I Don't Get It

This post has nothing to do with anything internship related, but is a confusing observation I made while I was watching the movie Bad News Bears on TBS. One of the chubbier kids was yelling about how he was sick about everyone calling him ugly and planet fat-ass. It got me thinking.

Movie producers are often very detailed in the roles they want for movies, and when they advertise for auditions they put out ads looking for specific heights, ethnicities, body types, etc. I can only assume that for the above mentioned role (and the many other similar roles throughout Hollywood), the audition description mentioned something about an overweight and/or funny looking kid. What I can’t figure out, is what parent (who I assume act as some sort of manager for their child actors) would see a an audition call looking for an obese crater-face, and immediately think that their child would fit the role perfectly? Maybe I am just naive, but I would think that parents see their child as beautiful no matter what they look like, especially at that age. Not to mention, but wouldn’t the role destroy an already fragile confidence of a child when they have to read and memorize lines which confirm all of their insecurities?

Big Momma's House

So I haven’t updated my blog in what seems like years. I wrote a piece last week, and then figured I shouldn’t post it on a public internet site for the world to see (maybe I’ll put it on Facebook instead).


This past week I have been entertaining my Mom, who decided she couldn’t stand not seeing her baby boy until Christmas. The first highlight of the trip was our climb of the volcano which is responsible for the formation of the island. The hike was a classic example of rainforest climbing, and I couldn’t help but pretend that I was Bear Grylls from Man vs. Wild (telling the other hikers the amount of shit that I could make or eat from the trees and vegetation surrounding us). During much of the hike, I was situated at the front of the line, and as such had the best opportunity to spot any wildlife. And that I did.

The forest is apparently covered in monkeys, but much of the time they are able to completely conceal themselves. Just like Bear Grylls, I was able to spot the furry mischief makers throughout the trees, and managed to find 3 of them. However, unlike Bear Grylls, upon seeing them I could in no way control my excitement and let out a, “HOLY FUCK THERE’S A MONKEY” every time. This scared away the monkeys, and conveniently upheld my reputation as the only one talented enough to spot them. I guess I may take some of the blame for preventing the others from seeing the little creatures, but on the other hand, maybe the monkeys just need to man up and not get so offended by a little swearing. We manage to make the summit and safely return the bottom without any major incident.

The second highlight of the trip was our adventure on a catamaran sailboat. The boat carried us to local snorkling and swimming spots, all the while operating an open bar. Normally I would jump at the chance to fully take advantage of free alcohol, but something about partying with my mother kept me in check. Apparently this sentiment does not run in the family, and mom decided to put her son to shame.

Everything was going well until the boat began sailing for town, and the day of drinking began catching up to the passengers (which included a number of other families). Perhaps there was something about being on a sailboat in the Caribbean, but the parents began going wild. It’s as if they felt they were in a protective bubble (curiously located on the open seas), that allowed for traditional standards of parenting to be thrown overboard. Mothers were dancing provocatively with one another, fathers were making fun of their son’s for not drinking enough, and toddlers were left to pass-out at the front of the boat while their parents went to the back for more rum punch.

It was at this point I decided to check on my mom. As I stumbled to the back of the ship, to my horror, I saw her dancing to the soca rhythms with the captain of the ship. I put my hands on my hips and starred them both down. Surprisingly this did nothing. As I went to sit in close proximity to them, I saw one of the deckhands make his way towards the pair, in what I can only describe as an attempt to complete a red-headed Oreo. At this point I yelled , “MOM SIT DOWN”, and told the other intern, Lishai, to go and “rescue” her. At no point in my life have I ever wanted to fight the captain of a Caribbean sailboat more. We finally reached port, and exited the boat (all the while I gave a very stern and un-approving stare in the direction of the ship’s captain and deckhands). We finally make it back to the apartment, and I take mom to a crappy and over priced restaurant to cap off her stay.

Learning lessons

I recently incurred some interesting phone bills, probably as a result of not realizing that in this day and age it is still incredibly expensive to make long (long) distance phone calls. In my hurry to pay the bill online, I saw large amounts of imaginary money leave my account. When I finished I didn’t quite feel that I fully understood the actual cost of the calls, so I decided to make some calculations which would compare it to things that I can buy here in St. Kitts. Here we go.

Instead of spending time on the phone, I could have instead purchased:

-150 fried chicken lunches (with fries)
-300 bottles of beer at the bar
-180 pounds of ground beef
-750 litres of clean drinking water
-3 round trip tickets to the next closest island
-180 fresh pineapples
-112 tofu burgers
-45,000 grams of cheddar cheese

And last but not least, 3,800 long distance minutes on Skype

Lessons learned come hot and heavy in St. Kitts.

Kids

My neighbourhood always has tons of kids running around, and as the strange foreigner, I am often visited by every one of them. There are two main crews who come visit every night, one of girls and one of boys. The girls started coming first, and are younger than the fellas. They would often stand outside yelling until they are let in.

The crew of boys just started showing up recently and operate a little differently than the girls. The girls usually show up in two’s and three’s, however the boys roll as a pack. When I hear a knock on the door, I am often tricked into thinking there are only a few of them. However, upon opening the door, I’m usually confronted with 5-10 little smiling faces. At this point, regardless if I am working on dinner or in nothing but a towel, they barge their way in at surprising speed.

Once inside, my room becomes a zoo. Since I never know how many actually show up at any particular time, I am constantly monitoring the room. There are the ones who are going through the fridge, the couple who are playing on the computer, and the others who are rummaging through my delicates. Even when I try to force them to leave for the night, I often find a number of stowaways hidden in the closet, under the bed, or in the tub. Every time I find these little border jumpers, they always giggle with the satisfaction of having evaded my searches for so long.

I had taken the boys to play basketball at their school on Saturday. Like all 10 year old boys, what starts out as a friendly game of basketball quickly degenerates into drawing large penises on the walls of their school. I had never missed being 10 more in my life. Then, out of nowhere the smallest of the boys, LaMonte, gets his pants pulled down by another, Dave. LaMonte is left standing in the middle of the court, pants at his feet, cussing out the other kids. I yell at Dave to stop, and tell LaMonte to pull his pants up. He looks at me with a scowl on his face and says, “He pull em’ down, he can pull em’ up”. LaMonte walks away in nothing but his underwear and continues beautifying his school's walls. I have never seen someone with pants around their ankles look more badass.

Earlier that day they decide to make a music video to Money by Mavado. Gang signs are so adorable (around the 1:00 minute mark).

One of dem

This past year I went to my first ever concert, a Lil’ Wayne show at the ACC. I had never been to a concert before because I have just never believed in actually paying for music. But I decided that while here, it is one of the best ways to engage the local culture. Music is a big part of my life, and I have been lucky enough to have been exposed to a wide variety of it through my equally enthused friends. It’s almost like a common currency which can be taken throughout the world in exchange for cultural acceptance and conversation. This has been a major way I’ve tried to meet new people here, and so far it seems to have worked.

I am able to fit in quite easily that way here because I know a decent amount of Caribbean music. I can willie bounce, I know to wear neck protection while dutty wining, and I run the other way when girls ask me if I want to visit their rompin shop. I even recognized a few of the names that were going to be performing in this largely soca driven music festival.

Word usually spreads fast among my co-workers, all of whom usually gather in an area outside of office to gossip and relax. The day before the music festival(last Thursday), a bunch of the little old ladies who work around the office had heard about my impending attendance at the concert, and were apparently very curious if I knew of this kind of music or if I could dance. As I walk out my door for lunch, one of them asks if I can “flex it?”, I quickly crossed my arms and looked directly into her eyes and told her “I always wine up”, and then proceeded to do a little dutty wine. This brought on a hail of giggles from the two, either completely surprised that I knew what they were talking about or by the fact that I thought I could dance. It had thoroughly prepared me for the night ahead.

I am picked up by my boss’ two daughters, and we drive over to the stadium. When we arrive it is completely packed with people, and the outside is lined with beer and food tents. On stage are local bands performing and people going wild. It is an amazing atmosphere to be apart of, and I quickly move into the crowd. Many people who have met me, know of the few patented dance moves that I have developed and made famous. One which I have made quite popular is the lean wit it rock wit it dance, and the other is the willie bounce. I felt confident in busting these out amidst the crowd, but was soon faced with strange looks and people quickly moving away from me. I seem to forget that any dance moves which make their into a white boy from Canada’s repertoire, are probably already outdated here. I take my cues and stop immediately. The night ends at about 4 am, and I am at work the next day by 9 am. I felt like an old man, and took the rest of the weekend to recover from the lack of sleep.

UPDATE:
I uploaded the video of my interview with the local television station. If anyone needs to laugh at somebody, it's located in the post below.

I'm going to be on TV!

A major project we are doing here is called Community Mapping, and is a little bit like a census. In order to publicize it, a local television station came into the BNTF to interview a few of the coordinators. Apparently my boss thought it would be good to get one of the interns face out in the public eye.

Just a few words of caution. I had no idea that I was going to be interviewed and had just walked into the office from a rainstorm, so my hair (and poof) may not be the best. Second, I did the interview while being watched by boss, so if I come across as a little robotic or too serious it's only because I was nervous of screwing up and wanted want to make sure I represented the organization well. It's probably for the best though, if he wasn't there I probably would have tried to sneak in a few fart and boner jokes.

You can watch online. I think it will be airing on Friday, but I will update the blog when I find the exact times.

UPDATE: It will air on Friday, June 26th at 7:00 pm.

Day in the life of

I have been given a homework assignment from York. Even after a 9 month school year, it’s the University which keeps on giving (I probably just just booked myself an early trip home for that little jab). I have been given the task to write a blog which gives a little insight into the world in which I am currently living. I feel that through my past couple of anecdotes that you readers have gotten a little glimpse into the goings on of life here in St. Kitts, but I guess I’ll give you a closer look.

The best way to see a slice of my daily life is to chronicle a typical walk home from work.

The walk starts at about 4:15, as I leave the office. I walk out the door, and I see the same sight everyday. Chilling on the porch of one of the buildings is a crew of about 7 goats, and apparently they ride together, and they die together. Every time I see them they are either posting up on the wall napping, or walking really slow together hollering at the honeys while giving dirty looks to anyone else. Whenever I try to say what-up to them, they just stand there and stare at me. It’s kind of awkward.

As I continue the journey, I pass a couple of schools and walk through the main intersection in town. St. Kitts is a really friendly place and as I walk home I get a real sense of this. There are always people who greet me on my walk to and from work, and I kindly greet them back. There are a two of ways this interaction usually happens. Some people greet me like they would any other person they see on the street. The second, and most interesting group, are the ones which are probably seeing their first ever ginger kid in their neighborhood, and are amazed that this white boy is actually saying hello. You see, the vast majority of white people in St. Kitts are either FOBs (Fresh Off the cruise Boat) or live in the wealthy rural gated communities. I fit into neither of these categories, and as I will soon get into, live in an area devoid of said tourists and a neighborhood which has been stigmatized as a place rife with gang-violence.

I had been hoping to keep to this from my mom and grandma, but while I live in a very nice apartment, whenever I mention to locals the area in which I live, their jaws always drop. I liken the area to the Jane-Finch community in Toronto, both in its stigma, but also in its neglect by social services and infrastructure. But like the Jane-Finch neighborhood, there is a strong sense of community and plenty of young people.

I turn the corner and say what-up to the homeboys on the block, the ones who spend all day washing tricked out cars. I say hello to Ms. Small, the old lady always on her porch. I get a hug from Johanna, the little toddler who lives across the street. Just like any community which outsiders see as dangerous, once you begin living there and actually interacting with the neighbors in a respectful manner, the place becomes very welcoming. No need to worry though, I am keeping it real. I conduct all of this (to the best of my abilities) through a lens which recognizes that I am still an outsider, both racially and economically, understanding that all of these interactions are directly affected by these factors.

I end the day by heading to the corner bar. St. Kittitians have a particular brand of bar which is vastly different then what we are used to in Canada. First, it’s a hang-out for everyone in the community, kids of all ages are welcome. Second, they specialize in fried chicken. Third, they sell a wide variety of beer, all day long. Fourth, they have video games hooked up. And finally, they have big club speakers with a DJ spinning hip hop until sundown. They have managed to integrate the five most important pinnacles of my personality into a place the size of my old bedroom.

However, it is now dinner time and I am sorry, but I am going to have to make like a tree and go.

Office Dynamics

The dynamics of working in an office present a very unique experience, especially as an intern. There is a fine line to walk between: friendship and respect with your co-workers, lunch-breaks and work-breaks, and working hard and looking like a clown. Everyday normal activities are transformed into tasks which if taken out of context, will have serious effects on any of these relationships.

One such task I encountered today was the installation of a pin-board in our office. Pin-boards are one of those things which seem like a great idea at the time, but usually end up being disappointing and useless (like philosophy degrees and buying girls drinks). Nonetheless, I was presented with a task and as the eager intern I am, got straight to work.

The first problem with installing this pin-board, was somehow attaching it to the concrete walls which line our office. This implicated disrupting the entire office by the sound of the drill used to install the hooks. The next step involved nailing in brackets onto the board itself. This presented a problem, as there was not a single hammer available anywhere. I instead resorted to using an empty Coke bottle to pound in the nails, in the process of which bending them beyond use. I ventured outside to find a large rock to straighten out the nail.

As I lifted the rock, I looked up, and saw my supervisor Mr. DeSuza watching what I was doing. The look on his face perfectly conveyed his confusion as to why of 50,000 students, had York sent him this joke. Not that I could blame him, if I ever hired an employee and found out he spent two hours trying to install a pin-board with nothing but an empty Coke bottle, a large rock, and a single broken nail, I would fire him on the spot. If only Mr. DeSuza knew of the context in which these tools had come together, he would surely understand. However, in my nervous fit, I could not form the sentences to explain the situation. What came out instead was an incomprehensible string of mumbled together sentences, followed by a few giggles, and finally ended in me running away. I avoided him the rest of the day in the hope that he might forget what had just transpired.

I’m not sure what lesson I should have learned from this experience, but it was probably pretty important.

My Coffee Date with Hugo Chavez

My past blogs have been a showcase of my effort (probably failed) to be funny. This one however, is going to keep it real (like the title!) and chronicle a once in a lifetime experience I just had.

Here in St. Kitts, there is a summit of Caribbean and Latin American countries regarding the price of oil in the country. The President of Venezuela, Hugo Chavez, was the highest profile guest at these meetings. I had tried to work a situation where I would be able to attend the summit, but there were problems with the registration and I was unable to go. However, the experience that occurred tonight trumps anything that could have come from sitting through the summit.

My boss, Mr. DeSuza, was taking myself and the other intern, Lishai, around the island to visit local hangout spots. Before we hit the strip, he decided to show us the luxurious Marriott hotel just for kicks. As we parked and walked towards its entrance, we saw a large motorcade complete with black sedans and police escorts moving towards the front entrance. Mr. DeSuza thought this may be our chance to catch a glimpse of Hugo, and we quickened our pace towards the front door. We get there just in time to see the President wave to the cameras, and walk inside. We follow.

Inside, he begins to tend to his presidential duties, talking to cameras and taking pictures with guests of the hotel. He is enclosed by his body guards, conveniently dressed in the military uniforms complete with “I-will-beat-you-down-if-you-come-one-step-closer” looks plastered on their faces.

As he began to walk away, I decided to risk getting the shit kicked out of me, and approached him for a handshake. The rest is a little foggy as it was a mix of trying to decipher what he was saying through his translator and getting distracted thinking about, thinking about what was happening. But the following is the best recollection of what happened.

I shook his hand, and pulled Mr. DeSuza and Lishai into the mix. Chavez began asking us about ourselves. He was interested in what school we attended, and our reasons for being in St. Kitts. The fact the Basic Needs Trust Fund focused so much on developing capacity and promoting solutions to poverty through bottom-up (power of the people) approaches, immediately caught the socialists intrigue. He then began to talk to us about the importance of socialism for this very reason, citing Plato and Victor Hugo (Les Miserables). His aides then brought a couple cups of Venezuelan coffee, at which point Chavez handed us the coffee. We had just been served coffee by Hugo Chavez.

He spoke of his admiration of Barack Obama and his mandate of change. He spoke of the close bond that he feels towards Obama even though he is the president of a long held rival to Venezuela. He also mentioned that he shook Obama’s hand (and I shook Chavez’s hand), which by extension means I pretty much shook Barack’s hand...nice. Chavez then reinforced that the only means to seeing this change is through education and the exchange of ideas across cultural and political boundaries. Our conversation ended with me inviting him to stay at my house when he is in Toronto next. He giggled (and blushed I think), and thanked me for the offer on the condition that we go to a Blue Jays game. I have a date with the President of Venezuela.

As Chavez left, the three of us still didn’t quite believe what had just happened. This sentiment was obviously felt by others around us. Most politicians and influential business leaders probably would sacrifice their careers to get an opportunity to have a 30 minute conversation with the President. A local radio station then approached us to interview us on what happened. I am now off to search the internet for any pictures that may have been snapped because I am sure there a few who won't believe my story.

Peace!

M********** trying to give me Swine Flu

One of the interesting challenges of living abroad is being so far away from friends, family, ugos, and boibes.

Today, I was in the bathroom and I could not stop thinking of one of my best boys, Alex Johnston. He has a particular fascination with the Swine Flu. While most people see it is a possible epidemic (now pandemic) capable of killing thousands, to him it is simply entertainment and an opportunity to live out a real life zombie movie. To my surprise, the television had somehow turned to my local City TV news channel (evidently available on St. Kitts satellite) where they were reporting the Flu's graduation to threat level 6. As I sat there, I became increasingly excited at the thought of how happy it would make him.

However, this caused me to reflect on my situation. Every night I have the ability to watch local and American television. I can go on MSN and hear stories of friends which make me happy (acting so immature** they forced their female colleague to leave work early). Or, I can go on Facebook and look at my friend`s recent pictures (for the purpose of finding ones which discredit his falsely perceived attractiveness). It really struck me as to how interconnected our world has become. These are all things I would be doing if I were in Toronto. How would I be coping if I had come here a mere 10 years ago?

**This is how they were described by their co-worker. They were probably just acting too good, and were simply misunderstood.

I'm Not a Girl

For the third time within the period of my involvement with this internship, a person who I have emailed has thought that I was, in fact, a girl. This has brought back painful memories of my time as child when I was afraid of the hairdresser, and would opt to live life as a dirty little ginger who had hair to his shoulders and refused to take showers (a time period which earned me the nickname Dirtay). It was then that the first questions regarding my gender arose. Even as I crossed my arms and looked cockily into the eyes of the older kids (see picture above), telling them, “I’m a boy, boibe” that I could still not shake their perception.

And now, this curse has returned. The first instance was with my fellow intern Lishai, who upon seeing my profile on Facebook decided to express her surprise at my gender in an inbox message, “I can’t believe you’re a dude! No way!”. The second and third came from emailing last year’s intern and her friend here in St. Kitts regarding some turtle spotting. It is at this point when Jay (the friend here in St. Kitts) proclaimed his excitement for “meeting you girls from Canada”, that I’ve finally lost it. Maybe it’s the way I try to write emails professionally and politely? Maybe it’s because people believe that Eli is a girl’s name? Maybe it’s my strawberry-blonde hair? I have no idea.

But just as an experiment, let’s look at the famous people in history named Eli: Eli Whitney (invented cotton gin), Eli Manning (uses his fantastic name to win NFL championships), and that kid who loves porn from the movie The Girl Next Door. None of these American heroes are cootie infested girls, but instead are all (apparently surprisingly) guys.

Therefore, I would just like to provide clarification to any of my confused readers that despite my appreciation of the Pussycat Dolls and Taylor Swift, I am a dude.

First Day at Work

So the vacation is apparently over, and I have started my first day of work at the Basic Needs Trust Fund (BNTF). Before I get into that, I'll let my faithful readers know of the political rally we were taken to over the weekend. It was located in a field just around the corner from our apartment, and it started around 9 pm at night. Our boss picked us up around 8 and took us for a little pre-drink before we got down to serious political business. This was a nice change of pace in politics, as Canadian rallies usually involve mid-afternoon gatherings with pre-biscuit and tea festivities.

We then got into the car, and arrived at the rally for the opposition party, PAM. Immediately I wish that I was a politician in St. Kitts. First of all, before each candidate came to speak, the DJ spun their intro music (think WWE intro music, and the music played before Blue Jays players take the plate). I could not help but to imagine me taking the stage with the Miley Cyrus - See You Again (Dutty Wine Remix feat. Akon) playing. This was then followed by most the passionate speeches that I have ever experienced - the candidates were giving shout-outs to their ridings and involving the crowd like I have never seen. The event was even sponsored by Carib Beer, with beer tents located throughout the crowd. It is at a time like this that Canadian politicians bewilderment on how to involve youth in politics is particularly frustrating.

As you can probably gather from my post at 9:51am on a Monday morning, I haven`t gotten down to serious business at the BNTF as yet, but our supervisor will be returning following her radio show around 11, and the real work will assuredly begin!

NOTE TO READERS: If anyone is actually reading this blog, I would appreciate if you signed up to “Follow” the blog, it will help me look popular and impress chicks (I hear that girls love guys who have popular blogs). I also hope you all appreciate that I am making dumb jokes for the benefit of those back home, because they are probably embarrassing my family (sorry Mom and Norma).

Oh yo internet

So my internet has peaced out on me and my landlord isn't around until tomorrow, woooo! I guess I'll take the day to work on my sunburn and get my freckle on.

First Night

As soon as I arrive, my boss Mr. DeSuza, tours me around town and introduces me to any people I might be working with. Mr. DeSuza is the Kobe of Basseterre - everyone knows him.

I get some time to have a nap, and then its time to go out for the night. Mr. DeSuza takes me to meet and hang out with some of his friends. We head to the main square where we post up with his buddies for a couple hours, during which they (who include lawyers, chemists, and MBAs) talk about anything and everything, including taking some time to educate me on women. Apparently I know less about girls than I thought.

My Culture

What is my culture? I definitely do not see it as Canadian. I personally have more in common with Northeastern North America (Montreal, New York, Boston, Chicago), than I have with anybody in Western North America (Vancouver, Calgary, LA, San Fransisco, Edmonton). I don't like hockey, I can't skate, maple syrup is pretty good I guess, and I could not pick a traditional Canadian music hero out of a line-up (except Shania Twain, my future wife). I do however like basketball, I try to play soccer (badly), butter chicken is really good, and I could fill a stadium with conscious hip hoppers from the Northeast. But again, what is my culture?

I guess growing up in Toronto I have come to borrow from those around me, whether that is American, Chinese, Indian, Jamaican, or Somalian. I hate when people perceive me as a Canadian who loves all things typically Canadian, including the embarrassing accent. In that sense, I don't feel like I have a static culture, I feel that it is dynamic and continuously adapting to where I live and who I am closest to. I like it this way.

So in conclusion, I have no idea what my culture is and would rather not know.

Still here...

So since I didn't want this to be blank, I am just letting everyone know I haven't left yet! BIG UPS EXAMS! More to follow when Lishai and I finally leave on Friday.