snapshots of my wednesday

I blatantly lied- I will not be picking up where I left off. Instead I am doing a short post of quick stories:

#1 I was speaking to a teenage girl today about safety around her apartment complex. She asked me if it was normal to hear sirens at night (I said it was) and then she asked me about serial killers. She apparently had heard a child crying last night (to be expected in a large apartment complex) and remembered hearing from "somewhere" that there was a serial killer in the United States who used a recording of a crying child to lure women outside to kill them. I in fact received the same chain email several years ago (one of those "forward to every woman you know!") and was as sure than as I am now that it is an elaborate urban legend. Trying to explain to someone with limited english that such stories are false, however, is difficult. I ultimately told her to talk to her father if she was in doubt (I assume he is more level-headed not being 17)

#2 I dropped of a nepali family at a clinic this afternoon after a completely silent 45 minute car ride (again, REALLY uncomfortable for me). While I was checking us in one of the women kept saying something to me but I didn't understand and I felt bad that I couldn't decipher what she needed. The receptionist jumped in to help and I found out that the woman was saying "stool sample," referring to the paper bag she was holding. But of course! Why didn't I guess that's what she was getting at?

#3 turns out that my FBI criminal background check has not gone through yet (speaking of the shockingly predictable-- there is a backlog of background request cases after AmeriCorps decided to require them for the first year). It could be weeks till I'm cleared and until then I cannot be left alone with "vulnerable populations" (read: children) for fear what I may do to them. Unfortunately, as a large part of my job involves school registration and homework-help, this has become a problem and I have had to take parents with me to inane school appointments and classroom tours with little or no explanation as to why I cannot just take their kids myself. (I didn't want to start the conversations "well, it is not safe for you to leave your kids with me just yet.....") Damn bureaucracy!   

As promised, a cast of characters in my house

The descriptions are in order of the pictures, right to left, top to bottom. Pictures are courtesy of an iphone app called "yearbook yourself" (best ap ever)

Carolyn—a 2^nd year JV from California. She has some killer dance moves and her hobbies include cross-stitching robots. She also tells excellent stories about the people she sees at the homeless drop-in center where she works. For her birthday we made a 6-layer rainbow cake (each layer a different color). She is the only person in the house with a car and lets anyone drive it (except for me because stories about learning to drive somehow came up and it was decided afterwards that it would be better if I didn’t borrow her car ever)

Joe—hails from Vancouver (WA not Canada) and is the lone male in our house but probably a bigger feminist than the rest of us combined. For his birthday he gave each of us knitted hats. He is particularly good at insulting banter (which is a critical requirement for me) and tells great stories along with Carolyn (he also works at a homeless drop-in center.)

Katie—from Chicago, another pre-med nutcase except she has already been accepted to medical school and so consequently is more sane than the rest of us. She is incredibly good at repeating stand-up comedy (which a lot of people think they are good at but ARE NOT). She works with the Wallace Medical Concern (free clinic for the uninsured) and cannot cook but makes up for it by washing dishes constantly. Definitely has a Midwest accent that makes me giggle inside.

Lauren—Another pre-med student, in a similarly terrifying place as me trying to apply for med school while volunteering. She has a particularly fantastic, off-color sense of humor that nicely compliments my own (I would repeat a few jokes she has told me here but I have heard a rumor that Grammy Ann is reading this—love you Grammy Ann!). She is from Long-Island and when talking about her mother unconsciously adopts a New York accent.  

Liz—A second year JV from Connecticut with one of the most extensive collections of top-40 pop music I have ever seen (also has a great voice). For her birthday we each wrote a haiku in her honor and performed them in a drum circle. (one of the haikus, appropriately was entirely comprised of Justin Beiber lyrics). She works in a shelter for victims of domestic violence and consequently cannot tell us where she goes everyday since its location is confidential-I am convinced she is really working for the CIA. She’s working in the cubicle across the lunchroom for me (good for time-wasting visits) with UNICA, a subsidiary of El Programa Hispano that addresses domestic violence in the latino community.  

Claire—originally from Chicago (also occasionally has an accent) but she does a fabulous Sean Connery impression (makes my day every time). She is working in the same building as me but two floors down (and consequently she’s not as important if I understand American business culture correctly) with transitional housing. She is also a 2^nd year JV and is our community’s book-keeper (she would not include “drug money” as part of our official budget though so I’m not sure she is trustworthy…..)

Julia—Also working with El Programa Hispano she is originally from Seattle. Julia is a GREAT cook, puts me to shame, and I have been conditioned to start salivating every time she walks towards the kitchen (does the name Pavlov ring a bell?). She is the only person I have met who actually enjoys reading great Latin American literature for fun and not just for edification (I am pretty sure that everyone else who says that is lying but I have seen Julia consume these books at an alarming rate).

Sarah--I hope you know me

First full week: still truckin' along, not yet a hipster

I survived my first full week of work with the refugees (as did they) but I was pretty damn tired by Friday afternoon. I think that my favorite story was from when I had to take an Iranian guy to bus training at the community center. Most of the refugees are still too nervous to take the bus right after training so I told him that I would be there to pick him up afterwards. But when I got there I found that he had taken a bus home already—I think public transportation in a strange city was a more attractive option than getting back into a car with me driving (I think the curb I jumped while pulling into the parking lot when I dropped him off was the final straw). So really I am providing a motivating force for refugees to be self-sufficient: sheer terror.

Later during the week I had to make a trip to DHS (dept of human services) with some Somalis. I picked up the first guy and discovered that he spoke NO English so we sat in complete silence for a while—which I have discovered makes me uncomfortable. I was relieved that we were picking up a second Somali because I figured that at least the two of them could talk but I forgot that it is inappropriate for unrelated Somali men and women to speak to each other so when we picked up the second lady the silence continued…..for 3 hours. [side story about that second woman: she was partially paralyzed and thus unable to walk. We had a wheelchair but she was on the 2^nd floor of the house (that was the floor with the bathroom). Our office being extremely busy I was not given any details about transportation so as I was driving there I had visions of having to fireman-carry this poor woman, abiyeh and all, down a flight of stairs so that she could get food stamps. Luckily it turns out she could hobble down stairs with the aid of a second person and the railing so her dignity and mine were mostly preserved] After that visit to DHS I would guess that approximately 70% of refugees have the debit card pin number of 1234.

I also officially met all of the children for whose welfare I am responsible (what the hell was the government thinking? Poor souls). I made sure they were all registered for school and met their parents. The school registration process was fun—it doesn’t matter whether someone is a refugee or not, teenagers are still teenagers and they are all anxious about starting school and are too cool to smile for their ID cards (till I made funny faces).

I have a lot more stories but unfortunately the library is about to close. I will try to type up a few posts during my lunch break this week (I only got to sit down and eat lunch once last week. This is a problem. I think the hardest part of my work this year will be telling people that I am too busy to add another errand to the list--tho I hear that I am genetically predisposed to not say no). Preview of things to come: my first home visit as a social worker, teaching knitting to the international community, and some alarming facts I have learned about the resettlement process. To be continued…..   

Why did the State of Utah grant me a license?

I succesfully drove around Portland for the second time today. I got to deliver games, crayons, and books to two somali children. That was a purely wonderful and fun experience that totally helped make up for the nightmarish first time that I drove in Portland. My first driving experience was assigned on Friday when I was asked to find an iranian man in a hotel by the airport and deliver a check (sounded like the start of a law and order episode to me too). He did not speak english but, I was assured, his daughter could translate. I had to take them to a nearby bank and to the grocery store. It seemed simple enough but I was terrified (hard to emphasize that last word enough). I was frantically looking up directions to and from these locations when the caseworker reminded me that the bank closed at three and that I had to get my butt in gear (no she didn't use those words--she is an older immigrant from the former USSR and tends to be a bit more dry in her humor). I grabbed my purse and ran to the stairwell. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my keycard and ended up locked in the stairwell, unable to get the necessary car keys. I had to exit through the basement and then run back up to the fourth floor, ask to be buzzed in, and then fetch the keys to try again. When I got to the car I then set off the alarm system and spent approximately forty seconds cussing as I tried to turn of the alarm. With this inauspicious beginning, I was off. The car was, unfortunately, out of fuel so I had to detour to a nearby gas station where I was yelled at by an attendant for attempting to fill up my car myself (apparently in the state of Oregon it is illegal to pump your own gas--not even kidding). I made it to the hotel without incident but was too late to make it to the planned bank. luckily, my brother, after many threats, looked up directions to an alternative bank with later hours. I walked into the hotel and inquired at the front desk as to which room the father and daughter were inhabiting. Unfortunately the front desk had no record of a pair of iranians with an elaborate last name (details witheld to protect the innocent) and it took twenty minutes and three phone calls to the office to discover that they were, in fact, in the room right next to the fron desk. With a mixture of relief and trepidation I knocked on the door-and got no answer. I stood there for a while, wondering what to do, until a small middle-eastern man walked up to me with a confused look on his face. I surmised that this must be the father and my suspicions were confirmed when he acknowledged his name but couldn't respond to any of my questions. There was no sign of the daughter, and the father couldn't explain to me where she had gone. He indicated that I should wait in the lobby and kept repeating "five minutes." An hour later I started to get desperate and even tried to call my iranian friend from jr. high who I thought might speak farsi so that I could figure out where this missing girl was. The father seemed really aggitated and probably was sharing my visions of this girl dead in a ditch somewhere. Fortunately she was not dead--or at least managed to look very much alive when she finally walked up to us, full of apologies. She had apparently left the hotel in search of food (understandable since I am pretty sure that no one fed these two since they had gotten off the plane the night before). On our way to the bank, through an argument with a teller who was unfamiliar with Iranian passports, and through our shopping trip this teenage girl was firing questions at me about life in the United States. Specifically, she wanted to know whether people studied dance in the US, where one studied dance, how expensive was it, etc. I tried to be polite and answer her questions (though a lot of them stumped me to the point where she asked me if I was sure I was an american) but I felt more and more uneasy about giving her a false picture about life in the US for refugees. The hardest moment was when she pointed to a nearby house (a relatively nice one) and asked if that is the kind of place that they will live--the average refugee gets $339/mo in state assistance which is hardly enough to pay rent on a crummy apartment, let alone a house. Furthermore, this girl was about to turn 18 and would probably not even get to go to high school for a year before having to stop and get a job to help with finances--dance lessons were unlikely. I got home (several hours late) feeling pretty crummy. Working with the Burmese family in Salt Lake was so overwhelmingly positive- this was the first inkling I've gotten that this year is going to be a lot tougher.

In other (less depressing) news of Sarah's new experiences:
1. I managed to make an appointment with someone via telephone in Spanishy (for those of you who speak a second language, you understand how much harder it is to talk on the phone than in person). I think I succesfully made an appointment at least--I suppose I will find out on Thursday when I show up at their house whether or not they were expecting me.
2. I cleaned out a chicken coop. Our house was invited to help out some franciscan nuns around their home/farm/convent(?)/italian villa in the woods. It was gorgeous and a fun way to spend a saturday morning. My job was cleaning out the large chicken coops (not as awful as it sounds). The best part was that the nuns served us chickens for lunch--I appreciated directly benefiting from my work in some way and I appreciated getting even with the chicken community for the mess they made. I also saw a chicken lay an egg (totally justified the 4 wheelbarrows of chickenshit that I shoveled)! I knew theoretically that eggs came from chickens but I now have visual confirmation.

First Day

I started my work with Catholic Charities: Refugee Resettlement Program today. I have been inundated with information about intake procedures, legal requirements, housing standards, etc. and there is a small voice in the back of my head screaming. My face is smiling, however, and I mostly enjoyed today. For the larger portion of the day I tagged along with a case manager as he helped a few Bhutanese families. I was cooked Nepali food (they were Bhutanese/Nepali refugees--it is kinda confusing and that confusion is the reason they were forced from their homeland). Nepali food is BOMB!!! SO good!! I highly recommend it.

On the not-so-exciting side of things, I discovered that a large part of my job is to drive refugee families around the city of Portland in a 15 passenger van. This may really surprise those who know me well but I don't like driving--I am, in fact, really bad at it--and I have a less-than-adequate sense of direction. Poor, poor refugees--forced from their homes, ignored by international law and now subjected to Sarah driving an alarmingly large vehicle in a strange city not built on a grid-system. I am terrified (as should everyone else on the road in Portland). I have already had one or two offers from friends and family for a GPS, however, which I really think that I will accept.

As I type this I am the only person left in the office. It is only 4pm but most of the case managers came in before 7:30am today to finish up their case notes as today is the day of the office review performed by a state official (I picked a bad day to start). I was prompted to be unethical and log on the internet at work to post this note after reading over an orientation form concerning health checks. I kept reading about something called a "Class A condition" and I was confused and had to look up what that meant. It apparently refers to refugees with serious illnesses that would normally preclude them from admittance to the US. Naturally, I read on and found that Class B conditions, in turn, are those that "constitute a substantial departure from normal well-being." There was then a list of Class B conditions including substance abuse, treated tuberculosis and leprosy, sexually-transmitted diseases, and.....Pregnancy!!! HA!! To be fair, one could argue that pregnancy is a sexually transmitted infection but I am not sure that it counts as a substantial departure from normal well-being cause, you know, what's the alternative method? But all Class B conditions do require immediate treatment upon arrival (not really sure what the catholics are going to do about it.....) God bless the US Dept. of Health and Human Services.

Again, I will soon introduce my house. I am waiting on a spectacular piece of accompanying artwork to do so (you will understand when you see it) untill then, Au revoir!

Contextualized Potatoes

So I start work tomorrow and all is looking good so far. I still love my house (cast of characters to come later- the library is about to close) and I am excited to go do justice-y things. I tried to make dinner for the house tonight--curried potatoes--and epically failed (we are talking like Botswana Jambalaya failure). I kept explaining to my housemates that it doesn't normally look that way and that they didn't have to eat it. But then Joe sternly told me stop contextualizing the potatoes, and everybody cleaned their plates.

I do not have time to give a complete update (again, closing library) so I am going to leave you with a brief list of "observations" regarding the incomplete fulfillment of several expectations I had for this area.


Three ways in which I was misled about Portland by people back home:

First, it has not rained once. I was told to expect a deluge, a series of monsoons, a veritable biblical flood. Nothing. It has been gorgeous and sunny every day.

Second, I was repeatedly regaled with tales of how wonderful Mt. Hood is and how there is a marvelous view of it from our house (from my bedroom in fact). When I arrived I kept looking and looking but I could not find Mt. Hood. I began to believe that it did not exist. Then a roommate pointed it out from my room (see below--sorry it is sideways, I am struggling) see Mt hood? it is that tiny triangle between the trees. Biggest letdown ever.

Third, I have not seen nearly as many hipsters as I expected. I went downtown today and was on the lookout for hipsters (I had my net ready). I did see four or five gems but it was not in the quantity expected--I can see a greater concentrations of hipsters at the Mount on Sunday night. However, I have heard that they might avoid the sun so I am willing to wait and give them a second chance another day. I did see one guy on the bus next to me in tight pants, a wispy mustache and a band t-shirt with a fixed-gear bike and I almost yelled "OMG you're a hipster aren't you?!" but I didn't think I could handle the disdain in return.

That is all for now. I probably won't be able to post for a few days (the library closes early the second half of the week--WTF?) stay well untill then!!!

Snapshots from Orientation

Hello all! I am alive, well, and back from orientation. I have moved into a wonderful house/ ex-convent located in Gresham, Oregon (outside of Portland) across the street from a catholic parish (we have already received two boxes of donuts and a pie from the parishioners—among other things). I am living with 7 other people—aka the cast of characters who I will introduce later—and have not yet started working (Wednesday is the day). Orientation was a week-long affair in a lovely mountain camp. Given my propensity for making a story out of nothing I have way more stuff to share than time to do so. So I have assembled the following list:

Snapshots of orientation:

#1 DIDN’T throw up!!!! Might be the first serious transition I have endured without dramatically casting up my accounts. Don’t get me wrong, it was a hell of a lot of work. I was really tense and constantly on edge thinking about how big this year will be. It took constant journaling, daily mass, and a few lengthy meditation periods to keep my lunches in place. Not to toot my own horn—but TOOT! I am proud of myself. I even found beauty in the anxiety (only briefly—I haven’t ascended to sainthood yet—most of the week I spent cursing it).At one point I was sitting by the river—which went from calm and deep, through a brief waterfall and then was calm and deep again—and I wrote the following: “as I sit, in what I hope isn’t poison oak [it wasn’t], I realize that the part of the water that I want to watch is the turbulence as it falls through the rocks. The transition from one deep calm to the next is the beautiful part—that is what elicits poetry. I suppose the same will be in my life—the parts that are worth writing about are the transitions”

#2 During orientation we had WAY too many information sessions about conflict management and intentional communication. I was exhausted and my butt hurt (folding chairs from hell) so I didn’t get a lot out of it. Three moments particularly stood out:

                The Good: my community (I’ll explain them later) had a conversation about meals. Joe (the lonely male among eight women) said that he had recently read Omnivore’s Dilemma and was interested in seeking out food without corn or corn products in the interest of sustainable farming. I nearly shed a tear.

The Bad: one presenter made us practice conflict-resolution statements “When you x I feel y because z.” so I turned to Lindsay: [Me] “When you wear the color red I feel threatened because it is a sign of warning in nature.” [Lindsay] “When you make snarky comments during group presentations I feel reassured because I know I’m not the only bitch in the room.”

The WTF?: I didn’t realize that talking about what milk to buy was really necessary. I am easy going; I will drink skim, 1%, 2% and even whole milk when in Africa. But six of eight of my housemates said that they preferred almond milk. WTF? How does one milk an almond?

#3 Because JVC Northwest got a huge AmeriCorps grant this year they have changed the system of support for JVs (something about the federal government requiring JVC Northwest to give a minimum level of financial support to volunteers—psh! commies). Consequently we now get $700/mo. $550 of that automatically goes back to the community for rent, utilities and food but the rest we are left with to pay for transportation, healthcare and personal needs. But JVC Northwest is encouraging us to consider donating all of our money back to JVC except for our $80/mo stipend and a bus pass. Everyone in the community felt differently about it. In the end I decided to give it all back to JVC Northwest. I started thinking about what I could save the extra money for and decided that this was exactly what I didn’t want to think about. A few of my housemates chose the same (the few, the proud, the dirt-poor).

#4 This was the most somber moment of the week. A representative of the Oregon Province of Jesuits came to speak to us about a legal settlement that will be announced later in the week. The Province is officially bankrupt and is dividing its savings of $160 million among victims of sexual abuse from decades past. A lot of that money is apparently being sent to the poorer reservations where JVs are serving and no one is quite sure how that will impact the community. The priest also read to us the letter of formal, heartfelt apology that is being sent to each of the claimants. He was crying while speaking to us and it was really tense. I had never really understood how these things I had read about it the newspapers really impacts individuals. It was a lot to think about. One of the more random depressing thoughts that passed through my mind is that if we ever do discover an alien race in the next few centuries then my fond dream of the Jesuits secretly building a spaceship to send a mission probably won’t happen now that they’re broke (has anyone else read The Sparrow?)

A serious note to end on, but never fear! I have many more stories and insights to impart to your computer screens (whether or not you read them, they will be there). Feel free to text or facebook me—though I cannot promise how promptly I will answer. Hasta Luego!

PS hipster update: I am NOT yet a hipster but one of my roommates did knit us all hats and then my housemates taught me how to wear it like a hipster and informed me that it looked great. The process has begun…

Two Days and Counting....

I officially begin my year of service in two days. I decided to keep a blog for this year--like blogswana, though probably not as funny--so that my ubiquitous relatives can keep track of me without having to call my mom. I probably will also not be able to post as often because I won't have internet access in my house (all of that simple living we're supposed to be doing). For those of you who still aren't sure what JVC is, check out their website: http://www.jvcnorthwest.org/index.php
My placement is with Catholic Charities Refugee and Immigration Services. I don't know exactly what I will be doing but it will involve a lot of language barriers (my favorite).

I struggled with a name for this blog (again, not as easy to be funny as it was with Botswana). A close second was "JV C U in a year!" other than that there was also "Not-a-hipster-yet in Portland." Speaking of struggling, I need to go sort through my clothes to decide how much stuff I can stuff into one suitcase and still be living "simply." (my hair curlers were the first casualty. Edwin, my plant, was the second). So alas, I will have to say goodbye. Look for an update after August 13th when indoctrination.....I mean orientation, ends. Pray for me... (seriously though, not just a dry comment like my life is going to end. I think this will rock, but there is no way I will be able to do it on my own)