Fearless: 1

H was taking a trip for work, which would have left me home alone for 5 days.  Some people would jump at the chance to spend five days in Paris doing whatever they wanted but given that I haven't made many friends and we live in an apartment that was slowly falling apart, I figured this was a good moment for me to get out too. I've been wanting to do more European travel but have been trying to coordinate with H's schedule.

I went on Google Flights, put in my dates and took a look at what would be the cheapest place for me to go to outside of France. Dublin and Rome were my options (Lisbon might have been too but I was definitely saving that for a trip with H.) Something about Ireland/ Scotland has always called to me and I hope to travel there, but when I googled "Things to do in Ireland", I admit I wasn't overwhelmed by what I saw.  Rome seemed so much more interesting (judging by trip advisor), beautiful sights and great food (no one is talking about Irish food, let's keep it real).

So I booked my ticket to Rome. H said he was afraid I would get bored and also, as a woman traveling alone, that I wouldn't be safe. I have been bingewatching Law and Order:SVU for a month so every possibility of what could happen to a woman alone has crossed my mind. Thanks SVU.

But then, during my trip, I got wind of a group of American tourists in Panama who were involved in a bus accident. The driver of their tour bus lost control and the bus went into a ravine. Two people died. Another friend of mine lost her boyfriend in a scooter accident in South Africa. These people were doing regular, low risk things (in groups, no less) and bad things happened.

We can't live our lives in fear. Bad things can happen to me in France or in the U.S or in Zambia. My cousin, the same age as I, died driving down to Atlanta from NC, hit by a drunk driver that crossed into his lane. A girl from my home town, 29 years old, died last week when a car being pulled on a dolly detached and she swerved and crashed her car. Can I really keep myself from living life because I'm afraid something bad is going to happen? These things can happen anywhere. I'm not going to do anything stupid (obviously) but tomorrow is not promised and to not have LIVED because of fear, is not life lived at all. 

PB&J

There are things I miss about living alone. I miss cleaning things my way and on my time. I hate that he waits until the weekend to hang up his clothes. During the week, the clothes just end up anywhere (on the back of a chair, on the ironing board, on top of the drying rack for clean clothes, on the bed, etc). Why can't you just put the clothes up, sir!?

I miss no pressure after being around the house all day and not doing a DAMN thing. Somedays, I sit at home ALL day. In front of my computer (or Kindle) or sleep. I don't change out of my pajamas, except to put on my gym clothes for my evening step class. But dishes pile up during the day and I guess I can thank my parents for this, because I feel guilty having sat on my butt ALL day and not washed a single dish. Never mind that it's primarily me who does the cleaning (again, cause I don't wait until the weekend to do it). But I feel bad about him coming home and seeing a (small) sink full of dishes and I am upstairs in my pajamas, with all evidence indicating that I've only moved to eat and go to the bathroom. Shame.

One of the things I miss the most about single living is eating what I want. I try to be a healthy eater in general, given my lifelong struggle with my weight. But somedays, I don't feel like cooking. I would have a bowl of vegetables or cereal for a meal, and happily call it a day. But when there are other mouths to feed (even if its only one), there's more pressure for us to come up with an actual meal. He's not going to have a bowl of vegetables for dinner. So we have to conspire with sometimes an empty fridge to come up with dinner that is healthy and edible, when both of us are feeling lazy. Guess this is what parenting must feel like as well (though...who says kids can't have a bowl of cereal for dinner every once in a while?) And ordering out is a pricier option now that we're ordering for two. Eight dollars for me is worth it on a night I'm feeling lazy but that can easily be $15 or more if you have to think about two people eating. ARGH.

Lots of things I like about having a live-in BF, of course, but I do miss a bowl of Lucky Charms for dinner.

Americaine Perdue

I'm not sure which blog is more appropriate to post on-- here or "Through the Fire". Maybe both. Both are appropriate as I'm taking this bold step into (hopefully) re-defining myself, figuring out what's next for me in terms of my career. I'm taking a year off from my current gig to accompany my boyfriend to France and try to figure out what it is that I want to do. What is my purpose in life? Right now, I have no idea. Do I want to do urban planning? I think so but finding a job in that field, where I have no professional experience, plus convincing a French company that they should hire an American in a country with a high unemployment rate is starting to seem like a daunting task.

I was 'supposed' to start working with this regional planning organization on some translation/ communications and outreach work. Not the job of my dreams but I would learn more about regional planning in the European context, improve my French, and make connections that could lead to longer term gigs.  This was through a friend of a friend of H (my boyfriend) and really, the epitome of how networks make the world go round.  When I went for the 'informal' interview, I spoke with a representative from HR and it was unclear as to whether my visa would allow me to work. I didn't think it would, since its a long-term tourist visa, but they wanted to verify. However, in order to check, I needed to submit all of the paperwork necessary for them to hire me, which included account information for my bank account in France.  The one that doesn't exist (yet).

In order to open a bank account in France, you have to make an appointment, unlike in the US, where you can just walk in and open a bank account (assuming you have all of the documents proving you are who you say you are). The first place I went to didn't have any openings for the next three weeks.  The bank next door had an opening for the next day. I showed up with all of my documents and they told me that I couldn't open an account because I don't have a work contract (which the organization I was applying to work with won't provide me until I could provide bank account information), nor do I have a residence card.  I made an appointment at another bank, where H has an account, and after 2 phone calls, I was given authorization to open an account, after explaining that I can't provide them with any work documents because I don't yet have the job. (And also, why do I have to have a job to have a bank account? That was one of the first questions they posed-- Do you have a job? I can have money without having a job…geesh.)

With my bank paperwork in hand, I took my documents over to the organization I wanted to start working with. I remember walking out of the initial interview, praising God for the opportunities and blessings flowing my way. That day, I turned in the paperwork and we made a plan, with fingers crossed, that I would be able to start work on Monday.

I arrived at the office on Monday and the HR rep had called her boss and was waiting to hear back. After grabbing a cup of tea, the call came in. "Je suis desolée, S, mais tu n'as pas de droit a travailler." (Sorry, but you can't work with your current visa.)  She suggested that I go to the local government office to request a work visa; I tried to explain that I didn't think that I would be granted a work visa without being able to show that I have a job or even a promise of a job. Her response was that I would have a better chance than people from other countries with whom France has more issues (i.e. all African countries). "Sorry to say it but it's the truth". Yet, you said it anyway. According to the interweb and the official government website, it is typically the responsibility of the organization that is looking to hire a foreigner to start the process of obtaining a work visa. It seems that the long and short of it is, for a 2 month gig, they don't want to go through the effort.

Before departing, the HR rep suggested that I could get married and that would help me get a work permit. Oh, really? This isn't the first time this has been suggested-- Get married so you can get a job. I don't even know if this would work-- I would be given a different type of visa and residence permit, which I think would allow me to work but is this really what I want leading me down the aisle?

Tomorrow morning, I'm going to go the city administrative center to see if I can get some straight answers. Better than I started this process now (and see what I'm up against) than to be six months in, jobless, and not even know what my options are. Hopefully, this will be less painful than what it seems.

Make New Friends...But Keep The Old...

Sometimes, I’m a hermit. I didn’t realize it until I got here but I kind of enjoy just being at the house by myself. I like to do things around my house and making a to-do list and completing it. Is that craziness? Maybe, but I say no. I think because my friend circle is so small, people always want to hang out. And when you’re battling loneliness, you want to be around people. I combat loneliness with sleep (not the healthiest coping mechanism but it’s healthier than alcohol or drugs). Again, because my circle is small, we’re always looking to meet new people. I’ve talked before about the group of Ethiopian guys that I hang out with and how I don’t want to be dependent on them for my good times. Lovie’s in agreement with me on that one so we want to meet new people but, unfortunately, that can be a draining experience. Oftentimes, these new people that I meet are expats, so it’s a lot of “Where are you from? Where do you work? How long have you been here?” and you have to question whether you want to form yet another superficial relationship with someone you probably won’t talk to once you leave the country.
This isn’t the case for all of my friendships. I’ve made a few substantial friends that I would enjoy spending time with outside of and after Ethiopia. One of my friends just left and we’re planning a reunion in Europe early next year. That’s exciting. When you meet people overseas, you are fortunate, to an extent, to meet people who like to travel. I’ve been lucky in that I’ve found people who are low maintenance but up for adventures.
There have definitely been nights where I’m tired or just feeling all-around funky (and not in a good or smelly way) and just want to stay home. But you don’t meet new people by staying at home. No one is going to come knocking on my gate saying, “Hey, I heard a cool person lives here. Is she home?” It doesn’t work like that. Recently, I was invited to join this group who has potlucks every Wednesday. I was out of town the first week it happened and Lovie told me about when I came back. I was told that the host was responsible for preparing the main dish and everyone else would bring side dishes. I was also told that this was kind of a closed event. So after only attended one potluck, I volunteered to host.
The organizer of this whole thing, Dirty Joke (DJ), came over early yesterday to prepare a dessert. DJ explained to me that it’s not supposed to be stressful (because I was worried that I wasn’t going to have enough food). Whoever could make it would come and then someone would host the next week. We talked more and he told me that it wasn’t supposed to be a closed event, that the idea was to bring new people together and break up cliques that were forming. Of course there are going to be cliques but you don’t want it to come to the point where people are ACTIVELY excluding others, especially when we all see each other at various events, bars, etc. The expat community is definitely very small.

Anyway, last night was nice. Only four people came but it seems that I had just enough food for everyone. I made pork ribs (in the crockpot) and chicken pot pie from scratch, both of which turned out very well. And the company was really good. Sometimes it's nice to get to know people in an intimate setting that isn't a restaurant and just talk about anything and not have to worry about the people at the next table hearing you. We should definitely do these things more often...

West Side!

All of my friends told me that I would love West Africa (except the East Africans. They were pretty adamant that I wouldn’t like West Africa). This is the place where they love thick women right? That’s my kind of place. So when I had the opportunity to travel to Ghana for training, I thought this would be a great opportunity to at least get a sneak peek at Africa’s West Side. I have to say that I was a bit underwhelmed. Granted, I was staying at a hotel near the airport and didn’t really have anyone to explore with , though I suppose I could have gone with some of the other participants. Ghana is really hot and humid, very much like DC in the summer. So it was already uncomfortable to leave the house. In addition, we had to take taxis everywhere and they were CONSTANTLY overcharging me to go places that, I was told, should cost 5-6 cedis (Ghanaian currency). The two people who took me out while I was there took me to the same place. I had some amazing Sushi there and it seemed like there were a variety of restaurants. Traffic is somewhat bad (still not worse than Nairobi); Addis still has them beat, though. I don’t feel like I got a chance to see a whole lot. I asked one of the attendees about places to shop and she gave me a list of places. Of course, once I cross checked this list with one of my African American friends, I was told that this one place, “Global Mamas”, is where foreigners like to point people. I found this out after I had already been there. They have nice stuff, definitely some things that you wouldn’t be able to find in a regular outdoor market. I was able to buy my friend’s mom an apron. What really put me off was the fact that I didn’t see any actual Ghanaians working in the store. Allegedly everything was made by Ghanaians but there were two white Americans working there. I prefer to directly support local economic development and that was not happening there.

Two other days, I went to the National Art Center, where one of the larger markets was located. This was a challenging experience because people are very, VERY aggressive as you are just trying to walk through and see what they’re selling. I like to have a few days in a market so that I can get a feel for what type of stuff there is, and if there are any things specific to a country that I can’t get anywhere else. For example, you can get an African mask in most African countries; the same applies to carved animals. In Ethiopia, they largely sell Ethiopian things but if you start seeing carved animals and masks, you HAVE to ask if it’s from Kenya (one of the largest producers and exporters of African souvenirs). Most of the time people will be honest. Most of the time, you can tell anyway. So, the first day, I stopped at one of the first stalls and this man was trying to charge me something like $50 cedis (about $30/33 USD) for two necklaces that probably cost $5 (if that) in real life. I went to the next stall where they had some beautiful dresses. The problem I face is that, when things are mass produced, they are made for smaller women. I know, I know, I’m not the biggest thing walking. But I’m not small and I’m quite honest about that. So I try to tell people that I need something BIG. Not a mu-mu, but just a larger dress. So they handed me several dresses that were quite unattractive, or too small. Meanwhile, as I’m bantering with the two guys who work there, several other men come over. At one point, there were a solid seven men at this stall, watching me try on these dresses over my work clothes, telling me that they looked good on me. Lies.

I was able to find one that I liked and got him down to a price that I could deal with. I also bought a few pairs of earrings, which are allegedly Ghanaian beads. (I say allegedly because I heard later that they also import Chinese beads that look very similar). One guy found me later and said he wanted to take me out (after I affirmed that, no I had not been there before, and that I was leaving on Saturday). I take his number and continue walking around. People were coming out of NO WHERE asking if I wanted to buy T-shirts, mudcloths, keychains, masks, etc. And I mean, almost screaming like “Sista! Madam! I have T-shirts. Come to my shop!” I went back the next day to buy more stuff (even though I ran out of money…again) and it was a relatively pleasant, yet stressful, experience. The Ghanaians are nice but they’re aggressive. It was nice to be able to joke and have people understand (you can tell how much that means to me). But by the time it was time to go, it was STRESSFUL to try to get into the taxi as people were trying to sell me things literally up until the moment the car pulled off. The people selling things outside of the market are the most desperate. They’ll start at some ridiculous price (four-five times what it probably costs, or what you negotiate it down to) and you have to play this game of “I’ll give you this”, then they reject it and you walk away, then they are literally forcing it into your hands, saying that they’ll give it to you for $3 or something ridiculous. I was able to get a painting like that.

One thing that was good/ bad about the market is seeing how the vendors work together. You can literally just go to one store and tell them you’re looking for elephants, bracelets, dresses and shea butter and they will go all around the market and bring these things to you from their vendor friends. I got caught up with this, though, when I went back to the same dress guy and mentioned that I wanted to get some mudcloth and someone brought me some. I had promised someone that I would buy from them the day before and I THOUGHT it was the same guy, but I was fooled. Later, I felt bad and wanted to buy something from the guy I had promised the day before, but I was almost out of money.

So the lesson for you is to think about what you want to buy (and if you have somewhere to put it…I have fans and a mud cloth that are sitting in my bedroom because I have no idea where to put them). Also, always act like you’re not that interested and be prepared to walk away. If you act too excited, they’ll definitely overcharge you. AND they will try to overcharge you anyway, even as they’re saying “Sista, we come from the same place”. Lies. So whatever they say, start at about…1/3 of that price. They think that all foreigners are ballers and will try to charge you as such. (I know all of this already, cause I'm a seasoned pro, ya understand).

I don’t really have much else to report about Ghana. I wasn’t feeling particularly adventurous and the heat (and mosquitos) were a deterrent for moving around. I wish that I would have had some time to just get dropped off somewhere and walk around, get a feel for the city, see the beach, etc. Not this trip. So I’m not opposed to hot weather and west Africa but let’s just say, I’m not sold on it.

To Market, To Market...

I didn’t grow up on fresh fruit and vegetables. Well, maybe fresh fruit. Bananas, apples, pears, oranges, peaches and grapes. We also had a plum tree in our front yard that used to bear fruit in the summer (til it died…). Fresh vegetables, however? No. My mom was all about a can or bag of vegetables, which are delicious, don’t get me wrong. Who doesn’t love Glory Greens? But we all know how nutrition experts talk about how canned vegetables have lost some of their nutrients in the canning process. Frozen veggies are good but fresh ones are the best. But again, that’s not how Mom rolled. I have a close and personal relationship with Del Monte and Green Giant. Ho Ho Ho.

Moving to Ethiopia has brought me into a whole new world (a new fantastic point of view) with regards to live fruits and vegetables. A few weeks ago, my friend Lovie and I went to the vegetable market near her house. Normally, I have my cook buy my vegetables and fruit but since I changed her schedule, I knew I needed to buy some on my own. Going to the market was very intimidating for me. I don’t know what’s good and what’s not – I literally just pick up whatever’s not green (unless it’s supposed to be green, like broccoli). The prices aren’t stated anywhere and everything’s measured in kilos. I remember one of my coworkers telling me to just let my cook buy my fresh stuff because she’ll get the good prices. The problem with that is that she doesn’t know what I like so I end up with things like zucchini and eggplant, when I prefer spinach and carrots. Now, Lovie lived in Malawi for two years, deep in the village so she’s used to navigating the local markets. It was a little humbling to see her handling this like a pro and me being nervous about asking how much things were. I’m all about getting in with the people and whatnot, but I had never been to the market before. Not because I didn’t know where it was but largely because I was scared of it. Yep, me, The G…scared of the market. I rarely buy fresh fruit and vegetables in the States (though that might be because of price and my inability to eat them fast enough) and you’re talking about a MARKET with several different stands selling all you can eat freshness? Nah.

Anyway, this sunny Saturday afternoon, Lovie suggests that we go to the vegetable market instead of to the supermarket (which ironically doesn’t sell much in terms of fruits and veggies). Alright, let’s do it. I have my list of things and initially, it was a little overwhelming. But Lovie pointed out which stands usually had good prices and quality food. At the first stand, I bought some broccoli, tomatoes, peppers and something else. I thought the man told me 50 birr (about 3 dollars and some change)for everything and was happily handing over my money (YOU know how much four peppers, two heads of broccoli, and five tomatoes cost in the states). Lovie said “No, that’s not right.” She starts asking the man for the price of everything. He’s weighing the food in front of us and showing us the price. The total was 23.50. I only heard the fifty part, obviously. So I got my food for less than $2.

We moved on to another booth and bought some beets (yes, whole beets), mangos, and papaya. The man working at the booth asks when we want to eat the papaya. What? Um…before it goes bad. They pick out the papaya based on when you want to eat it, so it’ll be ready when you are. Clever. We buy some fresh eggs, onions and garlic. Now, this is where my ignorance shows. Actually, no. That was shown when I didn’t know what the papaya looked like. I asked Lovie (after telling her I wanted mangos and papaya) what that big green thing was. “Papaya”. Fool. Anyway, I’ve seen garlic cloves. I promise. I HAVE! I just…seemed to have forgotten seeing them. So there was yet another moment of “What’s that?” and Lovie responding “The garlic you want”. I’m going to get better at this.

Overall, I enjoyed the experience. There was something liberating about buying my own stuff and overcoming the fear of the market. I speak a little Amharic, enough to tell them how much of something I want and ask how much it is (and MOST of the time, I can understand what they say back). I’m in a country where I can buy mangos, bananas, papayas, and pineapples almost all the time very cheaply and I was leaving it up to someone else. Bad Shawn. My fridge is stocked with lots of fun things…now I just need to cook them. :-

One Less Degree to Keep Me Warm at Night

It's taken a lot of deliberation over the past few years, but I have finally decided to discontinue my PhD program. I've had a lot of conversations with various people about this but it has been my decision to make. And it's been a tough decision. Black women with PhDs are still not that numerous (though the number is growing). For such a long time, the PhD was a sign of my potential; pursuing the PhD said to the world, "Yes, I'm a smart as you thought I was". It was interesting, as I talked to one of my friends who is applying for PhD programs now: I told her to ask herself why she wanted the PhD and if she could do what she wanted without it. She told me that she wanted the PhD so she could be smart. Admittedly, that stung a little, given that I've been toying with the idea of stopping this pursuit essentially since 2008. Was I giving up my opportunity to be smart?

I passed the classes and the qualifying exams. Technically, I am a qualified PhD candidate. I've proven my intelligence. I remember when I was thinking of applying to different doctoral programs, ones more focused on international development. I kept saying that I didn't want to redo the coursework and later, exams. But when I think back on my classes, none of them destroyed me. I got A's in every class I took at Rutgers. A 4.0 GPA. I literally haven't seen that since the beginning of the last decade. So it's not like I couldnt' do it again. I mean, I did pledge, I mean...graduate from MIT.

The past 2.5 years have allowed me time to question whether it was just frustration or was it that I was burnt out. Was it me or the program? How useful will the PhD be in the field? I feel like I've gotten all I need from this particular program. I felt like I only had one person really in my corner and everyone else was just trying to figure out a way to fit me in. There were only a few professors in the "International Development" section, two of whom were frequently on sabbatical. The professor they begged to be my dissertation chair, well, they had to beg her. She wasn't invested in me and I wasn't invested in her. But she was the only one with ID experience with enough tenure to be my chair. I saw the signs early on and this last semester was just my breaking point. When I talked to my friends, they would say "You're halfway there. You might as well finish". Ha..if only you knew. The classes were the easy part. The exams...not as easy but again, nothing I couldn't repeat. The hard part was nailing down my interest and trying to force something that didn't match. I have urban planning interests, but I'm also interested in community development and international development. And women and youth. Sometime in 2009, I had to admit to myself why I applied to doctoral programs. It seemed like the natural thing to do. I enjoyed writing papers, I liked doing research (or so I thought). I realized that I wrote decent papers and could be a good writer with some more tweaking. My mom always told me that I would be a great researcher, that's something she could see me doing. And I didn't want to apply for jobs, because I didn't know what kind of jobs I was interested in. I like infrastructure, I like problem solving/ trouble-shooting, I like helping disadvantaged groups, I like history, I like helping people, I like education. You see how this was problematic? So I applied and figured that, if I didn't get into a school, THEN I'd apply for a job (or go sit on my parent's couch for the next year). And I got accepted to schools. And I chose Rutgers because the professors I met were nice and they gave me a full scholarship.

When I talk to people now about graduate school, I ask them why they want to get a PhD. Why do they think they need it? In some fields, yes, to do certain things, you definitely need it. It depends on what you're trying to do, though. After working and looking at the types of jobs I would want to have in the future, I realized that, to do what I want to do, a PhD is not going to give me that much of an advantage. People keep saying "A Black woman with a PhD? You'll be a rare commodity". True. But do you know how many people working international development are Black? Like, African American? As in, born in the United States and working in this field? Few. I am pretty sure that there are two African Americans working in my mission of 225 people. And the other guy has a distinct accent that definitely makes you question that "American" part (but I haven't seen the man's birth certificate so I'ont know). Add in these two degrees from one of the most prestigious and assumed to be difficult institutions in the country and hell, I'm still rare. What I did realize though, when looking at potential positions, was that I didn't have experience. Sure, I could have a PhD and some organizations might excuse a few years of experience, but I would be competing with people with Masters degrees with five years of experience (or more). If I hadn't started working, I would have finished (hopefully) and tried applying for practitioner positions and they would have said: "Ok, you can read. You know methods and are now an expert in this one area. What have you done?" And I would have nothing to say. You don't need a PhD to be a consultant; you need years of experience, at least in my field. Shoot, you really don't even need one to teach at the university level. My professor for my Intro to Urban Planning class was an urban planner, without a PhD. The PhD, isn't a sign of intelligence; it's a sign of endurance.

So, maybe in a few years, I'll resume this pursuit, with some years of practical experience under my belt and a better focus on what I'm really interested in. I wouldn't discourage anyone from getting their PhD; I would just pose the question of why and do you need it? It's a long process to go through just for how it looks to others or based on other people's expectations. You'll be respected but that respect won't get you through those frustrating years that feel like an eternity. I would also encourage people to work before working on their PhD. I felt like I was at a disadvantage oftentimes in my Masters program because people spoke from experience, while I sat there thinking...well, at my internship, I saw.... You have to go in focused on a target when you start a PhD (or have a lot of people to help guide you); I didn't have a target other than international development (which is a start but, in my opinion, not enough).

So much of what drove me to stay in the program was this feeling that other people would be disappointed. My friends, my family, etc. Oh no, she's not living up to her potential! And the PhD was the only way to do that. What happened after I finished? Was that my peak? I was so concerned about what other people were going to think-- that I was a quitter, that I couldn't do it. Why couldn't it just be that I didn't want to anymore? That it's not for me. Admittedly, there's a certain amount of attention and awe that come with working on/ obtaining a PhD. People think you're smart and that you're doing something incredible (like your dissertation is going to cure cancer...mine wasn't). I'll miss that. Then I'll just tell them I went to MIT and that'll bring back the awe :) (just kidding/ not really).

I've come to terms with my decision and am a lot less stressed (and have a lot more free time). I realized that I've been in school since 2002. That's almost ten years of going with the flow. I'm happy that I'm taking these steps (getting a job, moving across the world) to figure out what it is I really want to do and freeing myself from the expectations of what people think I should be doing and doing what makes me happy (or...again, at least taking steps to get there). Free at last.