De beloning: een Pieter voor beste camerawerk, en een avond vol prachtige opgedirkte leerlingen. Geweldig. Met dank aan een paar heel enthousiaste collega’s! En Walid natuurlijk, voor het winnende camerawerk…

What makes it especially interesting to me is that he links adult behavior (submitting to the strong) to the way people are raised - father is right and the rest has to shut up. As a teacher that’s my perpetual conundrum: how to educate students to be critical without my classroom turning into a perpetual revolution…

Ik belde mijn zus om te vragen of ze mee wilde gaan schaatsen. Dat wilde ze wel. Maar waar?
Eén van de parken bij haar of mij in de buurt, een stukje verder over de Schellingerwoudebrug?

Tja, zei ik, eigenlijk moeten we natuurlijk naar de Keizersgracht, gewoon omdat het zo bizar is om juist dáár middenop te staan.
Daar was ze het wel mee eens. En dan een foto nemen voor onze toekomstige kleinkinderen, om te laten zien dat oma dat nog meegemaakt heeft!
Dat was precies mijn plan, zei ik, maar dan zul je zien dat door die stomme klimaatverandering bevroren grachten doodnormaal zijn voor onze kleinkinderen…
Moeten we dus juist een foto nemen van onszelf zwemmend in de Keizersgracht in de winter.
Juist, gewoon om er zeker van te zijn dat we onze kleinkinderen stoere verhalen kunnen vertellen.

Het was meer klunen dan schaatsen, en die foto van het zwemmen laat nog even op zich wachten. Wel hebben we een stukje over de gracht gefietst. Gewoon, omdat het kon.

YEARS from Bartholomäus Traubeck on Vimeo.

A turntable that plays slabs of wood: it takes the grooves from the rings of tree trunks, and translates them to piano. Beautiful.

via Chookooloonks.

Now, they’re back with this:




Isn’t it awesome?

Getting to his family’s compound somewhere in the hills around Kisumu was a small adventure in itself; it took almost two hours of walking, sitting on the back of a bicycle, crossing a river in a dug-out canoe, and more walking before we arrived. Once there, I was told to sit down with the men on the side of the house made of dried red mud. So I sat there in the shade talking with his father, some of his brothers, uncles, and probably some neighbors, talking about life in Africa and Europe, about work and jobs and salaries. After a while I asked my new friend if there were any women. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but they don’t speak any English.’ His sister who served us drinks and food just smiled when I thanked her in English, so I took his word for it, but after I while I had enough of sitting with the men and their crackling transistor-radio, so I wandered over to the kitchen-hut and motioned if I could come in. Of course I could, the four women in the kitchen welcomed me in perfect English.

As it turned out, his oldest sister was the head nurse at one of the biggest hospitals in Nairobi, and had just come over to her parents’ village for the family gathering this weekend. We talked about life in Africa and Europe as well, and about their specific jobs and lives, their marriages and children. I was 20 at the time, and they were wondering why I didn’t have children. Suddenly my friend’s oldest sister looked me straight in the eye and said: ‘Can I ask you something?’ Of course she could. ‘What do you use for contraception?’
All eyes were on me. Two more women had arrived in the meantime, but no one made a sound. ‘Uh, well, condoms?’ I said, ‘and… the pill?’ ‘So white women take the pill as well!’ said the oldest sister, the nurse. ‘Yes, most of my friends do… why would we not?’ I asked, naïve enough. ‘Well,’ was her answer, ‘I thought the pill was meant to make us African women infertile.’

I am still glad I didn’t know back then what I know now, and that I was able to answer that question in full honesty. After that trip I went on to study anthropology, and I learned about the secret sterilization programs that have taken place in many countries in Asia, Africa and South America in the name of international health care and aid programs (and even in the USA itself, mainly on the black population). Still, I thought, that was in the past, and although it’s understandable that rumors about it are still going around, we can safely assume that health programs these days do just what they are supposed to do instead of carrying out a secret political agenda. And so from then on I would make a conscious effort when traveling of convincing people to trust international health care programs and use the medication against malaria and AIDS that they provide.

Unfortunately, I was naïve again: in its urge to kill Osama Bin Laden, the USA has set up a fake vaccination program to capture his children’s DNA. As the author of the piece writes; ‘People’s faith in their doctors is critical to the ability to provide health care, and it’s unconscionable that the United States would use the single most delicate health issue in the Muslim world as its cover. […] People believe in their medical care. They want to be healthy, and they want more than anything to have healthy children. Accordingly, they believe in their doctors and nurses. And it’s the duty of health-care professionals — and governments — to return and protect this trust. It is not acceptable to weaponize health, to use Christopher Albon’s brilliant turn of phrase. But it’s clear — and interesting — that doing so is remarkably easy. In a world where social cohesion is eroding rapidly, people still trust their health-care providers.’
It may be clear from my story that this trust people have in their health-care providers is not blind, and may have taken a long time to grow. Stories like this can break that trust in a minute – especially if they cannot be dispelled as a myth by an honest 20-year old backpacker.

The video below (in English) is of that experiment, with some footage from the original test. It’s an excerpt from a short documentary called ‘A Girl Like Me’ by Kiri Davis (which you can watch here).

All in all it’s not so bad, but apparently it’s not just my parents who’ve managed to impress their behavior on me. I realized this last week when I called out a student’s name in class.

“But I wasn’t even doing anything!” she exclaimed.

“And that is EXACTLY the problem,” I heard myself say.

I’m also becoming my teachers.