started helping me find my way around the train stations when I was very obviously lost.  I was determined to come here and not come across as the “typical American” but was quickly informed that you stand on the left side of the escalator about an hour in… So even though my origins were apparently obvious I’ve started embracing it rather than trying to hide it. People immediately ask me about American politics and then follow with something about the Kardashians or other reality TV shows. I’ve quickly discovered that most Aussies know more about American pop culture than I do.

The more subtle parts of Australia have quickly become my favorite. Tasmania, is the “hidden gem of Australia.” It has more of a temperate climate and there is a wilderness mindset among most of the people. They love bush walks (hikes) and local food. The cities are full of history and beautiful parks. The diversity here is amazing and you meet people from all over the world every day. My flatmates alone are from the US, Holland, New South Whales, and Tasmania. It’s been a house full of mixed culture and the beginning of some amazing friendships.

I’ve been in Tassie for about three weeks and there is something about the atmosphere that makes it pretty impossible to be unhappy. My days are filled with classes about the local wilderness, good people, interesting food, different kinds of animals and experiences that I never expected in my wildest dreams. I knew there were Kangaroos, but I never expected to feed them out of my hand and hang out with a baby wombat. So far, Australia has surpassed even my highest expectations.

Darling Harbor, Sydney

Kualas

Lorikeets

It has been exactly one month since I landed in the Athens airport and shortly after arriving at the residence building apartments.  Across the Atlantic Ocean and many miles away from a most familiar home to now a completely clean, fresh, blank slate home densely populated and where English is not the first, and in some cases, second or third language of the local people.  I ask myself this, how do I find balance within?  This is a question to ask yourself anytime and anywhere, but I think especially when relocating somewhere for more than a month.  Time is slipping away as quick as smoke does after you blow out a candle, and the days are starting to blur as the more comfortable I become here in the city of Athens, in my neighborhood Agia Paraskevi.

Greece is drastically shifting as a country and this crucial time of political choices made by the newly elected Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras because of the country’s amount of debt.  In 2008 the economy plummeted and has since been trying to recover from the massive depression.  With Athens as the biggest city in Greece and the country’s capitol with approximately 3 million people, the metro station is usually packed in the morning and afternoon around 5 p.m.  Coincidentally, these are the times I’ve gone to the city center and plaka over the last couple weeks to visit the Acropolis, Parthenon, drink coffee, and do as the tourists do.  Behind the tourism I feel and see the people of Greece who are worn, worked, and have been through hardships as with any economic downfall.  Maybe it’s me being somewhat hypersensitive, but I feel I see sorrow and tiredness in the faces that I pass in my neighborhood down the streets and throughout the city during the day time.  I have yet to spend time with local people of Greece besides a few classmates and I hope to gain more details and listen to their stories, so stay tuned.

A little bit of reflection on my journey so far:

The challenges we face in life are accompanied by sacrifice and stress along with the many difficult decisions to make and sometimes with haste.  The opportunities we are given sometimes go unseen and simply learning to speak up and voice what you feel is right are obstacles young adults are challenged with daily.  I believe small victories add up to great victories in time and every day is a chance to try something different and stray from social norms.  I am so grateful for the beauty of life and the opportunities that I have been able to see and take advantage of and will never stop searching for the light of inspiration.  Sending love, and good vibes your way.

Be kind,

Teag

If you want to read and see more from my time here in Greece check out my personal blog https://teaganmartin.wordpress.com/ .

As a note: this post, so recent after my first one, is more because my supervisor at my internship encouraged me to blog about my experience in DC.  So, I’ll probably be writing more for my own benefit than because of the requirements.

ANYWAYS: Growing up.

I’ve always been that kid who doesn’t do mornings.  I don’t schedule classes before 10 am (or 9:40, if we’re getting real ambitious), I try to avoid working early, and I get dressed in record time.  I’d say I averaged 10 minutes prep time during Fall Semester 2014.  That prep usually went as follows: alarm goes off, typically an hour or so before I have to be somewhere.  Hit the snooze.  Alarm goes off ten minutes later.  Hit the snooze.  Repeat until it’s 9:20, I have class at 9:40, and it’s a ten minute bike ride to school.

Cue chaotic music.

There’s a lot of mumbled swearing as I rub the sleep from my eyes while yanking on yesterday’s pants, a lot of confused running around while I searched for that shirt I wanted (which, 99% of the time, I’d worn yesterday and is now in the laundry), and me bolting out the door around 9:30 after grabbing my waterbottle and my backpack.  Eating breakfast was a rare event – if I was lucky and moving fast, I’d cram a muffin or a piece of toast into my mouth during the bike ride.  Sometimes, if I was really on top of things, I could even stop at the coffee shop in the building to grab a latte and a bagel.  But usually, I’d just suffer through my slew of classes hungry and grumpy until I could go home for lunch and a nap.

DC doesn’t allow for that kind of morning.

One of the biggest changes upon moving here was getting used to actually commuting to work.  Unlike the ten minute bike ride to class, work is now either a 40 minute walk, or a 20 minute Metro ride (with all the unforeseen hiccups that can come with public transit).  Rolling out of bed twenty minutes before I have to be at work is basically a death sentence to be late – fortunately, I haven’t had to make that “I’m so sorry I slept through my alarm” call yet.  Also, going the entire day without eating (like I was so used to) would probably result in the death of myself or one of my coworkers.

DC isn’t a cheap city, so if I want to live here, take the Metro, eat out for breakfast and lunch, and have money for activities, I’ve either got to marry rich real soon or steal an ATM.  Either way: it’s why I walk a lot and why I have to budget my time both at night and in the morning, to make lunch for the next day and to eat something for breakfast.

It’s also why I’ve actually started listening to my alarm in the morning.

6:30 AM used to be my enemy, the time I’d get up at if I needed to finish a paper.  Now, it’s when I roll out of bed, and I don’t even touch the snooze button anymore.  My roommate, bless her heart, also has to get up at 6:30, so we’ve got a great morning routine.  She changes in the bathroom while I change in the room, we swap for the morning pee, and then it’s 6:40 and we’re getting ready for the day.  Typically to the tune of her Michael Jackson Pandora radio, but sometimes we’ll just grunt about how tired we are (this has typically followed an up-too-late night when we either watched the Bachelor or stayed up giggling about stupid stories from work).

But we get ready and then I have breakfast.  Which is such a strange phenomenon to me.  The coffee is brewing while I put on my makeup, and by 7:15, we’re watching CNN and eating food.

Guys, I watch CNN now.  At 7:15 am.  Voluntarily. 

It’s not a life I imagined myself having in Montana – in fact, my tendency to sleep in was one of my biggest worries about moving to DC.  Coupled with my tendency to be up until 2 (or 3) am, browsing the millions of cat videos on the web, I kind of thought I wasn’t going to be adult enough to move to DC.  Not gonna lie – the first week was rough.  I didn’t know what to do when I actually had time to sit down and drink a cup of coffee and make myself some eggs.  But now – now, I’m starting to wake up earlier on the weekends (my stupid internal clock has me up by 8 on Saturdays now.  I hate it).  And I’m also looking forward to that 6:30 alarm clock, because it means CNN and my cup of coffee and Michael Jackson.  It also means I’m about to head to the office to my adult job (okay, adult internship).

Some kids grow up when they come to college – that’s when they adapt to early mornings and eating breakfast and going to bed at a decent hour.  For me, it’s taken a move across the country and an actual commute to work.  But hey – we can’t all grow up at age 18.  And not all of us wanted to.

Although I do miss my 1:30 am cat videos.

Okay, technically Montana isn’t on the coast (and really, neither is DC), but “coast to coast” sounded better than “Culture Shock from just west of the Rockies to the center of the Beltway”.  Still, both Missoula and Washington DC are definitely located on the same continent, and are part of the same country.  Somehow, though, I got more of a culture shock coming here than I did when I went up to Canada over New Year’s (although, Western Canada and Montana are . . . virtually the same).

I was expecting a change when I moved from a Montana town of 65,000 to the nation’s capital (holding a staggering 643,000 people (THAT’S A POPULATION DENSITY OF OVER 10,000 PEOPLE PER SQUARE MILE)), but oh man.  Culture shock indeed.

During my first few weeks here, I’d been keeping a list of all the things about Washington DC that surprised me:

• Escalators.  Escalators everywhere.
• People use their car horns to be rude!  Also, there’s a lot of honking at night, which interrupts my Monday viewing of the Bachelor (we can’t have that).
• The sidewalks are big enough for you to drive a car on (and sometimes people do).
• Business professional does not consist of a nice pair of jeans and a button down shirt.
• Really, I think there are more escalators in one Metro station than there are in the entirety of Montana.

I’d been to DC before, back in 2013 for Obama’s second inauguration.  But I’d only visited that time, and visiting in conjunction with hundreds of thousands of other people gave me a bit of a false view of this city.  Second time around, now that I’m living here, I’m starting to realize that, yes, the Metro is always crowded (unless you’re riding it at 1 pm – then it’s eerily empty), and yes, everything is overpriced (also – sales tax is the worst invention ever), and yes, there is far greater ethnic and racial diversity here than I’ve ever experienced before.  Somehow, though, it all works.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m still adjusting to the city.  I’m still walking everywhere, because that seems preferable to cramming myself into a moving metal tube, and I still walk up the escalators even though I really don’t have to, and I still have to double check with the roommate every morning to see if my outfit is professional enough for the workplace (guys, I really miss wearing jeans to work), but I’m starting to expect the crowded streets and the 11 pm honk war outside my apartment and the fact that nothing here really costs a dollar.  DC is definitely different than Missoula, Montana, but just like the college town I came to love, it’s got its own, particular brand of weird.  A weird I can definitely get used to.

Except for escalators.  I don’t think I’ll ever understand the number of escalators.

First week in Cambodia and first week at Sovann Komar Children’s Village: complete. You would never guess by watching me get lost walking two blocks away from my apartment, but I’m settling in nicely. My second day here I had to really pump myself up to buy some cereal. This morning I walked to Angkor Mart and got a bunch of things without thinking twice. I’m feeling more comfortable, and that’s really cool.

In an effort to fight my jet lag and not waste any time, I decided to walk to the Toul Sleng Genocide Museum during my third day in Phnom Penh. Toul Sleng, also known as S-21, was a high school turned prison/interrogation center during the Khmer Rouge Regime’s rise to power. 20,000 people held there were later killed. Prisoners were required to write an autobiography detailing their lives from when and where they were born to their arrest. A photo was taken of each prisoner and they were given a number. The photos were on display at the museum and made everything that much more real. The whole place was solemn and heavy with the weight of not only what had happened there, but how recently it had occurred. Reading the pamphlet guide that corresponded with each cell or torture device was horrific and nausea-inducing. The oppression was palpable and while it was somewhat numbing, I was kept uncomfortably alert with the shocking reality of it all. It was an abrupt experience upon my arrival in Cambodia, but one that I felt was important to understanding the country’s history.

I was beyond nervous to begin my internship on Monday. I had no idea what to expect. What little expectations I had were immediately shattered as my ride rolled up. For some reason I assumed it would be all teachers, or weirdly just myself and the driver, but the van was full of children. They motioned for me to jump in the front seat but there was a little girl already sitting there. She opened the door and stood up. I waited for her to jump out, and when an awkward length of time had passed it dawned on me that she would be sitting on my lap for the ride. Whatever nerves I had been feeling about interacting with the kids were forced aside. Her name is Natia, and we read from her English textbook for most of the ride. I was very comforted by this first interaction, and it restored some much needed confidence in what I was doing here in Phnom Penh.

The children at Sovann Komar are the sweetest, cutest, most excited little kids you’ll ever meet. Happy enough simply saying “hello” to me, their enthusiasm was contagious and I immediately felt welcomed. The staff is fantastic as well, and were happy to answer my endless questions.
“Hello Teacher Joh!”
“Hello!”
“HowAreYou?!”
“I am great! How are you?”
“IAmFineThankYouAndYou?”
This is a daily exchange. They don’t fully understand that “And you?” isn’t a part of the actual greeting. I try to correct it but there is this issue with it being very, very cute. It’s an internal conflict. Every day on the ride home a couple of teachers from the school try to teach me simple words so that I can communicate a little better with the kids. Khmer has proven to be a very difficult language for me, but I appreciate them trying to help, and they appreciate my effort.

I will be teaching pre-school 3 days a week, kindergarten 2 days a week, “sport” or physical education on Fridays, and assisting with older students’ English classes every morning. I only observed classes this past week, so I’ll write about teaching when I get there.

On Thursday I was given the opportunity to travel to Arun’s (co-founder of Sovann Komar) home village and volunteer with KIDS International Dental Service, an organization that recruits people from the dental industry to volunteer their time and service to children in rural communities all over the world. It was amazing. They gave around 250 children check-ups, educated them on proper brushing techniques, and did free dental work when it was needed. My job was to direct children from one line to another, which was as unhelpful as it sounds- still a very cool thing to be a part of. The dentists performing extractions, fillings, etc. let me observe and explained what they were doing and why. Ironically, there happened to be a South Korean Christian group at the village the same day, and they were handing out candy. I think the children were more excited to get their free toothbrush and teeth cleaning. It was a wonderful experience with a wonderful organization, and seeing Arun’s home felt special as well. He does a lot of charity work for children having been orphaned at the age of 5 himself. He is a very wonderful, kind, and inspiring man to work for.

Friday was a great day. As I mentioned earlier, I get to teach sport on Fridays. I chose to attempt a frisbee lesson. I had no idea how many students I was teaching, how many frisbees we had to use, and how tough it was going to be to explain drills with the language barrier. All three of these concerns ended up being very real, but everything worked out. There were around 50 students, 3 discs, and they did not understand much. I kept it very simple.
“This is a frisbee.”
“YES!”
“Do you like frisbee?”
“YES!!!”
“Do you want to see Teacher Kosal catch a frisbee?”
“YES!!”
I kind of threw Kosal under the bus, but I thought it would be funny. He did not catch the frisbee, and it WAS funny. The kids loved it, so I threw to other teachers as well. They cheered when it was caught; they cheered when it was dropped. I gave a basic lesson on throwing and catching (“This side of frisbee UP. Catch like alligator.”), then decided that the best thing to do with 50 kids and 3 discs would be to split them into three groups and let them throw.
Somehow, this worked perfectly. As long as all of the kids had a turn, it was great. It was easier to help kids throw when I was dealing with a smaller group, and they LOVED it. I only planned on the group throwing taking up 10 minutes or so, but it ended up lasting the entire 40 minute class. My first time teaching “sport” could not have gone better.

Next up, I’m off to play some pick up ultimate. I’m actually literally waiting for my tuk tuk now.
Speaking of, this week I successfully hailed a tuk tuk, and bargained with the driver- all by myself. Little things, little things.

– Johannah Kohorst